Page 2 of Sweet as Puck

Dad was more of a rugby fan, but he knew an up-and-coming spectator sport when he saw it. Hockey was it. I’d loved it from the moment I’d seenThe Mighty Ducksas a kid. I watched every game at Mum and Dad’s house, hogging their cinema screen whenever there was a game being telecast.

My love of hockey got him thinking, and as CEO of Delaware’s Warehouse, he made things happen. He contacted the NHL the moment there were whispers of an exhibition trip. Delaware’s Warehouse was now the official sponsor of the series and he’d negotiated a hands-on role so I could see the games live. We were only a few weeks away from travelling with the Seals for their five exhibition games.

I. Couldn’t. Wait.

I was beside myself with excitement for the trip.

Seriously, the only thing hotter than a hockey player in a romance novel was one in real life.

I rounded the corner and waved at Carol, Dad’s EA. She held up her hand in a stopping gesture, and called, “Cara, wait. He’s—”

I waved her off. I’d already checked that Dad wasn’t in a meeting, and I could wait for him to hang up, but I couldn’t wait for him to come to me. I was on a mission. I needed to get this payroll problem sorted so I could finish on time tonight. I had a DP scene burning a hole in my concentration—and my panties—that I needed to get on paper.

“I’ll only be a few minutes. I just have one question, and I can ask it between calls.” I knocked quietly on Dad’s door beforepushing it open and creeping inside. I didn’t want to interrupt an important call if he was on one.

A moan filled with ecstasy hit my ears. Skin slapped together.

I froze.

Looked up.

Dad was half naked, his shirt, tie, and pants undone.

No.I shook my head trying to clear the visual. But it didn’t go away.

No amount of brain bleach could scrub the visual of his arousal.

I never, ever wanted to see his penis again. But it would be burned into my memory forever.

The only thing worse than seeing my dad’s penis was watching him thrust inside a woman who wasn’t my mother.

Danielle, the new girl—the person I was here to see Dad about—was on her back on the desk, her arms above her head as she held onto the edge. Her perky breasts bounced wildly as my father moved inside her. She had her slim leg hooked over Dad’s shoulder, and his hand was curled low near her hip. Her other leg was spread wide, Dad holding it out at her ankle. His gaze was locked on where they were connected, watching as he sank into her over and over.

She closed her eyes and went rigid underneath him.

It was like a car crash. I couldn’t look away.

I tried to tear my eyes from them.

I tried to unsee what was unfolding in front of me.

But I couldn’t.

I even noticed the little things, details that I knew I would relive over and over. Dad wasn’t wearing a condom. She had a piercing that glinted in the light every time Dad tilted her hips up as he slammed forward.

Outrage filled me.

My face heated with embarrassment.

This was a private moment that I shouldn’t be witnessing.

But no one should be seeing this.

Dad shouldn’t bedoingit.

Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. Righteous indignity filled me. Anger and hurt fought for prime position.

How could he do this?