Power Play (The Locke Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

1

Play On Foundation Fundraiser

Nashville, Tennessee

5 Years Ago

Liam

“ I think I’m in love,” I said to the guy next to me. I didn’t know the guy, we just happened to be at the bar at the same time. He was looking at his phone and I was looking at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen walk down the steps to the dance floor. In a sea of white and gold she was a vision in red.

The Play On Foundation’s Fundraising Gala dress code was supposed to be black, white and gold attire only, but this gorgeous creature hadn’t gotten the memo.

Or maybe she had. Maybe it was a statement.

“What’s that song?” I asked. “The one about the lady in red?”

“Lady in Red?” the guy asked me.

“Yes!” I clapped my new buddy on the shoulder. He muttered something and wandered off. That was fine, I didn’t need a wing man.

There were about twenty feet between me and the potential love of my life when our eyes caught.

Hers were silver. For real. The kind of gray that shimmered. Everything about her was different. Extra-ordinary.

I watched, dumbstruck, as a smile flirted on her lips.

“You know, you’re staring at me,” she said, coming to stand next to me at the bar. I felt that deep zap of electricity in my gut. In my balls. My entire body woke up.

“I’m pretty sure I can’t help it,” I said half joking, half serious.

She chuckled and turned away to search for the bartender.

“I thought there was a dress code for this thing.” I looked down at my Dolce & Gabbana white double-breasted suit. Did I do this to draw her attention to how fucking good I looked? Maybe. With this woman I was prepared to be shameless.

“I was never one for dress codes,” she said boldly.

“A rule breaker, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that,” she said with a lift of the chin. Then a small wince creased her gorgeous face. “Or you could call it my dad’s really faulty memory about this event and me feeling super exposed right now.”

“Don’t be,” I assured her, intrigued by her honesty. “There’s nothing wrong with standing out in a crowd.”

“Thank you,” she said and ordered a glass of white wine. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You always follow the rules?”

“Well, I kind of live by rules.”

“Hmm. Let me guess. A cop?”

I shook my head, we were at a fundraiser for sports programs in underfunded neighborhoods. There were dozens of pro athletes walking around. Maybe there were cops, too? “Professional athlete.” I tried not to sound too cocky. I probably failed.

She looked me up and down and I struck a pose. My arm curled in front of me, head down, classic Schwarzenegger.

“Football,” she said.

“Wrong.”

“Golf?”

“Seriously?” Did I look like a golfer?

“Liam, I’m kidding,” she said and put a hand on my arm. A quick glancing touch that rippled through me. I wanted to shimmy in reaction. I wanted to grab that hand and put it back on my arm. All over my body. “I know who you are.”

“You do?” I asked. I wasn’t used to being recognized. I’d just finished my rookie year with the Bruisers. I’d done well, but I fell short of my goal of being rookie of the year.

“Liam Locke. First round draft pick by the Bruisers. Left-handed center with a brutal slap shot. Also, your dimple is a dead giveaway. Everyone in this room knows who you are.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said, pretending to be modest. She shot me a half smile like she knew it. “Okay. Fair is fair. You have to tell me your name.”

“Kit Barrington,” she said. “My Dad is Bill Barrington.”

“Oh yeah, the investment guy,” I said. “Dillon Le Coeur is a friend of mine. He’s been helping me and a bunch of other guys get through our rookie years. I’m pretty sure he’s mentioned your dad.”

“Dillon is a great guy and if he’s helping you out, then you’re lucky.”

She took a big sip of her wine. Really big. A gulp, actually. And then she coughed, her hand coming up over her mouth. She coughed again and wine sprayed between her fingers all over me.

Horror dawned on her face, her pretty gray eyes panicked.

We stood there staring at each other, wine dripping down my nose. My chin. Wine dripping from her fingers.

It was freaking hilarious.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “I’m so…” she choked. Coughed again. I pretended to duck and she started to laugh. “Sorry!” She grabbed napkins from the bar and patted my chest.

Still laughing, I grabbed her hands and pulled the napkins from her fingers.

“It’s okay,” I said.

I wiped up my own face, aware every second that I was holding her hand in mine and she wasn’t pulling away. Her fingers were long and thin and the nails were short. So different from the dagger like manicures on the fingers of most of the women at the party.

It looked like she’d been biting her thumb nail.

Look, I wanted to say, and show her mine. I do the same thing. A bad habit from a nervous childhood.

“You missed…” she whispered, standing so close I could feel the exhale of her breath across my face. White wine and toothpaste. Something sweet under that. Her fingers reached for me and I let go of her hand so she could brush some wine from my cheek. I grinned at her, putting the dimple Mom gave me to good use.

“I’m really sorry,” she said and pulled her hand back. “Once again I’m a walking embarrassment.”

A blush climbed across her collarbones, up her lovely neck and across her even more lovely face. She was blushing and embarrassed and dressed like a goddamn siren. The most beautiful woman here. By miles.

“Are you for real?” I asked. The words, like half the shit I said, just popped out. My brother was always on me to think before I said stuff, but I figured why? It hadn’t hurt me yet and people always knew where they stood with me.

I touched the flushed skin of her cheek and she blushed harder, turning away slightly, and I could see that shit was moving too far, too fast.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a tiny step back, giving her some space. I was a big guy and I was aware of it, I knew how to crowd someone and how to back off. “So tell me more. Your dad is an investment guy. Is he here tonight?”

She looked around the room. “He’s supposed to be, but as usual he’s running late. He asks me to come to these charity events with him so I can point out everyone in the room. He’s terrible with names.”

“And you’re obviously not,” I pointed out. “You knew me, and I’m a nobody.”

“Hardly a nobody,” she said. “You were in contention for the Calder Trophy, you just dropped off those last few games.”

A lingering groin strain. Something I wasn’t going to let happen again next season. Conditioning would be my ultimate priority. “So tell me more about your dad’s investment stuff.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “You really want to hear about that?”

If it meant she would keep talking to me, yes. “Or you could spit more wine at me.”

“He’s hysterical ladies and gentlemen,” she said to no one in particular.

“I’m serious. Give me your spiel.”

“Not much of a spiel,” she said with modesty. “My dad helps professional athletes invest their money and create a financial plan for the future. For some athletes, they’ve never seen this much money and they don’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s the truth. My brother hides his money in his mattress.” That wasn’t totally the case, but it wasn’t far off. My brother Wyatt was a legendary defenseman who just helped the Colorado Peaks win a Stanley Cup. He was also a legendary grump, a total cheapskate, and worse - a terrible dresser.

We were about as different as two people who shared DNA could be and I loved the fuck out of him. But I wanted more than a nest egg when my playing days were over.

“Hiding it in your mattress is one way of doing it. But my dad will have other options.”

“Okay, I’m sold,” I said.

“Sold on what?”

“You. Your dad.”

“You’re awfully easy.”

I gave her my best smile. “I don’t have a problem with being easy, sweetheart.”

She laughed and shook her head. “What’s your email?”

“ Playa8797@gmail. ”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me guess, your number is 97 and is 87…Crosby?”

“Same email address I’ve had since high school,” I said. “What can I say? I had high expectations. Everyone tells me to change it, but it’s too much of a hassle.”

She laughed and tapped on her phone. “I just sent you some information and my dad’s direct contact,” she said and took another sip of her wine. “You can look it over and call me if you have any questions.”

“Did you just give me your number?” I asked, skipping to the important part.

“I guess I did,” she said with a smile that sliced right through me. She was smart. She was beautiful. She was…real. I’d gotten pretty good at knowing when something was honest and when something was fake. Not that there was anything wrong with fake. Fake could be a real good time. But honest and real… they were rare.

Our dad always told my brother and me that we had good brains and good hearts and even better guts. We had to trust what we felt was right.

I looked at this beautiful woman and I thought. Yeah. She’s fucking real.

She feels right.

Wanting to impress her, I took out my phone. I pulled up my accountant’s contact information, forwarded him Barrington’s information and told him to invest. Immediately.

“Done,” I said and put the phone back in my pocket.

“Done what?” She asked, looking at me with narrowed eyes. That was so hot. I wanted to kiss her until all that disbelief went hazy and her eyes went soft. I wanted to touch her until her skin was red all over and she was moaning with that mouth of hers.

Fuck. Am I getting a hard on at a children’s charity event?

“I just sent my accountant your dad’s information and told him to invest. Six figures seems like a good place to start.”

“Six figures…so you trust everyone you meet that quickly?”

“Only beautiful women who don’t follow dress codes,” I said. “Okay, business is done. On to pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” she said, with real skepticism. “Uh… to be clear. I help my dad recruit potential investors, but I’m not…like I don’t…I’m going to school to be a kindergarten teacher!”

I laughed. “Kit, relax. I didn’t think this was…you know, transactional. I’m just saying we’re done talking about business and money. Now I want to talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“Well, for one, you’re going to school to be a kindergarten teacher?”

“Not yet, I’m not. Hopefully next year.” She shook her head, that small smile playing around her lips again. “That’s pretty much it. I did say it rather righteously though, didn’t I?”

“Very righteously. I wasn’t aware all kindergarten teachers were saints. Which means…I have to do something to corrupt you.”

She lifted her chin in the air. Her black hair shimmery in the low lights.

“How dare you, sir. I am incorruptible.”

“We’ll see about that.” I waited until the bartender had his back turned and I put two hands on the bar and hopped onto the other side.

“Liam,” she whispered, her silver/gray eyes wide, her beautiful lips smiling. She was pretty. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for…got it.” I pulled a bottle of champagne from a sink full of ice and set it on the bar in front of her. Then I hopped back over the bar in an easy motion and took the bottle and her hand, leading her through the crush of guests.

“You stole that!” she hissed in my ear.

I shook my head. “It’s an open bar. Like, I could have just asked for it.”

“Oh. Right. Where are we going?”

“There’s an outside patio that will be less crowded. We’ll drink champagne, you’ll tell me your life story and I’ll try and convince you I’m the man of your dreams.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you going to try and seduce me?”

“I’m going to give it my best shot.” I gave her my best smile. The smile that worked on every girl at East High School and quite a few since then.

She laughed. “I’m not as easy as you are.”

“We’ll see about that.” As we approached the double French doors leading out to the patio, the p.a. system buzzed to life and the lights dimmed behind us. There was a sudden crush of people heading towards the stage and she bumped up against my body. I wasn’t certain, but I thought I heard a catch of breath in the back of her throat.

I looked down at her and her mouth was right there. Lush and perfect and parting as she pulled in a breath. Her eyes met mine and I knew that she was feeling exactly what I was feeling.

“Liam,” she sighed and shook her head. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a beautiful girl out into the moonlight to drink champagne and learn all her secrets.”

“There are a dozen far more beautiful women here,” she said, like she had no idea what a smoke show she was in that red dress. “Why me?”

“Because…” She felt so right. Because my gut was never, ever wrong. “Because we might be magic. Tonight feels a little magical. Doesn’t it?”

She seemed to consider that, then narrowed her eyes in a way that would make her a formidable kindergarten teacher one day. “One glass of champagne.”

“Two,” I negotiated. “Two and a half if you spit any of it on me.”