opening. And Blake did, too. With fast feet he zoomed up the ice, let the puck sit on his stick, before flicking his wrist and sending it flying—straight over the glove of the goalie and into the mesh at the back of the net.
Hope let out the breath she’d been holding and laughed. She hadn’t watched hockey in years, but spending time in Massachusetts meant that she’d watched her share of Bruins games. She knew enough about the sport to appreciate the players below.
A few congratulatory slaps from his teammates and they were off again. Hope looked over at her computer and then at her camera, sitting in its bag at the end of the table. She couldn’t resist.
Within five minutes she’d dressed in heavy coat, hat and boots and made her way toward the ice, camera dangling around her neck. She waded through the snow to the edge of the fence—Blake wouldn’t see her here unless he was looking, but she had a clear view and could zoom in to capture everything she needed.
She took pictures for over an hour. Pictures of the men swooping and swirling on the ice. Pictures of sticks raised in victory after a goal. Of Blake, his long legs extended as he raced for the puck, his arms lifted as he released the puck, and—the best one of all—Blake laughing. His eyes sparkled blue fire and his mouth was open as he laughed, his cheeks ruddy with color beneath the black helmet.
She could hear the glorious sound of it across the snowy field and it warmed her from the inside out. She found herself smiling in response. Blake’s laugh made her happy, she realized. And she also realized that while she’d shed tears this past week she’d also laughed more, smiled more—more than she had in a really long time.
She felt alive here.
And she was going to miss it when she left.
That was the biggest surprise of all. Never in her life had she lived in a place this isolated. She couldn’t even see another house from here. It was a long drive just to the nearest convenience store, and almost an hour to the closest city when she was used to everything being within a few blocks. But it had little to do with the place. It was bigger than that. It was Blake, and the simple acceptance he offered toward everyone who passed through the gates.
She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone she wasn’t when she was here, and it had made the pressure inside her seep away. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, without the weight of expectation and responsibility on her head. Being here, with Blake, had made her want things she hadn’t wanted in a very long time.
The game wound up and she continued taking pictures. There was one she knew she was going to like—six huge male bodies, their backs to her, sitting on a log taking off their skates. Their voices mingled in the crisp air. And then she was sure one of them caught sight of her. She paused, her heart seizing, as he elbowed Blake and nodded in her direction.
She didn’t need to zoom in to know that Blake’s gaze had found her. His teeth flashed as he smiled, and he picked up the bag that held his gear.
Then he started walking toward her.
His stride was long and purposeful and as he drew closer Hope could make out the impish smile on his face and...oh, yes. A glint in his eye. He dropped his bag and catcalls echoed out behind them. Intuition told her she was in trouble, and she hurried to zip her camera back into the vinyl case sitting on the snow beside her.
“Taking pictures, are we?”
His voice was deep and rich, and it sent tingles down her spine it was so delicious.
She lifted her chin even as she continued walking backward. “Isn’t that my job?”
Blake scooped up some snow, molded it in his hands, and kept walking.
“Did you get everyone to sign a release?” he teased, his steps menacing as he drew closer.
“D-don’t,” she stammered, stumbling backward and feeling the oddest temptation to burst out laughing.
A snowball fight? Just when she thought she had him figured out he came up with another surprise. His sense of humor was definitely suited for children...
“I mean it, Blake!” She would not engage in a silly snowball fight.
The first snowball hit her in the arm.
She bent down to grab her own snow and quickly pressed it into a ball—she had to defend herself, after all!
“Blake...”
He had more snow in his hand. She drew back and let her snowball fly, needing the distraction so she could get away. The ball just grazed the top of his head and he laughed, letting go with another and hitting her square in the chest. A clump of thick snow clung to her zipper. She stared at it for a millisecond before throwing another, missing him completely. As she bent for more snow he ran through the white fluff and captured her, circling her with his arms before she could throw the next one.
She struggled against his embrace, losing the battle against laughter. “Let me go, you big goon!” she gasped, throwing out her elbows. But it was no use. He was laughing, too, and not even close to letting her go.
“You show ’er, Blake!” came a call from behind them.
Hope’s mind raced, searching for a strategy to get free.
She looped one foot around the back of his boot, stopped struggling long enough to place her hands on his chest—and shoved.
Blake toppled over like a felled tree, just as she’d planned. But he grabbed her jacket and pulled her over with him—not what she’d planned at all.
They hit the ground in a mass of tangled legs and arms, with Hope most definitely sprawled on top of him in a most undignified manner, her face inches from his as the other hockey players let out whoops and cries.
Time seemed to hold still for several seconds as she looked down into his eyes. “Blake...” she warned, but it only added fuel to the fire.
“I’m sorry, Hope,” he murmured. “I can’t help it.” And then he lifted his right hand, cupped the back of her hat, and pulled her head down until he was kissing her.
His lips and nose were cold, but his mouth was warm as he held her head in place. She knew she shouldn’t—not after the other day, not after she’d decided there’d be no more flirting or intimate moments. But she couldn’t resist his kiss and she let herself go, let herself enjoy the feel and taste of him. She reveled in the sound of his breath in the winter stillness, loved how the kiss teased and played.
He shifted his weight and suddenly she found herself beneath him, pressed into snow that was sharp and cold and yet somehow insulating.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the other day,” he murmured. “Told myself I wouldn’t. You make it hard on a man, Hope McKinnon.”
He wasn’t kissing her now. He was just looking at her, and she was looking at him. She couldn’t seem to stop gazing into his eyes. And just when she wondered if he was going to let her up, he lowered his head again and made her go all soft and swoony by using his lips in a very effective manner. She didn’t stop him. It felt too perfect, too wonderful. The flame inside her that he seemed to kindle so easily flickered to life. When he looked at her this way, kissed her this way, she felt alive. Beautiful. Cherished. Like anything was possible.
