“I like it, the red light gives it that bordello appeal.”
Claire pursed her lips at Jason’s comment. “Oh, please. There’s nothing sexy about a darkroom.” She searched for her supplies. “I hate it when I can’t find a thing.”
“Wanna bet?” Jason came up behind her.
“That I can’t find anything?” She arched her neck to scan a high shelf.
His hand came around, touching her chin. He gently turned her head sideways, then eased her body around to face him. “I meant about this place being sexy.” He stepped closer and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“I see what you mean,” she said when the kiss was over. She tried to think of something else to say but couldn’t, instead, she leaned into him and kissed him deeply.
He lifted her onto the countertop and worked a hand beneath her shirt. “This bra is just killing me.”
It was her turn and she ran her fingers around his neck, then into his thick dark hair. “Well, I’m sure we can figure a way to put you out of your suffering.”
Dear Reader,
Being raised in upstate New York, I spent many a cold winter evening at an ice rink watching the best college hockey players. As a kid, I used to fantasize about being called down from the stands to don my skates and score the winning goal for the home team. Well, I grew up and so did my fantasies. I began to wonder who those superior athletes really were. And even more to the point, what did they look like without all the pads and equipment? With Jason Doyle, star player for the New York Blades, I got to create my own answers. And who better to find out the intimate details than a wisecracking, independent photographer. Claire Marsden’s trotted around the world more than a few times, but she’s never come across the likes of Jason!
As a new member of the Temptation family, I am delighted to join the ranks of such talented storytellers and writers. Over the years, I have been an avid reader of romance fiction, and I know of no other literary genre as consistently satisfying and well written. And to me, nothing spices up a romance as much as two quick-witted protagonists who can verbally spar—in and out of bed. A sense of humor can truly be the most effective form of foreplay.
Hope you enjoy reading Jason and Claire’s story—either in or out of bed!
All the best,
Tracy Kelleher
Everybody’s Hero
Tracy Kelleher
To Peter and James,
two great guys.
Contents
1
IT WAS OVER a jelly donut that Claire Marsden found the man of her dreams.
For her best friend, Trish, that is. Trish, who in high school was known as Patti with an “i.”
Of course, high school had been a time of pastel turtlenecks and friendship bracelets. Now Trish was more into skimpy black knits and chunky quartz jewelry, and names ending with an “i” were definitely déclassé.
But Claire, being Claire, was not about to let her friend’s sophisticated transformation pass unnoticed. Whenever she felt Trish was acting a bit uppity, she referred to her as “The Magazine Editor Formerly Known as Patti.” A statement that was both annoying and true. And now that they were working together, Claire had ample opportunity to razz her friend.
Still, right now, Trish’s morphing persona was the last thing on Claire’s mind. In fact, she realized, it was hard to have anything on her mind, when in front of her appeared a vision of male glory that would tongue-tie even the most jaded Hollywood leading lady—with or without changing names.
Claire only hoped her cerebral shutdown was temporary. Because if she really wanted to be honest about her feelings, Jason Doyle could easily be the man of her own dreams.
After all, how many men pull up in front of Madison Square Garden in New York City on a fire-engine-red Italian motorcycle, on time no less? But then, honesty about her own feelings was not something Claire analyzed with any great depth.
For now, she’d just enjoy the show. And thank the gods for delivering her next assignment, who, Claire was convinced, would be the perfect solution to Trish’s current problems—and dreams.
Jason Doyle was also the answer to the professional hockey league’s dreams. All two hundred and ten, well-proportioned pounds of him. Recently traded to the New York Blades, his aggressive style and league-leading scoring appealed to men. The women weren’t immune, either, what with his devilish smile and sexy comma-shaped scar that cupped the outside corner of his right eye. The combination made him look as if he was slyly winking at some inside joke, which only he and that certain female understood. Naturally, any woman who’d ever applied lip gloss imagined herself to be that certain one.
Until now Jason had limited his commercial—and bodily exposure—to a few tasteful endorsements and a calendar to support research for children’s causes. Funny how those backlighted shots of his well-oiled biceps had landed in more than a few tabloids. Or maybe not so funny, Claire reflected as she took in the way his black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders.
Being a self-proclaimed cynic should have made her intrinsically immune to Jason’s easy charm and over-thetop brand of maleness. But her cynicism appeared to have gone temporarily AWOL, especially when Jason pulled off his helmet and whipped off his mirrored sunglasses as easily as spreading cream cheese on a warm bagel. Only a fool could ignore the way her stomach did a major flip-flop, and Claire’s daddy hadn’t raised a fool. Jason Doyle was every bit as scrumptious; and twice as dangerous as in his photos.
Claire stiffened. That danger, coupled with that mega-powered motorcycle, signaled a personality that enjoyed living on the edge. She had