uc looked down into Jane’s green eyes, and he knew his gift had worked. He’d softened her up, maneuvered her right where he wanted. But just before he had her completely and she dropped into his hand like a puck from heaven, her gaze turned wary. She took a step back and skepticism pulled her brows together.

“Did Darby tell you to butter me up with this?” she asked and held up the book.

Damn. “No.” The little dweeb had suggested he bring her flowers, but the book had been Luc’s idea. “That was my idea, but everyone wants you to come back and cover the games.”

“I find it hard to believe that everyone wants me back. Especially the coaches.”

She was right. Not everyone did want her back, especially management. After the disgraceful loss in San Jose, the team had been looking for something to blame. Something in the air or the alignment of the stars. Something other than their pathetic performance. That something had been Jane. They’d groused and bitched in the locker room, but none of them had thought she’d get fired. Especially Luc. After she’d told him she’d needed the job, he’d been able to think of little else but Jane living on the streets because of something he’d said. And looking at the size of her apartment, she probably did need the money. It was clean and, surprisingly enough, not everything was black, but the whole thing could easily fit into his living room. He was glad he’d come.

“I told management you’re our good-luck charm,” he said, which was true. After she’d called him a big dumb dodo, of all things, he’d played one of the best games of his life. And Bressler pulled his first hat trick of the season after she’d shaken his hand.

A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. “Do you really believe that?”

Luc never questioned the source of good luck. “Of course, but mostly I’m here because I know what it’s like to need a job and have the opportunity taken from you.”

Jane looked down at her bare feet and Luc studied the part in her damp hair. The ends had begun to curl about her shoulders as if she’d twisted them around her finger. He wondered what they’d feel like curled around his own finger. Standing so close, he was reminded of how short she was. How small her shoulders, and how young she looked in her University of Washington T-shirt. Not for the first time he noticed her nipples poking at the front of her shirt, and again he wondered if she was cold or turned on. Warmth spread through his veins and settled in his groin. He felt himself get semi-hard and was shocked as hell at his response to Jane Alcott. She was short and flat-chested and too smart. Despite all of that, he heard himself say, “Maybe we could start over. Forget about the first time we met when I offered to piss in your coffee.”

She looked up again. Her skin was smooth and flawless and her lips full and pink. He wondered if her cheeks were as soft as they looked and he lowered his gaze to her mouth. No, she wasn’t his kind of woman, but there was something about her that intrigued him. Perhaps it was her humor and her grit. Perhaps it was nothing more than her puckered nipples and his sudden interest in her soft curls.

“Actually, that wasn’t the first time we met,” she said.

He raised his gaze to her eyes. Shit. There were several months of his life that were a blur to him. When he’d done things he’d only heard or read about later. He hadn’t lived in Seattle at that time, but he’d certainly traveled with Detroit here. He was almost afraid of the answer, but he had to ask. “When did we meet?”

“Last summer at a press party.”

Relief poured through him and he almost laughed. He would have remembered if he’d slept with Jane last summer. It was the summer before that his memory got a bit dicey. “The press party at the Four Seasons?”

“No, at the Key Arena.”

He tilted his head back and looked at her. “There were a lot of people there that night, but I’m surprised I didn’t remember you,” he said, even though he wasn’t at all surprised. Jane wasn’t the sort of woman he would have remembered on first meeting. And yeah, he knew what that said about him, and he still didn’t really care. He lived his life a certain way, looked at things a certain way. He’d lived it so long, he was comfortable with himself. “But maybe not all that surprising, since you were probably wearing black,” he joked.

“I remember exactly what you were wearing,” she said and moved across the room to the kitchen. “Dark suit, red tie, gold watch, and a blond woman.”

He let his gaze slide down her back to her round booty. Everything about Jane was small but her attitude. “Were you jealous?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Of the watch?”

“That too.”

Instead of answering, she moved into the kitchen and asked, “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink caffeine.” He followed but stopped in the doorway of the narrow kitchen. “Are you going to take your job back?”

She set the book he’d given her on the counter and poured coffee into a tall Starbucks mug. “I might.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a quart of milk. The door had Post-Its stuck all over it with notes reminding her to buy everything from pickles and saltines to Comet. “How much is it worth?” she asked as she put the milk away and shut the refrigerator.

“To me personally, or the team?”

She raised the mug to her lips and looked across at him. “You personally.”

She was going to take advantage of the reversal of circumstances. Squeeze it for all it was worth. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same thing if the situation was reversed. “I gave you a peace offering.”

“I know, and I appreciate the gesture.”

She was good. Maybe he’d fire Howie and hire Jane to negotiate his next contract. “What do you want?”

“An interview.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “With me?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“After I’ve had time to do some research and get my questions together.”

“You know I hate interviews.”

“I know, but I’ll make it painless.”

He rocked back on his heels and looked down at the front of her shirt. “How painless?”

“I won’t ask you personal questions.”

She was still cold and should probably put on a sweatshirt or something. “Define personal.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you about your women.”

He slid his gaze to the delicate hollow of her throat, past her lips to her eyes. “Some of that stuff you’ve probably read about me isn’t true,” he said and didn’t know why he was defending himself to her.

She blew into the mug. “Some?”

He dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “I’d say at least fifty percent was made up to sell books or papers.”

From behind her coffee, one corner of her mouth lifted. “Which fifty percent is true?”

She looked so cute looking up at him, smiling, he was almost tempted to tell her. “Off the record?”

“Of course.”

Almost. “None of your business. I don’t talk about the women in my past or my time in rehab.”

She lowered the mug. “Fair enough. I won’t ask you anything about rehab or your sex life. There’s been enough written about that, and it’s boring.”

Boring? His sex life wasn’t boring. Lately he hadn’t had a lot of action, but what he did get wasn’t boring. Well... maybe just a little. No, boring was the wrong word. Too strong. There was something missing in his sex life lately. Besides the sex itself. He didn’t know what that something was, but once he had the Marie situation resolved, he’d have more time to figure it out.

“And besides,” she added, “I don’t want anything you tell me to blow my illusions of you.”

“What illusions?” He leaned one shoulder against the doorway. “That I have threesomes every night?”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He looked at her standing there telling him his sex life was boring and he decided to shock her a little bit. Just a bit with something she’d probably read about anyway. “I tried it once, but the girls were more interested in each other than me. Which didn’t do much for my self-esteem.”

She started to laugh and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone with a woman in her apartment, laughing and talking with her, and not trying to maneuver her toward the bedroom. It was kind of nice.

The night after Luc’s visit, Jane sat next to Darby in the press box for the Chinooks’ Vancouver game. An octagonal Scoreboard with four video screens hung from the center of the pyramid-shaped roof. Lights bounced off the big green Chinooks logo below at center ice, and the pregame laser show had yet to begin. It was half an hour until the scheduled puck drop, but Jane was ready with a pad of paper and her recorder in her bag. She was back and more excited than she let on. Except for Darby, management had yet to arrive, and she wondered if they’d give her the cold shoulder.

She looked across at him. “Thanks for getting my job back for me.” His forearms rested on his knees as he gazed out at the arena. Tonight he’d applied a little less hair gel than usual, but beneath his blue suit jacket, he wore his trusty pocket protector.

“It wasn’t just me. The players felt bad after you came to the locker room and wished them luck. They thought anyone that gutsy should have her job back.”

“They wanted me back because they think I’m lucky now.”

“That too,” he said through a smile as he gazed at the ice below. “What are you doing next Saturday?”

“Aren’t we on the road?”

“No, we leave the next day.”

“Then nothing.” She shrugged. “Why?”

“Hugh Miner is having his jersey retired at a big banquet at the Space Needle.”

The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Who’s Hugh Miner?”

“Chinooks goalie from ‘96 to his retirement last year. I was wondering if you’d want to go.”

“With you? On a date?” she asked as if he were crazy.

His pale cheeks flushed, and she realized that had come out all wrong. “It doesn’t have to be a date,” he said.

“Hey, I don’t mean that like it sounded.” She patted his shoulder through his jacket. “You know I can’t date anyone involved in the Chinooks organization. It would only cause more speculation and rumor.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Now she felt really bad. He probably couldn’t get a real date to go with him, and she’d added insult to injury. “I suppose I’d have to dress up.”

“Yes, it’s black tie.” He finally looked at her. “I’d pick you up in a limo, so you wouldn’t have to drive.”

How could she possibly say no? “What time?”

“Seven.” The cell phone hooked to Darby’s belt rang and he turned his attention to the call. “Yes,” he said. “Right here.” He glanced at her. “Right now? Okay.” He disconnected and returned the phone to his belt clip. “Coach Nystrom wants you in the locker room.”

“Me? Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

Jane stuffed her notebook in her bag and headed out of the press box. She took the elevator to the ground level and moved through the hall to the locker room, wondering the whole time if she was about to get fired again; if she was, she feared that this time she just might go ballistic.

When she walked into the room, the Chinooks were all suited up and imposing in their battle gear. They sat in front of their stalls listening to the coach, and Jane stopped just inside the door as Larry Nystrom talked of the weakness in Vancouver’s second line and how to score against their goalie. She looked across the room at Luc. He wore his big goalie pads and white jersey with the blue and green Chinook on the front. His gloves and helmet were beside him as he stared at a point just beyond his skates. Then he looked up and his eyes locked with hers. He simply looked at her for several heartbeats, then his blue gaze began a leisurely journey down her gray sweater, over her black skirt and tights to her black penny loafers. His interest was more curious than sexual, but it pinned her in place and made her heart feel heavy in her chest.

“Jane,” Larry Nystrom called to her. She pulled her attention from Luc and looked at the coach. He motioned her forward, and she moved to stand beside him. “Go ahead and say what you said to the guys the other day.”

She swallowed. “I can’t remember what I said, Coach.”

“Something about us keeping our pants up,” Fish provided. “And traveling with us being an experience.”

They all looked so serious she almost laughed. Until now, she’d never really believed they were this superstitious. “Okay,” she began to the best of her recollection, “keep your pants up, gentlemen, I have something to say and it will just take a minute. I won’t be traveling with you any longer, and I wanted you to know that traveling with you all has been an experience I won’t forget.” They all smiled and nodded except Peter Peluso.

“You said something about synchronized jock-dropping. I remember that part.”

“That’s right, Sharky,” Rob Sutter agreed. “I remember that too.”

“And you said you hoped this was our year to win the Cup,” Jack Lynch added.

“Yeah, that’s important.”

Did it really matter? Sheesh! “Do I have to start from the beginning?”

They all nodded and she rolled her eyes. “Keep your pants up, gentlemen, I have something to say and it will just take a minute and I don’t want any of that synchronized pants-dropping crap.” Or something like that. “I won’t be traveling with you any longer and I wanted you to know that traveling with you guys has been an experience I won’t forget. I hope this is your year to win the Stanley Cup.”

They all looked pleased and she started to leave before they made her crazy.

“Now you have to come and shake my hand,” the captain, Mark Bressler, informed her.

“Oh, that’s right.” She walked up to him and took his hand. “Good luck with the game, Mark.”

“No, you said Hitman.”

This was just weird. “Good luck with the game, Hitman.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Jane.”

“You’re welcome.” From outside, she could hear the pregame entertainment begin, and she once again headed for the door.

“You’re not finished, Jane.”

She turned and looked across the room at Luc. He stood and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

No way. No way was she going to call him a dodo in front of the guys.

“Come on.”

She looked around at the faces of the other players. If Luc played badly, they’d blame her. As if her shoes were lead, she walked across the dense carpet with the Chinooks logo in the center. “What?” she asked as she came to stand in front of Luc. In his skates, he was taller than usual, and she had to look way up.

“You have to say what you said to me the other day. For luck.”

That’s what she’d suspected, but she tried to get out of it. “You’re so good, you don’t need luck.”

He grasped her arm and gently pulled her closer. “Come on, now.”

His heated palm warmed her through her sweater. “Don’t make me, Luc,” she said just loud enough for him to hear. She could feel her face catch on fire. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Whisper it in my ear.”

The creaking of leather pads filled the vanishing space between them as he bent over her. The scent of his shampoo and shaving cream filled her nose combined with the leather of his pads. “You dumb dodo,” she whispered beside his ear.

“That’s not right.” He shook his head and his cheeks touched hers for the briefest of seconds. “You forgot big.”

Oh, Lord. Before this was over, she was either going to die of shame or pass out or combust from pent-up lust. She really didn’t want to do any of the three. Especially the last one, but his testosterone level was like a heavy force field pulling her in against her will. She closed her eyes and locked her knees so she wouldn’t lean into him. “You big dumb dodo.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I appreciate it.”

Sweetheart. She opened her eyes. He turned his face, and with his lips inches from hers, he smiled. “Am I going to have to do this before every game?” she managed, though her voice sounded more breathy than she would have liked.

He didn’t seem to notice her voice. He straightened and tiny creases appeared in the corners of his eyes. “ ‘Fraid so.”

Finally, she felt as if she could breathe again. “I’m asking for a raise.”

He slid his big warm hand up her arm to her shoulder. He gave her cheek a light pat, then dropped his hand to his side. “Ask for a bigger expense account too. The next time we’re on the road, I’m going to win back that fifty I lost at darts.”

Jane shook her head and turned to go. “Not going to happen, Luc,” she said over her shoulder.

She made her way back up to the media booth and again sat beside Darby. King-5 was there as well as ESPN, broadcasting the Chinooks’ battle with Vancouver. With Luc Martineau securely back in his zone, Seattle came out on top in the three-one scrum. Seemingly without effort, he snagged the puck from the air and reminded everyone who watched exactly why he was considered a premier goalie.

In the locker room after the game, the team answered Jane’s questions. Although they didn’t keep their pants up, their disrobing seemed less calculated.

That night, once Jane sent her column off to the paper, she phoned Caroline and made her friend’s day, week, and year with four simple words. “I need a makeover,” she said as soon as Caroline picked up.

“Who is this?”

“Very funny. I have a fancy banquet to go to next week and I need to look good.”

“Thank you, Jesus, for this gift I am about to receive,” Caroline whispered. “I’ve waited for this for years. The first thing we need to do is make an appointment with Vonda.”

“Who’s Vonda?”

“The woman who’s going to wax you all over and shape that wild hair.”

Jane looked at the receiver in her hand. “Wax?”

“And hair.”

“The last time I let you do my hair, I ended up looking like Buckwheat.”

“That was tenth grade, and I won’t be doing it. After the hair, we’ll hook you up with Sara at the MAC counter where I work. The woman is a true artist.”

“I was thinking just a little mascara and some lip gloss. A nice black cocktail dress and some cheap pumps.”

“And we got in some fabulous Ferragamos today,” Caroline rattled on as if Jane hadn’t spoken. “In red. They’ll look prefect with a killer little Betsey Johnson I saw upstairs.”