Her Man Advantage

“Let go,” he ordered, certain he had her. He valiantly did not look up her blouse.

At least not at first … Creamy breasts molded by turquoise lace proved too tempting.

“I don’t want to fall on you,” she protested, peering down the length of her body at him.

“You won’t fall,” he assured her, liking the feel of her far too well for a man who intended to send her packing. A man who planned to help her see why this documentary was a very bad idea. “I’ve got you.”

The moment stretched out as they eyed one another and Axel slowly became aware of the scent she wore. The fragrance was subtle and sweet and one he knew well from childhood summers spent in the country.

The fiery redhead smelled like lilies of the valley.

The scent drifted all around him as she let go, giving him her weight. He probably held on to her a second too long, savoring the soft feel of a woman in his arms. With an effort, he tried to recall that the sexy, fragrant female of the turquoise-colored lingerie was an enemy who required monitoring. At the moment, he could only think about how good it was going to feel to lower her body down the length of his.

“Um.” She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. The camera on a strap at her wrist whacked him in the arm as it followed the movement of her hand. “Axel? Maybe you should …”

She glanced meaningfully at the floor.

He would have preferred to settle her on a bed. A couch. Hell, a futon would be fine with him. But since they were in the middle of the arena seating around the Phantoms’ practice rink, he dropped her lightly on her feet, copping only a minimal feel.

How the hell would he chase her away from this film series when he couldn’t even keep his hands off her? He needed to reassess his options sometime when he didn’t have hints of her scent clinging to his clothes.

“Sorry.” He resisted the urge to straighten her blouse where it had ridden up above the waistband of her jeans. “You ready for the nickel tour?”

Her hand smoothed the fabric of her bright purple-and-teal top, covering the sliver of skin he’d spied at her midriff.

“I’ve been ready and waiting.” She gestured expansively to the facility, her cheeks a little flushed. “Show me everything.”

Axel had been ducking opportunities left and right, determined to keep this conversation focused on the job she was here to do. But honestly, how could he walk away from that one?

“Tempting as that might be, I think we’d better start with something more manageable.” Stalking away from the seats, he gestured for her to follow. “The rink’s chiller system, maybe. I’m going to need some cooling down.”

3

AS THEY PASSED a wall of life-size photos of current Phantoms’ players, Jennifer hurried to keep up with her reluctant tour guide. He seemed determined to complete the excursion around the training facility in record time. He’d shown her the state-of-the-art exercise and weight rooms with little commentary, occasionally flipping light switches and nodding to the last few personnel in the building as they went home for the day. Could he make it any clearer that he didn’t want to be around her?

His behavior was a puzzle since she knew damn well he was attracted. The heat between them when he’d plucked her from the steel girders had sent her into a full-on meltdown, and she wasn’t a woman whose head turned easily. He’d even said he needed a chance to cool down when he finally released her. So he must have been overheated, too.

And resenting it, apparently.

Frustrated with him, with herself and with the way the day was going, she stopped in front of a poster of the team’s playmaker, Kyle Murphy. She needed to get to the bottom of this before she moved on. She couldn’t scout filming locations for the documentary series until she resolved the Axel dilemma.

“Axel?”

He’d outpaced her by about four miles down the long corridor. Well, at least twenty feet. He turned now, and peered back at her in the semidark vacated part of the building.

“Did I miss something?” His voice echoed a bit in the wide hall with decorative concrete floors polished to a high shine.

“Yes.”

She stared him down, willing him to come closer and not be so difficult. For some reason, she felt that if she could win him over to her cause, she could make this film project a success.

“Care to clue me in?” he said finally, not budging.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

Even from twenty feet away, she could see the moment of guilt in his expression. And, while it wasn’t necessarily pleasant to have her suspicion confirmed, she appreciated that he had the grace to appear abashed over the fact.

“Am I going too fast?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer the question. Why are you trying to set a new land speed record?” She wished she had her Nikon in hand now, partially because it felt awkward to ask tough questions with no barrier between her and her subject.

Also because the camera would love this man.

She wanted to linger over the harsh angles of his face with her naked eye. Zoom in on the unusual scar that had to be the outline of a hockey puck under one cheek. Pan out for a long shot of his body to appreciate the way he dwarfed everything around him.

He really did clean up well. His brown hair was shorter than his Viking ancestors’, but he had the strong bone structure, which highlighted his magnetic blue eyes. Even without the hockey pads, his physique was extraordinary, a testament to the hours of work in the gym and on the ice. Constant skating, apparently, yielded a truly spectacular butt. She’d been following him around long enough to become familiar with the way the man filled out a pair of jeans.

Now he came toward her slowly, his feet erasing the space between them.

“Maybe I don’t like your idea for this movie.”

“TV documentary series,” she corrected automatically. “I gathered as much when you said that private lives don’t belong in a film about a sport.”

He paused a foot away from her. Looming.

“So focus on the training. The year-round preparation that goes into playing at this level. Why do you need to manufacture personal lives for athletes who dedicate all their time to hockey?” He leaned closer, as if he could impose his wishes on her through sheer will.

She sucked in a steadying breath and could almost taste the soap he’d used, the warm, clean scent of him filling her lungs and giving her nerve endings a private thrill. Her heart rate tripped into a staccato beat.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper given his proximity and her breathlessness.

“Of course not.” He stepped back a bit, though. “Just giving you my opinion. You asked, you know.”

“Yes, but when you proclaim it while hovering over me like that, I feel like you’re trying to eclipse me with your bigger presence.”

“I am the team enforcer,” he informed her, lowering his brows in a semiconvincing menace while flexing his arms. His chest. Actually, everything seemed to tighten and bulge at once.

“Which means … what? You’re going to duke it out with me over this film?” She couldn’t help a shiver of awareness at the he-man muscle show, perhaps a leftover genetic reflex from the days when women were driven to seek out strong men for protection’s sake.

Because surely she wasn’t the kind of woman to be swayed by something so earthy?

“Probably not,” he admitted, his expression clearing as his gaze did a slow sweep of her. “But as the Phantoms’ newly imported enforcer, my role is to be on the alert for threats to my teammates.”

“And you’ve decided I’m the threat?”

“Definitely.” His eyes zeroed in on her lips and her mouth went dry.

She shook her head, trying to deny it, but the movement felt slow. Leaden. Almost as if she didn’t want to say no to whatever it was they were talking about—she’d forgotten in the hypnotic lure of his proximity.