Which was bullshit. He’d only agreed because he figured he could change her mind. But she’d never budged from her position. Not the first week or the second week either. Not even when they’d been driving back from viewing a property in the Queen Anne district and he’d reached over and slid his hand up her bare thigh. He’d slipped his fingers inside her panties and she’d been slick and half ready. She’d let him touch her for a few brief moments before she’d pushed his hand away. Leaving him hard and fully ready. He’d fought an erection for the rest of the day, until, at five o’clock, she’d found him in the garage, putting away Derek’s stick and a few pucks. “I’m off work now,” she’d said, and practically launched herself at him. She’d torn at his pants. He’d bent her over the hood of the Mercedes, flipped up her little skirt, and entered her from behind. It had been down and dirty. Quick and raunchy.

And sweet.

But not nearly as sweet as the night she’d let him make love to her at the foot of the Stanley Cup. He’d had sex with a lot of women in his life. He’d had sex with her too, but that night had been different. He’d felt as if every cell in his body exploded. He’d felt blown apart, and when he’d come back together, he’d been changed. The way he looked at his life. And the way he looked at her.

He couldn’t say that he was in love with Chelsea. The kind that came with a big diamond and wedding vows. He’d been in love like that before, but this felt different. This was easy, comfortable, like sliding into a warm pool of water as opposed to a jet tub.

No, he couldn’t say that he loved her, but he did miss her when she left. Missed the sound of her voice and her clunky shoes on his tile floors.

He liked being with her. He liked talking to her and making her laugh. He liked the twists and turns of her mind and her sense of humor. He liked that she thought she was impulsive when she was clearly in control of everything around her. He liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way. He especially liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way with him.

No, he didn’t like that about her. He loved that about her. He loved the way she touched him and kissed him and took control. He loved what she did with her hands and mouth and the breathy little sounds she made when he touched her. He loved looking into her face when he was deep inside her small body. The way the determination in her eyes grew heavy, drugged, as he drove into her. And he absolutely loved the tight contractions of her vaginal walls that squeezed and gripped him hard, pulling an orgasm from the pit of his soul.

When he thought back to the day she’d first arrived on his porch, he was glad that the stubborn determination that had once annoyed the hell out of him when he’d tried to get rid of her was the same determination that had made her stay. God knew she could probably get a better job. One that might pay better too.

He was not the man he used to be eight months ago. He was not a superstar hockey player. He didn’t live large. Sportswriters were no longer interested in him, and multimillion-dollar endorsement offers had dried up. He was a broken-down former athlete who woke with sore muscles and needed a cane about half the time.

He drove into the parking garage and parked next to the elevator. Chelsea didn’t seem to mind. She made him feel alive again. Like a man, but it was more than just sex. If that’s all it was about, any woman would do. It was the way she looked at him. As if she didn’t see his scars and broken life. She’d stuck with him when others had walked away. He didn’t know why she’d stayed. He just thanked God that she was still in his life.

It had been two months since he’d been at the Key. Eight months since his last game. He’d scored a hat trick that night against the Penguins. He’d thought his life was golden. He’d been on top of the world.

He took the elevator to the second floor. Shit happened. Life changed. Time to move ahead and not wallow in the past. The doors opened, and Connie Backus, manager in the benefits and compensation department, stood on the other side. He knew Connie from his numerous run-ins with her over the home health care workers.

“Hello, Mark.”

He held the door open for her. “Hi, Connie.”

“You look good,” she told him, and flattened an armful of folders against her chest.

“Thank you. I finally feel good.”

“I spoke with Chelsea Ross the other day. She said the two of you are getting along.”

She could say that. “Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Good. We were a little concerned when we saw her wearing a man’s jacket at the cup party a few weeks ago. We thought it might be yours.”

He glanced at his watch. He was already two minutes late. “It was. She got cold. No big deal.”

“Good.” Connie stepped inside the elevator, and Mark lowered his hand. “We’d hate to think she was trying to earn that bonus money in other ways.” Connie punched a button and laughed like they were in on some joke.

The doors started to close and he raised his hands and pushed them back open. “What bonus?”

* * *

Chelsea sat at Mark’s desk, bored and answering e-mails while he was at some big meeting at the Chinooks’ offices. He hadn’t told her what the meeting was about, and she didn’t have any idea when he’d return. She leaned her head back and glanced up at the different photographs and posters of him on the walls. Her gaze settled on the picture of him holding the puck with “500” written across it. A few days ago, he’d told her it was the puck that had scored the five hundredth goal of his career. She’d smiled like she’d understood the importance of that, and he laughed because she didn’t have a clue.

“That’s one of the things I like about you,” he’d said. “You’re not impressed by money and fame.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She’d thought about the bonus. She’d thought maybe she should tell him about it, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not while he was talking about her not being impressed with money. “I’d love to be so famous that movie roles are written just for me,” she told him instead.

“That’s different. That’s being motivated by what you love to do, not by the money and fame that it might bring. I know a lot of guys who’ve chased money and fame when they should have been concentrating on playing better hockey.”

She’d looked around his house. “You were never motivated by money?”

He’d shrugged. “Maybe a little in the beginning. But it was usually a mistake.”

Money had motivated her in the beginning, but she couldn’t call it a mistake. Not now. She’d fallen in love with him and there was no going back.

She rose to her feet and walked toward the photo. She moved through a sliver of light pouring through the closed drapes, and she raised a hand to the cool glass. She looked into Mark’s smiling face and smiled herself.

Her fingers slid across the smooth surface, and her whole body felt alive, happy. There was no going back to those days when she thought he was a colossal tool. Too late. She loved everything about him. She loved the sound of his voice and his laughter. She loved the way he smelled and the touch of his hand on her arm or the small of her back. She loved how she felt when he looked at her or simply walked into a room. She loved that his hard shell contained a soft heart.

She didn’t know how he felt about her, though. Oh, she figured he liked her. Of all the people with whom he could have chosen to share his night with the cup, he’d chosen her. But like wasn’t love. She knew he liked having sex with her, but sex wasn’t a commitment.

She lowered her hand to her side. Fear knotted her stomach just below her happy heart. She was giving serious thought to changing her whole life for a man who liked her. She’d never changed for a man, and she ran through a mental list of all the reasons why staying in Seattle was a good plan. Reasons that had nothing to do with Mark.

She liked Seattle. She liked the feel of it and she liked the cooler weather. She liked being close to her sister and she liked the few local commercials she’d acted in. Maybe she’d try out again for a role in local theater.

Not Oklahoma! though. She couldn’t sing, and Mark clearly hated musicals. She smiled, but her amusement was short-lived. She had to tell him about the bonus. It had been weighing on her mind, and she knew she had to tell him. Hopefully, once she explained it, it wouldn’t be a big deal. The money had nothing to do with her feelings for Mark. She’d agreed to the bonus before she’d even met him. She’d fallen for him despite her attempts not to, but lately the money had begun to feel like a deep secret she was keeping from him.

Motion in the doorway caught her eye and she turned. Mark stood there watching her, one shoulder shoved against the frame, and her happy little heart swelled at the sight of him.

“I didn’t hear you drive up.”

He crossed his arms over his wide chest, and his gaze raked her from head to toe. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. You’re good, Chelsea. Maybe even worth it.”

She didn’t think he meant it as a compliment, and it felt liked she’d been stuck in the chest with a pin. “Are you talking about the bonus?”

“Yeh.” He didn’t look angry. Which was good. “I just had it explained to me.”

“I was going to tell you.” No, not angry. Just closed off like before, but she could explain. He’d understand. “I was just waiting for the right time.”

“A good time would have been the day you showed up on my porch. Get it right out in the open. Or if that just wasn’t a good time, how about all the other times I assumed you were here because you wanted to be here? How about all the times I made an ass out of myself for thinking you’re someone you’re not?”