One Hot Night Old Port Nights, Book 1 (6 page)

It was a shame to see her cover herself up as she wrapped herself in the king-size towel, but it was going to be a joy to uncover every curve again as soon as he could.

She didn’t argue as he led her to the bed, falling down into the mattress with a sleepy sigh. Scott ditched his towel and grabbed a quilt from the foot of the bed, dragging it over them.

“Should I set an alarm?”

She yawned and pushed up on one elbow. The sexiest woman he’d ever seen, he was sure.

“I don’t want to sleep. There’s time for sleep later. I doubt we’ll be plowed out until later in the day.”

Her words thrilled and bothered him simultaneously. There was no way one night was going to be enough.

“I don’t know that I can go again this soon, much as I’d like to,” he said with a chuckle. “But we can…talk.”

“Sure.”

He decided to keep the tone light, or risk scaring her away altogether. “Twenty Questions? Animal, vegetable, mineral?”

She smiled, sinking to the pillow and looking at him with luminous eyes. “Hockey. Tell me about it.”

He fell back to the pillows, unsure what to say. “You’re not much for sports, I take it?”

“No, not really.”

“Have you ever been to a game?”

“Nope.”

“Watched one on TV?”

She shook her head negative.

“It’s hard to explain the rush. The power, the speed, the camaraderie…and the competition. It becomes your whole life. From eight years old, it was the only thing I thought about. Getting on the ice. Even in summer. When a lot of kids were at the beach or the park, I found the nearest ice rink available and would spend every day there. I didn’t care about anything else. I don’t even know how I made my grades through high school and college, except that I had to keep them up to play.”

“And?”

“And then it was gone. One freak accident. Six months in and out of hospitals, most of which I barely remember, except for being angry and wishing that I’d broken my neck instead.”

That had her pushing up on her arm again, those bewitching brown eyes concerned.

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, not now. But I thought about it then, a lot. It was a bad time. Really bad. I had almost everything I’d dreamed of, worked for—how many people can say that? I lost it all. Bad enough going through it, but for months it was analyzed, replayed, dissected…what would I do now? The formerly great Scott Beckett was done. I wasted over a year after that mired in self-pity, drinking too much, doing things I’m not proud of—including any female ready and willing. Sorry if that’s more than you wanted to know.”

His voice trailed off wearily. He didn’t think about it much anymore. It was in the past, and he had a present and a future to focus on.

The present was particularly nice.

“It’s not. I did something like that after my divorce, as well. It’s understandable. How’d you get into the bar business?”

“Started helping a friend at his. We were messing around with craft brews, and we more or less sucked at it, but it gave me the idea to open up my own place. There aren’t a lot of bars with hockey themes.”

Audra traced lazy circles on his chest with her fingers. “You said you had
almost
everything you wanted—what didn’t you have?”

He smiled at her. “An Olympic win. I would have loved to be part of an Olympic team.”

“That would have been cool, you’re right. You’ve come out the other side with shining colors, though, I’d say.”

“Thanks. You didn’t see me in the worst of it. Unless you caught up with the tabloids. But things got better, and you’re right—things are good now. How about you? How did you get into the antique biz?”

She shrugged and lay down, breaking eye contact. Putting distance between them.

“It was all I ever wanted to do. My parents had a shop, but they had to close it and went back to teaching to make a better living and put me and my brother through college. I was a history major in college, and I had a business years ago, but it didn’t work out. After a few years of working some flea markets and making a reputation and developing more contacts that way, I decided it was time to open another store. That’s when I saw the rental ad in the paper for this place. It seemed too good to be true, this location and the huge floor space. It’s been heaven, really.”

“What happened to your other store?”

She was quiet for a moment and then fell back to the pillows, looking at the ceiling.

“It just didn’t work out.”

He had a feeling there was a lot more to it, but didn’t want to push.

“And now here you are, running your own place again. And making a success of it.”

“Mostly. It would be nice to be able to do more than pay the rent, but I’m happy to be able to do that. And the last quarter was very good, with Christmas sales up. The location has made all the difference.”

“I have a small collection of sports memorabilia that I’ve accrued over time. Would you like to see it?”

She sat up. “I’d love to.”

“I thought sports wasn’t your thing?”

“Not particularly, but anything old or antique is.”

He grinned, swinging his legs back over the side of the mattress and grabbing a pair of boxers from a nearby chair.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She lay back on his pillows, looking so good he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, even for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

Scott bit back what he wanted to say—that he certainly hoped she wasn’t—not for quite some time, anyhow.

Chapter Four

Audra felt like the sexiest woman alive here in Scott’s bed. His sheets had to be a bazillion thread count of something exotic, like Egyptian cotton or bamboo… Not silk, but they felt like it on her skin. No cheesy satin, but just exceptional quality, natural fabric.

This whole night had been a fantasy so far. She looked at the clock on the bed stand, noting it was not quite two a.m. Plenty of time left to live out several more erotic scenarios with Scott Beckett before she returned to her normal life.

This experience had made her realize how much she missed sex. The fullness of a man inside her body. Maybe she should do this more often, or when she had an itch. Find some nice, willing man to scratch it for her.

She tried to picture it, going out with friends or to a bar at the end of the day, and meeting a handsome man. He’d buy her a drink, and they’d flirt for a while, maybe dance. Get to know each other, but only in the most basic sense. Maybe go back to her place or his hotel…maybe he was in town temporarily? On business? Or maybe they’d have sex in the coatroom or in her car, something really dirty that she never would have imagined herself doing before.

She closed her eyes, picturing it, how she might pull him by his tie or slip her finger in his shirt to tug him along, a secret smile on her face. She might let him think they were going somewhere, but she’d take the keys, straddle him in the car and have her way with him, riding him until they were both spent.

Audra frowned, her eyes popping open as her imaginary pickup started to look a lot like Scott. It was his face she saw in the dark of the car, his broad thighs she was poised over.

Because he was here now. He was her only frame of reference, really. It was natural that he’d be the one she’d picture being with. It didn’t mean anything.

“Ready for some show and tell?”

His voice as he walked back into the bedroom made her sit up straight, startling her out of her fantasy thoughts. She watched as he stood by the bed with a medium-sized leather box in his hands. He smiled at her, obviously eager to share his treasures. His hair was a mess, tousled everywhere by her hands. His eyes were warm as he sat on the bed next to her, plopping the box in front of them.

Suddenly Audra was apprehensive. It had seemed innocent enough, but this was sharing. These things meant something to him. Like the story of his injury, and telling him about her parents and the store—not everything, not the worst of it, but did people share like this during one-night stands?

She suspected not, but it was too late now.

“Maybe you can even tell me more about some of this stuff.”

“I’m not very knowledgeable about sports items, but I know some people who are, if you need appraisals or that kind of thing.”

“Not really. These are personal, mostly. Things I found, bought or that I was given. I wouldn’t sell any of them. They’re worth more to me than I could get for them.”

She smiled, unable to fight the sense of connection his words fostered.

“I know what you mean. I have some things, not terribly valuable, but they have history and meaning that’s more important than their monetary value.”

“Like what?”

She thought for a second. “Like my grandmother’s silver. It’s Sterling, which is very valuable now, depending on how you think about it, whether you want to melt it or not.”

“Melt it?”

“Yes, people will buy old silver to take to metal plants, trade it in to be melted down. There are a lot of folks who actually make their living, or a lot of it, that way. With all kinds of metals.”

Scott blinked. “Huh. Sounds enterprising.”

“It can be. They can make thousands from things other people throw away.”

“Damn. You know, I think now that you bring it up, I remember one of my kids talking about that.”

Audra did a double take. “What?”

His kids?

“I mean, one of the kids I coach. His father was unemployed, and I think Luke said something about him getting money from trading in wire. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, and I didn’t want to pry, but there’s copper in wire, right?”

“Wire can be very profitable, yes, though you need a lot of it. But it can also add up pretty quickly. There’s a market for almost all metals, but obviously silver and gold have the highest values. I could never imagine my grandmother’s beautiful silver being melted down. Some is kept for its design and its historic value or beauty, but much is lost to melt.”

“I guess I never really thought about that. It’s a shame to lose old treasures, though. All the stories they bring with them, all the places they’ve been.”

“Yes, exactly. I love knowing where things came from, how they were made, and if I don’t know for sure, it’s still fun to imagine.”

And there it was again, Audra thought, that silken weave of connection, a thread between them that made this more than what she’d set out to make it.

“You may not be very impressed with my collection, but I think you’ll get why these things are special.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Many times even her friends didn’t get it. They didn’t understand what she loved about older items, especially when they had wear or use—why didn’t she like new rugs from Ikea rather than old Persian ones that horses or camels might have slept on? Why didn’t she like new furniture or dishes, rather than ones that came from other people’s houses and kitchens?

Scott opened the box, and Audra had to admit she was more interested than she wanted to be. A person’s things, the kinds of items they collected or loved, said something about them. She wondered what she would find out about Scott from what was in his treasure box.

The first thing he pulled out was a framed photo, black and white, and very old.

“I keep meaning to get this framed. In fact, I’d like to display a lot of these things, but I never quite get around to it.”

“Portage Lake?” Audra asked. “Are any of these players your ancestors?”

Scott’s face lit up with pride. “As a matter of fact, my great uncle is right there, on the left. And believe it or not, I found this picture on an online auction. I knew he played for the team—the States’ first professional hockey team—but we never had anything but stories, and one day I tripped across this. I bought it for less than ten dollars. They were world champions in 1903, but he wasn’t with the team until 1907.”

“It’s very special. You should definitely have it framed to protect the image and the integrity of the photo.”

“I’ve meant to and never did. I think I’ll do that this week.”

He went on to show her several other items, including a pair of tickets from the first NHL game he ever played in. Scott was sentimental. Audra never would have guessed that.

Audra saw a small velvet box in the bottom of the box and pointed. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s not a sports thing. A family heirloom, actually.”

He grabbed the box and handed it to her, and when Audra opened it, she nearly fell back to the bed in awe.

“Oh, Scott…this is gorgeous. Where did you find this?”

The antique Bulova watch with an Art Deco style and sapphire diamonds shone up at her. She knew it had a fifteen-jewel movement and was made from platinum and fourteen-carat gold. She’d sold one like it years ago, though not this pretty. It broke her heart, because she’d thought about keeping it for herself, but a sale was sale and she’d needed every one she could get.

“It was my paternal grandmother’s. My mom gave it to me when Dad passed. His father had given it to his mother, and he gave it to Mom. It was something she only wore when she went out with him, formal, and that would never happen again, so she wanted me to have it.”