Chapter 3
SCOTT
One year later
New team, new town, new season. The expansion team of the major hockey league, the Montana Frostbite, afforded me an opportunity. My agent jumped on it and cut me a sweet deal.
Yes, people, Scott Sanderson has finally arrived in the professional league.
Now I can’t screw it up. Gotta keep my head on straight, and stay out of trouble.
As I drive down the road, Montana feels like another planet compared to Vancouver—less people, wide blue skies, crisp air, and the kind of quiet that settles into your bones.
A ways out of town from the new hockey arena in Billings, I park in front of an expansive log mansion out in the middle of nowhere.
I can’t even call it a cabin because this thing belongs in some architectural digest, sitting with the mountains as a perfect backdrop.
I expect a middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile to answer when I knock. An old friend of my mother’s. She’ll point me toward the room I rented and maybe offer me iced tea.
She’ll stay out of my business as I work my ass off for the Montana Frostbite. I’ll stay out of hers. Eventually, I’ll befriend a couple of the guys on the team and get a place closer to the arena we can share.
But when the door swings open, it’s—Holly?
My unforgettable one-night crush from a ritzy event involving champagne, sequins and tuxes?
I almost reach out to ensure she’s not a mirage. For a second, my brain blanks, like a puck just slammed into my helmet, knocking me out.
Blonde hair. Crystal blue eyes. That mouth surrounded by pink pouty lips. She really stands before me, and all I can think is fuck yes, there is a God.
She blinks at me, just as stunned.
We stand there in the doorway, staring. One year gone, and yet it’s like that gala in Vancouver ended five minutes ago. I’m back in a tux with her hand on my arm, watching her own the night with her voice and her passion. And suddenly, with every fiber of my being, desiring her more than I should.
“Scott?” she breathes.
My throat goes dry. I clear it. “Holly.”
For months I convinced myself I’d never see her again. That she was a once-in-a-lifetime swipe on a stupid app. A perfect night wrapped in mystery, meant to disappear when the car door shut.
Of course I searched online for her, found her social media and scoured it for what little she showed of her life.
Occasional photos would appear of her daily coffee habit at a place on Melrose.
Plenty of poses with her cat, a fluffy white thing.
But it was the bikini photos on a girls’ trip to Tahiti that kept me aroused.
Unfortunately, she had turned off the ability to receive messages, so I had no way of getting in touch with her, and my texts remained unanswered as if she had blocked me.
And now she’s standing here, sunlight spilling over her shoulders, looking at me like maybe fate isn’t sealed after all. We have a chance.
I should say something normal, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “Maybe it’s a sign,” I murmur.
Her brow furrows. “A sign?”
“That we weren’t supposed to be just one night,” I say. “Another time, another place—remember? Looks like the universe just handed us both.”
Her lips press together, fighting a smile. Fighting me. But I’m already certain of one thing—this time, I’m not letting her walk away so easily.
In Vancouver, she wore a gown that hugged her curves. Here she is in Montana, on a late and hot August day, and this time the buxom blonde with breasts barely being held up by a white string bikini—no, let’s call it what it truly is, dental floss—greets me.
She has only one flaw that I can see. It’s not her taut, tan skin, over those curvy hips I could caress with my lips for days. Or the fact that the scrap of triangle fabric and floss are all that stands in the way of my dick jumping out of my pants and entering her pussy.
Nope, the problem with the woman who greets me at the door—she holds a cat in her arms. Yes, the huge fluffy white one with gray-tipped ears, paws, and tail, who regards me with a resting grumpy face and steely blue eyes like I’m nothing better than the litter in its box.
If the woman had answered the door with a dog by her side, she would have been a total twelve in my book, with me believing my luck had changed. And I don’t mean one of those tiny yappy dogs either, but a big one like a retriever. Or shepherd or Bernese mountain dog.
“Uh, I thought I was meeting my mom’s college friend, Mabel Doubtfire?” I ask.
I expected to be lodging with an older woman. Not my wet dream of the past year who somehow landed in the middle of Montana wearing practically nothing.
When the Vancouver Ice traded me away for the season to the new expansion pro team, the Montana Frostbite, I didn’t have time to look for a place to live.
Mom called Mabel, and that’s how I ended up here, on the doorstep of a sprawling log home on a prairie with a view of the mountains behind it and the big sky above.
Not that I noticed much, what with the stunning view of this vibrant goddess before me.
“Mabel is my auntie. I’m visiting here for the summer. She mentioned a hockey player would be lodging here for a while. I’m glad it was you.” Her eyes flit with a grin and crinkles at the edges. Whoa.
Seriously, is this my life right now? I expect a camera crew to leap out of the bushes like I’m on some prank television show.
Other than my on-ice goal of playing my ass off, bedding this woman just became my one and only off-ice goal.
And I love to win. I’m sure I already mentioned that.
As long as I can get the white creature out of her arms, that is. It appears quite cozy there and growls at me, with its gray ears flattening back.
“Winston, I presume?” I reach out to pet it, but it screeches. Thanks to my quick reflexes, I narrowly escape his claws of death from scratching my pristine skin. Jeez. I need to stay alert around him.
In her next breath, Holly baby-talks the cat.
“Oh, hush, Mr. Winston.” She buries her nose into the cat’s thick neck in a lump of fur just above a diamond-studded collar.
When her lips become visible again, she gives me a sheepish look.
“You’ll have to excuse him. He doesn’t warm up to people quickly.
Which is difficult given his profession. ”
Through all her attention, Winston glares at me. If the cat could talk, I’d bet there’s some kind of warning in his eyes, like Back off, buddy, she’s mine.
Yeah, he knows how good he’s got it. He has Holly wrapped around his little paw.
“Profession?” I ask with a brow arched, shifting my heavy gear bag over my left shoulder and loosening my grip on my rolling suitcase.
She gasps and covers the cat’s ears with her hand. “You mean you don’t recognize him? Don’t let him hear you say that.” Then she giggles, back to snuggling him with a change of her voice to sugary sweet. “Isn’t that right, Winston, darling? You’re a star, baby.”
Wow. She really is into cats.
“Um. Okay.” I squint at the cat, who looks a little familiar, come to think of it.
“You’ve probably seen him in all kinds of commercials and shows, not to mention his latest hit with a major role in that cowboy spy sci-fi fantasy movie filming nearby.
Which is why we’re here, shooting movie scenes for the rest of the summer and fall instead of lounging on the beach in Malibu.
Isn’t that right, my beautiful boy? Yes, it is. Who’s the best boy? You are.”
Her long, glossy red manicured nails scratch behind his ears. The cat preens and swipes his cheek along hers, his tail straight but curled at the end like he’s found heaven in her arms.
The praise she lays thick on the fur ball has me wishing she’d rub me. How I’d like to take my cock out and do the same to her, caress her cheek with it as she kneels before me, calling me a big boy. Her best boy. I’ll bet I could give her a good hour in heaven with my tongue, too.
“Sorry. I don’t have a tongue—er, I mean a ton of time to keep track of Hollywood animal stars.” Suddenly, it all makes sense. The charity event in Vancouver, her passion for animal rights, and now this?
Seeing her again, my cock twitches. Even though I’m not looking for a relationship or any kind of situation-ship at all. But plans change. I bring my bag in front of me to hide what has to be the stiffest erection I’ve had all year, and I clear my throat, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Hm. Maybe while you’re here, we’ll make you a fan of him yet.” Winston hisses at that, giving me serious doubts. “Come on, hotshot, I’ll show you around.”
The fact she remembers my nickname is a good sign though, and at this point I’d follow her perfect ass anywhere.
The home is worth at least a couple million, I assume, given the way it’s styled like it stars in the latest home show.
It doesn’t give me a complex at all that Holly and her family might be richer than I am.
My contract with the Frostbite makes me well-off now.
Besides, it takes more than money to satisfy a woman, and I’d have no problem doing that for Holly.
Eventually, she leads me to a bedroom furnished like a fancy hotel suite. Plush bed and linens. Custom closet. Attached bathroom with marble and gold accents, and white fluffy towels. “Nice place. Where’s your room?”
“I have the master suite down the hall while my auntie is away on a trip. She won’t be back until Thanksgiving.”
The two of us together? Alone for months? I quickly calculate how often I’ll be here outside of my busy practice and game schedule. There’s no way I’m blowing this chance.
“Well, I was about to put Winston down for a nap, then do my daily yoga by the pool. Do you downward dog?” She cocks her head.
Takes me a beat to bite my tongue from telling her I go down. Very well. Yoga never interested me, though, until now. “Lucky me, I don’t start practicing with the team until tomorrow. I’m all yours tonight.”
“Perfect. Come on, Winston. Nap time.” She leaves the room, never once appearing tired of lugging the likely twenty-pound cat around. Then again, with a body like hers, it could be part of her fitness routine doing so.
“Bye, Winston.” I call and wave, earning another hiss and growl from him. Jeez, he better not get in my way as I pursue his cat-mom.