Page 9

M arcus

Marcus woke thirteen minutes before his alarm. His body was already gearing up for the day—a pre-game mental routine he'd followed since peewee hockey. He rolled his shoulder, wincing at the bruise where a Toronto forward had driven him into the boards during the third period.

The Toronto hotel room remained dark as he stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t been able to get away from his team mates to join Stephanie last night and he was regretting his choice to be a gentleman and go back to his own room instead of waking her up at three in the morning for what would have been a booty call.

He'd had plenty of hookups over the years—hockey players weren't exactly monks. But nothing had prepared him for the intensity of kissing Stephanie. It was like landing a perfect hip check—instinctive, powerful, and absolutely satisfying. He had dreamed about her last night. He wondered if he had been in her thoughts as well.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Breakfast in 45 minutes. Need to talk before you hit the ice. Meet me in the hotel’s restaurant. We have a problem.

Marcus sat up immediately, his defenseman's instincts analyzing the implications of timing, wording, and the request for privacy. The most likely scenario: regret—Stephanie reconsidering their agreement. The thought hit him harder than a slapshot to the chest.

He texted back: Will be there in 30 minutes.

As he showered and dressed, wincing as hot water hit the bruise spanning his right shoulder blade, Marcus ran through possibilities like defensive coverage options. Yet beneath the analysis, an unfamiliar anxiety simmered—like pre-playoff jitters, but for something that actually mattered more.

Stephanie was nursing a cup of coffee and frowning into her laptop when he hurried into the restaurant.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She turned the computer toward him, showing a notification that made his blood run cold:

SECURITY ALERT: Unauthorized access detected to primary analytics database. Duration: 142 minutes. Origin: External. Encryption compromised.

"Someone's hacked your system?"

"Not just access. Data extraction. The entire player analytics framework has been copied, including personal performance metrics not approved for organizational distribution."

“Our presentation? My data I compiled on all the players?” he said.

“All of it.”

"My data contains every weakness, limitation, and vulnerability I've documented on our players. Career-impacting information. And my personal notes."

Before he process the implications of what this could mean, Marcus received a text. He looked down at it. It was an unfamiliar number.

Spreadsheets—Your precious data belongs to me now. Every weakness, every flaw, every secret you've documented. In 72 hours, it all goes public unless you meet my demands. I've included a sample to prove I'm serious. Tick tock.

Attached was a single page of analytics on Kane—detailed breakdowns of his defensive weaknesses, injury vulnerabilities, and psychological pressure points. Information that could devastate their captain's next contract negotiation if made public.

"Reed," Stephanie said, certainty hardening her voice. "It has to be."

"We need to maintain appearances," Marcus said. "While we handle this threat."

Stephanie nodded, shifting into crisis management mode. "I’ve contacted our cybersecurity team and told them to be discrete.”

Marcus texted back to the number: What are your demands?

But he didn’t get an answer.

***

A FTER PROMISING HIM that she wouldn’t go track down Reed and confront him, Marcus forced himself to concentrate only on hockey until the game was over. Back in his hotel room, he stared out the window, watching water streak across the glass. His muscles ached from the Toronto game—a crosscheck to the ribs in the third period had left a bruise that was turning an impressive shade of purple. But that pain was nothing compared to knowing someone had breached his data—the digital fortress he'd built to give his team an edge night after night.

A knock on his door had him brightening. He needed to see Stephanie right now like he needed to breathe. Unfortunately, Oliver Chen was at his door.

“Can I come in?"

He looked over Chenny’s shoulder, but didn’t see Stephanie in the hallway.

"Sure," Marcus said and headed over to the mini bar to grab him a beer.

"So," Chenny said casually, "you and Stephanie, huh?"

Marcus kept his expression neutral—the same blank face he used when refs made terrible calls. "We're collaborating on analytics integration for media purposes. As you know."

"Uh-huh." Chenny's knowing smirk said he wasn't buying it. "And that collaboration requires staring at each other like you're looking for holes in a defense?"

"I don't stare. I observe. Same as reading plays on the ice."

"Semantics, man. For what it's worth, I think it's cool. You’re good for each other."

Marcus remained silent, unsure how to respond without confirming or denying.

"Anyway," Chenny continued, pulling out his phone, "that's not actually why I came over. Take a look at this."

He held up his screen showing an anonymous message on his YouTube channel: Tell Spreadsheets his precious numbers won't save him or the team. He should have minded his own business.

The tension that had been coiled in Marcus's chest tightened another notch. Reed was expanding his attack, reaching out to teammates. This wasn't just about ruining two careers anymore—it was about destabilizing the entire team. Reed must have found out Marcus had been investigating him.

"When did you receive this?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes ago. I traced the IP—”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah,” Chenny said and gave him a look that said it was easy. “They used a VPN, but it's doesn’t sound like a random troll." Chenny studied him with unusual seriousness. "Is this connected to the Darby & Darby stuff?"

Marcus considered his response carefully. Chenny was the team's most tech-savvy player, with a significant social media presence. A potential resource if utilized properly.

"Potentially. I'd appreciate your discretion on this matter."

Chenny nodded. "No problem. But if you need tech help..." He left the offer hanging.

"I'll keep that in mind." Marcus filed away the possibility. Chenny's computer science background might prove valuable if things escalated further.

When Chenny left, Marcus texted Stephanie. Problem. Our friend sent a warning message sent to Chenny's channel.

Fucker.

He couldn’t have said it better himself.

I’ll be right there.

Good.

***

S TEPHANIE

She'd changed into black leggings and an oversized Chill sweatshirt, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders after washing away her makeup. It felt good to shed her professional armor, even if it made her feel unexpectedly vulnerable walking down the hotel hallway to Marcus's room. Especially given the circumstances.

Stephanie balanced two coffee cups as she knocked, using her elbow to tap against the door. Her stomach tightened as she waited. God, she was furious about this breach—and more than a little scared. Someone had gone after them directly, and while she'd faced PR crises before, this was dangerously personal.

Marcus opened the door, his usual composed expression momentarily softening at the sight of her. He looked exhausted but focused, shirt slightly rumpled, hair standing up where he'd likely been running his hands through it in frustration.

"Any progress?" he asked, accepting the cup.

"Limited," she replied. While he and the Chill had been practicing and then playing their game with Toronto, she and the cyber security team had been busy. "The breach came from a proxy server in Montreal, but bounced through multiple locations. Whoever did this knows their shit."

Stephanie set her cup on the desk and dropped the folder she'd been carrying beside it. "I've been making notes on potential suspects. Cross-referencing people with ties to Reed who also have cybersecurity backgrounds."

She felt him move closer, standing just behind her. Close enough that she felt the heat emanating from him. Her body reacted before her mind could control it, a pang of desire spreading through her.

"Show me," he said, his voice low near her ear.

Stifling a shiver, she opened the folder, revealing the detailed profiles she'd compiled. "These are the most likely hackers he used based on Reed's professional network and the technical skill required."

She watched Marcus scan the documents, trying to keep her mind on business and not on continuing their passionate kisses from last night.

"Kevin Ramirez," Marcus noted, tapping the top profile. The brief contact of his finger against hers sent an entirely inappropriate spark through her system. "Former IT director. He was fired shortly after you left. He’s got the motive and the skills."

"And he’s Reed's golf buddy," she added, leaning forward to point at a photo she'd included. "They kept in touch after Ramirez left."

“Has the hacker or Reed made any demands?” he asked.

She shook her head. Nothing. And the clock was ticking. The movement sent a sharp pain through her neck and shoulders. She'd been hunched over her laptop for hours, tension coiling through her muscles as anger and fear cycled through her system. Stephanie winced, automatically reaching back to massage her aching muscles.

"Trapezius strain," Marcus observed. "Same thing I get after a long road trip in cramped plane seats."

Stephanie gave him a wry look, grateful for the momentary distraction from her anxiety. "Thanks for the diagnosis, Doc."

"Basic hockey training. We learn about muscle groups when we're rehabbing injuries." He set down his coffee, hesitating before adding, "I can help, if you want. Team massages are part of the routine on roadies."

The offer caught her off guard. Part of her wanted to refuse—maintaining professional distance seemed wise, especially now. But her neck hurt like hell, and the prospect of relief won out.

"Sure, why not?" she relented, trying to sound casual.

Marcus moved behind her, and Stephanie felt suddenly self-conscious. "Sit down," he directed. "Easier to get the right angle."

She lowered herself into the desk chair, oddly nervous as she felt him position himself behind her. There was a brief moment where his hands hovered above her shoulders, and Stephanie held her breath, unsure why this felt so significant.

"This might hurt at first," he warned, then pressed his thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.

The pain was immediate and exquisite, pulling an involuntary gasp from her that transformed into something embarrassingly like a moan. "That hurts in the best possible way," she said through gritted teeth.

"Knots in the tissue," he explained, voice steady while her heart was anything but. "Like after taking hits along the boards all night."

His fingers found each point of tension, applying pressure that walked the perfect line between pain and pleasure. Stephanie closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation. This was far from the first professional massage she'd received, but something about Marcus's touch was different. More intimate. More affecting.

"Where'd you learn this?" she asked, her voice emerging lower and huskier than intended.

"Team physiotherapist in juniors," he replied, finding a particularly tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. "She taught me after I kept re-injuring my rotator cuff."

"Lucky me," Stephanie murmured, her head dropping forward as the tension began to ease.

As Marcus worked in silence, Stephanie became increasingly aware of each point of contact between them. The strong, sure pressure of his thumbs. The occasional brush of his fingertips against her skin. Heat radiated from where he touched her, spreading through her body in a way that had nothing to do with therapeutic muscle release and everything to do with the man behind her.

When his thumbs pressed into a tight knot near her spine, a sigh escaped her that sounded far too much like desire. God, what was happening to her? This was Marcus—analytical, frustrating, brilliant Marcus who drove her crazy on a daily basis. And yet, the thought of his hands moving elsewhere on her body was suddenly all she could think about.

"Better?" he asked, his voice rougher than before.

"Mmm," she acknowledged, rolling her head experimentally. The pain had receded, replaced by a different kind of tension altogether. "Much. But don't stop yet."

His hands continued their methodical work, but something had shifted. The clinical precision was giving way to something more exploratory, more personal. When his fingers grazed the side of her neck, a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with pain.

"Too hard?" Marcus asked, freezing in place.

Stephanie turned slowly in the chair to face him, looking up to find his expression transformed. The cool, analytical mask had slipped, revealing heat and uncertainty in equal measure.

"Not hard enough," she heard herself say, hardly recognizing her own voice.

The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility. Stephanie watched Marcus's face as he visibly calculated risks and rewards—and then, remarkably, stopped thinking altogether.

He leaned down and kissed her, one hand sliding to cradle the back of her neck. Stephanie responded instantly, rising from the chair to press against him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. All the fear and anger she'd been holding transmuted into something urgent and consuming.

This kiss was different from before—less cautious, more demanding. Stephanie backed toward the bed, pulling Marcus with her, rational thought temporarily suspended. When her legs hit the mattress, she drew him down, hands already pushing under his shirt to find warm skin.

"This wasn't in my strategic plan for the evening," she admitted breathlessly as his mouth moved to her neck.

"Gotta improvise sometimes," he murmured against her skin. "Can't always stick to the system."

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, quickly shifting to a gasp as his teeth grazed her collarbone. The gentleness of the scrape sent electricity coursing through her. "Definitely off-system now."

His hands found the hem of her sweatshirt, pausing there in silent question. Stephanie answered by sitting up and pulling it off herself, revealing the simple black sports bra beneath. A flash of self-consciousness hit her as Marcus stared, his expression almost reverent.

"You're staring," she said, hearing the vulnerability beneath her attempted boldness.

"Taking it all in," he corrected, trailing his fingers across her collarbone and sending shivers across her skin. "Learning the lines of you."

"Such as?" The question emerged breathier than intended.

"The spot that makes your heart race." He demonstrated by pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat, and her pulse jumped wildly against his mouth. "The right pressure to make you respond." His hand slid up her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the fabric of her bra.

Stephanie's eyes fluttered closed as heat pooled low in her abdomen. "Very thorough approach."

"I don't do anything halfway." He replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing the swell of her breast above the sports bra. "Got to be thorough."

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back up for a kiss that obliterated every thought of data breaches and professional boundaries. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she tugged at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel more of him.

"Off," she commanded. "My turn to explore."

Marcus pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Stephanie's hands immediately went to his chest, fingers tracing the defined muscles earned from years of training and battling in hockey's corners. The defensive powerhouse of the Chill was solid beneath her touch, his strength both intimidating and thrilling.

"Checking my weaknesses?" he asked, with a rare touch of humor that made her smile.

"Looking for advantages," she countered, nails scraping lightly down his abdomen and making his muscles tighten reflexively beneath her touch.

When her fingers reached his waistband, Marcus caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. The gesture was unexpectedly tender. "Careful. That's the high-danger scoring area."

The hockey term startled a laugh from her, the sound breaking some of the tension while deepening their connection. For a moment, all the fear and anger that had driven her earlier faded completely. Here, with Marcus, she felt strangely safe despite everything happening around them.

He lowered himself to kiss her again, their bodies pressing together in a way that made his arousal obvious. Stephanie arched against him, creating friction that sent sparks shooting through her body and pulled a groan from deep in his chest.

His phone vibrated loudly on the nightstand—the distinctive team notification pattern. They both froze, the outside world crashing back in.

"Ignore it," Stephanie whispered, pulling him back down, unwilling to surrender this moment.

For a heartbeat, Marcus seemed to consider it—a man who'd never ignored a team notification in his career. His lips had just returned to hers when a second vibration buzzed, followed immediately by a sharp knock.

"Spreadsheets! You in there?" Coach Vicky's voice called through the door.

Stephanie's eyes widened in alarm, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. They sprang apart like caught teenagers, scrambling for discarded clothing.

"One moment," Marcus called, voice surprisingly steady as he pulled his shirt back on.

Stephanie grabbed her sweatshirt, looking frantically around the room. Marcus pointed at the connecting door to her room. She nodded gratefully, pulling on her sweatshirt as she hurried through, closing it behind her.

She leaned against the door, heart pounding, listening to Marcus's muffled conversation with Coach. The interruption had her emotions swinging wildly—embarrassment, frustration, and an unexpected desire to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

A minute later, she cautiously opened the connecting door to find Marcus alone again, looking as composed as ever except for his inside-out shirt.

"Is she gone?" Stephanie asked, feeling oddly shy despite what they'd been doing minutes earlier.

"Yes." Marcus tugged his shirt off to reverse it, giving her another glimpse of his torso. "Though she knows you're here."

"How?" Alarm shot through her.

"She specifically asked me to tell you about the schedule change." He pulled the corrected shirt back on. "And pointed out my wardrobe malfunction."

Stephanie pressed a hand to her mouth, caught between mortification and laughter. "Oh god. We're terrible at this."

"We need a better game plan." Despite his serious tone, she saw the rare smile tugging at his mouth.

"We'll have to be more careful." Stephanie straightened her own clothing, attempting to look professional again though she knew her flushed skin and tousled hair told a different story. "Maybe establish some ground rules."

Marcus nodded, though his eyes lingered on her in a way that made her skin heat all over again. "After the video session. I need to hit the ice."

"Right. Hockey first." The words came out without bitterness—she understood the priorities at play.

As he gathered his tablet, Stephanie calculated how quickly the video session would end and when they might resume their interrupted exploration. The way Marcus looked at her suggested he was thinking the same thing.

"We'll continue analyzing potential suspects later," she said, adopting her professional tone though the heat in her eyes belied her words.

"I look forward to exploring all possibilities," he replied with a hint of suggestion in his usually straight-faced delivery.