Page 2 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
One
Harper
“Don’t you think if I knew there was a camera running I’d have kept my clothes on? Or at least I wouldn’t have—”
“Never mind.” I put up a hand to stop him from going into detail about his exploits. “I’m sorry I asked. It hardly matters at this point.” I press my lips flat and I don’t know if I’m pissed or if I want to laugh hysterically. Neither would be professional, though in all fairness, it’s hard to behave professionally with the scintillating sex video of the most difficult client in our agency’s history stuck in my head. “Your team negotiated a trade and we’ve been charged by your new team’s management with keeping you under control. The Boston Brawlers don’t fool around.”
“How about you? Do you fool around?” the notorious charmer asks. I roll my eyes and bite my tongue because a tiny part of me, the neglected and lonely part south of my belly button, wants to screamyes!But I’m no fool. And this assignment means everything to my career.
“Don’t you even care that you’re being traded? You should read this agreement the Brawlers Management sent—”
“Honey, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a win for me. Boston is a hockey town and a helluva lot better than being stuck down here in NOLA where the ice barely freezes and the fans would rather see me wrestle an alligator—or three naked ladies, as it turns out—than score a goal.” He smiles, glances at the paper, then picks up the pen and dashes off his signature. It’s smooth and pretty—just like him. He slides the paper back and when I go to take it, my hand brushes his and he smiles.
“So tell me sugar buns, what do you—?”
“Did you just call mesugar buns?” He has the good grace to look chagrinned. I mentally swear at Godfrey Collins, my colleague at the agency for ditching out on this assignment and leaving it for me. I hope he catches herpes on his stupid un-cancellable cruise of the Mediteranean.
“To tell you the truth,” he says, crinkles branching from the corners of those unfairly beautiful eyes. “I don’t remember your name, so I’m improvising.”
“Harper St. John. Remember it. Because I’m your new handler.” His eyes light up and shit, maybe that was the wrong thing to say, kind of like waving a lollipop in front of a toddler.
“Sounds like we’re about to get real friendly, Harper.”
“Ms. St. John.” I push away from the table and slide the signed agreement into the folder in my bag.
“What happened to Collins?” he asks, watching me. Why do I suddenly feel like a gazelle being tracked by a tiger? A very sexy tiger, with blue eyes better than old blue-eyes Sinatra himself. I’m not sure what the hell he’s seeing in me because today I wore the most anti-man-attracting suit in my closet, brown pinstripes with the skirt below my knees. I pick up my phone and check the time.
“He had other business.” I don’t know why I’m covering for the bastard Collins after he left this assignment in my lap, aside from the fact that I’m a professional. I hold in a sigh. “Go home and pack, Mr. Knight. We’re catching the next flight to Boston and it leaves in three hours.”
He opens his mouth and closes it without saying a word. A thrill shudders down my spine at the fact that I’ve finally shaken the notorious too-cool-to-care lady charmer. Then he laughs. Of course. I stand and gesture to the door and he finally unfolds himself from the chair, standing a half foot taller than me, his light shirt straining against his wide shoulders and sinewy arms. He’s wearing gym shorts and sneakers like he just came from the gym. He probably did because those muscles are unnaturally sculpted like he should be in a painting.
“We?” he asks. My brain scrambles to remember what I just said. Oh yeah,weare catching a flight.
“Weren’t you listening to a thing I said? I’m your handler—as in I’ll be with you in Boston for the rest of the season, or until you prove you can be trusted not to cause a scandal.”
“Define ‘with me’,” he says, his voice oozing flirtatious charm and innuendo. “Are we sharing a place?” He arches one brow and lifts the corner of one side of his mouth—the side with the dimple, as if—
“Stop. Just stop. You think you’re so funny, but this is the kind of attitude that got you into trouble.”
“Relax, St. John, I’m just toying with you.” Both dimples show and he looks allaw shucks, who me?If I hadn’t just watched that video and had an eyeful of what he’s really about, I would buy his harmless hockey-boy charm. Those eyes, though… never mind. I step out of the office of our client’s now previous team, and he falls in line with me.
“A limo will pick you up in two hours and we’ll arrange to have your things shipped as soon as we find you a place. For now we’re staying at the Bostonian Hotel.”
“You never did say if we’d be sharing—”
“No. No sharing. I’ll be in the room next to yours at the hotel. With a locked door between us. You may as well start thinking of me as your jailer. Handler is a bad word. I don’t know why they use the term. I’m your prison guard, Maddox Knight. Get used to that.”
He grins and I want to slap him, but I purse my lips and walk ahead of him out of the building and into the waiting car, closing the door on him as he follows. I lower the window.
“Get your own car home. And be ready on time.”
