Ty looked up as she approached. “I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes.”

Lord, what a grouch. “It doesn’t take as long when you refuse to let anyone brush your hair,” she told him.

“I can brush it myself.” To prove his point, he ran his fingers through his hair, but one dark lock sprang forward and fell across his brow.

Before she gave it a thought, Faith raised her hand and pushed it back into place. The fine strands curled over her fingers and the heel of her palm brushed his warm temple. His gaze locked with hers and something flashed behind his eyes. Something hot and needy that turned the lighter color in his eyes a dark sensual blue. It had been a while, but she recognized the heat in his eyes. Her lips parted in alarm and confusion. She dropped her hand to the flutter in her stomach.

“You two ready?” the photographer asked.

Ty pulled his gaze away and looked beyond her. “Let’s get this over with. I have an early-morning practice and a game to win against San Jose tomorrow night.” He glanced back up at Faith and his gaze was clear. “That’s what you pay me for.”

“Yes,” she uttered, and wondered if she’d imagined the hot interest in his eyes.

“How’s it going?” Jules asked as he walked into the locker room.

Faith licked her lips and smiled at her assistant. “I’m doing great,” she assured him and pushed her confusion about what had just happened to the back of her mind. “I was a little rusty at first,

but it’s coming back to me. Kind of like riding a bike.”

Jules looked her up and down with a critical eye. “Well, you look great.”

“Thanks. So do you.” Or at least she tried to push it to the back of her mind. With Ty sitting a foot away, it was impossible. “I like your sweater,” she added, reaching out to touch the arm of the gray cable-knit cardigan. “Nice color.” Subtle. “Cashmere?”

“Cashmere-silk blend.”

“Jesus,” Ty swore. “Are you two girls finished? I’d like to get out of here sometime tonight.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Jules gestured to Ty with his thumb. “Still pissed off about screwing the pooch in Game Five against Vancouver?”

Ty looked at the assistant as if he was going to kill him with his big hands.

Faith’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Don’t poke the bear, Jules.”

Jules laughed. “Listen, the reason I’m here is because I just got off the phone with an editor from Sports Illustrated. They want to interview you.”

The last time she’d appeared in a magazine, she’d been naked and the questions had been easy. The thought of appearing in Sports Illustrated and being asked hard questions that she couldn’t answer made her want to run and hide. Making uninformed blunders to a room of staff and man agement was embarrassing enough. The last thing she wanted was to appear ignorant to the world.

“The PR department wants you to do it, but I think you should hold off until you’re more comfortable speaking publicly about the team,” Jules suggested, and she could have kissed him.

“Thanks, and you’re right. I’m not ready.”

“We’re about set,” the photographer announced as he handed Valerie the light reflector. “Faith, I need you to stand right in front of Ty. Maybe put your foot on the bench.”

She glanced at Ty’s big legs covered in his blue-and-green hockey shorts. Long white socks covered his thick shin and knee pads. The tops were taped around his thighs. “Where on the bench?”

“Between Ty’s thighs.”

She looked down into his narrowed gaze and expected him to raise a loud objection and swear until everyone’s ears bled. Instead he said, “Mind your foot, eh? I’m not wearing a cup.”

Carefully, she planted the sole of her Versace sandal on the bench between his widely spread thighs. She purposely stared into his face to keep from lowering her gaze to his crotch. She didn’t even want to think about the close proximity of his package to her toes. Of course, trying not to think about it only made her think about it all the more. “Don’t make me jumpy, and I won’t hurt you,” she said through a nervous laugh.

“Don’t get jumpy and I won’t hurt you. I’m going to need that equipment later.”

She turned her face toward the photographer and curved her lips into a smile. She might be a little rusty, but she knew how to pose for a photo without showing her true emotion. “So that’s why you’re in a hurry to leave. Not because you have an early flight.”

The photographer snapped a few pictures. “Faith, turn your right shoulder slightly toward me. That’s it.”

As she smiled for the camera, she asked, “Got a hot date?” and gave the photographer a slightly different angle of her face.

“Something like that.”

“Wife?”

“Not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not exactly.”

Friend with benefits? It had been a long time since she’d had a friend with benefits or a boyfriend or even a one-night stand. Being here with Ty, surrounded by his toxic testosterone, reminded her exactly how long it had been. Just the deeper timbre of his voice brushed across her skin and reminded her how much she missed being held and touched by a strong, healthy man.

“Lean forward just a tiny bit, Faith. More aggressive, like you’re the boss.”

“Do you want my hands on my hips?” Faith leaned and the skirt of the dress slid up her thigh.

“Yep, that’s great. And Ty, just continue to look pissed off.”

Ty turned his gaze of doom on the photographer. “I’m not pissed off.” The intense glare usually reserved to intimidate opponents didn’t work on the photographer.

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He snapped a few more photos. “Faith, lean in just a bit and turn your shoulders toward me just a little more.”

Click. “Yeah, toss your hair. That’s it. Beautiful.”

Ty could not recall a time when he’d been so turned on. Not even as a horny sixteen-year-old rolling around in the backseat of his dad’s Plymouth with a semi-naked girl named Brigit.

Christ. He stood in the shower in the Chinooks locker room and let the cold water run down his neck, his back and behind. He’d had to wait for half an hour for everyone to clear out of the locker room before stripping out of his gear and walking into the shower. If anyone thought it was odd that he took a shower tonight, no one mentioned it.

He turned and the cold water hit his chest and ran down his stomach to his groin. He hadn’t been in this much throbbing pain since he’d broken his thumb on Hedican’s helmet last season. Only this time the throbbing pain was lower and hadn’t been caused by an aggressive defenseman trying to get at his puck. It had been caused by a living, breathing centerfold trying to drive him insane with her pouty mouth, soft hands, and sizzling-hot body.

The whole thing had been a bad idea. He’d known it going in. Despite what they thought of him, he wasn’t a hard-ass, and he’d let them talk him into the promotion for the good of the team. To get fans into the seats.

He placed his palms on the wall and shoved his head under the shower. He’d been doing a pretty good job of ignoring Mrs. Duffy. He’d ignored the scent of perfume on warm skin, the sound of her laugher, and her red, red lips. Then she’d touched him. The weight of her hand and her fingers sliding across his shoulder had sent fire down his spine and straight between his legs.

Rubbing her hand on his shoulder had been bad, but touching his hair and face had made his gut clench, and he’d had to fight like hell to keep from turning his mouth into her palm and sucking her skin. Then she’d put her foot in his crotch, leaned forward, and stuck her breasts in his face. After that, all he’d been able to think about was sliding his palm up the back of her smooth thigh and grabbing a handful of her ass. Pulling her closer and burying his face in the front of her dress. While she’d been smiling and tossing her hair for the camera, he’d been having some wild fantasies about what he wanted to do to her. Things that involved pulling her down on his lap and kissing her red lips. Tangling his fingers in her hair while she rode him like Smarty Jones in the long stretch. And yeah, he’d been royally pissed off about that. The last thing he wanted and needed in his life was a hard-on for the owner of the hockey team, but for some inexplicable reason, his body didn’t care what he wanted and needed.

Ty straightened and rubbed his hands over his face. It wasn’t as if she was all that beautiful. He cleared the water from his eyes and shook his head. Okay, that wasn’t true. Everything about her was hot as hell, but it wasn’t as if he’d never been around beautiful women. He was a hockey player. He’d had his share of beautiful women.

Faith. You can call me Faith, she’d said, like that was a good idea or ever going to happen. He needed a constant reminder of who she was and what she was to him. A reminder that she held his fate in her hands. Even if she was willing, he needed to remember that sex with the owner of the Chinooks was an appallingly bad idea.

Gooseflesh rose on his skin as he tried to clear his head of Faith Duffy. There were a few places he could go before he headed home. A few clubs where there were women who would be happy to share a little one-on-one time with him.

He stayed in the shower a few more minutes, until he was in control and could breathe again. He turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed a second towel and dried his hair. His dad was still hanging out at his place. Maybe he’d just go home and see what the old man had going on.

Jules Garcia stood in the middle of the locker room waiting for him. “What do you want?” he asked Faith’s assistant.

“To ask you to stop giving Faith such a hard time.” He had his arms folded across his big chest like he was big, bad trouble.