Face-Off

Face-Off
Nancy Warren

Ice Time Newly retired NHL hockey player Jarrad McBride's life seems permanently sidelined. But maybe sexy schoolteacher Sierra Janssen is just the woman o get him back in play….In The Sin BinSamantha McBride was good and over firefighter Greg Olsen. But when an unexpected reunion sends lust crackling between them, it's clear that this game isn't finished…and there's only one way to settle this score!Breakaway When skating sweetheart Becky Haines is paired with hotshot NHL rookie Taylor McBride for a charity event, there's no hiding their frustration with each other…or their scorching chemistry! But will full body contact earn them a penalty?

Praise for USA Today bestselling author Nancy Warren!

“Cleverly written with wonderfully drawn characters, humor and great sex all make Under the Influence a winner.” —RT Book Reviews Top Pick!

“Too Hot to Handle is funny, sexy and romantic. I loved it.” —RT Book Reviews.

“Too Hot To Handle is a great read. Nancy Warren is firmly on my must-read-more-by-this-author list … If you want to read romance with a contemporary feel, try Blaze®.” —Rike Horstmann All About Romance. Desert Isle Keeper review

“Under the Influence is a fun, sexy and refreshingly modern version of the classic tale of opposites attracting.” —Katie Mack, All About Romance, Desert Isle Keeper review

“Nancy Warren is definitely on ‘my authors to watch’ list. Karen and Dex are characters that you instantly fall in love with. Dex is the man you want in your bed. Ladies, he knows his woman well—her likes, dislikes, wants, and needs. Now that’s a man we want.”

—Fresh Fiction review of The Ex Factor

“This wonderful story has everything the reader could want—hot sex, laughter and truths that hit home.”

—RT Book Reviews on Powerplay

Dear Reader,

Back when I used to be a freelance journalist, one of my jobs was to interview every one of the Vancouver Canucks for a feature in their magazine. It was a great gig. I got to meet the players and often their wives and families in their homes and really got a sneak peek at what their lives are like off the ice and out of the spotlight. The truth? Most of them were nice family men who happen to have a really great job. Oh, yeah, they were also fit, tall and hot!

When I came to write Face-Off I wanted to give a sense of a hockey family, so I created two smoking hot hockey-playing brothers and a sister who’s always had to be a little bit tough to keep up with them. Naturally, each of them will be challenged both on and off the ice as they face their fears and find love—whether they are looking for it or not.

I hope you enjoy Face-Off. As always, I love to hear from you. Come visit me on the web at http://www.nancywarren.net

Happy reading,

Nancy Warren

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author NANCY WARREN lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include walking her border collie in the rain and following her favorite hockey team. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas and has won numerous awards. Visit her website at www.nancywarren.net

Face-Off

Nancy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For my very own Knight in (sometimes) shining armor. With love.

Ice Time

1

“ONE MORE TIME, BIG J, scrape that blade down your face and look into the camera like this is the greatest shave of your life,” the enthusiastic director instructed him as though this was the first take of the shaving commercial and not the eighth.

Jarrad McBride experienced a flash of annoyance. He knew the guy was only doing his job, but he hated being called Big J. It was a hockey-player nickname, and he wasn’t a hockey player anymore. What he was, was a guy who peddled shaving cream and toothpaste on TV. He had no idea why anybody would buy shaving cream ’cause a guy who used to shoot pucks down the ice appeared on their flat screen and told them to, but he’d long ago worked out that the world was a crazy place, and L.A. was the epicenter of crazy.

“If you keep him lathered up much longer he’s going to get a rash,” Lester Salisbury said. Lester was his manager and the reason for all these “promotional opportunities.” He was smart and knew Jarrad well enough that he’d picked up on the annoyance, even if he’d misinterpreted the cause.

“That’s okay, Les. If I got paid this much money every time I shaved, I’d be a wealthy man.”

“You’re already a wealthy man,” Les reminded him as the young woman whose job it was to display the cream to best advantage on his face danced up and smoothed the edges with careful finger swirls as though she was icing a cake.

She was pretty, with flyaway blond hair and innocent blue eyes. Jarrad should hit on her, he knew that. Partly because of his reputation and also because of the way she’d shot a couple of half scared, half hopeful glances at him; she obviously expected it. He didn’t want to let her down, but he really didn’t have the energy.

Still, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Thanks, Jill,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “You remembered my name?”

In fact, he had a great memory, he remembered the names of a lot of people he’d like to forget as well as his near and dear, and when people drifted in and out of his life—as an astonishing number seemed to do—he tried to pay attention at least while they were in his orbit.

Jill seemed like a nice enough girl, but he could see she’d bore him in an evening. He suspected that if she didn’t get hit on by a guy of his reputation, she’d take it the wrong way. “How could I forget someone who takes care of me so well,” he said, smiling. Then, for the ninth time, he picked up the razor and stared into the movie camera.

Todd, the director, said, “And three, and two and one,” and on cue Jarrad scraped the blade slowly down his face.

“Great,” Todd said with as much enthusiasm as if he’d just played Hamlet on Broadway to a standing ovation. “Now, we’ll get you shaved and then we’ll do your speaking part.” Jill toweled the white stuff off his face.

A professional barber was waiting for him in the film studio’s dressing room. Personally, he thought it was cheating to pretend that one brand of shaving cream could give as good a look as a pro, but, as Les often reminded him, nobody paid him to think.

“Looking good, buddy,” his manager said as he walked him down the hall.

Once he’d been shaved, moisturized and hair-styled, the makeup woman tried to dab makeup on his scar, but he put up a hand to stop her. “That scar’s my trademark, honey. You cover that up, people’ll wonder what else you’re hiding.”

Luckily, Todd sided with him, so he was allowed to finish the shoot looking at least a little bit like himself.

The enthusiasm was as thick as the shaving cream when the director prepared him for his pitch. “Remember, you believe in this product. When you say your lines, think about something that really excites you.”

“Okay.” Sounded easy enough to think of something that excited him. He searched. His mind was blank. He could think about sex but that only reminded him of the tabloid pictures of his ex-wife cavorting in Belize, letting the world know she’d traded up to the NBA.

He could think about his bank balance, but he knew he’d never be able to spend all his money no matter how long he lived, which for some reason made him wonder how old he’d be when he kicked it. Another uninspiring thought.

Most of his greatest moments had happened in hockey rinks, but his retirement was still too raw, too unexpected. His mind veered away.

Finally he moved back to childhood, settled on a memory of going to the pound and picking out a puppy when he was a kid. He and his sister both went, his baby brother not being thought of yet, and even though they argued about everything, they’d instantly agreed on the eager-looking young black Lab who’d squirmed and danced with excitement at their visit, licking their faces and making them all laugh. He’d wanted to call the dog Lucky, Samantha argued for Lucy and somehow they ended up calling the dog Fred.

Maybe if he thought hard enough about Fred he could forget that this shaving cream dialogue was butt-awful.

While Fred galloped through his memory, racing after a Frisbee, stick, ball, puck, rock, sock, pretty much anything that moved, Jarrad looked right into that big square camera, ignoring the camera operator, the beaming director, his hovering manager, the lighting guy, the sound guy and the gophers. He saw Fred leap into the air, teeth closing on a badly chewed and mangled red Frisbee, his black body wriggling in happiness and said, “A perfect shave is like a skating rink right before the action. Smooth, clean, cool. Like my shaving cream.” As instructed he now glanced at the blue canister in his hand and back at the camera. “Ice.”

He’d refused to let them film him anywhere near a hockey rink or the equipment of a game he could no longer play. Instead, they’d hired a good-looking female model and shot the pair of them supposedly heading out for a night on the town. They’d already shot all that stuff earlier. Once Todd was happy with his one line, he’d be out of here.

It took two more tries, and Fred dragged rocks out of the creek down by their old house before Todd called it a wrap.