My Brother's Hockey Rival

CHAPTER 1 Snowed In with the Enemy

By the time the lodge appeared through the snow, I had already reconsidered at least seven major decisions in my life.

Getting out of bed that morning was currently number one.

Accepting a photography job two hours outside Portland was number two.

Ignoring the weather warning because the forecast said the storm wouldn’t arrive until after midnight was number three.

And climbing into Mason Cole’s SUV?

That one was rapidly climbing the list.

“There,” Mason said.

I leaned forward and squinted through the windshield.

At first, all I could see was snow. Thick white sheets rushed toward us beneath the headlights, swallowing the road almost as quickly as Mason could find it. Then a dark shape emerged between the trees.

The lodge looked like something from another century. Two stories of timber and stone stood beneath a steep roof already buried under several inches of snow. A wooden sign swung violently above the entrance, but the storm made the words impossible to read.

More importantly, there were lights inside.

“Oh, thank God.”

Mason glanced at me. “That excited to get away from me?”

“I was actually thanking God for indoor plumbing.”

“Sure you were.”

“Your ego must require its own locker room.”

“Two, actually.”

I rolled my eyes.

Mason pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Only three other vehicles sat outside, each already disappearing beneath snow. He switched off the engine but didn’t immediately open his door.

I reached for mine.

“Wait.”

I looked at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re wearing those.”

His gaze dropped toward my boots.

I followed it.

They were black leather ankle boots with a modest heel.

“They’re boots.”

“They’re decorative boots.”

“They’re perfectly functional.”

“For walking through a shopping mall.”

“I walked from my apartment to my car in them this morning without suffering a fatal injury.”

“That’s inspiring.”

“Mason.”

“There’s ice under the snow.”

“I know how ice works.”

“Apparently not, considering where I found your car.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

The infuriating thing about Mason was that he could insult me without changing his expression. There was always the faintest hint of amusement behind his eyes, as if irritating me had unexpectedly become his favorite hobby.

“I’m getting out of the car.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I opened the door.

Cold air punched me in the face.

The wind was stronger now, vicious enough to steal my breath. I stepped down carefully, planted one boot on the snow-covered pavement—

And immediately slipped.

A hand caught my waist.

My back hit something solid.

Warm.

Very solid.

Mason.

For one humiliating second, I was pressed against his chest with his arm wrapped firmly around me.

“Don’t,” I warned.

His mouth was near my ear.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking several things.”

I straightened.

His hand remained on my waist.

My body noticed.

That was unfortunate.

Through the layers of my sweater and coat, I could still feel the pressure of his fingers. Mason was standing close enough that I could smell his cologne beneath the cold air—something dark and clean, cedar maybe, mixed with the faint scent of winter.

I looked up.

Big mistake.

Snow had settled in his dark hair. His gray eyes were fixed on mine.

For once, he wasn’t smiling.

Neither was I.

Something changed.

It was subtle.

Dangerously subtle.

The storm disappeared for half a heartbeat.

There was no hockey rivalry. No Noah. No rules. No reason why standing this close to Mason Cole was a terrible idea.

There was just a man holding me.

And the terrifying realization that I liked the way his hand felt on my body.

I stepped away.

“I’m fine.”

Mason’s hand dropped.

“Clearly.”

“Say one thing about the boots and I’m going back to the car.”

“You’d make it three feet.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The confidence in his answer irritated me more than the words themselves.

“You seem very sure.”

Mason opened the back of his SUV and pulled out a duffel bag.

“I know what hate looks like.”

Something about the way he said it made me pause.

But he had already turned away.

We crossed the parking lot slowly. Mason walked slightly ahead of me, blocking some of the wind. He didn’t mention that he was doing it.

I noticed anyway.

Inside, the lodge was almost painfully warm.

A huge stone fireplace dominated the lobby, flames crackling behind an iron screen. Leather chairs surrounded it, and old photographs of mountains covered the timber walls. Somewhere nearby, cinnamon and coffee filled the air.

I could have cried.

Instead, I headed directly toward the fire.

“Oh, beautiful civilization.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turned.

Mason stood behind me, brushing snow from his coat.

“I was talking to the fireplace.”

“I know. I’m still taking credit.”

Before I could answer, an older man appeared behind the reception desk.

“Hell of a night to be traveling.”

“You could say that,” Mason replied.

The man looked toward the windows.

“Road’s officially closed in both directions. Sheriff called twenty minutes ago. Nobody’s leaving until morning at the earliest.”

My stomach sank.

“At the earliest?”

“Storm’s moving faster than expected.”

Fantastic.

I pulled out my phone.

Still no signal.

“Do you have Wi-Fi?”

“Normally.”

The receptionist grimaced.

“Storm knocked out the line about an hour ago.”

Of course it did.

I looked at Mason.

“This keeps getting better.”

“You’re alive.”

“An inspiring standard for hospitality.”

The receptionist laughed.

Mason actually smiled.

I ignored both of them.

“Do you have rooms?”

The man looked down at his computer.

“Couple left.”

“Great.”

I reached into my bag.

“One room, please.”

Mason looked at me.

“You’re welcome to sleep outside.”

“I’m getting my own room.”

“That was my plan.”

“Good.”

“Excellent.”

The receptionist’s fingers moved across the keyboard.

Then stopped.

He frowned.

My heart knew what was coming before my brain did.

“No.”

The receptionist looked up.

“Sorry?”

“Whatever you’re about to say, no.”

Mason leaned an elbow against the counter.

“This should be good.”

The receptionist cleared his throat.

“We’ve got one room.”

I closed my eyes.

Naturally.

Of course there was one room.

Because apparently the universe had decided subtle punishment wasn’t enough.

“One?” I repeated.

“One.”

“Two beds?”

He checked.

“One king.”

Mason coughed.

I turned slowly toward him.

“If you laugh, I will kill you.”

“I’m fighting for my life over here.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

The receptionist looked between us.

“You two married?”

“No,” we said simultaneously.

“Dating?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

Mason waited half a second.

“Not yet.”

My head snapped toward him.

“Mason.”

He smiled.

The receptionist seemed delighted by our suffering.

“Well, I can offer extra blankets. There’s a couch in the room.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Mason said.

The words came so easily that I almost missed them.

I stared at him.

“What?”

“You take the bed.”

I had expected another joke. Another inappropriate comment. Something designed specifically to make me want to strangle him.

Instead, he handed the receptionist his credit card.

“You don’t have to pay for me.”

“I know.”

“I can pay for my half.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because your purse is still in your car.”

I stopped.

Damn it.

My wallet was in my purse.

Which was sitting on the passenger seat of my dead car several miles away.

I had grabbed only my camera bag and phone when Mason told me we needed to leave quickly.

“I can pay you back.”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“It’s a room. Not a kidney.”

“I don’t like owing people.”

“Neither do I.”

Something passed across his face.

Again, that strange seriousness.

Then it vanished.

“You can repay me by not murdering me in my sleep.”

“No promises.”

“That’s fair.”

The receptionist handed him a key card.

“Room twelve. End of the hallway. Restaurant closed early because the cook went home before the road shut down, but there’s food in the lounge. Help yourselves.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Mason picked up his duffel.

I headed toward the stairs.

“Elevator’s around the corner,” he said.

“I can manage stairs.”

“I’m sure.”

I stopped and looked back.

“Are you going to be unbearable all night?”

“Probably.”

“Good to know.”

“Emma?”

“What?”

His gaze dropped toward my feet.

“Watch the boots.”

I considered throwing my phone at him.

Instead, I walked upstairs.

The room was larger than I expected.

And somehow worse.

The king-sized bed occupied most of the center, covered in a thick white duvet. A couch sat beside the fireplace, but calling it a couch was generous. It looked barely long enough for me, let alone a professional hockey player built like a refrigerator.

Mason dropped his bag beside it.

I looked from him to the couch.

“You’re not fitting on that.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Where? A shoebox?”

“Minor league bus.”

I removed my coat.

“I thought hockey players had luxury hotels and private planes.”

“Now.”

The word caught my attention.

I turned.

Mason was looking through his bag.

“You played in the minors?”

“Most of us did.”

“Noah didn’t.”

The atmosphere changed instantly.

His shoulders stiffened.

I wished I could take the words back.

Not because I had said anything cruel, but because suddenly I remembered exactly who we were.

Bennett and Cole.

Two surnames that weren’t supposed to exist peacefully in the same room.

Mason pulled out a black T-shirt.

“Noah was drafted third overall.”

“I know.”

“Then you know he didn’t exactly have the typical path.”

There was no mockery in his voice.

That surprised me.

“You make that sound like a compliment.”

Mason looked at me.

“Your brother is an asshole.”

I glared.

“But he’s a phenomenal hockey player.”

I blinked.

That was probably the last thing I expected Mason Cole to say.

“You respect him?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to braid his hair.”

“Mason.”

“Yes.”

His expression became serious.

“I respect him.”

“Then why do you hate each other?”

There it was.

The question Noah never answered.

Mason’s jaw shifted.

He looked away.

“Ask your brother.”

“I have.”

“And?”

“He says you’re a reckless asshole.”

“That sounds like Bennett.”