A Perfect Distraction(5)

Pull yourself together, Badoletti. He shook his head to clear it.

“Is something wrong, Bad Boy?” A model in a hot-pink crop top, which emphasized both her tan and her jutting shoulder and pelvic bones, touched his arm.

Fighting the urge to brush off her hand, he shook his head again. “Excuse me. There’s someone I need to see.”

She followed his gaze. “Sure,” she said, flicking a dismissive glance at the woman in brown before sauntering away with a deliberate swing to her hips.

As Jake walked across the room, Tru appeared beside the intriguing newcomer.

“Hey, bro, this is Tracy’s sister, Maggie.” Curiosity gleamed in his green eyes. “Apparently, you have a meeting.”

“We do.” Jake grinned. “Thanks for coming, Maggie. Hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Not at all.” She shook his hand.

Her accent made her sound cool and polite. Yet the instant their fingers touched, tiny sparks of heat danced across his skin. Desire speared through him, even as she pulled her hand away.

“Don’t keep her working too long. This is a party.” Tru laid his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Hope to see you again very soon.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Her soft smile at his friend as he left caused Jake’s stomach to tighten.

“Let’s find somewhere quieter to talk,” he suggested, motioning for her to precede him out of the master suite.

“All right.”

Maggie’s expression was stony as they walked down the hall, past several laughing, tipsy couples, toward the spare room he’d commandeered as an office. He was surprised by her stiff attitude until he noticed the wariness in her chocolate-brown eyes.

Realization dawned. She thought he wanted to turn their meeting into a private party.

Disappointment twinged. It was his own damn fault. He’d spent too long living up to his image and courting publicity, relishing every column inch and glossy photo.

That would all change after today. And she was here to help.

Jake reached past her to fling open the door. She flinched when it banged against the wall. Jeez, the woman was uptight.

“I’m sorry for the mess.” He gathered up folders from the marble-topped coffee table and tossed them into a box. “There’s so much paperwork associated with a transfer.”

Maggie scanned the room, then joined him. A hint of her light, fresh fragrance teased his nose as she handed him some files.

“I’ve seen worse. Besides, the boxes help distract you from the—” she waved a hand to indicate the purple-and-gold-flocked wallpaper, the matching curtains and gold-leaf-encrusted furniture “—unusual decorating style.” Her lips twitched.

So Miss Buttoned-Up had a sense of humor.

“Yeah, it’s kinda over-the-top.” He grinned, feeling a kick of pleasure at her answering half smile. “The owner’s a young basketball phenom who’s moving to Miami. He didn’t want to give up his apartment and it suited me to rent from him.”

Maggie pulled a folder and pen from her briefcase. “We should get started. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”

He didn’t bother to correct her assumption that he wanted to return to the party.

“Grab a seat.” He shifted some boxes from a pair of purple-and-gold silk-covered armchairs.

As she sat, Maggie’s hem hitched higher, momentarily displaying more smooth leg. She quickly straightened her skirt so it covered her knees once more.

The tantalizing glimpse sent a spike of heat through Jake. He brushed it off, annoyed. He wasn’t some long-haired dude in those romance novels his mom read, who got turned on by a nice ankle. Then why did his body tighten uncomfortably as he watched her undo those big buttons on her jacket to reveal a demure neckline? He’d been right about the creamy skin.

Focus.

Maggie put on black-framed glasses. They should have made her look worse, but they actually made her look cute. He imagined her removing them and letting down her hair like in those old movies.

Concentrate, damn it.

She turned her earnest gaze on him. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?”

Her businesslike tone should have doused the crazy feelings. But his traitorous body found another meaning to the innocent question, responding in a way that would have shocked her down to her covered toes.

Jake looked up at the mirrored ceiling with its etched gold crown motif, and tried to calm the heat raging in his groin with thoughts of ice. A great big sheet of ice.

What the hell is wrong with you? Nervous, mousy brunettes weren’t his type, even with a sexy accent—he preferred cool, confident blondes. Plus less than ten minutes ago he’d reaffirmed his decision to cut women from his life until he’d won the Cup. His focus had to be on hockey. No distractions. No exceptions.