ohn looked into Georgeanne’s eyes and chuckled silently. She was trying to be tough but couldn’t even bring herself to say the word “ass.” It was just one of the thing that fascinated him about her. “I want your heart, your mind, and your body.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. “I want all of you—forever,” he whispered, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her palms flattened against his chest as if she meant to push him away, but then she opened her soft mouth, and he felt a triumph so sweet it nearly sent him to his knees. He craved her body and soul, and he lifted her onto her toes and fed his hunger. Within seconds the kiss became a carnal feeding frenzy of mouths and tongues and hot, hot pleasure. John unzipped the back of her dress, then reached for the shoulders. He pulled down the dress, and the thin straps of her slip and bra, stripping her to her waist. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and he drew back to view her plump, naked breasts spilled toward him like his personal vision of heaven. He wrapped one arm around her waist and he lowered his face and placed a soft kiss on the very tip of her left breast. His tongue licked the puckered flesh and she moaned. She arched toward him, and he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Georgeanne struggled to free her arms, but he held her tight.

“John,” she moaned. “I want to touch you.”

He loosened his grasp and moved to suckle her right breast. He was ready. He’d been ready for months. The ache in his groin urged him to shove her against the wall, pull her dress up to her waist, and bury himself deep inside her hot, wet body. Now.

She freed her arms from the tangle of straps and pulled his shirttails from his pants. John straightened and looked into her drowsy eyes. Before he could give in to his urge and take her right there by her front door, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the rear of the house. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked as he moved down the hall. “I know there’s one here somewhere.”

“Last door on the left.”

John entered the room and stopped dead in his tracks. The bed had a floral quilt and a lace canopy. A half dozen or so frilly pillows were tossed against the headboard. Flowers were printed on the wallpaper and on the fabric of the chairs. A big floral wreath hung above one dresser, and two vases of flowers sat about the room. He’d just stepped into girly central.

Georgeanne walked past him, holding her dress to her breasts. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at her, standing there surrounded by flowers, attempting to shield herself with her hands, and failing miserably. “Nothing, except you’re still dressed.”

“So are you.”

He smiled and stepped out of his shoes. “Not for long.” Within seconds he’d stripped down to nothing, and when he returned his gaze to Georgeanne, he nearly exploded. She stood just beyond his reach, in nothing but a pair of skimpy panties and two stockings secured at her thighs with pink garters. His gaze moved from the enticing expanse of thigh just above the garters to her full hips. Her breasts were beautiful and round, her shoulders smooth, her face gorgeous. He reached for her and pulled her against him. She was hot and soft and everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. He meant to go slow. He wanted to make love to her, to prolong their pleasure. But he couldn’t. He felt like a kid running toward his favorite playground, unable to stop; the only thing holding him back was his own indecision over where to play first. He wanted her mouth, shoulder, and breasts. He wanted to kiss her belly, thighs, between her legs.

He pushed her onto the bed, then rolled with her on top. He kissed her mouth and slid his hands down her back to her behind. He wrapped his fist in her panties and yanked them down her legs. His erection pressed into her smooth stomach and he ground it against her. The tension in his groin pulled tighter, tighter, until he thought he might explode.

He wanted to wait. He wanted to make sure she was ready. He wanted to be a tender lover. He rolled her onto her back and forced her panties from her legs. He sat back on his heels and looked at her, naked except for a pair of nylons and two garters. She raised her arms to him, and he knew he couldn’t wait. He covered her with his body, hips cradled between her smooth thighs, and he placed his palms on both sides of her face. “I love you, Georgeanne,” he whispered as he looked into her green eyes. “Tell me you love me.”

She moaned and slid her hands down his sides to his buttocks. “I love you, John. I’ve always loved you.”

He plunged deep inside her and realized immediately he’d forgotten a condom. For the first time in years, he felt enveloped in hot fluid flesh. Desperately he fought for control while the need for her clawed at his gut. He pulled back, thrust again, and they both shattered in a reeling climax.

It was three in the morning before John slipped from her bed and began to dress. Georgeanne secured the sheet around her breasts and sat up to watch him button his pants. He was leaving. She knew he didn’t have a choice. Neither of them wanted Lexie to know he’d spent the night. Still, her heart ached at his leaving. He’d told her he loved her. He’d told her many times. It was still a little hard to believe. Hard for her to trust the joy she felt deep inside.

He reached for his shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she blinked them back. She wanted to ask him if she would see him again the next evening, but she didn’t want to appear grasping and greedy.

“You probably won’t want to go to the arena early,” he said, referring to the hockey tickets he’d given her earlier. “Lexie will have a hard enough time sitting through the game, without getting there for the early stuff.” He sat on the edge of the bed and put on his socks and shoes. “Dress warm.” When he was finished, he stood and reached for her. He pulled her onto her knees and kissed her. “I love you, Georgeanne.”

She didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing him say those words to her. “I love you, too.”

“I’ll see you after the game,” he said, and dropped one last kiss on her lips. Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Virgil’s warning plaguing her brain and threatening to destroy her happiness.

John loved her. She loved him. Did he love her enough to give up his hockey team? How could she live with herself if he did?

* * *

Blue and green floodlights circled the ice like a swirling cauldron while a half-dozen scantily clad cheerleaders danced to ear-popping rock music pumped from the sound system at the Key Arena. Georgeanne could feel the heavy bass thud in her chest and wondered how Ernie was doing. She looked over the top of Lexie—who had her hands over her ears— to John’s grandfather. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the loud noise.

Ernie Maxwell looked almost the same as he had seven years ago, with his thin white crew cut and gravelly Burgess Meredith voice. The only real difference was that now his blue eyes looked out from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and he had a hearing aid in his left ear.

When Georgeanne and Lexie had first found their seats, she’d been surprised to see him waiting for them. She hadn’t known what to expect from John’s grandfather, but he’d quickly put her at ease.

“Hello, Georgeanne. You look even more beautiful than I remember,” he’d said as he’d helped her and Lexie out of their jackets.

“And you, Mr. Maxwell, are twice as handsome as I remember,” she’d declared through one of her most charming smiles.

He’d laughed. “I always did like a southern gal.”

Suddenly the music stopped and the arena lights were extinguished, except for the two enormous Chinooks logos illuminated at each end of the ice.

“Ladies and gentleman, the Seattle Chinooks,” a male voice boomed from the speakers on the huge video Scoreboard. The fans went crazy, and amidst the screams and cheers, the home team skated onto the ice. Their white jerseys appeared stark in the darkness. From her position several rows above the blue line, her gaze scanned the back of each jersey until she found the name Kowalsky printed in blue above the number eleven. Her heart fluttered with pride and love. That big man with the white helmet stuck low on his forehead belonged to her. It was so new and she was having a hard time believing he loved her. She hadn’t talked to him since he’d kissed her goodbye, and since then, she’d experienced horrible moments when she’d feared she’d dreamed the night before.

Even from a distance she could see that he wore pads on his shoulders and beneath the ribbed socks that covered his legs and disappeared beneath his shorts. He held a hockey stick in the big padded gloves on his hands. He looked as impenetrable as the name he’d been given, as solid as a wall.

The Chinooks sailed from goalpost to goalpost, then finally stopped in a straight line in the middle. The lights came up, and the Phoenix Coyotes were announced. But when they skated out onto the ice, they were greeted by an arena filled with booing Chinooks fans. Georgeanne felt so bad for the other team, if she hadn’t feared for her safety, she might have cheered.

Five players from each team stayed out on the ice and took their positions. John slid into the center face-off circle, put his stick on the ice, and waited.

“Kick some ass, boys,” Ernie yelled as soon as the puck was dropped and the battle began.

“Grandpa Ernie!” Lexie gasped. “You said a bad word.”

Ernie either didn’t hear or chose to ignore Lexie’s admonition.

“Are you cold?” Georgeanne asked Lexie over the noise of the crowd. They’d dressed for winter in white cotton turtlenecks, jeans, and wool-lined ankle boots.

Lexie kept her eyes glued to the ice and shook her head. She pointed to John, speeding down the ice toward them, his fierce gaze directed at an opposing team player who had the puck. He body-checked him so hard against the boards, the Plexiglas shook and rattled, and Georgeanne just knew they were going to break through the barrier and take out the crowd. She heard the heavy whoosh of air leaving both men’s lungs, and she was sure after such a pounding, the other man would have to be carried away. But he didn’t even fall down. The two men elbowed and hacked, and finally the puck sailed toward the Coyotes’ goal.

She watched John skate from one end to the other, grind someone into the ice, and steal the puck. The collisions were often brutal, like car collisions, and she thought of the night before and hoped he didn’t damage anything vital.

The crowd was wild, peppering the air with salty curses. Ernie preferred to direct the majority of his grievance toward the referees. “Open your damn eyes and pay attention to the game,” he hollered. Georgeanne had never heard so much swearing in such a condensed period of time, nor had she ever seen so much spitting in her life. Besides cursing and spitting, each team delivered pounding hits, skated fast, and hammered the goaltenders. By the end of the first period, neither had scored.

In the second period, John was given a penalty for tripping and ordered to the penalty box.

“You sons of bitches!” Ernie yelled at the officials. “Roenick fell over his own damn feet.”

“Grandpa Ernie!”

Georgeanne wasn’t about to argue with Ernie, but she’d seen John hook the blade of his stick in the other man’s skates and pull his feet out from underneath him. He’d made the whole maneuver look effortless, then he’d placed a gloved hand on his chest and looked so innocent, Georgeanne began to wonder if perhaps she’d imagined the other man sliding spread-eagle across the ice.

In the third period, Dmitri finally made a goal for the Chinooks, but ten minutes later, the Coyotes tied the score. Tension buzzed the air in the Key Arena, filling the fans and keeping them on the edges of their seats. Lexie jumped to her feet, too excited to sit. “Go, Daddy,” she hollered, as John fought for the puck, then barreled down ice. With his head down, he flew across the center line, then out of nowhere, a member of the Coyotes slammed into him. If Georgeanne hadn’t seen it herself, she wouldn’t have believed a man John’s size could cartwheel through the air. He landed on his back and lay there until the whistle was blown. Several trainers and the coach from the Chinooks bench ran out onto the ice. Lexie started to cry, and Georgeanne held her breath, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Your daddy is okay. Look,” Ernie said, pointing to the ice, “he’s getting up.”

“But he’s hurt,” Lexie sobbed, watching John slowly skate, not toward the bench, but toward the tunnel the team exited through between periods.

“He’ll be fine.” Ernie put his arm around Lexie’s waist and pulled her to his side. “He’s ‘The Wall.’ ”

“Mommy,” Lexie wailed as tears streamed down her face, “go give Daddy a Band-Aid.”

Georgeanne didn’t think a Band-Aid was going to help. She wanted to cry, too, and kept her gaze glued to the tunnel, but John didn’t return. A few minutes later, the buzzer sounded and the game was over.

“Georgeanne Howard?”

“Yes?” She glanced up at a man standing behind her chair and rose to her feet.

“I’m Howie Jones, a trainer for the Chinooks. John Kowalsky asked me to come and find you.”

“How badly is he hurt?”

“I don’t really know. He wants me to take you to him.”

“My Lord!” She couldn’t imagine why he would ask to see her, unless maybe he’d been seriously injured.

“You better go,” Ernie said as he stood.

“What about Lexie?”

“I’ll take her home to John’s, and I’ll stay with her until you get there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, thoughts spinning so fast in her head she couldn’t seem to grasp a single one.

“Of course. Now, go.”

“I’ll call and let you know what I find out.” She bent to kiss Lexie’s wet cheeks and grabbed her jacket.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have time to call.”

Georgeanne followed Howie between the portable stands and through the passage where she’d seen John disappear minutes before. They walked on thick, spongy rubber mats and passed men in security uniforms. She took a right and moved through a big room with a draped partition. Worry knotted her stomach. Something terrible must have happened to John.

“We’re almost there,” Howie told her as they headed down a hallway cluttered with men in suits or dressed in Chinooks team colors. They hurried past a closed door marked “Dressing Room” and took another right through a set of double doors.

And there John sat, chatting with a television reporter in front of a big blue Chinooks banner. Hair damp and skin shining, he looked like a man who’d played hard, but he didn’t look hurt. He’d removed his jersey and shoulder pads and wore a blue T-shirt that was wet and stuck to his big chest. He still had on his hockey shorts, ribbed socks, and big protective pads on his legs, but his skates were gone. Even without all his gear, he looked huge.

“Tkachuk put a good hit on you in the last five minutes of the game. How are you feeling?” the reporter asked, then shoved a microphone in John’s face.

“I’m feeling pretty good. I’m going to have a bruise, but that’s hockey.”

“Any plans to retaliate in the future?”

“Not at all, Jim. I had my head down, and around a guy like Tkachuk, you have to be on your game at all times.” He wiped his face with a short towel, then glanced about the room. He spotted Georgeanne standing in the doorway and smiled.

“The game was tied tonight. Are you satisfied with that?”

John turned his attention back to the man interviewing him. “Of course, we’re never satisfied with anything less than a win. We obviously need to take better advantage of power plays. And we also need to get some momentum going in our offense.”

“At thirty-five, you’re still ranked among the top players. How do you do it?”

He grinned and chuckled softly. “Oh, probably years of clean living.”

The reporter and cameraman laughed also. “What does the future hold for John Kowalsky?”

He looked in Georgeanne’s direction and pointed. “That depends on that woman right over there.”

Everything within Georgeanne froze, and she slowly turned to look behind her. The hall was filled with men.

“Georgeanne, honey, I’m talking to you. ”

She spun back around and pointed to herself.

“Remember last night when I told you that I would only get married when I’m crazy in love?”

She nodded.

“Well, you know I’m crazy in love with you.” He stood in his stockinged feet and held his hand out toward her. In a daze she walked toward him and put her hand in his. “I warned you that I wouldn’t play fair.” He grasped her shoulders and forced her to sit in the chair he’d just vacated. Then he glanced at the cameraman. “Are we still on?”

“Yep.”

Georgeanne looked up and her vision started to blur. She reached for him, and he grabbed her hand.

“Don’t touch me, honey. I’m a little sweaty.” Then he went down on one knee and looked her in the eye. “When we met seven years ago, I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m a different man now, and part of the reason I’m different is because of you. You came back into my life and made it better. When you walk into a room, I feel warm like you’ve brought the sun with you.” He paused and squeezed her hand. A bead of sweat slid down his temple and his voice shook a little when he spoke. “I’m not a poet or a romantic, and I don’t know the words to accurately express what I feel for you. I only know that you are the breath in my lungs, the beat of my heart, the ache in my soul, and without you, I am empty.” He pressed his hot mouth into her open palm and closed his eyes. When he looked at her again, his gaze was very blue and very intense. He reached inside the waistband of his hockey shorts and pulled out an emerald-cut blue diamond of at least four carats. “Marry me, Georgie.”

“Oh my Lord!” She could hardly see and wiped her eyes with her free fingers. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She sucked air into her lungs and looked from the ring back into John’s face. “Is this real?”

“Of course,” he answered, slightly offended. “Did you think I’d get you one of those fake diamonds?”

“I’m not talking about the ring.” She shook her head and wiped at the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Do you really want to marry me?”

“Yes. I want us to grow old together and have five more children. I’ll make you happy, Georgeanne. I promise.”

She gazed at his handsome face and her heart pounded. He wasn’t taking any chances. He had a television camera, a big diamond, and a crushing grip on her hand. Last night she’d wondered if he’d choose her. She’d wondered what she’d do if he did. Now she knew the answer to both questions. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Jesus,” he sighed, relief flooding his features. “You had me worried.”

Out in the stands, thunderous applause rolled through the arena, chased by a maelstrom of several thousand cheering fans. The walls of the arena shook with their enthusiastic response.

John looked over his shoulder to the cameraman. “Are we patched into the Jumbotron?”

The man gave a thumbs-up sign, and John turned his attention back to Georgeanne. He took her left hand and kissed her knuckles. “I love you,” he said, and slid the ring on her finger.

Georgeanne wrapped her arms around his neck and flattened herself against him. “I love you, John,” she sobbed into his ear.

He stood with her clinging to his neck and glanced at the men in the room. “That’s it,” he told them, and the camera was shut off. Georgeanne clung to him as they were congratulated, and she didn’t let go even after the last man filed out of the room.

“I’m getting you all sweaty,” John said, smiling down at her.

“I don’t care. I love you, and I love your sweat, too.” She rose onto her toes and pressed against him.

He gathered her close. “Good, because you’re responsible for a lot of it. There were a few seconds there when I thought you might say no.”

“When did you plan all of this?”

“I bought the ring in St. Louis four days ago, and I talked to the television guys this morning.”

“Were you so sure I’d say yes?”

He shrugged. “I told you I wasn’t going to play fair.”

She leaned back and kissed him. She’d waited a long time for this moment, and she poured her heart into it. Their mouths met, open and wet. She slanted her head to one side and licked the tip of his tongue. Her hands slid along his shoulders, up his neck, and into his damp hair.

Lust tugged at John’s groin, and he pulled away from Georgeanne’s sweet kiss. “Stop,” he groaned, and bending his knees, he shoved a hand inside his shorts and adjusted himself. His hard plastic cup pinched his testicles like a nutcracker, and he sucked in his breath to keep from swearing in front of Georgeanne. “My jock is getting real snug.”

“Take it off.”

“It’s about four layers down, and there’s something I have to do before I start peeling to my skin.” He straightened and read disappointment in her tilty green eyes.

“What could be more important than peeling down to your skin?”

“Nothing.” She wanted him, and the fact that she did filled him with macho, chest-pounding pleasure. He loved her in a way he’d never loved anyone else. He loved her as a friend, as a woman he respected, and as a lover he wanted every minute of every day. And she loved him. He didn’t know why she loved him. He was an ornery hockey player who swore too much, but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.

Now he wanted nothing more than to take her home and strip her naked, but he had one last piece of unfinished business first. He took her hand and pulled her with him out of the room and down the hallway. “I just need to clear something up before I can leave.”

Her steps slowed. “Virgil?”

“Yep.” Worry puckered the skin between her brows, and he stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you afraid of him?”

She shook her head. “He’s going to make you choose, isn’t he? He’s going to tell you to choose me or your team.”

A trainer walked past him on the way to the dressing room, and John moved closer to Georgeanne to allow the man by.

“Congratulations, Wall,” he said.

John nodded. “Thanks.”

Georgeanne tangled her fingers in the front of his T-shirt. “I don’t want you to choose.”

He returned his attention to Georgeanne and kissed the worry from her brow. “There was never a choice. I never would have chosen a hockey team over you.”

“Then Virgil will fire you, won’t he?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Virgil can’t fire me, honey. He can trade me to a team below five hundred if he wants to, or worse, I could find myself wearing a duck on my sweater. But only if I don’t beat him to it.”

“Huh?”

He squeezed her hand. “Come on. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home.” Last week he’d given his agent the green light to contact Pat Quinn, the general manager of the Vancouver Canucks. Vancouver was a two-hour drive from Seattle and needed a first-line center. John needed to control his future.

With Georgeanne by his side, he walked into Virgil’s office. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said.

Virgil looked up from the fax on his desk. “You’ve been busy. I see your agent has contacted Quinn. Have you seen the offer?”

“Yep.” John closed the door behind him and wrapped his arm around Georgeanne’s waist. “Three players and two draft picks.”

“You’re thirty-five. I’m surprised he offered so much.”

John didn’t think he was surprised at all. It was the usual trade for a team’s captain or any franchise players. “I’m the best,” he stated.

“I wished you’d talked to me first.”

“Why? The last time we talked, you told me to choose Georgeanne or my team. But you know what? I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Virgil looked at Georgeanne and then returned his gaze to John. “That was quite a show you just put on a few minutes ago.”

John pulled Georgeanne tight against his side. “I don’t do anything half-assed.”

“No, you don’t. But you’ve risked a lot, not to mention the possibility of getting a rejection broadcast on ESPN.”

“I knew she’d say yes.”

Georgeanne looked at him and raised one brow. “A little cocky, aren’t you?”

John leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Honey, ‘little’ and ‘cocky’ are two words a man just never wants to hear strung together in the same sentence.” He watched her blush, and chuckled. But there had been those horrible seconds when he hadn’t felt so “cocky.” The sick moments when she hadn’t answered his proposal, and he’d had a hazy thought of tossing her over his shoulder and running out of the room, kidnapping her until she said what he wanted to hear.

“What do you want, Wall?”

John turned his attention to Virgil. “Pardon?”

“I asked what you wanted.”

He kept a straight face, but he was smiling inside.

Checkmate. The old bastard had been bluffing. “For what?”

“I made a very rash and extremely poor business decision when I threatened to trade you. What do you want to stay?”

John rocked back on his heels and appeared to give the question some thought, but he’d already anticipated Virgil’s backpedaling. “A second-line enforcer might persuade me to overlook the fact that you threatened to trade me. And I’m not talking about a fourth-line rookie you can pick up for spare change. I want an experienced hockey man. Someone who isn’t afraid to play the corners and hang out in front of the net. Big. Low center of gravity. Hits like a freight train. You’re going to have to cough up good money for a guy like that.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Work on a list and give it to me it the morning.”

“Sorry, I’ll be busy tonight.” Georgeanne stuck her elbow in his ribs, and he looked into her face. “What? You’ll be busy, too.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “Give it to me next week. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to take care of.”

“There’s one more thing.”

“A million-dollar enforcer isn’t enough?”

“No.” John shook his head. “Apologize to my fiancée.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Georgeanne sputtered. “Really, John. Mr. Duffy gave you what you wanted. I think the gracious—”

“Let me take care of this,” John interrupted.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly why would I apologize to Miss Howard?”

“Because you hurt her feelings. She told you she was sorry for running out on your wedding, but you threw her apology back in her face. Georgie is very sensitive.” He gave her a little squeeze. “Aren’t you, baby doll?”

Virgil stood and glanced from John to Georgeanne. He cleared his throat several times and his face turned red. “I accept your apology, Miss Howard. Now will you please accept mine?”

John thought Virgil could do a little better and opened his mouth to tell him to try again, but Georgeanne stopped him.

“Of course,” she said, and placed her palm on John’s back. She looked up at him and slid her hand down his spine. “Let’s leave Mr. Duffy to his work,” she suggested, a gleam of love and maybe a bit of laughter in her eyes.

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and walked from the room. He held her against his side as they slowly walked down the hall toward the locker rooms, and he thought of the dream he’d had after he’d returned home early that morning. Instead of the erotic dream he usually had of Georgeanne, he’d dreamed of waking up in a huge, flowery bed surrounded by giggly little girls jumping all around. Sissy girls with sissy dogs, all looking at him as if he were a superhero for killing spiders and saving tiny fish.

He wanted the dream. He wanted Georgeanne. He wanted a life surrounded by dark-haired little chatter hounds, Barbie dolls, and hairless dogs. He wanted lacy beds, flowered wallpaper, and a woman with a sexy southern voice whispering in his ear.

He smiled and slid his hand up Georgeanne’s arm to her shoulder. Even if they never had any more children, he had everything he wanted.

He had it all.