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Her Man Advantage
Joanne Rock
Full-body contact never felt this good…By rights, they should have hated each other. Filmmaker Jennifer Hunter doesn’t want to make a hockey documentary any more than hockey defenceman Axel Rankin wants to star in one. But neither of them anticipated the molten rush of pure lust, and they can’t help but give in, on and off camera….The last thing Axel needs is a camera shoved in his face, probing into life and his rocky past. Especially if the woman calling the shots is a mouthy, assertive, drop-dead sexy redhead —who makes him want to do things that definitely require an adults-only rating! His favourite game just got a whole new set of rules….
“I tried to avoid this,” Axel reminded her.
“I … um.” Jennifer wrestled the urge to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him breathless. “Maybe avoidance was a smarter policy than I gave it credit for.”
“You called. I came.” He stepped closer, backing her neatly into the wall.
She swallowed hard. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s best for me,” she managed to say.
He reached out and skimmed his fingers beneath her hair to encircle the back of her neck, one thumb resting on the pulse point at the base of her throat.
“Axel,” she murmured, her sensitive skin registering every callus.
“Mmm?” He never paused the seductive caress.
Jen tried to reminder herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t be fraternising with someone she’d be filming. “This may be a bad idea,” she warned, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.
“There’s no maybe about it.” He lowered his head and inhaled a deep breath. “This will only lead to complications.”
And then his mouth descended on hers. Axel filled her senses from the minty stroke of his tongue to the silky slide of his lower lip along her mouth. And she realised that bad idea or not, she was in for one wild ride!
Dear Reader,
Hockey players amaze me. Their season is long, their sport can be brutal, and they play multiple games per week—unlike the sweet schedule of the guys over in the NFL. Best of all, you never see them beating their chests and carrying on about their prowess in post-game interviews. They work hard and get the job done without a lot of fuss.
That’s one of many reasons I couldn’t wait to write about hockey players. I also like the strong camaraderie of hockey clubs who, like baseball teams, spend a lot of time together on the road. There is a real brotherhood forged in that long season.
In the case of Axel Rankin and Kyle Murphy, that brotherhood is even stronger, since Axel was fostered by Kyle’s family during his teenage years. He made a great addition to the Murphy family with his fierce competitive streak. And while he’d like to think he’s put his past to rest and is ready to move on with his life, the arrival of filmmaker Jennifer Hunter makes that impossible. The trouble is, he can’t let her go no matter what the cost …
Happy reading,
Joanne Rock
About the Author
The mother of three sports-minded sons, JOANNE ROCK has found her primary occupation to be carting kids to practices and cheering on their athletic prowess at any number of sporting events. In the windows of time between football games, she loves to write and cheer on happily-ever-afters. A three-time RITA
Award nominee, Joanne is an author of more than fifty books for a variety of series. She has been an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee and multiple Reviewers’ Choice finalist. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-six countries and translated into nineteen languages. Over two million copies of her books are in print. For more information on Joanne’s books, visit www.joannerock.com.
Her Man
Advantage
Joanne Rock
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the readers who take time to write e-mails, stop
by my blogs and chat with me on Facebook. You
can’t imagine how much your words uplift me!
Thank you for your support.
1
“I’M NOT SIGNING THE WAIVER.” Hockey defenseman Axel Rankin placed the sheet of paper on the desk of the Philadelphia Phantoms’ head coach, Nico Cesare, hoping like hell his refusal wouldn’t be a big deal. He couldn’t be a part of the TV documentary series that would follow his team over the next month. “There are enough guys on the team to film. Besides, I’m the defensive goon, not some big headliner.”
The native Finn kept the real reason to himself. Axel couldn’t afford to have his personal life broadcast to the world, the details of his day-to-day in the U.S. available to old enemies back in Finland. He’d worked too hard to put that past behind him. Having a camera crew follow Phantoms players around day and night would only resurrect old problems.
“Bowing out is not an option.” The coach, a former goalie and one hell of a leader, passed the waiver back to Axel, not even looking up from a competing club’s roster filled with margin notes. “The league needs the publicity and the Phantoms need the exposure. The dictate from corporate is that everyone participates.”
Win as a team, lose as a team. Axel had been hearing the same mandate since arriving in Philly on a trade six weeks ago. Cesare’s refusal to back off that policy had helped his hockey club earn a spot in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which would start next week, but that die-hard commitment would make it tough for Axel to cut loose from the group now.
Shit. He ground his teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead from the morning practice session where he’d gone hard from whistle to whistle.
“I’ve got personal reasons, Coach.” He hated to go there. Waving the “it’s personal” flag felt like a cop-out.
Cesare finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting Axel’s in the austere office decorated with pictures of his two kids and hot, blonde lawyer wife. Other than that, the space was like a computer geek’s ode to hockey, full of stats and charts, roster breakdowns of twenty different varieties.
“Then you’ll fit right in with the rest of us, Rankin.” He tossed his ballpoint onto the desk and threaded his hands together as he rested the palms on his head. “I’ve got two players who didn’t want to sign because they’re afraid their wives will get wind of their extracurricular activities on the road from watching the show. I have three guys who don’t want their kids referenced in any way, including me. I’ve got a superstitious player who thinks the cameras will mess up his game rituals. The documentary is shit. I get that. But we’re all doing it and we’re all signing.”
Axel heard the unspoken ultimatum. Sign now or you’re not a team player. Or worse—benched.
He hadn’t risen up out of a Helsinki ghetto to play on a championship-quality team only to be sidelined now. He’d have to find a way to protect his Stateside foster family from his past if—when—it came calling. Swallowing hard, he picked up the pen his coach had cast aside.
Carefully, he inked his Anglicized name on the appearance waiver, knowing damn well that Axel Rankin wasn’t far enough from Akseli Rankinen to fool anyone back home. He was sure his old motorcycle gang kept tabs on him. Waiting for the right moment to call in a favor or blackmail the hell out of him. He figured the only reason they’d waited this long was to ensure his net worth went up along with his newfound success.
“Good man,” Nico Cesare assured him, snagging the signed agreement before Axel changed his mind. “You did well in practice this morning. I’ve got you on the starting line tomorrow night.”
Hard-won praise from a notoriously tough critic. Too bad Axel’s gut was too full of lead to enjoy the props.
“I won’t let you down,” he promised, always willing to sacrifice his body to the game. Hockey had helped haul his ass out of the crap life he’d had back home, so he gave it one hundred percent in return.
He just hoped the filmmaking didn’t steal his focus, because now he’d have a whole lot more to think about than lofting the Stanley Cup over his head. Stalking toward the exit, Axel planned to head home and make a few inquiries right away. But as he pulled open the heavy glass-and-steel door, his coach called to him.
“Axel?”
Turning, he paused with one foot out in the hall.
“Yeah?”
“The film crew arrived this afternoon.” The coach’s level gaze gave away nothing. “The director wants to start meeting the team members as soon as possible. You could give it the old stick in the eye and just get it over with. She’s set up camp in the conference room.”
“She?” Axel tried to weigh what that meant. “We’re being followed night and day by a chick?”
He wasn’t some backwoods misogynist or anything, but then again, he wasn’t a fan of females in the locker room. And hey, to be fair, he wouldn’t have taken up journalism and expected free access to the ladies’ showers if he was following a women’s sport. If he had, maybe he would have been in a whole different career field.
“Her name is Jennifer Hunter. And she looked female to me.” The coach grinned, the expression increasing the twist of his nose in a face that could only have belonged to a hockey player. “The good news is, I got the impression she really doesn’t want to be here any more than we want a New York filmmaker in our business. So who knows, maybe she’ll turn in a lame, half-baked assignment and we’ll all get off easy.”
It was the first bit of good news Axel had received since hearing about the monthlong documentary special.
“I could do some reconnaissance and see what I can find out. In fact, maybe I could go meet her right now.” He’d do it before he hit the showers. The smell of unwashed hockey equipment alone could send grown men to their knees. What woman would be able to stand the stench inside an enclosed space like the conference room?
“You’re going to make a hell of a first impression, Rankin.” Thankfully, the coach didn’t seem too upset about that.
Which reaffirmed the message—win as a team, lose as a team.
Sometimes, the role of a hockey defenseman was to throw down the gloves and pick the fight to protect his teammates. Axel’s responsibility wasn’t all that different now. He’d find out a little more about Jennifer Hunter and see why she didn’t want to be here. Then he’d make sure she remembered those reasons daily until she packed her camera and left.
That was plan B, and he liked it as a backup. But right now, he’d go with his A game. Charming the socks off the film director by introducing her to the fragrant reality of life in the locker room….
2
“WHERE THE HELL IS THE director lady who’s supposed to be in the conference room?”
Filmmaker Jennifer Hunter hid a smile as she eavesdropped on the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound human bullhorn clanging around the hallways of the Phantoms’ practice rink in ice skates with a pair of rubber guards on the blades.
The player searching for her had been hammering on the conference room door for two minutes before he started stomping toward the administration offices, his sweaty face glowering. He seemed to have cornered a trainer to demand Jennifer’s whereabouts. She—the missing director in question—simply folded her arms on the cold steel railing that circled the practice rink, feeling no great need to identify herself to some self-important player who hadn’t even seen fit to pull off his helmet before introducing himself.
Besides, from the ominous tone in the behemoth’s voice, she guessed the player wasn’t any more enthused about meeting her than she’d been about meeting him. Them. Anyone on the Phantoms’ hockey team.
Because, as an activist for social change through her art, Jennifer didn’t think affluent athletes were going to make for interesting subjects.
“I’m not sure, Axel,” replied the young trainer in matching blue-and-white sweats bearing the team’s logo. He flung a clean towel over the player’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “I’ll go find out. If you want to hit the showers, I can have an answer by the time you’re on the massage table.”
Tucked behind a post supporting the high, Plexiglas roof that allowed light to flood the rink, Jennifer wasn’t surprised the athletes had celebrity services at their fingertips. It did surprise her that the thick-shouldered player wearing jersey number sixty-eight shrugged aside the offer.
“That’s okay, Ken,” the other man responded, his deep voice matching the fierce expression on his angular face. Thick, dark stubble didn’t hide one heavily scarred cheek. His accent made her want to listen to him speak for a long time so she could trace the cadences and vowel sounds. “I’ll go ask Nico … Oh, there he is now.”
Crap. Jennifer tore her gaze away from the he-man hunky player as the head coach emerged from an office nearby. Not wanting to be drawn out of hiding like a skulking teen since this was an important assignment even if she resented it, Jennifer strode boldly toward the group. She kept her eye on Nico Cesare instead of disgruntled number sixty-eight. The trainer excused himself, leaving her with the looming player and his coach.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m making myself comfortable around the rink, Coach.” Smiling, she adjusted a camera strap on her shoulder as if to suggest she’d been busy taking pictures. “You’ve got an impressive facility here.”
As she neared the men, she gained some perspective on their size. Nico Cesare had been seated when she’d been shown into his office, but now he stood beside his player and she could see he’d probably played the game at one time if his height was any indication. The other man—Axel, the trainer had called him—was positively mammoth. Even without the skates he must be at least six-foot-five. His chest was broad enough that she could have lain on him like a bed and had room to roll around.
An odd image considering the moment. Thankfully, she was saved from developing that thought any further as the scent of pungent male sweat assailed her nostrils. The whole rink smelled of hockey equipment, in fact. She’d seen the massive fans in the locker areas that circulated fresh air, but she’d guess no amount of wind power would freshen up a place built on undiluted testosterone.
“I would have given you a tour if I’d known you wanted to see the place right away, Ms. Hunter,” the coach returned coolly. “I’ve got some business to take care of, but at least let me introduce our best defenseman, Akseli Rankinen, a Finnish import we know around here as Axel Rankin. Axel, this is Jennifer Hunter, who will be a fixture around the team for the next month to film a documentary series.”
The coach excused himself, leaving her alone with Axel. Hello, awkward moment. What did a woman do when faced with the man who’d caught her hiding from him? She straightened her shoulders, determined to brazen her way through it. She might not be thrilled about her first commercial project, but if she ever wanted a bigger budget for the meatier social documentaries she enjoyed, she needed to do well here.
“A pleasure to meet you, Jennifer.” The defenseman reached for her hand, an odd smile on his face considering he must know she’d been dodging him earlier. He’d seemed so irritated before when he couldn’t find her.
But as he leaned in closer for the customary greeting, the sweaty musk of his workout hit her. Damn near choked her.
Then, her eyes watering as she shook his hand, she suddenly understood why he seemed so damn pleased to meet her. His sea-blue gaze twinkled with the sadistic urge to kill her with sweat-stink.
All the more reason not to let him see her flinch.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rankin,” she returned, squeezing his fingers harder in frustration, not that he seemed to notice. He probably had extra muscles there, too. “I’ve been eager to meet all the players so I can get an idea of potential story lines for the series.”
He released her hand in a hurry.
“Story lines?” An unmistakable scowl crossed Axel’s face and she knew a moment’s gratitude she wasn’t facing this man as an opponent out on the ice.
“Yes. I’ll want to see which player is struggling to stay on the team and which one is battling problems at home.” She clicked through some of the more basic narratives that came to mind in a piece where ratings mattered. “I’ll need to see who will make a good candidate for a love interest—”
“Love interest?” Axel Rankin’s color warmed up a shade as his deep voice pitched even lower. The tone was more like a strangled whisper.
And yes, she took a bit of sadistic pleasure of her own in his obvious discomfort since Axel had assaulted her nostrils with deadly intent.
“Yes.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, warming up to the job. “Perhaps you have a girlfriend who wouldn’t mind a little extra screen time?”
Axel’s mouth flattened into a straight line, his face devoid of expression. As if she’d hit a nerve he wouldn’t admit. She could be reading into it, of course, but in her field of work she’d gotten adept at coaching nonprofessional actors into evoking a mood on camera. The nuances of body language were well-known to her.
And somehow, she’d upset the hulking defenseman who’d probably sent opponents to the E.R.
“I don’t think so, Ms. Hunter.” He straightened, his Finnish accent all the more pronounced when he spoke formally. “In fact, I don’t think a player’s private life should be open for viewing in a documentary that’s supposed to be about a sport.”
When he moved past her as if to end their conversation, she realized she needed to mend fences. Coming into the Phantoms’ rink with a chip on her shoulder about the project had been a bad idea. As frustrated as she might be about this series, she didn’t want to alienate all the players before she even began shooting. She had to make a successful series in order to clear the way for what she really wanted to create—a documentary about the way girls used social media to ostracize those they rejected socially. Bullying didn’t begin to describe how mean-girl culture could stomp out an innocent enemy the way Jennifer’s sister, Julia, had been made an outcast by the girls in her school.
And Jennifer had been born with a need to fix problems when she encountered them, a compulsion increased by her single mother’s complete lack of parenting. Jen hadn’t minded raising herself while her mother worked two jobs and returned to college. But she’d been irritated on her younger sister’s behalf when her mother hadn’t stepped up for Julia, either. Their father hadn’t been a factor, coming around every few years to borrow a few bucks from their mom.
“Of course, you’re right.” She reached for Axel’s forearm. “Some people—believe it or not—jump at the chance to land their friends and family on camera. If you’d rather not, that’s fine.”
Pausing, he planted his hockey stick on the industrial carpet and seemed to reassess her.
He was a striking man. Not traditionally handsome with that U-shaped scar on his cheek and the stark, angular features softened only by those blue eyes. But the imposing strength of him would give any woman a thrill. Even without the hockey pads, he would be an impressive size.
Her cheeks heated at where her mind went after that, a girly blush that probably hadn’t happened to her since high school. And Axel Rankin couldn’t have possibly missed it, his eyes roaming over her … lingering here and there for the scenic tour before meeting her gaze again.
“But you’ll still be looking for story lines.” The blue stare turned darker. Stormier.
And for reasons she couldn’t fully fathom, she didn’t want to tick him off any more. If only for the sake of the show, she felt called to make nice with him.
“That’s part of the job,” she admitted. “If all I did was show your team playing hockey, I wouldn’t have anything different than a game broadcast. My work will let fans get to know you on a more personal level.”
She would find a way to reveal the deeper story behind the game. She’d received critical acclaim in her first two years as a full-fledged director for a small film company. But she had yet to produce anything that made money and her higher-ups insisted she make a more marketable film before she got the green light for the project dear to her heart.
“That wasn’t in the job description.” He lifted the hockey stick and thudded the end on the carpet once, twice, three times.
“And choking to death in noxious locker rooms wasn’t in mine, either, but here I am.” She reached for his stick and, leaving it in his hands, she copied his action of tapping it on the floor to punctuate her words. Once, twice, three times. Then she let go. “We might as well make the best of it.”
One dark eyebrow lifted.
