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  “Of course I liked it,” she hissed.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, I wanted one night. Seeing you again wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “Plan, or fantasy?” he drawled, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You fantasized about indulging in one night of wicked sex with a stranger and now that you have it’s time to move on. I’m not judging you, just pointing out that the fantasy doesn’t have to end yet.”

  The word fantasy sounded intoxicating the way he said it. Before she could stop herself, she wondered what other fantasies they could play out together. Role play? Bondage? Her cheeks grew warm at the latter notion. It turned her on, the idea of tying Brody up…straddling him while he lay immobile on the bed…

  No. No, she was so not going there. She seriously needed to quit letting this guy jump-start her sex drive.

  “The way I see it, you’ve got two options,” he said. “The easy way or the hard way.”

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” His cheek dimpled despite his words. “Now, the easy way involves the two of us heading over to the Lakeshore Lounge for a drink.”

  “No.”

  He held up his hand. “You haven’t heard the rest.” A devilish look flickered across his face. “If you choose to pass on the easy option, that’s when things get a little…hard.”

  Heat spilled over her cheeks. Her eyes dropped to his groin, almost expecting to see the long ridge of arousal pressing against the denim of his jeans. Fine, no almost about it. He had an erection, all right, and the second she noticed it her nipples grew even harder.

  “See, if you deny me this one harmless drink,” he continued, “I’ll be hurt. Maybe even a tad offended. Also, your father seems to be nearing the end of his conversation—yup, he’s shaking Stan’s hand. Which means he’ll head back over here just in time to hear you say no, and then he’ll ask you what you’re saying no to, and I’m sure neither one of us wants to open that can of worms.”

  She turned her head and, sure enough, her father was walking toward them. Great. Although she knew her dad could handle the knowledge that his twenty-six-year-old daughter wasn’t a virgin, she didn’t want him privy to her sex life. Especially a sex life that involved one of his players.

  Her dad might be totally gaga over his team, but he’d often warned her about the turbulent nature of hockey players. The latest warning had come during her last visit to Chicago, when she’d been hit on by an opposing player after a Warriors game. She’d declined the dinner invitation, but it hadn’t stopped Presley from launching into a speech about how he didn’t want his daughter dating brutes.

  If he knew she’d gotten involved with Brody, it would just add to his stress.

  “So how about that drink, Hayden?”

  Her pulse quickened when she realized if she agreed to Brody’s request, chances were they wouldn’t get around to the drink anyway. The second he had her alone he’d be slipping his hands underneath her shirt, palming her breasts, sucking on her neck the way he’d done last night, as he’d slid inside her and—

  “One drink,” she blurted, then chastised herself for yet again letting her hormones override her common sense. What was wrong with her?

  With a soft chuckle, Brody rested his hands on his trim hips, the poster boy for cool. “I knew you’d see it my way.” He grinned.

  * * *

  THE LAKESHORE LOUNGE WAS one of those rare bars in the city that offered an intimate atmosphere rather than an intrusive one. Plush, comfortable chairs looked more suited to an IKEA showroom; tables were situated far enough apart that patrons could enjoy their drinks in privacy, and a pale yellow glow took the place of bright lighting, providing an almost sensual ambience. It was also one of the only establishments that still adhered to a strict dress code—blazers required.

  It was a damn good thing he was Brody Croft. Even better that Ward Dalton, the owner of the lounge, claimed to be his number-one fan and turned a blind eye to Brody’s casual attire.

  Dalton led them across the black marble floor to a secluded table in the corner of the room, practically hidden from view by two enormous stone pots containing leafy indoor palms. A waiter clad in black pants and a white button-down appeared soon after, taking their drink orders before unobtrusively moving away.

  Brody didn’t miss the baffled look on Hayden’s gorgeous face. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “No. I’m just…surprised,” she said. “When you said we were going for a drink, I thought…” Her cheeks turned an appealing shade of pink. “Forget it.”

  “You thought I’d drive you right back to your hotel suite and pick up where we left off?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She bristled at the teasing lilt of his voice. “I’m not disappointed. In fact, I’m glad. Like I said before, I’m not interested in getting involved.”

  He didn’t like the finality of her tone. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Hayden didn’t want a repeat performance of last night. They’d been so good together.

  He also couldn’t decide whether or not she’d known who he was all along. Her father was Presley Houston, for chrissake. She didn’t need to like hockey to know who the players were, especially the players on her own father’s team. And yet the shock on her face when she’d bumped into him outside the locker room hadn’t seemed contrived. He’d seen authentic surprise on her beautiful face. Not to mention a flicker of dismay.

  No, she couldn’t have known. It wouldn’t bother her this much if she had.

  He appreciated that she liked the man and not the hockey player, but that only raised another question—what held her back from getting involved with him? Was it the fact that he played pro hockey, or was it something else? Someone else, perhaps?

  His jaw tightened at the thought. “What exactly is stopping you from pursuing this?” he asked in a low voice. “It’s more than Presley’s current problems, isn’t it?”

  The way she stared down at the silk cocktail napkin on the table as if it were the most fascinating item on the planet deepened Brody’s suspicions.

  He narrowed his eyes, unable to keep the accusation out of his tone. “Is there a husband waiting for you in California?”

  Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Of course not.”

  Some of the suspicion thawed, but not entirely. “A fiancé?”

  She shook her head.

  “A boyfriend?”

  The blush on her cheeks deepened. “No. I mean, yes. Well, kind of. I was seeing someone in San Francisco but we’re currently on a break.”

  “The kind of break where you can sleep with other people?”

  Whoa, he had no idea why he’d become antagonistic, or why his shoulders were suddenly stiffer than Robocop’s.

  What was up with this sudden possessiveness? They’d only had one night together, after all. Staking claims at this point was ridiculous.

  “As I keep telling you, my life is complicated,” she said pointedly. “I’m in the process of making some serious decisions, figuring out what my future looks like.”

  He opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the waiter, who returned with their drinks. The waiter set down Brody’s gin and tonic and Hayden’s glass of white wine, then left the table without delay, as if sensing something important was brewing between them.

  “And this boyfriend,” Brody said thoughtfully. “Do you see him in your future?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her tentative answer and confused frown were all he needed. He wasn’t an ass; if Hayden had expressed deep love for the other man in her life, Brody would’ve backed off. He had no interest in fighting for a woman who belonged to someone else. But the fact that she hadn’t answered a definite yes to his question told Brody this was fair game.

  And nothing got him going more than a healthy bout of competition.