Faith walked into the players’ lounge fifteen minutes after the game ended with Jules by her side. He wore a Chinooks T-shirt beneath a dark-blue suit jacket and a pair of jeans. He would have looked unusually subtle if the T-shirt hadn’t been two sizes too small.
“What did you think of the game?” a reporter asked as Faith walked into the room.
“I’m pleased, of course. But I’m not surprised.” She wore her new red leather jacket over her blue-and-red Chinooks T-shirt. “The team worked really hard to get here.”
“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”
She opened her mouth to answer and got out, “I don’t th—” when Ty walked out of the dressing room. Her brain froze and she lost track of all thought. He wore a pair of loose shorts around his hips and that was it. A few hours ago he’d worn even less. A few hours ago she’d touched all that smooth skin and hard muscles. A few hours ago his pants had been around his ankles and she’d had him in her mouth. She raised her gaze from the defined muscles and of his hairy chest to his face. His blue eyes stared into hers and he raised one brow.
“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”
Heat crept up her chest and she tore her gaze from Ty. “No.”
He’d made her feel so good that she fought the urge to sprint across the room and attach herself to him. She thought she’d feel regret for sleeping with the captain of her team. It was unacceptable and unprofessional, and she should feel regret. But she didn’t. At least not for the reasons she thought she should. What she felt mostly was a big lump of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Her husband had been dead for a month and a half, and last night she’d had wild, amazing sex with a man who’d made her feel things she’d never felt before. She’d been a stripper, a Playmate, and a rich man’s wife, but she’d never craved a man’s touch like she did Ty’s. Or had craved, rather. It was over, but for those few short hours while she’d been with Ty, she hadn’t thought of her dead husband. Not really, and not at all while he’d kissed and touched her. The man who’d given her a great life and provided for her in death had been the furthest thing from her mind.
The reporters asked her more questions about the game and the future of the team. More players poured out of the locker room. The excitement in the room was electric; it buzzed the air and elevated voices. Faith answered questions or gave ambiguous responses or deferred to Jules, who knew specifics, and through it all, she was completely aware of Ty.
The sound of his voice cut through the noise and a warm, tingling awareness brushed across her skin and tickled her stomach. Ty had given her that one thing Virgil had always wished he could give but hadn’t been able to. A connection that could only happen through physical intimacy. The passion her mother was always talking about. The one thing she hadn’t had with her husband. Something so much bigger than her ability to stop it. Something so all consuming it had swept her up and knocked her flat like a hot, black hurricane.
Her gaze moved across the room to Ty and the knot of reporters around him. Through the other voices in the room, she heard him say, “My quick transition from Vancouver has been very easy. Coach Nystrom knows how to inspire great hockey and the players all bring their best to every game.”
“Are you getting along better with the owner of the team?”
He lifted his gaze to Faith’s and one corner of his mouth lifted in an honest-to-God smile. “She’s okay.”
Faith’s heart felt like it lifted a little too. Right in her chest. Right there in the locker room in front of players and coaches and journalists.
“Although,” he added as he continued to look across at her, “I read in the paper this morning that she thinks I’m a control nut, and if I let go, I might not be so rude and surly all the time.”
“I didn’t say all the time,” she muttered.
“What?” Jim from the Seattle Times asked her. “What did you say, Mrs. Duffy?”
“That I didn’t say he was rude and surly all the time.”
One of the journalists laughed. “Savage is notoriously cranky. I’d like to know when he isn’t scowling.”
He watched her, still smiling like he was amused, waiting for her answer.
When he’s having sex, she thought to herself. He hadn’t been cranky or rude last night. He’d been wonderful and charming. He’d made her laugh and, incredible as it seemed, relax with him. Something she hadn’t done in a while with anyone, and he certainly wasn’t being surly tonight. “When he wins important games,” she answered.
“What is your strategy for Saturday night’s game in Detroit?” someone asked Ty.
He gave Faith one last look before he turned his attention to the man in front of him. “Hockey is a game of one-on-one battles. We just need to keep that in mind and win every battle.”
Faith turned to Jules. “Are you still going to be able to make the Chinooks Foundation meeting tomorrow?” she asked.
He gazed at her, then looked across the room at Ty. He opened his mouth, then closed it. A wrinkle appeared between his dark brows. “I hadn’t planned on it, but I can if you want me to,” he answered, but she had a feeling something was bothering him.
She shook her head and moved toward the door. “No. I can take my own notes.” As she stepped out into the hall, she couldn’t resist one last look at Ty, standing a head taller than the other men. She remembered every detail of the night before. His face in the dark solarium and the touch of his hands and mouth. She’d like to blame last night on Layla, but she couldn’t. Not if she was honest with herself. Last night had been all her. There’d been no teasing. No ulterior motive. No making a man want her when she just wanted his money. She couldn’t blame Layla for last night’s behavior. Not when Faith had been in complete control.
She turned away and headed toward the el evators. Last night had been all about giving in to what she wanted. About sitting in the Brooklyn Seafood Steak and Oyster House and letting Ty touch her under the table. Of putting her hand over his and taking it a step further. She’d done that. Not Layla. Not the wild, shameless person she’d created to hide behind. Last night had been about Faith letting go and being shameless all on her own.
On the drive home, she thought about her life since Virgil’s death. One moment she’d been living a nice, comfortable life. A life where her biggest decision on most days was what she was going to wear. That person, that Faith, would not have let go and moved a man’s big, warm hand to her crotch.
She pulled her Bentley into the parking garage and rode the elevator to the top floor. Her life had changed so much in such a short period of time. It had gone from a slow, easy pace to a whirlwind of meetings and activity. Her decisions had gone from what to wear to how much to pay a first-round draft pick for the next season. And while she had a lot of help with the latter decision, it was such a huge responsibility that she probably would have buckled under the pressure if she were ever allowed to stop and rest long enough to think about it.
She opened the door to the penthouse, and nothing but Pebbles’s yipping and the light in the kitchen greeted her. No “Sexual Healing” on the stereo or giggling from her mother’s room.
Faith moved through the kitchen and down the hall to her own bedroom. She took off her jacket and tossed it on a chair. She couldn’t recall the last time Virgil had stayed in the penthouse, but it had been so long ago that there was no trace of him anywhere. No clothes or ties. No shoes or combs. His toothbrush wasn’t in the marble tile bathroom.
The only thing that belonged to him was his copy of David Copperfield, which Faith had taken from the big house the day she’d left. She sat on the bed and turned on a lamp. Pebbles jumped up beside her as she took the book from the nightstand and ran her hand over the dark brown cover. She lifted it to her nose and smelled the old paper and worn leather. Virgil had always smelled like expensive cologne, but the book held no lingering trace of him.