Page 16

Lucy crossed her legs, leaned back in the chair, and took a sip of her coffee while staring at the back of Dax’s head. His hair was sticking out in all directions, his face pressed into the pillow. The sheet was low around his waist.

Her gaze wandered over his muscular back, over the peaks and valleys of each cord under his skin to the white sheet that, to her annoyance, hid the rest from her sight.

She never allowed herself to look at him so closely when he was awake. Now that he was sleeping, she could stare in peace. It didn’t matter then that she was once again angry with him — all that faded behind his form: quite simply a work of art. Broad shoulders, strong neck, and the curve of his tanned biceps against the white sheet…

With a sigh, she set the coffee cup on the side table next to her. When asleep, Dax was more angel than devil.

She glanced at her watch and observed it as the second hand crept forward and finally passing twelve. It was almost a shame that she had to interrupt his slumber so rudely, but the photo shoot was due to start at that moment and Dax was very obviously not on site.

Thank God she had postponed it by two hours last night. After Matt announced that they would be “team-building” at Austin Fox’s that night, she suspected Dax would concoct some flimsy excuse why he couldn’t make it on time.

Shaking her head, she stood and strolled over to the bed. It felt strange to simply gain access to his loft like this, without him knowing — but, hey, she had told him she had a key and would do whatever was necessary to improve his image. It was truly his own fault. Besides, he wanted her to behave normally. This was her version of normal.

She stopped next to the bed and leaned down, ignoring her fluttering heart. Then she held her phone next to his ear and pressed the middle of the screen.

A ship’s horn sounded as loud as a kindergarten group on a sugar rush. Dax jerked up so abruptly, he almost knocked the phone out of her hand. She took a few rapid steps back. Maybe it was better not to be within reach.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, he let his gaze slide around the room, disorientated, before finally settling on her as she returned to the chair.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he exclaimed in shock and slumped against the backboard.

She smiled broadly. “Good morning, Cinderella,” she piped cheerfully. “I hope your head feels like a thick pumpkin, because you stayed at the ball past twelve and lost not one but both of your shoes.”

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, pulling the blanket up around his torso. What a shame. “And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”

“Yes, hell is the right word,” she said. “Because my life has been hell these past few weeks. But we don’t have time to exchange pleasantries. You have to get up and shower. You have an hour to get to makeup for the photo shoot.”

Cursing, Dax pulled his cell phone from the nightstand and glanced at the display before returning his eyes to her. “No, I don’t. It’s too late already – they’ve started without me.”

“It’s not too late,” she said briefly, trying to keep her eyes on his face and not let them wander, in a most unprofessional manner, down his muscular chest, where fine, dark hair fanned out. “I postponed the shoot. I wanted to make sure you actually showed up.”

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, grimacing as a ray of light hit his face from behind the drawn curtains. He rubbed his eyes. “Seriously, Lucy. Didn’t we talk about how you’ve got to quit taking things too far like this?” His voice was still rough from sleep. She could feel it and his gaze deep in her belly.

She cleared her throat and raised her chin.

Normal. She wanted to be normal.

“I didn’t go too far. I’m sitting a respectable distance from your bed,” she replied, wide-eyed and overly innocent.

“Smartass. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh, come on. You’re an athlete. Your heart can take more than most anyone else’s.”

He guffawed a low note. “Lucy, you can’t just break into my apartment and then act like everything’s fine!”

“First, nothing is fine because you should have been at the arena by now. And, second, I didn’t break in. I have a key. Besides, I knocked and then rang the doorbell, but you didn’t open up. I was worried.” She sipped her to-go coffee as though butter wouldn’t melt on her tongue. “I mean, you could have been lying unconscious in the bathtub, close to drowning, unable to get to the door. I had to make sure.”

“How noble of you,” he growled.

“Yeah, I think so too. So up and at ‘em. I’m guessing you’re rather hungover, so you’ll need longer than usual in the shower. There’s no time to waste.”

Dax didn’t make a move to rise. Instead, he leaned forward and peered at her, his eyes pinched with suspicion. “How did you know I’d be hungover this morning and oversleeping?”

“Oh, I had a feeling.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is your feeling called Matt Payne?”

“My feeling prefers to remain anonymous.”

“And I would rather have woken up alone.”

“Really? Judging by your reputation, you rarely wake up alone.”

“Yeah, but the women are usually with me in bed, not looming over me like a damn lamppost that’s about to take me out.”

“The lamppost comparison is apt because I’m so bright?” she guessed.

“No. It fits because you have nerves of steel and you seemed tall from down here. For once.”

She snorted even though the corners of her mouth threatened to break into a smile. “You deliberately overslept, Dax, just because you were due to be photographed in costume with your brother.”

He bolted upright and the blanket went sliding off his chest, an invitation to stare that she refused. “Costume?” he echoed, panic in his voice. “You never said anything about costumes!”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think it was important. Now, get up or we’ll be late.”

“I’m naked, Lucy.”

Heat flooded her body and gathered in her abdomen. He slept naked? Completely naked?

Oh God, if she’d known, she would have woken him from outside his bedroom.

“I don’t care,” she said with an easy air, sipping her coffee and carefully hiding her face, which was surely glowing the most dazzling shades of red by now. “Get up, take a shower, and brush your teeth. You smell like a whiskey barrel.”

“Bourbon,” he corrected. “It was vodka and then bourbon.”

She gave him a condescending look. “Do I look like I care?”

“No, but you seem to care that I’m naked,” he replied softly.

The depth-charge of his voice imploded all her senses, so that her lips burned from the memory of his kiss. Swiftly, she turned her face away. She was even worse at forgetting than she was at acting normal. “Are you still drunk? Where are you getting these ridiculous ideas?”

He answered with a deep chuckle. “We’ll have to school you on the lying thing a bit more. Okay, fine, I’ll get up, as long as you don’t have a problem with it and our extremely professional relationship won’t suffer as a result. I have no issues with my body.”

In the next moment, he swung his legs out of bed.

A tiny and very unprofessional squeak escaped her lips. She might have known from his sheer confidence alone. If she looked like a Roman statue, she wouldn’t have a problem walking around naked in front of him either.

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t care,” he whispered.

“I don’t,” she insisted, swallowing.

“Then why did you close your eyes, Lucy?”

Oh. Had she closed her eyes? She hadn’t noticed for the highly detailed scene she was replaying in her head. “For privacy.”

“So says the woman who broke into my loft and greeted me from the chair next to my bed like a damn mafia boss,” he muttered, snorting.

Then she heard footfalls and a door click shut.

Relieved, she exhaled and opened her eyes. Okay, maybe she did care if Dax waltzed around naked after all. But he definitely hadn’t noticed. Right?

Sighing, she stood and strolled back to the kitchen nook. Dax’s loft consisted of a single, huge room divided into different areas. With one goal in mind, she hadn’t given the place a second glance. Now, hearing the shower running in the background, she investigated as though she had all the permission in the world.

With her coffee in her hand, she strolled through the room. It was tidy, but not spotless. A coat and a worn blanket lay tossed over the arm of the L-shaped, light-blue couch. On the live-edge wood coffee table, she saw an empty coffee mug on a coaster, a vase of artistically arranged dried flowers, and headphones plugged into an iPad. A plush yellow carpet occupied the space in front of a huge bookshelf, various plants were tucked away in the corners, and a few landscape paintings and photos hung on the walls.

She walked over to the photos and examined them. One showed a young, dark-haired woman in a graduation robe. She was smiling broadly, her arm wrapped around Dax’s waist, who was gazing down at her proudly. In another, three children were standing in front of a large, colorful carousel. There were two boys no older than ten with cotton candy in their hands, one dark-haired, the other blond. The dark-haired one – definitely Dax! – grinned broadly into the camera, showing the gaps in his teeth. The other’s face was hidden behind the huge stick of cotton candy he was handing to a little girl holding a stuffed rabbit in her arms. The girl’s delight was evident.

Warmth spread through Lucy’s chest and she lowered her coffee cup. Dax loved his sister, and he hadn’t given up on Jack yet. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put this photo here. That was Jack, all right. She knew that even if he wasn’t easily recognizable.

Turning, she shook her head. This wasn’t how she had imagined Dax’s apartment. It seemed so…comfortable. So lived in. Like he actually spent time here. That wasn’t the case with most bachelor players. Most guys didn’t bother decorating their apartment or house properly since they were out of town so frequently for away games. They essentially lived in hotels, and on the ice. But this…this wasn’t an impersonal apartment; this was a place someone called home. She couldn’t say why, but it bothered her. It made Dax so…real. She continued into the kitchen. In the sink there was a light-colored shirt with a red stain on it. It had been sprayed with something white. Frowning, she leaned forward. Was he treating the stain so it would come out in the wash?

That was incredibly…prudent. And uncharacteristic of pro hockey men, in general, as far as she knew. Matt preferred to throw away shirts with stubborn stains and buy new ones, instead. Lucy had always thought that was terribly wasteful, but when you made six million dollars a year, you probably didn’t think about it twice.

At least she imagined so.

Shaking her head again, she continued on and inspected the dishes set out to dry on a rack next to the sink – Dax had a dishwasher, why had he washed the dishes by hand? – before she went to the refrigerator.

She glanced towards the bathroom to make certain the water was still running, and then she opened the door. She’d expected to see something like her refrigerator, which was stacked with food containers from the Chinese restaurant next door, but here she saw only fresh vegetables, milk, a half-eaten lasagna in a casserole dish…

Dax cooked? That would explain the various kitchen utensils hanging from mounts on the walls and…was that a knife sharpener on the counter?

The door behind her opened and Dax stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

Ten minutes ago, she would have had to avert her gaze so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at his body again. It spoke of how unsettling she found the whole loft and what it said about Dax that she scarcely noticed his naked torso. Instead, she looked directly into his eyes and asked, utterly perplexed, “Dax, are you a…a grown man who’s down-to-earth?”

The corners of his mouth twitched and the dimple on his cheek appeared. “What on earth makes you think that?”

“Well, it looks so…homey here,” she responded, agitated, spreading her arms. “Cozy. Like you decorated it yourself. Like you shopped for it yourself. Like you are…totally responsible for your own life. Oh my God.” Stunned, she put a hand to her chest. “Are you a responsible human being too?”

He grinned broadly. “The disbelief in your voice…” he replied, shaking his head. “But, no, I’m not totally responsible. I drank too much yesterday and almost missed the photo shoot.”

“Well, yeah,” she replied inanely. “Yeah, I know, but…” She blinked. “You’re confusing me.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said and turned his back on her, disappearing into the sleeping area, which was hidden behind a large shelf full of files, CDs, and books.

“You have a lot of…kitchen utensils,” she called after him.

“You need those to cook.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, just…well, I didn’t realize you knew how to cook.”

A snort was the reply. “How else am I supposed to eat?”

“I…don’t know. Order out?”

“Too boring, too greasy, and too unhealthy for me in the long run.”

Oh God, he was responsible! “But…you’re a womanizer,” she stammered. “You’re probably already on conquest number seventy-something and…”

“And womanizers aren’t allowed to cook?” he exclaimed, confused.

“Well…no. That doesn’t fit the image. And why do you wash dishes by hand? Why do you soak stains? And do you water the plants yourself?”

“You know I’ve been asked some crazy questions by various journalists,” he remarked, rounding the shelf in jeans and a white T-shirt, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, “but yours outshine them all.”

“I’m not a journalist, so you can answer me,” she said, needing answers.

He sighed heavily. “I had to learn to cook early on so I could put something other than a peanut butter sandwich on the table,” he said quietly. “And I like food. Washing dishes soothes me for some reason and if I didn’t soak the stain, the shirt would be ruined. And who else would water the plants but me? Are you happy now?”

No, not at all. “Didn’t your parents…?” She left the question hanging and shook her head. “Sorry. Asking you that is not normal, is it?”

Dax sighed again and rubbed his face. “Nothing about you is normal, Lucy.”

She smiled and nervously turned the ring on her finger. “Thanks. Acting normal is terribly boring. And…” She hesitated and lowered her gaze to her feet for a split-second before raising it again, uncertain if she wanted to open that particular can of worms. Unsure if she wanted to remind him of that night a week ago.

“What?” Dax asked, raising an eyebrow.

She inhaled deeply. “You know I would never tell anyone, right?” she whispered. “No matter how angry I might be with you. I would keep it to myself. What you said at the bar… What you might say now.”

He stared at her as though looking right through her. A single drop of water ran from his hair down his cheek, like a tear that had lost its way. “I know,” he finally murmured. “It’s just not a…not an easy topic. My mother worked and worked, my father was waited on. And on top of that, he gambled away her money, so we had no choice but to cook cheaply because we couldn’t afford anything else.”

She swallowed as the warmth spread from her chest to her fingertips. It was simple compassion, she told herself. It wasn’t as though she were happy because he had confided in her – happy because, for some inexplicable reason, he was comfortable enough in her presence to tell her such things.

What the hell had happened over the last few weeks?

“Parents are never an easy topic,” she replied gently.

His gaze slid to the ring she was still twisting around her finger. “Are you talking about your mother?”

No, she was actually talking about her father. Her father, who had spent the last week in bed, missing an appointment with his psychologist, then had yelled at Maddie that she didn’t know what she was talking about when she asked about rescheduling.

“My mother died three years ago,” she stated, raising a shoulder. “It’s not a nice subject, but…I guess it’s not exactly the burden that you have, with your past.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry she died.”

“Likewise. But at least you have your sister, right?”

“Yep,” he said, frowning. “But you have a sister too, right? No. Two sisters. Maddie…and someone else.”

Surprised, she raised her eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

He lifted one corner of his mouth in what Lucy interpreted as a half-smile. “I know a lot about you, Lucy. After all, they say you should know your enemy better than your friend. So I know you drink coffee like water. I know you have more high heels in your closet than anything else. I know you were the best in your class and incredibly proud of it. I know you twist your ring when you’re nervous, jut out your chin to make yourself taller, believe taking a stroll is a workout, are always telling Matt I’m a terrible person, and you probably still have time to imagine me naked every hour or so.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. He’d just reeled off more about her than she’d expected he could—although really she imagined him naked every hour, not every other. “I never thought of myself as your enemy, you know?” she explained. “More like your conscience.”

“My conscience who breaks into my loft, convinces people I’m a sex addict, thinks it’s okay to hack my phone, and uses my friends to spy on me?” he summed up. “Man, no wonder I’m making so many negative headlines.”

She laughed, tilted her head back…and suddenly became aware of how close Dax was standing to her, how normal their conversation had been, how her neck tingled, and that he smelled of astringent soap and ice.

She cleared her throat and swiftly stepped back, interrupting the progression before this turned into a moment. “Okay, we should go. And you don’t have to dig out your key; I’ll lock up.”

He frowned. “Where did you get the key?”

She grinned. “Remember that time the bartender at the Ice Lounge took your car keys? Because you were too drunk? Guess which keys were on that keychain. Guess who picked them up and bribed the bartender not to sell the pictures of your exploits to the press.”

“And you copied the key?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I figured when one of your one-night stands leaves you bloodied on the floor, having a key to your place would be better than kicking down your door. Because let’s be honest, it’s not your door’s fault that you can’t keep your pants on.”

He snorted loudly. “You mean if a woman ever attacks me, not when .”

“Oh no,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’m convinced you’ll die at the hands of someone else. If not one of your lady friends then definitely me.”

He laughed a loud, hoarse laugh and headed for the door ahead of her, shaking his head. “It was wrong, to have a copy made, Lucy” he stated, but he didn’t sound angry.

She sighed. “Yes, I know. But in my defense, at the time I was furious with you, and I had this idea that I would let myself in some night, move your furniture around, and convince you that you had a ghost. But I came to my senses after my first coffee the next morning.”

He cast a skeptical glance over his shoulder at her. “I would have to disagree. You certainly have not come to your senses.”