Body Check (13 page)

“Ty,” she said, struggling to look neutral, while instantly remembering that she was in grungy old sweats, wearing glasses as thick as coke bottles. She tore her glasses off. “What are you doing here?”

“I—why did you just take your glasses off?”

“What?”

“Your glasses.” He gestured toward her hand. At least she thought he did, since without her glasses he'd been transformed into a tall, well-built blur. “Why did you take them off?”

“I was reading. I only use them for reading. ”

“Oh.” He seemed to be looking over her shoulder past her—checking, she thought, to see if Theresa was home. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She ushered him inside, her mouth beginning to clog with words she wasn't sure she wanted to say. She couldn't believe he'd just shown up, especially when she looked like this. “Don't you believe in calling first?” she asked peevishly, squinting as she thought he peeled off the bomber jacket, carefully placing it over the back of the couch. She detected head movement; he had to be glancing around.

“Nice place.”

“Glad you like it. Now tell me why you didn't call.”

“I'll tell you when you put your glasses back on.”

“I told you, I don't need my glasses except for reading.”

“Bull, you're squinting at me like Mr. Magoo. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Janna angrily folded her arms across her chest. “Sorry, I'm not playing this game.”

“How many fingers?”

“Fine,” Janna huffed. She squinted harder and craned her neck forward. “Two.”

“Wrong. Three. Put 'em back on, Janna. They're not as bad as you think.”

“That's easy for you to say, you don't wear glasses.”

“Yeah, I do. I wear contacts most of the time, just like you. Now put 'em back on.”

Sighing, she donned her glasses, the world springing back into Technicolor.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she was forced to admit. “Now tell me why you didn't call.”

“Because I thought you might not talk to me.” He paused. “That you'd even hang up on me.”

Her gaze was steady. “Why would I do that?”

“You were pretty upset last night. I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, I think we do,” Janna agreed. She was about to ask him if he wanted to follow her into the kitchen when he began moving in that direction himself, his head and shoulders thrown back in a relaxed gait, revealing a man used to assuming he owned whatever space he entered.
Cocky bastard,
Janna thought.

He paused in the entrance to the kitchen, inhaling deeply.

“Mmm, what's that smell?”

“Chocolate cake.” Janna squeezed past him. The way the man filled up a doorway! “I'm going to frost it in a few minutes.”

“Smells great.” He remained in the doorway, taking in the room. “Nice kitchen. Homey.” He directed his gaze to where she stood by the counter, once again checking the cake. “You like to cook?”

“Yup.”

“Huh,” he said thoughtfully.

“What does
that
mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“ ‘Huh.' What does ‘huh' mean?”

“It means,” he started slowly, his deep-set brown eyes irresistibly drawn to the bald chocolate cake, “that I never figured you for a cook.”

“Huh,” Janna repeated back in the same tone. What did he figure her for, a fast food junkie? He'd managed to tear his eyes away from the cake and was now glancing longingly at the coffee machine atop the faded blue Formica counter. “You want a cup?” she offered blandly.
I could spill it on your lap if you'd like
.

He smiled appreciatively. “Coffee would be great.”

She could feel his eyes watching her as she padded in her thick, woolly socks across the small, rectangular room, reaching high above her to extract a mug from the cabinet above the stove. She turned to the coffee machine on the counter and began pouring.

“Lou told me there was some family problem last night and that's why you left.”

Janna stiffened.
Damn Lou and his big fat mouth
.

“Is everything okay? Your brother?”

“My brother”—she opened the fridge and held a quart of skim milk aloft, to which he nodded yes—“is okay
now
.” She poured the milk in his mug then returned the carton to the fridge. “He wasn't last night.”

“What happened, if you don't mind me asking.”

“I do, actually, but since you seem genuinely concerned, I'll tell you.” She handed him his mug on her way back to the kitchen table, sliding into a seat. Ty remained standing, leaning against the doorjamb.

“To make a very long, very boring, very complicated story short, my parents have an awful marriage, and fight quite a lot. Last night was a doozy. Liquor flowing, plates flying . . . you get the picture. Wills called and asked me to get him out of there, which I gladly did. Unfortunately, though, I had to bring him back this morning, so he wouldn't miss school.” She took a sip of coffee. “That's it.”

“Are
you
okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Janna a bit sharper than she would have liked. “I didn't get much sleep last night, but apart from that, I'm okay.”

“Family stuff can be rough,” Ty observed sympathetically.

“You have a family? I always got the impression you were spawned from a test tube. You never, ever mention them in interviews.”

“No reason to,” Ty replied. “They've got nothing to do with hockey.” He took a quick gulp of coffee. “Wills is lucky to have you.”

“Yes, he is. But you didn't come over here to talk to me about Wills.”

“Yeah, I did, partially.” He sauntered over to the table and slid into the chair opposite her, his large hands clasped around the mug as if for warmth. Janna could see he was tired. “When you weren't at practice this morning, I got worried, especially with the way you ran out of the dinner last night.”

“How
was
the dinner last night?” Janna asked facetiously. She knew she was treading on thin ice, but she couldn't help it. The imp of the perverse was now screaming in her ear, goading her on. “You and Skyler have fun? Sky and Ty . . . I wonder if that's what the papers will start calling you. ‘Sky and Ty were seen dining at Nobu last night.' ‘Look who's sitting courtside at the Knicks game—it's Sky and Ty.' ”

“You know, I wish you wouldn't act like that,” Ty said quietly. “It's beneath you.”

Janna could feel her face burning with humiliation at his rebuke.

“Can we
talk
? Sans the bullshit—the way we did in the bar last week? Is that possible?”

“Sure,” Janna murmured, on her guard after being put in her place. “You start.”

Ty considered his words carefully. “I meant what I said the other day when you were reading me the riot act outside the locker room. I
do
play my guts out on the ice every night, and in my opinion, that's all I'm required to give, or willing to give.”

“But.”

“But one of the things you should know about me is that I don't like to let my friends down, especially friends who are downright begging me for my help, the way you were.” He took a long, slow sip of coffee. “That's why I showed up last night. Not to throw those pigs at Kidco a bone. I came because I wanted to help you out. Period. End of story.”

“And I appreciate that,” Janna returned sincerely, feeling let down at his choice of the word
friend
. She rose to get the can of frosting and a spatula from the counter. “But I really do wish you had let me know you were coming so I could have played up the publicity a bit more.” She glanced back at him, nearly keeling over from shock when she saw he actually looked contrite.

“Sorry about that.”

“Well, I am too.” She ripped the lid off the can of frosting and moved back toward the cake, which sat on a cooling rack on the opposite counter. “Maybe next time you'll give me some advance notice.”

“Hey, there's not gonna be a next time, remember? You said that if I helped you on this you'd never bug me for anything again.”

“I lied.” She dug the spatula deep into the rich, gooey frosting and carefully, so as not to rake the top spongy layer off the cake, began frosting. “I have to bug you, you know that,” she continued. “It's what Lou hired me to do.”

“Right,” he said glumly. He rose from the table and came to where Janna was standing. “Need some help?”

“No, thank you. I can manage on my own.” She waited for him to sit back down, but he didn't. Though outwardly she felt perfectly in control, in truth his proximity was taking its toll on her, the sheer male warmth coming off him making her feel lightheaded. “So,” she asked casually, “how long have you been seeing my sister?”

She glanced up just in time to catch him clenching his jaw.

“I'm not seeing your sister. She gave me her number at some restaurant and I called because I didn't want to walk into the United Way bash alone. End of story.”

“So you're just sleeping with her.”

“Jesus Christ!” Ty exclaimed, losing his famous temper. “I am not sleeping with her! I don't
want
to sleep with her! I want to sle—”

He stopped. Janna froze, her hand involuntarily tightening around the spatula. She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing. She could feel her heart banging against her ribs, could feel the charged air in the kitchen swirling around them. For a split second, it seemed as if the room itself were gently vibrating, so intense was the power of the unspoken emotions between them. She waited for Ty to speak, longed for him to either leave or grab her and turn her around to him. But he did neither. Instead, he reached out, and gently prying the spatula from her hand, laid it down on the counter.

“You've got frosting on your finger,” he said quietly.

Janna forced her eyes open and made herself turn to him. Their eyes locked as Ty reached out for her hand and slowly, deliberately, took the offending chocolate coated index finger into his mouth and gently began sucking. Janna drew a sharp breath.
What was he doing?
She watched, fascinated, as he took each of her remaining fingers into his mouth, kissing, licking, sucking them in turn, his actions tender yet provocative, her body beginning to tremble ever so slightly as the pleasure of it snaked its way through her system like fine brandy, heated but mellow.

Warmth began percolating deep within her—slow, honeylike. No one had ever done this to her before. No one had ever done something so simple that aroused in her such feelings of want.

“Ty.” Her body was humming with energy now, an energy born of equal parts fear and desire. Feeling weak, she gripped the kitchen counter. “I think—”

“I know.” He opened her hand and kissed her palm deeply. “I should leave. But I'm not going to. I want you, Janna.”

Her legs nearly gave way then. To hear those words actually spoken—words she'd fantasized about, words she was convinced this man would never, ever speak about her—made her head swim. She leaned against the counter with a half gasp of disbelief.

“Janna? You okay?”

She nodded, unable to speak, though a low, feral moan escaped from the confines of her throat. Hearing it, concern faded from his eyes, and in its place came blind, reckless arousal, her moan the sign of acquiescence he'd clearly been waiting for. He whipped off her glasses and crushing her to him, covered her mouth with his, his kisses desperate, ravenous. Janna felt her grip on the counter slipping, saw a million blazing colors explode behind the closed lids of her eyes as they nipped excitedly at each others lips, body pushing into body in an animal longing to meld, to become. My God, how she longed to have this man.
Here. Now
. Longed to feel those hard, rippled muscles of his burning beneath the touch of her fingers. Wave upon wave of restless desire surged through her as he roughly explored the terrain of her body with his hands, her own hands groping, wanting, grasping. Clinging to each other, they staggered their way toward the white refrigerator. Ty had her up against it now, and lifting her ever so slightly, pinned her with his body.

“Janna,” he murmured into her throat, his mouth fevered as he showered the tender skin there with hot, swift kisses. Greed for him overtook her, and she clutched at him, her fingers twining through his blond hair, her moans matching the demands of his mouth, goading him on to explore her further, lift her higher.

His hands, which he'd cupped around her buttocks, slid silently to the waistband of her sweats. And then, in one swift movement, he yanked them and her panties down. Janna gasped loudly, the shock of it shivering straight through her, making her giddy. Her garments pooled around her ankles, she eagerly kicked herself free of them. Grabbing his face, she kissed him with an abandon so ferocious his breathing became ragged and strained.
Yes,
was all Janna could think.
Yes. Now. Please
.

Reading her mind, he tore his mouth from her flesh. “Wrap your legs around me,” he whispered urgently.

Shuddering with anticipation, she slowly slid her left leg up along his denimed thigh. She saw his eyes glaze over, felt him struggling for control in the wake of this simple yet effective form of caress. Pleased, she repeated the motion on the right, encircling his waist with her legs. “Don't worry,” he promised as his hand slowly moved to cup her between her legs, “I won't let you fall.”

Yet that's exactly what she was doing—falling through clouds, through wet forests, through depths of deep azure ocean as his fingers reached down between the cleft of her thighs and expertly began teasing her. Good, so good, the layers of desire building, her body arching and tightening as her eyes fluttered closed and her nails sunk deep into the hard flesh of his shoulders.