Jake wished he was somewhere, anywhere, else.
He bit back a sigh. His move home was supposed to be a fresh start. God only knew why he’d been lucky enough to survive that crash, but Jake had promised Adam, at his friend’s graveside, that he’d make the most of the second chance he’d been given. He’d change his life. Show the world, and himself, that he was more than his reputation. More than his nickname.
He knew nothing would bring Adam back. Nor erase the guilt that lay heavy and hard, like a frozen puck, in his heart. But he’d sworn to honor his friend by fulfilling the dream they’d both had since peewee hockey. The dream that had died for Adam on that back road in Chicago. Jake would win the Stanley Cup and raise it above his head in his friend’s memory.
It wouldn’t be easy. Hell, it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d come close before—even made it to the final, before losing in six games to the Penguins. But this time he had to go all the way. Coming second was not an option.
A husky voice interrupted his thoughts. “Come and dance with me, Bad Boy.” The invitation came from a brunette dressed in scarlet with lips painted to match. “They’re playing our song in the living room.”
He shook his head, softening his rejection with a smile. “You go ahead. I’ll catch you up shortly.”
She shrugged and waggled her fingers in farewell before leaving with a few friends.
If only the rest would follow her.
Jake swigged his beer, grimacing at the flat, warm brew. Once this party was over, his fresh start could begin. He would have one goal, one focus. No more high-octane living, nothing that could be a distraction. No women, either. Dating was off the cards until next June. He’d find somewhere else to live, too. This Trump Place apartment was pure Bad Boy. The old him, not who he needed to be now.
That reminded him—he was meeting someone from Making Your Move this evening. He was glad he’d deliberately scheduled the follow-up during the party; he had an excuse to duck out of the fun.
A movement by the door caught his attention. He glanced over, wondering idly whether the newcomer was a celebrity, a socialite or a puck bunny, and mentally braced himself to switch on the charm.
His attention caught and held.
The woman standing there clearly wasn’t a party guest. She wore little makeup and her dark brown hair was scraped back. A few curls had escaped to softly frame her face. Her neatly tailored brown outfit draped nicely over her curves, but there wasn’t an inch of skin visible from midcalf to neck. Even her toes were covered.
Instead of turning him off, she had him wondering if those shapely calves meant her legs were gorgeous all the way up. Did she paint her toenails fire-engine red or shell pink? How much smooth, creamy skin would be revealed if he undid one of those large jacket buttons?
Unexpected heat flashed through Jake.
This was crazy. He was surrounded by the most beautiful women in New York, yet his body chose to spring to attention at Miss Prim and Proper?
Pull yourself together, Badoletti. He shook his head to clear it.
“Is something wrong, Bad Boy?” A model in a hot-pink crop top, which emphasized both her tan and her jutting shoulder and pelvic bones, touched his arm.
Fighting the urge to brush off her hand, he shook his head again. “Excuse me. There’s someone I need to see.”
She followed his gaze. “Sure,” she said, flicking a dismissive glance at the woman in brown before sauntering away with a deliberate swing to her hips.
As Jake walked across the room, Tru appeared beside the intriguing newcomer.
“Hey, bro, this is Tracy’s sister, Maggie.” Curiosity gleamed in his green eyes. “Apparently, you have a meeting.”
“We do.” Jake grinned. “Thanks for coming, Maggie. Hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all.” She shook his hand.
Her accent made her sound cool and polite. Yet the instant their fingers touched, tiny sparks of heat danced across his skin. Desire speared through him, even as she pulled her hand away.
“Don’t keep her working too long. This is a party.” Tru laid his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Hope to see you again very soon.”
“Thank you for your help.”
Her soft smile at his friend as he left caused Jake’s stomach to tighten.
“Let’s find somewhere quieter to talk,” he suggested, motioning for her to precede him out of the master suite.
“All right.”
Maggie’s expression was stony as they walked down the hall, past several laughing, tipsy couples, toward the spare room he’d commandeered as an office. He was surprised by her stiff attitude until he noticed the wariness in her chocolate-brown eyes.
Realization dawned. She thought he wanted to turn their meeting into a private party.
Disappointment twinged. It was his own damn fault. He’d spent too long living up to his image and courting publicity, relishing every column inch and glossy photo.
That would all change after today. And she was here to help.
Jake reached past her to fling open the door. She flinched when it banged against the wall. Jeez, the woman was uptight.
“I’m sorry for the mess.” He gathered up folders from the marble-topped coffee table and tossed them into a box. “There’s so much paperwork associated with a transfer.”
Maggie scanned the room, then joined him. A hint of her light, fresh fragrance teased his nose as she handed him some files.
“I’ve seen worse. Besides, the boxes help distract you from the—” she waved a hand to indicate the purple-and-gold-flocked wallpaper, the matching curtains and gold-leaf-encrusted furniture “—unusual decorating style.” Her lips twitched.
So Miss Buttoned-Up had a sense of humor.
“Yeah, it’s kinda over-the-top.” He grinned, feeling a kick of pleasure at her answering half smile. “The owner’s a young basketball phenom who’s moving to Miami. He didn’t want to give up his apartment and it suited me to rent from him.”
Maggie pulled a folder and pen from her briefcase. “We should get started. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”
He didn’t bother to correct her assumption that he wanted to return to the party.
“Grab a seat.” He shifted some boxes from a pair of purple-and-gold silk-covered armchairs.
As she sat, Maggie’s hem hitched higher, momentarily displaying more smooth leg. She quickly straightened her skirt so it covered her knees once more.
The tantalizing glimpse sent a spike of heat through Jake. He brushed it off, annoyed. He wasn’t some long-haired dude in those romance novels his mom read, who got turned on by a nice ankle. Then why did his body tighten uncomfortably as he watched her undo those big buttons on her jacket to reveal a demure neckline? He’d been right about the creamy skin.
Focus.
Maggie put on black-framed glasses. They should have made her look worse, but they actually made her look cute. He imagined her removing them and letting down her hair like in those old movies.
Concentrate, damn it.
She turned her earnest gaze on him. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?”
Her businesslike tone should have doused the crazy feelings. But his traitorous body found another meaning to the innocent question, responding in a way that would have shocked her down to her covered toes.
Jake