years ago I saw a movie, don’t ask me the title because I have no clue, where the Hero was a hockey player who got hurt and he started dancing with a figure skater Heroine, and they fell in love. Now, this book is not like that but since that movie, I have a thing for meshing the world of hockey and figure skating–which are, by the way, my favorite things to do in winter (take a look at my FB profile to see how I put my 4 years old, Floridian boy on the rink. Despite his blonde surfer appearance, he did great!).
(Ps: plus, the guy on the cover looks a bit like Dierks Bentley, an occurrence I can totally live with.)
Let’s go back to today’s book.
One night left my heart shattered and my reputation ruined, and now my only hope is to transfer to another university far from home. Although I’m a champion figure skater and am used to succeeding, I can’t dump the burden of distrust and intimacy I’m carrying.
But when I literally crash into the cocky captain of the hockey team, sparks fly, and the attraction is as undeniable as it is unwanted.
No way is this arrogant hottie the one to help me move past my fears. Or is he…?
Overwhelmed with guilt and remorse, I can’t forget the tragic accident that killed my first love. To avoid ever feeling that kind of agonizing loss again, I vow to stick with one-night stands with every puck bunny who glides my way and focus on keeping my position on the hockey team.
But after I meet a feisty figure skater and am then thrown together with her as a lab partner, I find I want to melt the icy walls we’ve built around our hearts.
If we don’t strangle each other first.
The hockey player zips past me again. The wind of his speed sweeps across my face. As Bob said, this session is almost over, but I only wanted a few minutes to get the feel of the ice anyway. However, when I take the first stroke on the ice, this is not what I had in mind. The feel I was interested in wasn’t the one where my ass hits the frigid, unforgiving surface right in front of a pair of black hockey skates.
The skater slides to an abrupt halt to avoid running over me, his sharp blades spraying me with cold shavings. In my frantic state of synaptic overdrive, I forgot to remove my glittery purple skate guards.
“Yeah, those don’t work too well on the ice. You might want to remove them before trying to stroke.” I look up up up until I reach the face of the taunting skater.
Yowsa. His ice blue eyes shimmer like lasers right through the Plexiglas visor of his hockey helmet. Strands of sun-kissed streaked hair peek out from his helmet and frame cheekbones, which would be the envy of every Express model. Absurd. No one looks that good in a helmet.
Did he say something about stroking?
My naughty, sex starved mind drifts for a second to stroking other types of hard surfaces, the kind that could melt cold ice and my bones. Seems the blood has no problem reaching lower regions of my body now.
Right. Sworn off sex. Forever. Well, at least until I can let someone get that close again, if I ever can.
But when Hottie McHot wiggles his fingers and stretches his hand out a little further toward me, it’s like he has a front row seat to the opening night of my porno imagination. Although my ass has lost all sensation from its imminent fusion to the icy surface, I can feel the warm blush creeping up my neck and face.
When I’m not juggling work responsibilities and writing, I enjoy baking, knitting, traveling, hiking the beautiful hills and woods around my home and spending time with my family.
- $30 Amazon gift card