Fire And Ice. Tori Carrington

recovering knee had been throbbing, the pain made more acute by the thin chill of Albuquerque, his mood dark and grouchy. He’d been wondering what he’d been thinking, flying from L.A. on a whim, tired of sitting around his apartment by himself, sick of his own company, and not up to another round of smothering from his mother, albeit via the phone from Minnesota.

      But as he stood looking at the woman he’d been thinking about nonstop for the past three months, his mood lightened, he forgot about his knee, and certain body parts that had been dormant since that one incredible night with Jena McCade sparked to life.

      Hell, but she looked good. Damn good. Her shoulder-length black hair was slightly tousled as if she’d been running her fingers through it, her purple short, short nightgown shimmered in the light as she moved, and her violet eyes first looked large as hockey pucks, then squinted at him as she smiled that provocative smile he remembered so well.

      “Get in here,” her lush mouth said as she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside.

      And in Tommy went, the door slamming closed behind him, his duffel bag dropping to the ground as Jena practically launched herself into his arms. He automatically balanced his weight on his good knee as she wound her arms around his neck, then used them to pull herself up and straddle his hips, locking her bare feet behind his back.

      Pain shot up Tommy’s right knee, but he purposely ignored everything but the flames of craving licking through his bloodstream, filling him with a need for the woman even now launching a ravenous assault on his mouth.

      Absently, he noticed the yapping of a dog. But he was too far gone to look around for it. Instead he groaned and curved his hands up Jena’s legs then her bottom to support her. He wasn’t surprised to find that she wore nothing under the slinky number. Her skin was hot under his fingers as he dipped his tongue into her mouth, his eyes watching her under half-closed lids.

      She was even prettier than he remembered. Her angular features might have looked sharp on another woman, but they fit Jena to a T. She was as unpredictable as she was beautiful, and was the only woman up to this point in his life who had been able to match him stroke for stroke, lick for lick. In fact, in the twelve straight hours they’d spent together, she’d nearly undone him. Which was saying a lot considering his eight years on the professional hockey circuit spent sampling the willing fans and strangers alike offered up at every turn.

      Jena finally paused for breath, resting her forehead against his as she laughed huskily.

      Tommy slid his hands toward her slick flesh, stopping mere millimeters short. “Now that’s what I call a welcome.”

      “I aim to please.”

      “I know.”

      She glanced over his shoulder at his duffel. “How long you in town for?”

      He followed her gaze to find a blond boxer sniffing around the perimeter of the bag. “A couple of days.”

      Her provocative smile sent shivers down his spine. “That should do.”

      He chuckled as she unwound her legs from his hips and began to slide down. Her foot hit his knee brace.

      “Here, let me help,” he said, easily grasping her hips and putting her down on the floor.

      “What’s that?” she asked, feeling his brace through the loose denim of his jeans.

      He shrugged, following the ends of her silky dark hair with a fingertip. “Let’s just say I’m in need of some primo T.L.C.”

      She twisted her lips as she made a production out of looking him up and down. “I don’t know how tender or loving it’s going to be, but if it’s a workout you’re looking for…”

      “That’ll do.”

      “Good.”

      He grinned.

      She took his hand and began leading him back, presumably to her bedroom. Halfway there, she halted. “Wait a minute.”

      “I don’t know if I can.”

      “Well, you’re going to have to, unless you want a devil on four legs drooping on your face while you sleep.”

      “Who said anything about sleeping.”

      “Oh, a man after my own heart.”

      Tommy sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

      “Don’t ask.”

      He watched as Jena comically chased the puppy around the living room then finally nabbed her next to a large potted plant that teetered ominously. He’d never have guessed that Jena was a dog person. Then again, it appeared the role was a new one. He watched her lead the puppy to the kitchen as if the pup were the boss instead of her. She held up one finger to Tommy, then disappeared into the other room. The rustling of paper, the murmur of Jena speaking to the dog, then she was again in front of him, the kitchen door firmly shut.

      She slid her tongue over her lips. “Now, where were we?” She smiled. “Ah, yes.”

      She took his hand again and picked up where she’d left off, namely en route to her bedroom.

      He eyed her firm backside as she swayed her hips in front of him. Oh, yeah. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Not his doctor, but the one lurking in the corner of his mind. The truth was, he’d missed this spitfire. Some would argue that he didn’t even know her. He would tell them that he knew her better than he had any other woman in his life outside his mother and four older sisters.

      But, of course, no one would argue anything with him, simply because no one knew about Jena McCade or the night they’d shared together. No one knew where he was now, either. They had the number to his cell phone. That was enough. And even that he’d turned off as the taxi had pulled up to the apartment building he’d found via a simple check of the phone book. He’d spent the past seven weeks going to physical therapy sessions and various sports doctors and he’d had enough of all of it. He didn’t want to talk about his career and where it went from there, especially midseason and it was looking like he wouldn’t make it back until next season, if then. This morning when he’d woken to the sound of his sports agent calling to remind him of his physical therapy session, all he could think of was getting out of L.A. And Jena was the first person who popped to mind. The person who had been on his mind constantly since before his injury during the game against the Detroit Red Wings seven weeks ago when he’d taken a stick to the skates and done the equivalent of an acrobatic twist a full fifteen feet in the air before landing in an inhuman position on the hard ice. Initially the dozen or so doctors the team had called in had wondered if he’d ever be able to walk on his shattered knee again, even after surgery. Their opinions reinforced the uncertain prognosis he’d given himself. Now…

      Well, he didn’t want to think about now in connection to his knee and what his own medical background told him might or might not happen. Not when Jena had entered the darkness of her bedroom and was tugging off her nightie, tousling her sexy hair all the more.

      Oh, no, he didn’t want to think of any of that. All he wanted to do was touch and be touched.

      Jena tucked her fingers into the waist of his jeans and tugged him toward her.

      And, oh boy, had he ever come to the right place to do that.

      The injury he would survive. But as Jena kissed him again, he briefly wondered if he’d survive her…

      2

      HOT AND SALTY AND one-hundred-percent male. That’s what Tommy’s skin tasted like against Jena’s tongue. As the early morning sunlight slanted through the vertical blinds cutting slashes of light across her black lacquer bed, she slid a little closer to the man sleeping next to her, allowing for a fuller taste of the skin covering his broad shoulder.

      Tommy made a sound deep in his throat, making her smile. She felt so thoroughly…sexed. Every inch of her sang and ached and longed for even more of the man who had taken her again and again and again through