“Georgeanne, you have the nerve to face me. I’d wondered if you would.” His tone suggested he wasn’t “over it” as John had claimed earlier at the church.

“It’s been seven years, and I’ve moved on with my life.”

“Easy for you. Not so easy for me.”

Physically he hadn’t changed very much. Perhaps his hair had thinned a bit, and his eyes were a little puffy from age. “I think both of us should forget the past.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

She looked at him a moment, beyond the lines on his face, to the bitter man beneath. “I’m sorry for what happened, and for the pain I caused you. I tried to tell you the night before the wedding that I was having second thoughts, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m not blaming you, just explaining how I felt. I was young and immature and I’m sorry. I hope you can accept my apology.”

“When hell freezes over.”

She was surprised to discover that his anger didn’t really bother her. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t accept her apology. She’d confronted her past and felt free of the guilt she’d carried for years. She wasn’t young and immature anymore. And she wasn’t afraid either. “I’m sorry to hear you say that, but whether or not you accept my apology won’t keep me up at night. My life is filled with people who love me and I’m happy. Your anger and hostility can’t hurt me.”

“You’re still as naive as you were seven years ago,” he said as a woman approached Virgil and placed her hand on his shoulder. Georgeanne immediately recognized Caroline Foster-Duffy from her many pictures in local papers. “John will never marry you. He’ll never choose you over his team,” he added, then he turned and walked away with his wife.

Georgeanne stared after him, puzzled by his parting comment. She wondered if he’d threatened John, and if he had, why John hadn’t told her about it. She shook her head, not knowing what to think. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought John would marry her or choose her over anything.

Okay, she conceded as she headed toward Lexie, who was surrounded by the bride and groom and a few tough-looking male wedding guests. Maybe in her wildest dreams she had envisioned John proposing more than a wild night of sex, but that wasn’t reality. Even though she loved him, and he sometimes looked at her with a kind of hungry desire in his eyes, it didn’t mean he loved her in return. It didn’t mean he would choose her for anything more than a roll in the hay. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t abandon her in the morning, leaving her empty and alone.

Georgeanne moved past the stage where a band was setting up and her thoughts returned to Virgil. She’d faced him and freed herself from the burden of her past, and she felt pretty good. “How’s it going?” she asked as she came to stand by Mae.

“Great.” Mae glanced up at her and smiled, looking gorgeous and happy. “At first I was a little nervous about being in the same room with thirty hockey players. But now that I’ve met most of them, they’re really pretty nice, almost human even. Too bad Ray isn’t here. He’d be in heaven around all these thick muscles and tight butts.”

Georgeanne chuckled and plucked a strawberry off Lexie’s plate. She glanced across the room at John and caught him staring at her above the crowd. She bit into the fruit and looked away.

“Hey.” Lexie scowled. “Eat the green stuff next time.”

“Have you met Hugh’s friends?” Mae poked her new husband with her elbow.

“Not yet,” she answered, and popped the rest of the strawberry into her mouth.

Hugh introduced her and Lexie to two men in expensive wool suits and silk ties. The first gentleman, named Mark Butcher, sported a spectacular black eye. “You might recall Dmitri,” Hugh said after he’d made the introduction. “He was at John’s houseboat a few months ago when you came over.”

Georgeanne looked at the man with light brown hair and blue eyes. She didn’t remember him at all. “I thought you looked familiar,” she lied.

“I remember you,” Dmitri said, his accent obvious. “You wore red.”

“Did I?” Georgeanne was flattered that he would recall the color of her dress. “I’m surprised you remember.”

Dmitri smiled and little creases appeared in the corners of his eyes. “I remember. I wear no gold chainz now.”

Georgeanne glanced at Mae, who shrugged and looked up at a grinning Hugh. “That’s right. I had to explain to Dmitri that American women don’t like to see jewelry on men.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mae disagreed. “I know of several men who look fierce in pearl chokers and matching earrings.”

Hugh pulled Mae against his side and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not talking about drag queens, honey.”

“Is this your little girl?” Mark asked Georgeanne.

“Yes, she is.”

“What happened to your eye?” Lexie handed Georgeanne her plate, then pointed her last strawberry at Mark.

“The Avalanche caught him in the corner and gave him a pounding,” John answered from behind Georgeanne. He picked Lexie up with one arm and lifted her until they were eye level. “Don’t feel bad, he probably deserved it.”

Georgeanne glanced at John. She wanted to ask him about Virgil’s parting comment to her, but she would have to wait until they were alone.

“Maybe he shouldn’t have goosed Ricci with his stick,” Hugh added.

Mark shrugged. “Ricci broke my wrist last year,” he said, and the conversation turned to which man had suffered the most injuries. At first Georgeanne was appalled by the list of broken bones, torn muscles, and number of stitches. But the longer she listened, the more she found it morbidly fascinating. She began to wonder how many men in the room had their own teeth. Not many by the sounds of things.

Lexie placed her hands on the sides of John’s head, turning his face toward her. “Did you get hurt last night, Daddy?”

“Me? No way.”

“Daddy?” Dmitri looked at Lexie. “Iz yours?”

“Yes.” John turned his gaze to his teammates. “This little worrywart is my daughter, Lexie Kowalsky.”

Georgeanne waited for him to say that he hadn’t known about Lexie until recently, but he didn’t. He didn’t offer any explanation for his daughter’s sudden appearance in his life. He just held her in his arms as if she’d always been there.

Dmitri glanced at Georgeanne, then looked back at John. He raised a questioning brow.

“Yes,” John said, leaving Georgeanne to wonder about the silent byplay between the two men.

“How old are you, Lexie?” Mark asked.

“Six. I had my birthday, and now I’m in first grade. I gots a dog now, too, ‘cause my daddy gave him to me. His name is Pongo, but he’s not very big. He doesn’t got a lot of hair either, and his ears get cold. So I made him a hat.”

“It’s purple,” Mae told John. “It looks like a dunce cap.”

“How do you get the hat on your dog?”

“She pins him down between her knees,” Georgeanne answered.

John glanced at his daughter. “You sit on Pongo?”

“Yeah, Daddy, he likes it.”

John doubted Pongo liked anything about wearing a stupid hat. He opened his mouth to suggest that maybe she shouldn’t sit on her little dog, but the band struck up a few chords, and he turned his attention to the stage. “Good evening,” the lead singer said into his microphone. “For the first song of the night, Hugh and Mae have asked that everyone join them on the dance floor.”

“Daddy,” Lexie said barely above the music. “May I have a piece of cake?”

“Is it okay with your mom?”

“Yes.”

He turned to Georgeanne and lowered his mouth to her ear. “We’re heading to the banquet table. Do you want to come with us?”

She shook her head, and John looked deep into her green eyes. “Don’t go anywhere.” Before she had a chance to reply, he and Lexie headed across the room.

“I want a big piece,” Lexie informed him. “With lots of frosting.”

“You’ll get a tummy ache.”

“No I won’t.”

He set her on her feet beside the table and waited long, frustrating minutes for her to choose just the right piece of cake with purple roses only. He found her a fork and a place to sit at a round table beside one of Hugh’s nieces. When he turned to look for Georgeanne, he spotted her out on the dance floor with Dmitri. Normally he liked the young Russian, but not tonight. Not when Georgeanne wore a short little dress, and not when Dmitri looked at her as if she were a serving of beluga caviar.

John wove his way through the crowded dance floor and placed a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything. Dmitri looked at him, shrugged, and walked away.

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Georgeanne said as he gathered her into his arms.

“Why not?” He pulled closer, fitting her soft curves against his chest and moving their bodies to the mellow music. You can have your career with the Chinooks, or you can have Georgeanne. You can’t have both. He thought about Virgil’s warning, and he thought about the warm woman in his arms. He’d already made his decision. He’d made it days ago in Detroit.

“Because Dmitri asked me to dance, for one thing.”

“He’s a commie bastard. Stay away from him.”

Georgeanne leaned back far enough to look up into his face. “I thought he was your friend.”

“He was.”

A frown creased her forehead. “What happened?”

“We both want the same thing, only he isn’t going to get it.”

“What do you want?”

There were a lot of things he wanted. “I saw you talking to Virgil. What did he say?”

“Not a lot. I told him I was sorry for what happened seven years ago, but he wouldn’t accept my apology.” She appeared puzzled for a moment, then shook her head and looked away. “You said he’d moved on, but he’s still very bitter.”

John slid his palm to the side of her throat and lifted her chin with his thumb. “Don’t worry about him.” He stared into her face, then raised his eyes to the old man staring back at him. His gaze found Dmitri and a half dozen other men who’d taken shifty-eyed glances at Georgeanne’s bustline. Then he lowered his face and his lips took possession of hers. He possessed her with his mouth and tongue and his hand moving from her back to her behind. The kiss was deliberate, long, hard. She clung to him, and when he finally lifted his mouth, she was breathless.