Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

After he’d started the engine, he said, “Okay, where to? Back to your work, or did I quell the creep factor enough to let me drop you at home?”

“Home.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “I’m finally doing something right.”

She put her address into her phone and turned on navigation so she could relax and soak him in. With Siri guiding Beckett to her house, Eden reached across the console and combed her fingers through his hair at his temple. Suddenly, there was so much she wanted to know about him, she didn’t know where to start. She thought about the family he was so close to and the team that considered him their center. She thought about what Faith had said about the group taking her in and becoming her family. And, though Eden had never regretted walking away from her own family in the last two years, her intimate view of Beckett’s tight-knit life made her feel lonely.

“You’re lucky.” The words floated out, melancholy. “You’ve created a really amazing life for yourself.”

“I feel incredibly lucky, but it’s not just the life I built. It’s more like the life everyone helped me build. Sometimes I think it takes a village to create an NHL player.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an enormous commitment,” he said, his voice heavy with the burden. “In the beginning, it was my parents hauling me to the rink every day, traveling with me on weekends and during the summer. Once I showed promise, there were special coaches and camps and equipment, which cost a hell of a lot of money. There’s a sacrifice your siblings make in their lives and your parents make in their marriage and careers because they’re pushing you along this path. There are medical bills, long waits in the ER, occasional hospital stays. That’s all before I went pro.”

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “I only spent a year in the minors before I got picked up by the Rough Riders. Now I have a freaking community of professionals that keeps me moving forward. On the hockey side, I’ve got coaches and trainers and sports psychologists, always there, always pushing, always honing. I’ve got the people who hold everything together for me so I can focus on the game—equipment managers, physicians, physical therapists, nutritionists, travel coordinators.”

“Jeez.” This opened up a whole new window into his life.

“And then there’s the personal side,” he went on. “To keep me organized and together on that end, I’ve got an agent, a business manager, a financial planner, an accountant. I’ve got a housekeeper, who often doubles as a cook and leaves me healthy meals a few times a week so I’m not scrounging and shortchanging my body.”

He shook his head. “So, no, I don’t do this on my own. This awesome life is in large part due to my amazing family. The other part is due to my professional support. Somewhere in there, yeah, I was born with some talent. And yes, I did spe

nd the majority of my young life on the ice. And I also worked my ass off, and continue to work my ass off. But honestly, none of that would matter without all these other people. They’re the ones who created the perfect storm.”

“The perfect storm,” she repeated, a smile lifting her lips. “I like that.”

“That’s how it feels. There are a lot of talented hockey players out there, but not all of them have the support network they need to get to this level. When I look back, I swear the stars and planets had to align to get me where I am. I’ve done my best to try and compensate my family for their sacrifices along the way, try to show my appreciation to my support staff, but it never feels like enough to me, at least not with my family. I can pay my support staff what they deserve, but no matter what I do, I can’t give my parents back that time they spent on me. I can’t give my sister back my parents’ attention.”

“So what do you do for them?”

“My first pro paycheck went to buy my parents a house. A nice house, you know? Everything they’ve always wanted.” He huffed a laugh. “And, man, what a fucking struggle to get them to let me do that. You’d think I was asking them to bathe in boiling water. I put college funds together for my nieces. Helped Sarah and her husband buy a house—yet another battle. I spend my holidays with all of them, get them to the games as often as they can make it. In the off-season, I try to take my nieces off my sister’s hands when I can.” He glanced at her. “Her husband is overseas, and it’s tough having the girls on her own.” He shrugged. “I try to alleviate some of their stresses and concerns where I can. So, yeah, that was the long version of it takes a village to make an NHL player.”

She sighed and repeated the words he’d said to her the week before. “Just when I don’t think you could impress me any more, you do.”

He must have recognized them, because he laughed, and the grin that spread across his face made crazy things happen inside her. Crazy-uncomfortable, thrilling, terrifying things. Then he reached over and closed his hand over her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. The red bracelet still on his wrist seemed to highlight the tan color of his skin and the masculine cording and muscle in his arm. Somehow, that stupid bracelet made him a touch sexier. As if he needed any help.

She was sure he’d meant it to be a sweet gesture, but heat traveled up her thigh and spread between her legs. Eden was damn sure she’d never wanted any man like she wanted Beckett now.

Shifting in her seat, she brought one leg under her and used her knee to lift herself enough to lean over the console and pressed her lips to his jaw. Beckett exhaled, and a little groan floated on the sound. His hand tightened on her thigh.

“Croft,” she murmured against his skin. “You kinda make me crazy.” And she kissed a path down the side of his neck.

“Halle-fucking-lujah.”

His growl vibrated in his throat and made her smile. She bit the lobe of his ear, then soothed it with her tongue, and Beckett shivered. This big, scary, dangerous hockey player shivered.

“I have to ask you a question,” she said, pressing kisses to his temple.

He groaned. “Good things rarely start with that statement.”

“I want to know if you’re claustrophobic.”

“Ummmm…” He cast an uncertain smile toward her. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because my place is really small. Like shoebox small. And if you’re going to hyperventilate, I want it to be over what I’m doing to you, not the small space.”

He lifted his hand from her thigh and wrapped it around the back of her head, then stopped at the corner of her street. He turned his head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue dipped inside and stroked hers, followed by a long groan of need that resonated deep inside Eden.