Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (6 page)

Four nights later, Savannah stood outside the Sydney Harbor
Hotel, the blistering cold, damp wind coming off the Atlantic chilling her to
the bone. Of course, her bones were a lot more exposed than usual, which didn’t
help.

Shifting, she stomped her heels on the red carpet, trying to
find some warmth for her virtually bare legs. She might as well have been naked
from the knee down for all the protection her thin stockings offered.

In hindsight, how she’d come to be standing outside the
team’s hotel dressed in a skirt, blouse, and actual high heels was a complete
mystery to her. In the days since Garrick had declared she was a genius, she’d
seen very little of him except to prepare him for the games against the Halifax
Thunder, while he was on the ice for those games, and when they’d taken the
team bus here to Sydney for their series against the Snow Dogs. Not during any
of those times had they had a chance to speak privately.

Not that she’d missed him, of course.

She shivered and burrowed her chin deeper into the lapels of
her wool coat, wishing she’d left her hair down and that the hem of her coat went
a hell of a lot closer to the ground than mid-thigh.

Okay, she
had
missed him. Mostly because without him
to keep her company, she’d been foisted off onto Rhian, Mark, and even Mike and
Alexei at various points. Having Garrick as her shadow was frustrating. Having
all these men aware of her situation and forced to traipse around after her was
humiliating. She’d been ready to call Garrick and leave him a scathing
voicemail about his big mouth until Mark made an off-handed comment about
having to call Rhian for his shift. With horror, she’d realized that Mark was now
the one arranging her constant escorts.

Somehow, no matter how annoying Garrick had been with his attempts
at subtle machinations, it had never pissed her off like learning Mark was
doing it. If he thought Bobby was that fucking dangerous, why didn’t he
fire
the asshole?

Guess it paid to have a father who owned half a city.

Another shiver shook Savannah and she looked longingly at
the warm lobby through the glass doors. What she wouldn’t give to be in there
by the fire.

Actually, she knew what she wouldn’t give. Her reputation. The
escorts were bad enough. Being spotted dressed up in a skirt and heels and
going out with a teammate would be a disaster.

So here she stood, freezing her buns off after having sneaked
through the lobby like a truant teenager. She stomped her feet again and prayed
for the car Garrick had promised would pick her up. Soon.

He’d called her hotel room at midnight two nights ago to ask
if she had anything she could wear to dinner.

“What?” she’d asked, astounded. After all this time, he was
asking her out again?

“I have an idea. A way we might be able to help keep the
Cats going for a while longer.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Now do you have anything you could wear to a business
meeting? Something like that?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

She’d hated the disappointment in his voice and responded
without thinking. “But I can hit the Halifax Shopping Centre tomorrow before
the game.” As soon as the words had popped out of her mouth, she’d wondered
what the hell she was doing.

“Great! I’ll see to everything else.” And with that, he’d
hung up on her.

Irritating bastard.
What “everything else”?

Damn lucky for him she’d actually enjoyed her sojourn to the
mall—a few minutes alone without a hockey-player-sized shadow or the constant
fear of bumping into Bobby. She’d found some great shops and even better sales—the
only reason she’d splurged on the silk thigh-high stockings and a lacy bra and
panty set. Really, she could have worn her serviceable cotton bikinis under her
new tweed wool skirt, but no way was she going to wear a Lyrca sports bra under
the white silk blouse she’d purchased to go with it. And the bra and panties
came as a set. And they were on sale. And the stockings felt
so
good.

She sighed and stomped her feet again. She had spent the
last day making excuses for wearing such outrageously sexy, feminine things. The
truth was simple, though possibly perverse—it tickled her to wear a little
secret under her conservative clothes. No one would ever know. And they were
cute. And comfortable. And a good price.

And if she kept telling herself this, she might convince
herself it made sense.

The shoes, on the other hand, had been nothing but an
indulgence. Brown, round toe, high stacked heels and soft leather with the classic
details of a pair of men’s wingtips.

Somehow, wearing shoes that reminded her of every stodgy old
man who’d ever told her girls don’t belong in hockey made the silk against her
skin feel even softer. Made her feel bolder. Standing a little over six feet
tall didn’t hurt either.

Of course,
why
she should feel bold was another
mystery. All she knew was what Garrick’s note—which she’d discovered upon
returning from the arena at midnight the night before—said. A car would pick
her up in front of the hotel at six o’clock tonight, and she should wear the
clothes she’d bought.

So here she was, like a well-trained lap dog, too curious to
know what the man had up his sleeve to worry about whether this was a good idea.
As much as it galled her to admit it, she trusted him and was more than willing
to go along for the ride.

Her feet began to feel warm, a very bad sign when standing
in twenty degree weather with an even colder wind chill coming in off the ocean.
She had no choice but to go back into the lobby. She had the door handle in her
grasp when headlights streaked across the glass, the soft hum of an engine drawing
near.

A black town car glided to a stop under the portico. The
driver immediately opened his door and stood to look at her over the roof of
the car.

“Ms. Morrison?”

She blinked at the trim man in black. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry we’re late, ma’am.” He hurried around the nose of
the idling car. “Please get in and warm up.”

She hesitated, then moved to the car. Bottom line, she trusted
Garrick.

She slipped a leg through the door held open for her and caught
a glimpse of grey flannel trousers. It was too late to try to get in the car in
some way that wouldn’t hike her skirt so high.

Her ass landed in the soft leather seat and she came to two conclusions.
One, heated seats were heaven. Two, Garrick cleaned up well.
Really
well.

Shifting against the warm leather, she clipped on her
seatbelt and gave herself a few seconds to adjust to the effect Garrick was
having on her senses. A hint of his cologne teased her nose and made her think
of the woods and lemon and something muskier, like hot sweaty sex. His hair had
been trimmed, the dark curls tamed by a clever cut. He was wearing a
well-fitted blue shirt, his sports coat cut to accommodate his broad shoulders.
His grey slacks hinted at the strength in his thighs, the fit accentuating his
height. His tie pulled everything together perfectly—from his perfectly polished
wingtips to the twinkle in his amber eyes.

He was smiling at her, amused, and she was gawping at him
like some kind of rube.

“Hi.” At least she hadn’t stuttered.

“Hi.” His voice seemed deeper than she remembered. Or maybe
her raging hormones were affecting her hearing.

The car quietly slipped out into traffic and turned north. She
sucked in a deep breath and collected herself as they drove out of the heart of
the city and into a neighborhood with large homes and quiet streets.

She opened her mouth to ask Garrick where were they going, but
words stuck in her throat when she caught his gaze trailing over her new shoes
and slowly devouring the length of her legs.

Her heart gave a funny beat. The logical, professional side
of her brain screamed at her to object. Maybe kick him in the shins. The rest
of her body insisted there was nothing wrong with putting that look in a smart
sexy man’s eyes.

Garrick was transfixed. Mesmerized.
Bamboozled
.

Never once in all the time he’d spent studying Savannah,
watching her, walking with her, seeing her in the gym and at her office—not
even when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her—had he imagined those legs.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, they went on forever. His palms
itched with the desire to run over her firm, muscled calves and softly curved
thighs. When she’d stood outside the hotel, her skirt had brushed the top of
her knee. Now the hem rested mid-thigh, a delight to be sure, but not quite as
completely heart stopping as the glimpse of lace and bare skin he’d been
granted when she’d first slid her leg into the car.

He shivered, reminding himself he was her
friend
, and
while he was still trying to figure out what the hell that meant and how the
soul-searing kiss in the parking lot fit into it, he was ninety-nine percent
certain that fantasizing about wrapping his friend’s long, lean legs around his
waist was a violation of the rules.

Though, god help him, he was only human.

A soft cough, more of a gentle throat clearing, startled
him. He yanked his eyes up to meet Savannah’s amused gaze.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He couldn’t process the question through the buzzing,
jumbled thoughts banging around his head. Mostly he was thinking he was going
to buy some ZZ Top on iTunes later tonight.
Legs
. “What?”

“Tonight? A business meeting? You said something about
saving the Cats.”

“Oh, right. Yes. We’re having dinner with Edwin Lamont.”

“
What
?”

He grimaced. Maybe he shouldn’t have sprung that on her as
they turned into the recluse millionaire’s driveway. “I called from Halifax and
explained we were with the Ice Cats and wanted to talk to him about the sale.”

A massive stone and timber mansion rose above them as they
crested the hill that hid it from the street.

“Tonight?
Now?
”

Garrick sighed and ran his hand through his freshly cut hair.
He missed the curls but had to admit he looked more like a business man and
less like a hockey jock this way. He didn’t think Edwin Lamont would give him
the time of day either way, but Garrick was determined to put his best foot
forward, regardless.

A gentle hand on his arm brought him back to the more
immediate issue.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was so focused on the invitation
and getting us here, I didn’t give you time to prepare.”

Savannah looked around. “Whose car is this?”

“I hired the car. I didn’t want to show up in a taxi, plus I
didn’t think a taxi would be willing to pick up two passengers at two different
doors of the hotel.”

She cocked her head. “Two different doors?”

“So you wouldn’t be seen going out with me all dressed up.” He
paused. Had he blundered again? “I thought you would be more comfortable with
that.”

He tried to gauge her response. It would be fucking terrific
if someone would write down the male/female friendship rulebook for him. This
playing by feel thing was a bitch. Every time he—

Her smile brought his thoughts to stuttering stop. She put
her hand on his arm again. “Thank you. That was very considerate.” She
hesitated, frowning. “I imagine I seem paranoid to you.”

Two months ago, Garrick would have said “hell yes” without a
thought. Two weeks ago, even, he might not have understood. These days, though,
he was getting the hang of Savannah.

“No, not paranoid. Careful. Smart. I get it.”

“You do?”

He smiled. “I do.” The car came to a stop and Garrick
watched over Savannah’s shoulder as a solemn older gentlemen opened the front
door.

“Holy crap. He has a butler.”

Savannah glanced behind her before turning back to him.
“What the hell are we doing here?”

“We are going to convince Lamont not to shut down the team
until he finds a buyer.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, watching her eyes widen, her
mouth dropping open, “but it’s going to work.”

The door opened behind her and the driver’s hand appeared,
ready to help her from the car.

“Are you insane?” she asked in a furious whisper.

It was a fair question.

“Not insane.” He wrapped his hand over hers where it still
gripped his arm. “Determined.”

“Are you insane?” Edwin Reese Lamont III asked Garrick
before looking at Savannah for confirmation.

“He prefers the term
determined
,” she said.

Garrick flashed her a quick grin and she couldn’t help but
smile back. Whatever the two of them had thought they were getting into that
night, it certainly hadn’t been this.

For starters, she’d assumed Edwin Lamont, recluse
millionaire, heir to a family fortune and Ice Cats owner, would be a crusty old
miser with grey hair, rheumy eyes, and maybe even one of those silver-handled
canes rich people called “walking sticks”.

Instead, here stood a thirty-something year old man, chestnut
hair perfectly coiffed, clear green eyes so direct they could look right
through a person and see into her heart. He was tall, slim, fit. Built like a
swimmer, with good shoulders and strong hands.

The strong hands part she knew after watching him and
Garrick play pool for the past half hour. His long, lean fingers worked the cue
like a seasoned pro, his smirk at the beginning of the game warning her he was about
to hustle Garrick.

She hadn’t expected Garrick to be so good either.

They’d retired from the stuffy formal dining room as soon as
the last course was cleared. The food had been amazing, the service frighteningly
efficient. But the biggest surprise had been the company.