Her Man Advantage

He wasn’t some backwoods misogynist or anything, but then again, he wasn’t a fan of females in the locker room. And hey, to be fair, he wouldn’t have taken up journalism and expected free access to the ladies’ showers if he was following a women’s sport. If he had, maybe he would have been in a whole different career field.

“Her name is Jennifer Hunter. And she looked female to me.” The coach grinned, the expression increasing the twist of his nose in a face that could only have belonged to a hockey player. “The good news is, I got the impression she really doesn’t want to be here any more than we want a New York filmmaker in our business. So who knows, maybe she’ll turn in a lame, half-baked assignment and we’ll all get off easy.”

It was the first bit of good news Axel had received since hearing about the monthlong documentary special.

“I could do some reconnaissance and see what I can find out. In fact, maybe I could go meet her right now.” He’d do it before he hit the showers. The smell of unwashed hockey equipment alone could send grown men to their knees. What woman would be able to stand the stench inside an enclosed space like the conference room?

“You’re going to make a hell of a first impression, Rankin.” Thankfully, the coach didn’t seem too upset about that.

Which reaffirmed the message—win as a team, lose as a team.

Sometimes, the role of a hockey defenseman was to throw down the gloves and pick the fight to protect his teammates. Axel’s responsibility wasn’t all that different now. He’d find out a little more about Jennifer Hunter and see why she didn’t want to be here. Then he’d make sure she remembered those reasons daily until she packed her camera and left.

That was plan B, and he liked it as a backup. But right now, he’d go with his A game. Charming the socks off the film director by introducing her to the fragrant reality of life in the locker room….

2

“WHERE THE HELL IS THE director lady who’s supposed to be in the conference room?”

Filmmaker Jennifer Hunter hid a smile as she eavesdropped on the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound human bullhorn clanging around the hallways of the Phantoms’ practice rink in ice skates with a pair of rubber guards on the blades.

The player searching for her had been hammering on the conference room door for two minutes before he started stomping toward the administration offices, his sweaty face glowering. He seemed to have cornered a trainer to demand Jennifer’s whereabouts. She—the missing director in question—simply folded her arms on the cold steel railing that circled the practice rink, feeling no great need to identify herself to some self-important player who hadn’t even seen fit to pull off his helmet before introducing himself.

Besides, from the ominous tone in the behemoth’s voice, she guessed the player wasn’t any more enthused about meeting her than she’d been about meeting him. Them. Anyone on the Phantoms’ hockey team.

Because, as an activist for social change through her art, Jennifer didn’t think affluent athletes were going to make for interesting subjects.

“I’m not sure, Axel,” replied the young trainer in matching blue-and-white sweats bearing the team’s logo. He flung a clean towel over the player’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “I’ll go find out. If you want to hit the showers, I can have an answer by the time you’re on the massage table.”

Tucked behind a post supporting the high, Plexiglas roof that allowed light to flood the rink, Jennifer wasn’t surprised the athletes had celebrity services at their fingertips. It did surprise her that the thick-shouldered player wearing jersey number sixty-eight shrugged aside the offer.

“That’s okay, Ken,” the other man responded, his deep voice matching the fierce expression on his angular face. Thick, dark stubble didn’t hide one heavily scarred cheek. His accent made her want to listen to him speak for a long time so she could trace the cadences and vowel sounds. “I’ll go ask Nico … Oh, there he is now.”

Crap. Jennifer tore her gaze away from the he-man hunky player as the head coach emerged from an office nearby. Not wanting to be drawn out of hiding like a skulking teen since this was an important assignment even if she resented it, Jennifer strode boldly toward the group. She kept her eye on Nico Cesare instead of disgruntled number sixty-eight. The trainer excused himself, leaving her with the looming player and his coach.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m making myself comfortable around the rink, Coach.” Smiling, she adjusted a camera strap on her shoulder as if to suggest she’d been busy taking pictures. “You’ve got an impressive facility here.”

As she neared the men, she gained some perspective on their size. Nico Cesare had been seated when she’d been shown into his office, but now he stood beside his player and she could see he’d probably played the game at one time if his height was any indication. The other man—Axel, the trainer had called him—was positively mammoth. Even without the skates he must be at least six-foot-five. His chest was broad enough that she could have lain on him like a bed and had room to roll around.

An odd image considering the moment. Thankfully, she was saved from developing that thought any further as the scent of pungent male sweat assailed her nostrils. The whole rink smelled of hockey equipment, in fact. She’d seen the massive fans in the locker areas that circulated fresh air, but she’d guess no amount of wind power would freshen up a place built on undiluted testosterone.

“I would have given you a tour if I’d known you wanted to see the place right away, Ms. Hunter,” the coach returned coolly. “I’ve got some business to take care of, but at least let me introduce our best defenseman, Akseli Rankinen, a Finnish import we know around here as Axel Rankin. Axel, this is Jennifer Hunter, who will be a fixture around the team for the next month to film a documentary series.”

The coach excused himself, leaving her alone with Axel. Hello, awkward moment. What did a woman do when faced with the man who’d caught her hiding from him? She straightened her shoulders, determined to brazen her way through it. She might not be thrilled about her first commercial project, but if she ever wanted a bigger budget for the meatier social documentaries she enjoyed, she needed to do well here.

“A pleasure to meet you, Jennifer.” The defenseman reached for her hand, an odd smile on his face considering he must know she’d been dodging him earlier. He’d seemed so irritated before when he couldn’t find her.

But as he leaned in closer for the customary greeting, the sweaty musk of his workout hit her. Damn near choked her.

Then, her eyes watering as she shook his hand, she suddenly understood why he seemed so damn pleased to meet her. His sea-blue gaze twinkled with the sadistic urge to kill her with sweat-stink.

All the more reason not to let him see her flinch.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rankin,” she returned, squeezing his fingers harder in frustration, not that he seemed to notice. He probably had extra muscles there, too. “I’ve been eager to meet all the players so I can get an idea of potential story lines for the series.”

He released her hand in a hurry.

“Story lines?” An unmistakable scowl crossed Axel’s face and she knew a moment’s gratitude she wasn’t facing this man as an opponent out on the ice.

“Yes. I’ll want to see which player is struggling to stay on the team and which one is battling problems at home.” She clicked through some of the more basic narratives that came to mind in a piece where ratings mattered. “I’ll need to see who will make a good candidate for a love interest—”

“Love interest?” Axel Rankin’s color warmed up a shade as his deep voice pitched even lower. The tone was more like a strangled whisper.

And yes, she took a bit of sadistic pleasure of her own in his obvious discomfort since Axel had assaulted her nostrils with deadly intent.

“Yes.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, warming up to the job. “Perhaps you have a girlfriend who wouldn’t mind a little extra screen time?”

Axel’s mouth flattened into a straight line, his face devoid of expression. As if she’d hit a nerve he wouldn’t admit. She could be reading into it, of course, but in her field of work she’d gotten adept at coaching nonprofessional actors into evoking a mood on camera. The nuances of body language were well-known to her.

And somehow, she’d upset the hulking defenseman who’d probably sent opponents to the E.R.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Hunter.” He straightened, his Finnish accent all the more pronounced when he spoke formally. “In fact, I don’t think a player’s private life should be open for viewing in a documentary that’s supposed to be about a sport.”

When he moved past her as if to end their conversation, she realized she needed to mend fences. Coming into the Phantoms’ rink with a chip on her shoulder about the project had been a bad idea. As frustrated as she might be about this series, she didn’t want to alienate all the players before she even began shooting. She had to make a successful series in order to clear the way for what she really wanted to create—a documentary about the way girls used social media to ostracize those they rejected socially. Bullying didn’t begin to describe how mean-girl culture could stomp out an innocent enemy the way Jennifer’s sister, Julia, had been made an outcast by the girls in her school.

And Jennifer had been born with a need to fix problems when she encountered them, a compulsion increased by her single mother’s complete lack of parenting. Jen hadn’t minded raising herself while her mother worked two jobs and returned to college. But she’d been irritated on her younger sister’s behalf when her mother hadn’t stepped up for Julia, either. Their father hadn’t been a factor, coming around every few years to borrow a few bucks from their mom.

“Of course, you’re right.” She reached for Axel’s forearm. “Some people—believe it or not—jump at the chance to land their friends and family on camera. If you’d rather not, that’s fine.”

Pausing, he planted his hockey stick on the industrial carpet and seemed to reassess her.

He was a striking man. Not traditionally handsome with that U-shaped scar on his cheek and the stark, angular features softened only by those blue eyes. But the imposing strength of him would give any woman a thrill. Even without the hockey pads, he would be an impressive size.

Her cheeks heated at where her mind went after that, a girly blush that probably hadn’t happened to her since high school. And Axel Rankin couldn’t have possibly missed it, his eyes roaming over her … lingering here and there for the scenic tour before meeting her gaze again.

“But you’ll still be looking for story lines.” The blue stare turned darker. Stormier.

And for reasons she couldn’t fully fathom, she didn’t want to tick him off any more. If only for the sake of the show, she felt called to make nice with him.

“That’s part of the job,” she admitted. “If all I did was show your team playing hockey, I wouldn’t have anything different than a game broadcast. My work will let fans get to know you on a more personal level.”

She would find a way to reveal the deeper story behind the game. She’d received critical acclaim in her first two years as a full-fledged director for a small film company. But she had yet to produce anything that made money and her higher-ups insisted she make a more marketable film before she got the green light for the project dear to her heart.

“That wasn’t in the job description.” He lifted the hockey stick and thudded the end on the carpet once, twice, three times.

“And choking to death in noxious locker rooms wasn’t in mine, either, but here I am.” She reached for his stick and, leaving it in his hands, she copied his action of tapping it on the floor to punctuate her words. Once, twice, three times. Then she let go. “We might as well make the best of it.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.