Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

Oh, he was every ounce the perfection I’d heard of.

Handsome and perfect.

And not even a flicker of desire. Not that he was offering, but I couldn’t help but notice the absence of want.

Connor had laid claim to every inch of me—the debate was over. I was an absolute goner for him if a British accent and killer smile was lost on me.

“You travel so often,” I said, but posed it as a question. “Last I read you were in Paris?” I searched my memory. “Visiting a boy who was recently diagnosed with a rare blood disease…”

“Either you have an excellent memory,” he said. “Or you’re fishing.”

“Can’t it be both?” I admitted. “I admire your presence and work in charities and third world countries and beyond. You never seem to discriminate when it comes to helping—you go where you feel you could do the most good. I think that is beyond honorable and, if I’m so bold to say, newsworthy.”

He pursed his lips, surprise coloring his sky-blue eyes, and then tapped his drink against mine. “No one has ever said that to me before,” he said. “Not from the press, anyway. Most ask me who I’m dating, or if I’m looking for someone. What I’m wearing or what I like to sleep in.”

“We’re not all interested in titillation,” I said. “Though it does sell.”

“What are you interested in, then, Ms. Harris?”

I sighed. “I’d love to see more stories like your good work in the headlines. More than whose heart you broke.”

He covered his chest like I’d punched him. “You wound me,” he teased. “I’ve never purposefully broken a heart, you know.”

“Does anyone?” I asked, knowing I’d never meant to ruin relationships like I tended to do. Never meant to jeopardize Crosby’s career when I had. And I definitely didn’t want to do anything to hurt Connor…but how could I ever protect against something I couldn’t see? It seemed a curse simply followed me around when it came to men, and now that I’d fallen for Connor it was only matter of time—

“Touché.” His words cut off my plummet down doubt-mountain, and I shook off the thoughts.

“So,” I said. “Who—”

“Am I dating?” He cut me off, laughing.

“No,” I said. “Who was the last person you helped?”

He arched a perfect brow at me. “What makes you think there has been anyone since the boy in Paris?”

“A hunch.” I tilted my head. “I don’t think you know how to sit still for too long, and you wrapped your last movie over a month ago and don’t start filming the next for another sixty days.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s my job.”

“Could you tell me so much about the rest of the guests here?” He motioned toward the crowd beyond and around us.

I nodded. “Not all,” I said. “But most.”

He surveyed me. “Those of us with certain aspirations.”

“Yes,” I said. “I have a type.” I laughed. “The do-gooder type.”

“I’m honored,” he said. “Two weeks ago.”

I raised my brows, turning on every mental fiber I possessed. “And?”

“A little girl who lost her family in the most recent hurricane,” he said, his shoulders sinking, the pain in his eyes real and more raw than I’d ever seen in any of his movies. “She’s five,” he said, and a sharp sting in my heart flared. Same age as Hannah. “Not only did she lose them and her home, she was battling an infection that had set in after nearly drowning.” He took another drink and cleared his throat like it had closed up. “We found her dog,” he said, a soft smile on his lips. “We honestly never expected to find it, not with the amount of water that had taken the home,” he continued. “But we found the beast, floating on an end table miles away.” He chuckled. “She was more excited to see him than me, and it was the best thing in the world.” He sighed. “I wished I could’ve brought her whole family back.”

Tears bit the backs of my eyes, but I forced my tongue to work. “Were you there as an activist for the hurricane relief or did you specifically go for her?”

“I was there as a volunteer,” he said. “Using my resources to help in whatever way I could. I have a pilot's license and a chopper and was able to get places some couldn’t.” He shrugged like anyone in his position would do the same thing. Sadly, that wasn’t always true. “My personal assistant—one of her main jobs is finding cases like the little girl’s. Anywhere and everywhere, and scheduling me to help whenever I can. But this one…” he pressed his lips into a line. “This one I just stumbled upon when I visited the overflowing hospital. I don’t think she even knew who I was,” he chuckled. “Just the man that brought back her beloved Sprinkles when no one else could.”

I swiped the traitorous tear off my cheek, and he flashed me an apologetic smile.

“Now look what I’ve done,” he said, offering me a napkin. “Gone and made us both mopey at a party.”

“No,” I said. “Not mopey. Amazed.” I nodded. “Thank you for telling me about her.”

God, my heart ached. I couldn’t imagine Hannah being in that position, and yet, her mother had left her at Connor’s doorstep with only a backpack and a note. She elected to leave when this girl’s parents were taken from her by a natural disaster. Sometimes, the world was a cruel and terrifying thing. Then, there were people like this man, and Connor, who brought light back into the darkest places.

He stood, setting his empty glass on the bar. Slipping his hand into his suit jacket, he pulled out a card and handed it to me. “Feel free to use the story,” he said. “If you’d like.”

I took the card, shocked at the generous offer.

“Not that I do those things for publicity,” he said, his brow furrowed as if he could possibly think I believed that.

“I know that,” I said. “And thank you.”

“I don’t normally do this,” he said. “But I find it rather refreshing to meet someone in the press who isn’t thirsty for blood.” He smiled and pointed at the card. “Use that number if you need to verify anything. I like your angle of spreading positive momentum throughout our industry.”

I couldn’t stop my grin. “Thank you,” I said again, and he gave me a little bow and sauntered into the crowd. Left me sitting at the bar, grinning like the fangirl I was, filled with hope that I was on the right path.

And now, I was armed with what I knew had to be a headline story.

Chapter 13

Connor

I smacked the alarm clock and debated throwing the damn thing across the room. Hannah and I had gotten home at two a.m. that morning, and I’d forgotten to turn the damn thing off my usually seven a.m. wake-up call. I’d gotten a little sleep on the flight from Nashville, but not nearly enough to feel human.

I would have rather skipped the team flight, flown back commercial, and let Hannah get a good night’s sleep, but she’d been adamant that we’d be here this morning. I just wished I known why.

I rolled over, my hand reaching for the pillow that unofficially belonged to Ivy. We’d been—hell, were we even labeled? Well, whatever it was, we’d been that for almost three weeks now, and I hated waking up without her, which was pretty much every day with our playoff schedule and Hannah only having sleepovers once in a while.

Ivy had become a hard, fast addiction, and I didn’t feel right about my day until I saw or heard from her. Since she hadn’t been able to travel to Nashville for the first two games of the third round of playoffs, it had been three days since I’d seen her, which just flat-out sucked.

My eyes drifted shut as exhaustion crept in.

“Uncle Connor,” Hannah stage-whispered.

I opened my eyes and found her leaning over me, staring.

Cue horror-movie-worthy heart attack.

I suppressed my reflex to shriek and blinked the sleep out of my eyes. Was she wearing a dress?

“Hey, Banana. Hungry?” I asked since that was usually her first order of busine

ss. Mine, too, so we matched pretty well.

“Yes,” she admitted, practically vibrating with excitement. “But I’ve already prepared. Just get dressed in something nice, and I’ll meet you downstairs!”

“I can do that,” I answered, sitting up.

She gave me a huge grin and flounced off, her dress swishing with each motion. It was that pretty, pink, frilly one she’d bought with Ivy a couple of weeks ago that made her look like a princess. For special occasions, Ivy had told me, assuring me that girls needed one. More than one, if possible.

My phone buzzed, and I reached for it, reading the text with a quick swipe.

Ivy: Hey, are you up? I just got the strangest text from Hannah’s iPad.

Connor: Hey yourself. Yeah, she just ordered me to dress up and come downstairs. What did your text say?

Ivy: It was emojis she sends when she wants her hair braided, lol.

I had to laugh at that. Hannah had become obsessed with every braid she could do that would match Ivy’s, even going so far as to watch youtube tutorials.

Connor: Ha! Why don’t you come over, and I’ll take my girls to breakfast?

Ivy: Is that how you say you’ve missed me?

Connor: My mouth would love to show you how much I’ve missed you.

Ivy: That’s some offer. I guess I can come over.

Connor: You’ll be “coming” alright. Just as soon as I can get you alone.

Ivy: OMG, you’re killing me. Ok, give me ten minutes. I’m already at the coffee shop.