Playing to Win(6)

Oh great. That was all she needed, this handsome bastard messing up the  most real-life, on-camera experience on her résumé. She might not like  this job, but it was good experience, and she certainly wasn't going to  lose it by making him suspicious on the second day.

"Up to something?" She placed a hand on her chest like a Southern belle. "Me?"

His parry was a narrowing of his pretty blue eyes. "Something has been bugging me about your act since the moment we met."

"Oh, you mean that time you were so unchivalrous as to walk away from me without answering my question?"

"So I asked myself," he continued, without missing a beat, "why would  someone who disliked sports so much that she asked about beards instead  of the game bother to make a fake sports show? And the only answer I  could come up with was, she wouldn't. The way I see it, you have your  own agenda, and it's not going to do any of the members of this team any  good."

Holly shook her head, eyes wide like an ingenue. "I don't know what you  mean. The Women's Hockey Network is all about asking the kinds of  questions we girls find important, such as what kind of cologne do you  wear?"

He smelled so good she was actually a little curious.

"Oh, really? You're gonna keep up the act?"

Luke stepped closer. His big body sucked up all the oxygen, and her  breath came faster to compensate. Who knew having a man accuse you of  being smart was such a turn-on?

"That's the only question you want to ask me? I'll give you a free  pass, on the record. Ask me anything. No holds barred. Nothing's  off-limits. And I guarantee you a real answer. I promise not to say ‘no  comment.'"

Holly's hand clenched into a fist.

Any question. On the record. The reporting equivalent to winning the lottery.

She could ask about his brother's accident. Be the only reporter ever  to get a statement on the one topic that was off-limits when  interviewing Luke Maguire. Hear in his own words how it felt to be back  in the play-offs for the first time since tragedy struck.

And she wanted to. She wanted to ask more than she wanted her next  breath. But she wasn't supposed to know anything about hockey, so she  restrained herself. Because if she took the bait, she would confirm that  when given the opportunity, she'd put her ambition before the team. And  she'd be done here. He could not only get her fired, but ruin her  career. She had to keep her eye on the prize. She had to believe that  one day, she would earn that story from him on her own merit, not as  blackmail, and it would be worth the wait.

So she did what was best for her career and took a deep, centering  breath. Man, he really does smell amazing. "Seriously, is that the new  Hugo Boss fragrance?"

He narrowed his eyes and the crease between his brows deepened. It made him look even sexier, if that was possible.

"I've got my eye on you, Evans."

Not exactly the part of him she wanted on her just then, but probably the safest of the available options.

"I'm going to figure out what you're doing here and I'm going to expose you."

Geez. Everything sounded sexual when he was standing this close. She  upped the ante and took a half step closer to him-she definitely wasn't  going to let him intimidate her in this sexy game of cat and mouse  they'd embarked on. If he thought she was going to let him be the cat,  he was so very wrong. She'd been holding her own in a man's world for a  long time.                       
       
           


       

"You can try, but there's nothing to expose. What you see is what you get."

"Oh, I very much doubt that, Ms. Evans. The truth is hiding somewhere behind that big hair and tiny suit."

"Look at me, Mr. Maguire. You honestly think there's room to hide anything under this suit?"

Her breath stuttered at the sudden fierceness in his eyes, the  predatory gleam that pinned her in place. Were their lips getting closer  because he was leaning in, or had she swayed toward him?

She was drawn to his body, hard as iron and just as magnetic. Her  fingers brushed his biceps as his hands made first contact with her  waist. She didn't want to stop looking at him, but her eyelids grew  heavy as their breaths comingled and his lips moved closer, closer  still...

"Okay, I'm back. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing!" Holly and Luke sprang apart at Jay's intrusion. Her heart  thumped with a cocktail that was one part adrenaline and two parts  unassuaged lust. She tugged at the bottom of her blazer, sneaking a  quick glance in Luke's direction. He exhaled and rubbed a hand across  the back of his neck.

Guilty. They looked as guilty as a couple of teenagers who'd been  caught making out. Which they probably would have ended up doing if not  for Jay's poor timing.

"Geez, Jay. You've been gone long enough. Let's get this interview  going, shall we?" Her hand went to her hair-a classic Holly-ism that  gave away her nerves. Good thing Luke didn't know that, she decided,  dropping her hand. Luke lifted an eyebrow and Holly was sure she was  blushing. Damn it.

"My pleasure," Luke said.

Jay, however, was not fooled in the least, and the look he shot her  said she owed him an explanation. She waved him behind the camera and  directed Luke back to the stool where their interview earlier had gone  so wrong.

This one went a lot better. She had to hand it to him-he was as  consummate a professional off the ice as he was on it. Charming, funny,  quick with a witty answer. No one who saw this footage would dream for a  minute that he believed her to be a threat to the team. In fact, the  only question that tripped him up was "Do you have a secret talent?" She  could have sworn he blushed a little before he stammered some nonsense  about speaking a little French.

Then she sent him off to shoot some B-roll with Jay, which involved posing and puck tricks in the hallway.

For the first time all day, she was alone in the Storm's dressing room  with a microphone in her hand. It was a pretty surreal experience, both  as a hockey fan and as an aspiring sports reporter.

She'd watched it on television all her life, a reporter interviewing  some member of the team or other, a bunch of bare-chested, sweaty-haired  men talking about a big win or a battle-weary loss. The locker room  looked different now, empty and quiet, all the jerseys clean and hanging  number-side out, equipment neatly arranged on the shelves above each  player's designated spot. Holly tried to just enjoy the moment, but her  stupid heels were pinching her feet, reminding her that she was only  living a fun-house version of her dream. But one day, she vowed. One day  she'd be here, wearing pants and asking serious, in-depth questions.

And then Luke Maguire wouldn't be the only guy on the team who  suspected that she was an expert on this stuff. Everyone on the roster  would know she could hold her own.

She set the mic on the stool Luke had sat on for part of their  interview and headed for the forbidden bathroom. Jay and Luke would be  occupied with filming for at least five minutes. What harm would it do  to sneak a peek?

It contained all the typical male bathroom accoutrements-urinals,  stalls and a ginormous gang shower. But it was elevated to luxe  standards by the details: gleaming navy and white tiles, stainless steel  fixtures and enough accents of Portland Storm teal thrown in to pull it  all together. Calculatedly masculine and very go, team, go!

Bracing a hand on either side of the sink, she stared into the mirror.  She barely recognized herself. Gone were the usual blond ponytail and  unadorned brown eyes. No T-shirt and jeans. She flexed her feet against  the stiff leather of her heels-definitely no sneakers.

She wanted to splash some water on her face to assure herself the  reflection in the mirror was just a mirage. But the sad reality was that  the made-up, well-coiffed woman who was staring back at her now was the  version of herself that had scored the biggest deal on her résumé by  far.                       
       
           


       

This was the Holly Evans that was being invited to appear on local  morning talk shows and well-respected podcasts. Hell, she'd even gotten a  call about turning the Women's Hockey Network into a weekly  comedy-sports show on satellite radio. And if fancy suits and a little  lipstick were what it took to fulfill her dream of being a sports  reporter, then it was a small price to pay. Right?

Holly sighed. This was who she was now, at least for the duration of  the Storm's play-off run, and a splash of water wasn't going to change  that. Besides, Paige had done such a lovely job with the goop on her  face that she didn't dare. She settled for another sigh and tugged a few  stray pieces of hair back into place before she headed for one of the  navy stalls.