The Girl with Hearts
Savannah Blevins
The Girl with Hearts
Copyright © 2015 by Savannah Blevins.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: November 2015
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-340-3
ISBN-10: 1-68058-340-9
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
HENRIK’S VISITOR
Custom tailored suit.
Check.
Flawless, panty dropping five o’clock shadow.
Henrik ran his thumb down the hard line of his chin and smirked to himself.
Check.
The ladies in Newark were in for a treat tonight. Usually, he just crashed after games—part of the constant refueling process required of a professional hockey player. As the newly appointed captain, it was his job to set a positive example for the guys now. Every win counted in their eighty-two game season, and discipline was key.
At least that was the sermon his coach continued to preach at him.
Responsibility. Teamwork. Blah. Blah. Ugh.
However, tonight was the season opener, and they’d won decisively against their bitter rivals, the New Jersey Devils. In celebration—because he always looked for a good excuse to celebrate—he planned to ignore the advice of his coach in order to get shit-faced and make good use of his second greatest talent. He’d be lectured for it tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be the first time he showed up for practice hung over and satisfied.
He slipped his wallet into his back pocket and paused at the mirror for final inspection. Admittedly impressed, he straightened the collar of his navy sports coat. He’d cropped his signature Swedish blond locks short enough to tuck behind his ears. It was his beginning of the season ritual, and it made his blue eyes pop in contrast. That’s what the caramel-haired beauty he’d entertained during his pregame interview had told him, anyway.
After effectively admiring himself from every angle, he had no choice but to agree with her. Humility had never been his strong suit. In his opinion, he’d finally achieved perfection. Except when he turned his cheek, his eyes narrowed, focusing on the tiny, puckering cut at the corner of his lip. His teeth snapped together.
Derek Deroty would pay for his intentional attempt to take him out of the game tonight. He might have to wait a couple months until their next scheduled slaughtering, but the bastard would eventually get what was coming to him.
A high stick to the nose, or maybe he’d finally just drop gloves with the prick.
For now, he’d just accept it as a battle wound. The girls would love it.
A light but persistent knock broke the silence. He immediately rolled his eyes, turning away from the mirror. Austin forgot his keycard. Again. He’d forget the days of the week if Henrik weren’t around to kick his ass in gear every morning.
He searched the counters, but found nothing as he made his way over to the door. It was probably in his gym bag. He bent down to laugh at his best friend through the peephole when—
“Fuck.”
It was a woman.
His head fell against the door as he held back the groan that wanted to follow the mumbling. Why were women so intent on taking all the fun out of the hunt? He at least wanted to have a few drinks first, swap some stories with his teammates who would be mingling among the crowd, and then, as the night drew to a close, he’d start his pursuit. Showing up at his door was equivalent to throwing prepackaged meat to a caged tiger.
He jerked the door open, prepared to shoo away his visitor like a stray pigeon before making a beeline for the elevator, but then she turned.
“Henrik.”
Vibrant green eyes shined up at him, a familiarity he hadn’t expected to find.
“Leila?” He choked out the word, his hand grasping the door handle like a life preserver. He blinked twice, attempting to convince himself that the disheveled hot mess in front of him was real.
Leila tugged harshly at a strand of her auburn waves spraying across her bare shoulders and down her back. Her normally flawless, porcelain skin was flushed, and he recognized the volatile glint in her eyes. She wasn’t just pissed. Leila Blakely was on the fuck off side of irate.
It was definitely real.
He straightened his shoulders, and then tested his voice before he spoke. “What the hell do you want, Blakely?”
What did she expect from him? Her scumbag boyfriend had taken a cheap shot at him no more than two hours ago. He still had a little built up aggression brewing inside of him too. She wasn’t there to apologize on Derek’s behalf, he knew that. Sympathy wasn’t part of the Blakely genetic code. He knew that fact firsthand, because his best friend, who knocked heads together for a living, happened to be her older brother.
“Invite me inside,” she instructed, tucking the wisp of hair behind her ear before running those long, delicate fingers down her throat.
The gesture almost distracted him, but the sound of her voice set his nerves on edge. Only an idiot would be fooled by the glistening threat of tears in her eyes. He wasn’t about to be lured by the lamb to the wolf’s den. Leila projected an image of sophistication and innocence, but it was all a show. The hologram in front of him was a shell hiding the reality he knew all too well.
The real Leila wore Converse and ratty hockey shirts. She cursed like a sailor on shore leave, and she was tougher than half the men he knew. Her façade melted away as her temper started to hit its peak. So, after all these years, Leila finally wanted to talk to him.
Too bad he didn’t give a fuck.
“I’m actually headed out for the night,” he said, looking past her toward the elevator. He wanted a drink and a sexy woman writhing underneath him later. He deserved it. He’d worked non-stop the past eight weeks, performing two-a-days in preparation for the season. All he wanted was one last night out.
No hockey. No commercials. No interviews.
Just good ol’ fashioned dirty fun.
Leila rolled her eyes at him, though, and pushed past him into the room.
“Excuse you?” He was angered by her bold move, but most of all, annoyed that he couldn’t stop himself from watching the way the hem of her dress swayed against her thighs.
How could it be so short without revealing something?
“I require your assistance,” she said flatly, her chin set. “Shut the damn door.”