Van (Cold Fury Hockey 9)

"Goodbye, Etta," I drawl.

"I love you, kiddo," she says with deep affection.

"I love you more," I tell her back truthfully. The only woman I'm sure I'll ever love.

When we disconnect, I put my shoes on and grab my wallet and keys off my dresser. I pocket my cell phone and open my bedroom door. When I step into the hallway, I'm almost mowed over by Simone as she drags her largest suitcase toward Lucas's room, which is just past mine on the opposite side.

"Sorry," she mumbles as she comes to a stop, and I step back into my closed door to give her room.

I just stare down at her, waiting for her to pass. She doesn't and stares right back at me.

"Lucas said you're grumpy," she says with a curious tilt of her head.

"Yup," I agree.

"Hmmm," she says, as if she's appraising my entire personality. "I'm going to go with brooding. It's a better fit for the hotness you exude."

"Hotness?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow.

"Oh come on," she says dramatically, and waves her hand up and down at me. Her eyes roam over my body. "Just look at all you got going on. All big and muscley. And those deep, sensitive eyes filled with mystery. Total hotness and totally broody."

"Whatever you say," I mutter as I try to step past her. She moves and places herself in my path.

"I'm cooking dinner tonight for you and Lucas," she practically chirps with a bright smile. And fine, I'll admit it, those two dimples that pucker when she does so add a new level of hotness to her own package.

But they don't sway me. "I'll pass. I'll grab something while I'm out."

She stares at me a moment, and I can see the calculation in her eyes. She's absolutely up to something, and for the life of me I can't figure out what it could be as far as I'm concerned. Maybe she's just fucking crazy like originally assumed.

Finally she nods her head regally and moves to the side to give me room. I lower my gaze and move past her, bristling when she murmurs, "Definitely hot and broody. I like it."

Chapter 2

Simone

It must be said that I really like torturing Van. I'm not sure why, and perhaps that makes me just pure evil.

But I can't help it. I'm insanely attracted to him, and in a way I've never been attracted to another man before.

Maybe it's because he's a man, and I've only dated boys. My relationships have all been sweet high school crushes or noncommitment-type college flings with guys my age.

Van is six years older than me, settled, successful, and let's not forget, all hot and broody. There's a story there, and while I'm not overly interested in finding out what it is, I am overly interested in making him pay attention to me.

So far, I have not been very successful. My attempts to engage him have all failed. The only time he's spoken to me of his own free volition was about two weeks ago when he tripped over my purse and yelled at me. He'd followed Lucas into the house where Stephanie and I were already waiting for them after the game. The plan had been to grill steaks and have a few beers. I had really hoped Van would be relaxed enough that I could do something other than petty flirting to get his attention.

But after he yelled at me, he'd come back out of his room less than five minutes later, announcing he was going out for the night. The real pisser of his announcement was that he said his plans were "hot and dirty."

This sucks, because I can do hot and dirty, and he won't give me a second look. Ordinarily, I'd think it was a bro code type of thing, with two of my brothers being his teammates, but I could work around that. Although I sense that it's something altogether different with Van.

I don't think he lets anyone get close to him at all. Over these past few weeks we've lived in the same house together, he's done well avoiding me. Granted, for some of the time he was on the road for the first round of the play-offs, but when they were home, he stayed away from the house during the day and wouldn't come back until late at night. That could totally be a normal day for him, but I just have a sneaking suspicion it has more to do with me than anything.

That actually makes me smile.

Leaning into the bathroom mirror, I put the finishing touches on my makeup. Another coat of mascara and a berry-colored lip stain that looks amazing because I inherited my mother's gorgeous lips, which are soft and full.

Pulling back, I give myself a critical overview. Tonight's only my second night of work, and I hope I don't overdo it on the makeup. I want to look sexy, but not whorish.

I hear the front door open, and then close, and based on the softness of the sound, I immediately guess it's Van. Despite the fact he's pretty much an asshole, he still moves with utter quiet and grace. It's like because he's so big he doesn't need to make a statement in any other way.

And God is he big. I used to think my brothers were big, but Van makes them look like shrimps. I'm not ashamed to say I Googled him after our first meeting, and I know his stats.

Six foot six, 231 pounds of pure muscle. It's needed on the ice, as he's an enforcer and his job is to impress upon the other players that the Cold Fury mean fucking business. Despite his size, though, he's amazingly graceful on his skates. I'm not saying he'd be doing figure eights or anything out there, but just that when he bashes someone's head into the boards, it's done fluidly...almost as if it's choreographed.

Make it past that body, which I can only fantasize about what it looks like naked, his face is a complete puzzle. It's gorgeous...beautiful, in fact. His hair is dark and messy, his cheekbones cut and his jaw hard and strong. Since he's the team's tough guy, I can imagine that nose has taken a fist or two in his career, and yet the slight residual bump makes the straight slope of it more natural. His mouth looks soft, and when he's not engaged in conversation with anyone, he looks completely cool and approachable. But if you look closer at those blue-gray eyes that can go either cold as ice or impenetrable as steel, you know he's got a tight lock on himself. You know you're never going to get past his exterior.

And fuck me, it makes him all the more attractive to me. He's a total bad boy, and I want him. I foolishly, petulantly want him. He's the type a good girl goes after so she can tame him, except I'm not such a good girl. My brothers think I am, and my mother and father think I am, but I'm really not. I'm rotten, mischievous, and completely flirty...in a nice way, of course. I could no more leave a man like Van alone than I could ignore aspirin the morning of a hangover.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom and prepare to meet my mark. It's a rarity he's here, and even rarer he's here alone with me. I get the feeling he's not overly fond of my flirtatious ways.

I find Van in the kitchen, pulling out a beer from the refrigerator. When he closes the door, he sees me standing there, and a heavy look of resignation overcomes his face. He doesn't say a word to me and gives me his back while he twists the top of the bottle before tossing it into the garbage.

"You played great last night," I say as I lean against the half wall that separates the kitchen and the living room.

They had game four of the series against the Florida Spartans and secured the win with some outstanding goaltending by my brother Max, and tremendous defensive play by Van. I mean, sure, other players did great too and it was a team effort, but Van was awesome. And since the game was in Miami, I had to watch it on TV, but you can be assured I watched Van like a hawk when he was on screen. I decided if I was going to have a stalkerlike lust for him, I'd spare no weirdness on my part.

"Thanks," he mutters as he moves past me into the living room. He plops down on the couch--which is also where I sleep at night--and picks up the remote control. He sets his beer on top of one powerful thigh, which looks fantastic in the jeans he's wearing, and aims the remote at the TV.

I step into the living room and just lean back against the other side of the half wall now. I don't sit down, because I know my outfit looks great, and I want him to get the full effect.

Skinny jeans, high heels, and an off-the-shoulder sheer blous

e in cream that's pretty damn see-through. I put on a lacy nude bra underneath, so it's really hard to tell what's skin and what's not.

Van doesn't spare me a glance as he flips to the national news.

"What are you doing tonight?" I ask him genially.

"You're looking at it," he mutters.

Damn, it sucks that I have to work, because sitting here with Van and drinking beer could be fun. I am positive he would have no choice but to loosen up with a deadly combo of alcohol and my charm.

"Want me to fix you something to eat before I leave?" I ask him.

Van gives a long-suffering sigh and turns the TV off. He pushes up fast from the couch and heads toward his bedroom. I follow right along behind him, not willing to believe I irritated him that fast into retreat.

"I could put together a quick spaghetti," I say as he walks into his room. I slip in right behind him before he can close his door, and then I flop down on my stomach on his bed. I rest my chin on one of my hands and give him a sassy smile that shows my dimples.

They're usually irresistible.

Van glares down at me and asks, "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Just trying to get to know you," I quip. "You make it kind of hard, you know."

"I don't want to know you," he growls. "I'm a temporary roommate to your brother. You're just a houseguest."

I frown at him and give a petulant pout. "Now that just hurts my feelings."

"Apparently not enough to drive you out of my room, though," he bites out.

"Come on, Van," I cajole. "Give me a shot. I make a fun friend, and if you're interested in a benefits package with that friendship, I'm fucking dynamite in the sack."

Van's chin actually pulls in hard as his eyebrows shoot up. "You did not just say that to me."

I look at him innocently. "Why not? It's the twenty-first century. Believe it or not, women have a firm grip on their sexuality. Some of us even--and don't get too bent out of shape about this--"and here I drop my voice as if I'm telling a very important secret--"actually like to have sex."