“Getting a chance to play again.”
She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. “How are the knees?”
“One hundred percent,” he lied. His knees would never be what they had been before the injury. He’d have to live with the pain and worry as long as he played.
“I’ve read that when you started out in the junior league in Edmonton, you played center. What made you decide to become a goalie?”
Apparently she’d researched more than his sex life. For some reason, that didn’t irritate him like it used to. “I played center from about the age of five to twelve. Our team goalie quit midseason and the coach looked around and said, ‘Luc, get between the pipes. You’re goalie.’”
She laughed and seemed to relax a bit. “Really? You weren’t born with a burning desire to stop pucks with your head?”
He liked her laugh. It was sincere and shone from her green eyes. “No, but I got real good real fast so I wouldn’t get a concussion.”
She scribbled something on the notepad. “Did you ever think of going back to your former position?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Once I was in the net, I never wanted to leave. I never even thought about it.”
She looked back up at him. “Did you know that you say aboot instead of about?”
“Still? I’ve been working on that.”
“Don’t. I like it.”
And he liked her. A lot more than he knew was wise, but looking at her, with her shiny hair and pink lips, he suddenly didn’t care about being wise. “Then I guess I won’t work on it-eh?” he said like a true son of Edmonton.
A smile tugged at both corners of her mouth, and she turned her attention back to the notebook on her lap. “Some people have said that goalies are different from other players. That you are a whole different breed. Would you agree?”
“That’s probably true to a certain degree.” He leaned farther back into the sofa and rested his arm along the top. “We play a different game than the other players. Hockey is a team sport, except for the guy between the pipes. A goaltender plays much more one-on-one. And if we mess up, there’s no one to cover for us.”
“Lights don’t flash and the crowd doesn’t cheer when one gets by the wingers?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“How long does it take you to shake off a loss?”
“That depends on the loss. I review the game tape, figure out how to do it better next time, and am usually over it the next day.”
“What are your pregame rituals?”
He remained silent until she finally turned her head toward him, then he asked, “Besides you calling me a dodo?”
“I’m not printing that.”
“Hypocrite.”
She shrugged. “Sue me.”
There were several things he could see himself doing to her, but suing her wasn’t one of them. “I eat a lot of protein and iron the night before and the day of the game.”
“Retired goalie Glenn Hall was quoted as saying he hated every minute that he played. How do you feel about the position?”
Interesting question, he thought as he tilted his head and studied Jane. How did he feel about it? Sometimes he hated it as much as Hall had. Sometimes it was better than sex. “On the ice I am very focused and competitive. There is no greater feeling than when I’m in my zone, blocking shots and snagging pucks from midair. Yeah, I love what I do.”
She wrote something in the notebook, then flipped the page. She raised the pen and pressed it to her bottom lip, drawing Luc’s attention to her mouth.
There was something about Jane that intrigued him more than any woman he’d ever known. Something more than the contradictions between Jane the prude, and the Jane who kissed like a porn queen. Something that made him want to run his fingers through her shiny curls and hold her face in his palms. Luc had been with many beautiful women in his life, physically perfect women, but he’d always been in control of his desire. Except with Jane. Skinny little Jane, with her small breasts and wild curls and deep green eyes that could look through him and see that he was up to absolutely no good. Ever since the night of the banquet when he’d kissed her, he’d envisioned taking off her clothes and exploring her body with his hands and mouth. He’d tried to avoid her, and instead he’d come close to having sex with her against a parking garage wall. And his desire for her had only gotten stronger over the past few days.
Watching her now, with her soft skin and shiny hair, he wondered why he should avoid her at all. She was in his life. She wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he. They were both adults. If he ended up with his mouth on her breasts while buried deep in her warm wet body, well, there was absolutely nothing wrong with two adults giving each other pleasure. In fact, it was probably just what they both needed. He lowered his gaze to the front of her blouse and the thrust of her small breasts. He knew it was just what he needed.
The telephone next to Luc rang, interrupting his study of Jane’s breasts. He picked up the receiver, and it was Marie, telling him that she would be spending the night at Hanna’s. “Call me in the morning,” he said and hung up.
“Marie?”
“Yes. She’s staying at Hanna’s.”
Jane turned toward him, pulling one knee on the couch and leaning a shoulder into the cushion next to his hand. “Do you want to talk about Marie?”
“No. I wouldn’t want to say anything that would make her life any harder.”
“I think that’s wise.” She glanced at the notepad, then looked up at him again. “When you look into the future, where do you see yourself?”
Luc hated that question. He was just trying to survive the season without injury, and he didn’t like to think too far ahead. One play, one game, one season, that’s as far as he liked to look. “I figure I’ll have time to decide what to do with my life once I retire.”
“When do you think that will be?”
“I’m hoping I have at least five more years. Maybe more.”
“You are notorious for not giving interviews. Why are you so hesitant to talk with reporters?”
Luc brushed his fingers across her arm. “Because they usually ask the wrong questions.”
She watched his fingertips slide to her shoulder, and her lips parted on a soft breath. “What are the right questions?”
He placed his fingers beneath her chin and brought her gaze to his. “Ask me again why I don’t want you traveling with the team.”
“Why?”
He slid his thumb across her bottom lip. “Because you drive me insane.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
He reached for her tape recorder and shut it off. “I thought if I quit looking around for you, I would forget you. I thought if I avoided you, I could get you out of my head. But it didn’t work.” He took the pad of paper and pen from her hand and tossed them on the floor. Then he indulged himself and brushed his fingers through the soft curls at her temples. “I want you, Jane.” He leaned forward and held her face in his palms. He rested his forehead against hers, and to make sure she understood him completely, he added, “I want to strip you naked and kiss you all over.”
Her eyes widened. “Just last night you were really angry with me.”
“Mostly I was angry with myself because I’d made you feel like a groupie.” He brushed his mouth across hers. “I want you to know that I don’t think for one second that you’re a groupie. I know who you are, and despite my best attempts to ignore you, I can’t.”
He softly kissed her lips, then pulled back to look deep into her eyes. “I want to make love to you, and if you don’t stop me now, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”