Page 10 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
His mouth touches my temple in a soft kiss of my sensitive skin, and though it’s a breathy, warm kiss, the effect is a shock to my system that sends a shiver of need racing down my spine. After the initial jolt I pull back, putting as much distance as possible between us as I look around to see if anyone saw us. He puts a hand on mine resting on the divider between us and takes my cheek in his other hand, forcing me to turn back and face him.
“You can’t do that,” I say before I get lost in his eyes and touch. “Don’t do that again.”
“I proved my point.”
“No you didn’t. There’s nothing—” He arches a brow and I huff out a breath. Denial is useless because he’s not stupid. In fact he’s an expert at seducing women, so he absolutely knows I’m a sucker for him. “Okay, so there’s an attraction, but so what? Every female in the known universe is attracted to you, so it proves nothing. And you can’t do that again. We can’t have any… hanky-panky.”
“Hanky-panky?” He snorts. “None of that. I disagree about the attraction between us. At least from my end. The kind of chemistry I feel with you doesn’t happen with every female in the universe—in fact, I don’t remember the last time it happened. Not like this.” He strokes his finger down my jaw and along my throat and then takes it away. He stops talking and frowns, then looks at the seat in front of us. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter. We can’t have any hanky-panky. Not if you don’t want any.”
“It’s not up to me—not that I would. Want any hanky-panky. It’s the rule. The agency’s rule.”
“Ah. I get it. Rules. No problem. Strictly business between us.” He’s still turned and I miss the connection of his eyes on mine. But I have no right to his attention—at least not that kind of attention.
“Exactly. I’m glad you get the picture.” I’m the opposite of glad, if I’m being perfectly honest, and my face heats up along with the rest of me, acknowledging the extraordinary nature of my body’s reaction to him. He’s right. When does that ever happen?
Never. Not that I’ve been looking for a fling. Though the throbbing between my thighs insists that I’ve been neglecting my needs and it’s true. Maybe that explains my hypersensitivity to his nearness. Explains half of it.
The other half can be explained by his manly jaw with that dark stubble, dreamy blue eyes, and the overpowering sensual energy of his perfectly proportioned Charles Atlas muscled body. He could play a leading man in the movies for real as well as in my daydreams, where he has a recurring role. If only Godfrey Collins hadn’t squirmed out of this assignment I wouldn’t be in the difficult predicament of being handler for my secret and very much forbidden crush. Shit.
He leaves me alone and I’m finally able to concentrate on work until the plane lands.
He follows me off the plane, carrying our bags, and I can feel his eyes on my back and the heat of his body close to mine. Apparently he’s sticking close because he doesn’t trust my ability to walk without stumbling. Sure. That must be it.
When we get to the exit area I wrench myself free from his gravitational force.
“I need to call Ham.” Maddox nods and I step away from him as I tap the icon for Hamish Jett, my boss. “We’ve landed,” I tell Ham when he answers.
“Good. The driver should be there in a few minutes to pick you up. When you drop off your things at the hotel the car will wait because you need to get to the Garden for a press conference introducing Knight.”
“As if all of Boston’s hockey world doesn’t already know exactly who he is,” I say. “We’ll put on our best face.”
“I’m counting on it. Make sure Knight stays on script. It’s going to be a busy evening. The Brawlers have a command performance charity event for their foundation later tonight and you’ll need to escort Knight. It’s black-tie,” my boss reminds me.
“Got it. We’ll be there. No problem.” Shit. I forgot to tell Knight about the black-tie. It’s so not like me to forget details, any details.
“And remember Harper, the ironclad rule.”
“I know.No dating the clients.No fooling around, not even flirting will be tolerated. Although I’m not sure how I’m supposed to communicate with Maddox Knight without flirting. It seems to be the only language he knows.” My boss chuckles.
"Professional flirting doesn't count. No relationship with the clients thatisn'ta professional one. Andhoney, if you do, it's a fireable offense." He pauses to let that sink in as if I don’t already feel the weight of extreme pressure. “On the other hand, if you’re successful and get Knight to the end of the season with the Brawlers, there’s a big fat bonus in it for you.” That makes me grin.
“Now you’re talking,” I say. “How much?” I shouldn’t be surprised, because if there’s one thing that Jett is known for, it’s that he’s fair. He’s fair with owners, players and his employees, and generous.
Ham is an ex-player—hockey player, that is—one of the most respected men in the NHL and now the best in the sports agent business. So if I mess this up, I know my career is over. I swallow a gulp of anxiety because I can already feel the stretch of professional flirting boundaries as sure as the heat waves that come over me whenever Knight’s charm gets too close.
His charm isn’t even about his perfect square chin, those teasing blue eyes, or his chiseled body. At least not so much. Because I can control my physical attraction. Pretty much. But it’s that freaking boyish innocence combined with a hefty amount of confidence and genuine attentiveness that gets to a girl. That combination of gorgeousness and real decency mixed with fun is his real and deadly brand of charm. Shit.
But one, or even a few lays in the hay with magical Maddox and all his heady charm would hardly measure up to my need for this job and the money. I scoff inwardly. I mean, it’s not like we’re talking about risking my career for a meaningful relationship. God no.
“You got it. I’m all in.” I say to Ham to instill confidence. In him and in me too.
“I’m not worried about you. But if Knight steps out of line, you let me know.”
“I can handle him. You know I can or you wouldn’t have given me this assignment.”
“Sort of.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Shit, there was a little more edge to my voice than I meant. “I mean—”
