Several hours later, Faith stood on the small putting green in Ty’s media room, wearing nothing but his blue dress shirt and red toenail polish. Her blonde hair fell down her back and she looked stunning and beautiful, especially for a woman who’d already made love three times that night. The last in his spa tub while little bubbles of air brushed their skin in interesting places.
“I remember now why I hate golf.” She held his club in her hands and gave an irritated shrug of her shoulders as his dress shirt rode up her thighs.
She was every fantasy that he’d ever had of her. Only much more, because she was softer and hotter and better in bed. It had been hard enough to keep his hands to himself before he’d made love to her. In a few hours he was going to give her up, and he didn’t fool himself that it would be easy. Perhaps if he just saw her as Playmate. As great tits and ass, but he didn’t. Somehow in the past few weeks, he’d grown to like her. Quite a lot.
“My boobs get in the way.”
Ty stepped behind her. “Let me help you with that.” He slid his hand beneath her arms and cupped her breasts. The back of his dress shirt brushed his bare chest. “Now try.”
She laughed as she swung and the ball flew toward the net. The radar registered twenty-five. “That’s worse than last time. There’s no help. My boobs are too big.”
“You’re not too big.” Round and white with tight pink nipples that fit perfectly into his mouth. “You’re perfect.” He wore a pair of old Levi’s and she nestled her behind into him. Like she had at the solarium, when he’d had incredible sex with her against the glass, a million stars about her head and the Seattle skyline around her body. It was the wildest lay he’d ever had, and he’d had a lot of wild lays in his thirty-five years. “You just need a man with big hands.”
She chuckled and lined up another ball. “Okay, but no distractions.”
“I’ll behave.”
“I saw Caddy Shack. There’s no talking in golf.”
She swung back and he whispered next to her ear, “I want to eat your bald peach.” The club flew out of her hands and landed across the room.
She turned and looked up at him. “I thought you were going to behave.”
“I am.”
“There’s no talking while someone is swinging.”
“I was whispering. That’s allowed on some courses.” He pointed at the ground. “My putting green. My rules.”
“You didn’t mention any rules.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and looked up at him through her sparkling green eyes. “What are your other rules?”
“Women have to play naked.”
She tilted her head to one side and tried not to smile up at him. “How many women have played on your stupid little putting green?”
“I’m going to let the ‘stupid’ comment slide ’cause I like you.”
“How many women have had to get naked, Savage?”
“Just you.” He grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled her close. “You’re special.”
She slid her fingers up his arms to his shoulders and the diamonds on her wedding ring sparkled in the light. “What time is it?”
He wished she’d take the damn thing off. It sort of made him feel like he was doing a married woman. “Around three.”
“I better go. You have a practice and a hockey game to win tonight.”
“The practice isn’t for twelve hours.” He dropped his hands to her hips and he pulled the shirt up. “I have plenty of time to sleep and only about an hour left to have sex.” He patted her bare behind. “You need to get busy.”
She shook her head as she ran her fingers through the sides of his hair. “I don’t want to deplete all your strength. You’re going to need it against Detroit’s blue line.”
“I have untapped reserves. I’m like Superman. Just when I think I’m spent, I tap into it and kick ass and take names.”
She laughed like he was joking. “Well, I don’t want to jinx you. I know all you hockey players are superstitious.”
Ty wasn’t as superstitious as some of the guys. He just didn’t need any distractions. Detroit was going to bring their A-game, and he had to be ready. Physically and mentally. “Once I get my head in the game, I’m hard to knock off the puck,” he said as he pulled her against the front of his jeans.
She lifted a brow. “You’re hard again.”
“Watching you play golf turned me on.”
“Was it my brilliant backswing?”
“Your swing sucks.” He shook his head and lowered his face to hers. “It was your brilliant back side,” he said against the corner of her pouty mouth.
“When does your father usually get home?”
“He’s here by six. We have time.”
She ran her hand down his side, over his tattoo. “Did this hurt?”
He sucked in a breath as her palm slid to his belly. “Not as bad as a broken ankle.”
“You broke your ankle?” she asked as she placed little kisses along his jaw. “When?”
“2001. Third round, Game Two against the Devils.”
“What happened here?” She kissed his chin and slipped her hand down the front of his pants.
“I got hard watching you play golf.”
She laughed and wrapped her palm around the head of his dick. “I know that. I’m asking about your scar.”
That had happened so long ago, he never thought about it these days. “High stick. Claude Lemieux. 1998. Post-season game against Colorado. Twenty stitches.”
“Ouch.” She slid her mouth to the side of his throat as her free hand unbuttoned his pants. “I’ve never broken a bone or had stitches.” His pants slid from his hips and pooled about his bare feet. “Just have the one tattoo,” she said.
He’d noticed the Playboy bunny in the small of her back. “And it’s sexy as hell,” he managed as she sucked his neck.
“Virgil hated it.” She kissed her way across his shoulder and down his chest. “He didn’t want anyone to know about it. He said classy girls don’t get tattoos.”
“Virgil was old and didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”
She knelt in front of him and slipped her hand up and down his shaft. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she said as she looked up at him through her beautiful green eyes. “If it doesn’t feel good, tell me and I’ll stop.”
Jesus. She pressed her soft lips to the head of his cock and he about went off. “Yeah, I’ll be sure and do that.” After this, he should be good for a while. She’d be out of his system, he thought as she took him into her hot, wet mouth. He ran his finger in her hair as she moved. Yeah, getting off four times in one night should last him for some time. Then she moaned, a sweet little sound that vibrated her throat and he gave up thinking at all.
Chapter 14
Giant billboards of a towering Faith and Ty hung about the city of Seattle and dominated the front of the Key Arena. Beneath the shot of the owner standing in front of the team captain, the words simply said, CHINOOKS HOCKEY. GET HOOKED. To Bo’s utter disappointment and Jules’s unabashed pleasure, there was no mention of beauty and savages and no appearance of nuts-stomping at all.
In the days leading up to the game, excitement buzzed the city, and that Thursday evening the Key was packed for Game One in the semifinal against the Detroit Red Wings. From the drop of the first puck, everything went Seattle’s way. The team scored two goals in the first frame. In the second period, the Detroit offense rallied with one goal and held the Chinooks at 2–1 going into the third set. For fifteen minutes each team defended their goals, passing the puck from coast to coast without a clear shot at the crease. With five minutes left, Ty passed the puck across ice to the Sniper, Frankie Kawczynski, who made a shot through traffic. Goalie Chris Osgood got a tip of his glove on it as it sailed behind him into the net, and the Chinooks sewed up the first game 3–1.