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The Mighty Quinns: Thom
Kate Hoffmann
To tame the beast…or set him free?Pro hockey player Thom "the beast" Quinn is the team's bad boy—the street kid who hit pay dirt when he learned to shoot a puck. But when his reputation gets a little too naughty for the team’s liking, they give him a warning: shape up, or be benched. And the one calling the penalties is none other than sexy Malin Pederson, the boss’s daughter.In her head, Malin knows that if she can reform Thom Quinn, her future with the team will be set. But her body urges her to indulge in the kind of wicked pleasure that only the sexy athlete can provide. And in her heart, Malin realizes that this is a man she can’t walk away from, even if it costs her everything….


To tame the beast...or set him free?
Pro hockey player Thom “The Beast” Quinn is the team’s bad boy—the street kid who hit pay dirt when he learned to shoot a puck. But when his reputation gets a little too naughty for the team’s liking, they give him a warning: shape up, or be benched. And the one calling the penalties is none other than sexy Malin Pederson, the boss’s daughter.
In her head, Malin knows that if she can reform Thom Quinn, her future with the team will be set. But her body urges her to indulge in the kind of wicked pleasure that only the sexy athlete can provide. And in her heart, Malin realizes that this is a man she can’t walk away from, even if it costs her everything...
Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s The Mighty Quinns (#ulink_e3ee6a87-0726-50a5-9b3d-1be9ee9b2dc3)
“[Kate] Hoffmann always brings a strong story to the table with The Mighty Quinns, and this is one of her best.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Eli
“The [Aileen Quinn storyline] ends as it began: with strong storytelling and compelling, tender characters who make for a deeply satisfying read.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Mac
“[Hoffmann’s] characters are well written and real. The Mighty Quinns: Eli is a recommended read for lovers of the Quinn family, lovers of the outdoors and lovers of a sensitive man.”
—Mills & Boon Junkie
“A winning combination of exciting adventure and romance... This is a sweet and sexy read that kept me entertained from start to finish.”
—Mills & Boon Junkie on The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm
“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from. Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot
“As usual, Hoffmann has written a light yet compelling tale with just enough angst and long-term background story to provide momentum for the next member of the Quinn family we are most certainly going to meet.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Ryan
Dear Reader (#ulink_f98e46b0-86f5-571b-9bb0-e1fec6b02eab),
When I was a child, my father would regularly spin wonderfully colorful stories for me and my three younger siblings. On Saturday mornings, we’d crawl into bed with my parents and my dad would recollect the time my mother (always the intrepid heroine of these tales) went big-game hunting in Africa or rode an elephant across the Alps.
Is this where I got my storytelling talents? I’m not sure. But I know it’s where I got my love for the tradition of a well-told tale. My second novel for Mills & Boon, published twenty years ago, was a takeoff on the Cinderella fairy tale. And now, eighty-five stories later, I’m about to tell another tale, this one based on Beauty and the Beast.
The Quinns are back for another trilogy, featuring “beastly” heros! I hope you’ll enjoy!
Happy reading,



The Mighty Quinns: Thom
Kate Hoffmann


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HOFFMANN lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her books, her computer and her cats, Princess Winifred and Princess Grace. In her spare time she enjoys sewing, baking, movies, theater and talking on the phone with her sister. She has written nearly ninety books for Mills & Boon.
Contents
Cover (#uc3c097df-6456-5e47-9d09-45142b42c80b)
Back Cover Text (#u1e925d25-d36a-53c4-b698-31c139b5cf85)
Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s The Mighty Quinns (#ulink_28b8c4ea-4609-5ce1-9e5a-0202f883bdba)
Dear Reader (#ulink_cac9f770-8e2b-598f-aacc-a96ffb944881)
Title Page (#u4e05e38e-c63d-5d11-b235-6f7559b43747)
About the Author (#uc4524ec9-47a3-51e4-8b6d-c97147dd991c)
Prologue (#ulink_ce5f5288-b023-5bcb-a17c-d79d1b061cd6)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_08ae0619-f483-5587-bdfb-36280c6e5970)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_1427550f-3e2e-5c4a-a36b-1e5135d6d09b)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_f5aacb31-7662-540e-8a61-2071cae9c8ad)
“HE’S GONE! And he’s not coming back!”
“Shut up, Thom! Just shut your mouth.” His older brother, Tristan, glanced over at the youngest boy in the trio, Jamie. Jamie’s eyes swam with tears and Thom cursed himself. The three boys were so close in age that he often forgot that James was still dealing with the fears of a seven-year-old.
Thom reached out and grabbed Jamie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll be all right. We’re better off without him. He was just an old drunk who couldn’t keep a job.”
“Don’t say that,” Tris warned. “He was our da and we shouldn’t talk like that.”
Thom wanted to clock his brother. Tristan was almost two years older than Thom, and he understood the reality of their situation. But ulike Thom, Tris was trying to stay positive, hoping that it might keep their mother from losing herself at the bottom of a bottle of vodka.
Life had never been easy for the three Quinn boys, but Thom knew it was about to get worse. It had begun to unravel three or four years ago, when their da had lost his job. Denny Quinn had started drinking and gambling away the small paycheck their mother brought in. Their parents started fighting more, and a once happy family began to fall apart.
But it hadn’t been too terrible until two weeks ago. Until their father had gone out for a pack of cigarettes and hadn’t come back. A policeman had come to the door, and Thom had overheard what the man had said to his ma—Denny had been killed during a botched armed robbery, trying to make a getaway after grabbing a wad of cash from an open register.
“At least he won’t have to worry about money for food,” Thom muttered. Like they did.
“What?” Tris asked.
“Nothing,” Thom replied. “It’s almost dinnertime. I’m going to go out and get us something for supper.”
His gaze met Tristan’s and there was a silent agreement between them. Whatever Thom had to do to feed the family was all right. With his mother rarely getting out of bed these last two weeks, it had fallen to him to find food for them. Sometimes he could shoplift enough to feed the four of them. Or he’d find some discarded food in the Dumpster behind a restaurant or grocery store. Occasionally he’d panhandle, but any cash he acquired was saved for other necessities.
“What if Da doesn’t come back?” Jamie asked. Thom hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell his youngest brother the truth.
Instead, he patted his little brother on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Me and Tris will always be around. We’ll take good care of you and Mum. I promise.”
Thom grabbed his jacket and headed to the door of their apartment. The world outside was dangerous, but he’d grown up on the streets. He knew how to get along, how to avoid trouble. And he wasn’t afraid to stick up for himself.
He pulled his hood over his head and kept to the shadows, alert for any trouble coming his way. He’d learned the Italian restaurant down the block was a usually a good stop, especially after nine, when the kitchen closed. Leftover pizza, garlic bread, even cold pasta provided a filling meal.
The alley was silent when he arrived. He grabbed an old crate and boosted himself into the Dumpster, searching for a container for his takeout meal. He’d just found a whole pepperoni pizza, only slightly burnt, when the sound of a car engine caught his attention.
He risked a glance out of the bin, then cursed softly. “Cops,” he murmured.
A moment later, someone stepped out the back door of the restaurant. “He’s in there now,” the man shouted.
“Just step back, sir,” the officer called as he stepped out of the police car.
Thom tucked the pizza box under his arm and, in one quick move, leaped out of the Dumpster. He hit the ground running. The two men rushed at him, but by the time they crashed into each other, he was halfway down the alley.
He turned to face them, then bent down and grabbed a brick, heaving it at the police car. When it crashed through the rear window, Thom shouted, “Fuck you!” With that, he dashed onto the street, increasing his speed until his lungs burned and he could barely catch his breath.
He could circle back to the grocery store and see if he could snatch a quart of milk or a couple of cans of soda, or he could go home where he’d be safe. Jamie needed the milk, and maybe if his ma had soda, she wouldn’t drink the vodka. Thom decided to stash the pizza behind the newspaper box outside a nearby convenience store, then reached for the change in his pocket. It was always best to buy something in the store if he was planning to steal something.
He smiled at the clerk as he walked inside, but the teen barely noticed him, his attention fixed on a small television. Maybe he wouldn’t have to buy anything after all. Thom kept his eyes on the other shoppers. He managed to stash the milk, a box of lemonade mix and a block of cheese before he decided to leave.
He walked to the counter and when the clerk turned to him, he smiled again. “My mom wants me to get organic peanut butter. I can’t find it.”
“We don’t have it,” the kid said. “Try the grocery store on the next block.”
“Thanks,” Thom said. He strolled casually to the door, then stepped outside. An instant later, someone grabbed his arm. Thom spun around, throwing his fist out. But he wasn’t quick enough. The cop snapped his handcuffs on Thom’s wrist.
“Fuck me?” the cop said with a laugh. “Not tonight, buddy. Not tonight.”
1 (#ulink_54a702f2-a9a2-54c6-935d-4ad49e96bf9f)
“JUST LET ME do all the talking. If they ask you a direct question, keep your answer short and to the point. Don’t try to make excuses. No sarcasm. No attempts at humor. Just be humble and repentant.”
Thom Quinn shifted in the front seat of his agent’s Porsche, trying to find a comfortable position for his six-foot-three-inch frame. “What do you think they’re going to do?”
“Considering your past indiscretions,” Jack Warren said, “I think they’re going to come down hard. At least a suspension. Maybe a trade.”
Thom had played professional hockey for Minneapolis his entire career. A first-round draft pick, he’d spent only one season on their Iowa farm team before being called up late in the year for the playoffs and hadn’t looked back. By most standards, he was a star, the kind of player who filled a crucial role in the success of a team. A defensive power who could play both ends of the ice, scoring goals for the Blizzard and blocking shots from the opposing teams.
His on-ice performance had never been in question. He’d exceeded what had been asked of him. But off the ice...he couldn’t seem to meet the league standard.
And his latest escapade, three nights before, had been meticulously documented. There were photos of him playing blackjack with two Las Vegas strippers at his side, one of him in a limo with plenty of booze and naked flesh and a cadre of “friends.” One of those friends had betrayed him, selling the photos to a tabloid television show. The pictures had then quickly spread throughout the media.
“Can you make this right?” Thom murmured.
“You don’t make it easy,” Jack said, shaking his head. “You’re twenty-seven years old. It’s time to grow up, Tommy.”
What the hell did that mean? He was on top of his game. He had plenty of cash to spend. Why couldn’t he cut loose and enjoy himself now and then? He wasn’t breaking any laws. There had been a few scuffles with angry fans and aggressive photographers, a few bitter ex-girlfriends with stories to tell, but he’d always managed to smooth out any problems he’d had with a contrite apology and a generous offer of cash.
Why did he feel the need to push the boundaries of proper behavior? The marketing machine that ran the Minnesota Blizzard had always sold Thom Quinn as a bad boy, a guy who grew up on the streets and came by his tough exterior the hard way. His nickname was “The Beast.” They’d created this persona for him, yet they’d never given him a rulebook. How far was too far? Apparently what he’d just done.
But he couldn’t leave Minnesota. His family was here and he couldn’t abandon them. “I don’t want a trade,” Thom said. “Promise them whatever they want. I’ll take a salary cut. I’ll go to rehab. Just make this go away.”
“I’ve heard this all before,” Jack said. “Remember last year when you slept with your teammate’s ex-girlfriend?”
“They’d broken up,” Thom said.
“Alex is your teammate. Did it occur to you what a fight between you might do to the team? Everyone choosing sides? You never think things out, Thom.”
“So I’m socially insecure,” he replied, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. “I make rash decisions. I constantly try to sabotage myself. I could write a book. I’m sure several of those therapists the team hired have written books about me. I’ve been told I’m fascinating material.”
“Cynicism isn’t going to help your case,” Jack said.
The car pulled to a stop at a red light, and his agent leaned back into the leather seat. Thom could always count on Jack to be straight with him. And yet Thom had never been able to trust him completely. There were only three people he’d ever trusted in the world—his two brothers and his grandmother. It was a small circle, but it was all Thom had ever needed.
Jack circled the block around the office building that housed Blizzard headquarters, and when he found an empty parking spot, he smoothly pulled the car to a stop. As he switched off the ignition, he turned to Thom. “Tell me what you want, Tommy. If you want to quit, I’ll find a way to make it happen. If you want a trade, we’ll get it done. Just tell me what you want.”
Thom had been searching for that particular answer since the time he’d walked away from his childhood. Until then, everyone else had made decisions for him. And though he’d fought tooth and nail against any type of authority figure, when his life was finally his own to run, he’d realized he didn’t have a plan. His hockey skill was the only thing that kept him from begging for spare change on a street corner. And that wouldn’t last forever.
“Maybe you need a fresh start,” Jack said. “You could go somewhere and just clear the decks. Start over somewhere else with a new outlook.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Thom murmured.
“You might not have a choice. Of course, we can decide where you might go. Your trade clause gives you final approval. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
As they walked toward team headquarters, Thom drew a deep breath and tried to gather a positive attitude. He’d been through this before—he’d make a stupid mistake, then smooth things over with an earnest apology. His skills on the ice had always balanced the scales. His crimes had been minor, his talent outweighing the consequences.
But he was getting older. He was twenty-seven, and boyish misbehavior wasn’t as charming as it used to be. In truth, most of his teammates of the same age were married, some of them with children.
Jack held the front door open for him as he walked into the cool of the air-conditioned offices. Thom straightened his tie, then quickly ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. He’d shaved in an attempt to make himself look a bit more reputable, but he should have taken the time to get a haircut.
When they got to Steve McCrory’s office, the receptionist was waiting, a tight smile on her face. She led them both to a nearby conference room. The room was already full, the air thick with tension. Thom cursed softly as he stepped inside. The moment he scanned the occupants, he knew he was in serious trouble.
He’d expected McCrory, the general manager, and Dave Jones, the director of player personnel. But seated at the head of the conference table was Davis Pedersen, the team owner, a formidable figure at the best of times, but now he wore a stony expression on his face.
Thom heard a soft sigh slip from Jack’s mouth. This was much more serious than he’d anticipated. Pedersen stood as they entered and pointed to a pair of chairs. “Take a seat, gentlemen.”
A ringing in Thom’s ears muffled the sounds of the voices around him. Other people arrived and sat down at the table, some faces familiar, some not. Thom’s gaze settled on a slender blonde who sat on the opposite end of the table. She was the only woman in the room, so it was hard not to notice her.
Her gaze met his, her pale blue eyes lingering for a moment. Thom sent her a halfhearted smile and she returned the favor. She seemed the only one in the room, besides his agent, willing to look him directly in the eye. Another bad sign.
The conversation began and Thom listened silently as all of his faults were recounted, one by one, each followed by a short dissertation on how his actions had negatively affected the image of both the league and the team.
He didn’t attempt to defend himself, or explain. Instead he waited for his turn to speak, knowing they’d expect some type of apology before they moved on to the punishment.
Finally Thom opened his mouth, ready to be humble. But Davis Pedersen held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses or your apologies. Hell, I don’t even want a promise that you’ll start to behave in a manner befitting the position you hold. As far as I’m concerned, those would all be empty words. You’ve made promises in the past, and you’ve broken them all. So, Mr. Quinn, here’s how this is going to play out. I plan to trade your ass to the first team that pays me a decent price. Until then, I expect you to behave like a choirboy, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. If you fight me on this, I’ll send you to the worst damn team in the league.”
Jack cleared his throat. “We have a trade approval clause, so you’d have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Pedersen snapped. “Your boy has broken his morals clause more times than I can count.” He tossed a file folder across the table at Jack and the agent pulled a photo from it.
“The girl sitting beside you in this photo is a teenage hooker,” Pedersen said. “This is going to be posted on—on—what the hell is it called?”
The blonde cleared her throat. “Instagram.”
“Right. We were contacted by a bartender at your hotel in Vegas. He informed us that this...girl has been kicked out of the place repeatedly for soliciting. And she’s underage. He wanted five thousand or he’s going to post the photo on the internet.”
“I can explain that photo,” Thom said.
Davis slammed his palms down on the table, his expression fierce. “I don’t want a damn explanation. I want you to exercise some self-control!” Pedersen stood. “We’re done here. If you’ll excuse us, we have some plans to discuss.”
Pedersen led the other men in suits out of the room, but the blonde hung back. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked Thom. “Coffee. A soda, maybe?”
“Do you have any arsenic?” Thom asked.
She laughed softly. “No. I’m afraid not. Even if we did, I’m sure I wouldn’t be authorized to give it to you.”
“I’m all right,” he said.
“I hope so,” she replied. “Good luck. I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks,” Thom said, taking a long look at her. Who was she? She must work for the team. But doing what? He hadn’t seen her at the rink; he would have remembered someone so beautiful. Hell, if he had met her, he would have found some way to seduce her. He usually didn’t let an attractive woman get past him.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jack muttered as the woman left the room.
“What? I’m not thinking about anything,” Thom lied. “She’s pretty. Who the hell is she?”
“You don’t know?” Jack asked. He shook his head and chuckled. “Probably for the best.”
“No, really. Who is she?”
“She’s Malin Pedersen. Davis Pedersen’s only daughter.”
“I thought his daughter was still in high school.”
“She was. When you were drafted. She’s grown up.”
“She’s pretty,” Thom said. “What did you say her name was?”
“Malin.”
“Kind of a weird name,” he murmured.
“I believe it’s Swedish,” Jack replied.
“Malin,” Thom whispered to himself.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. He drew a deep breath and scolded himself inwardly.
“Exercise some self-control!”
His boss’s command echoed in his head. Yes, it was definitely a bad idea to imagine the boss’s daughter naked and lying in his bed...
* * *
“THIS IS YOUR FAULT,” Davis Pedersen said, scowling at his daughter from across his desk as she and Steve McCrory followed him into his office.
“How is this my fault?” Malin asked.
“I hired you to contain all this Flitter business. We never had these kinds of problems in the past. Now the moment one of our players steps out of line, there’s someone there to take a photo and blast it all over the internet.”
“It’s Twitter,” Malin said. “And I can only control our players and what they post. I can’t control the whole world.”
“Then what good are you? I don’t understand how something as ridiculous as that damn Flitter—”
“Twitter,” Malin corrected him again.
“What?”
“It’s called Twitter. Instagram. Snapchat. Skype. Tinder. Didn’t you read the handbook I wrote for the players?”
“I don’t need a damn handbook to tell me what’s happening to the reputation of my team, and this man is dragging it into the gutter with him. I want him watched 24/7. Until we work out a trade, I want Thom Quinn on complete lockdown, and I’m putting you in charge of that. If there is even a hint of trouble—if a single photo of him is put on Twitter—this job you created for yourself is done and you can head back to your fashion designer friends in New York.”
Malin gasped. “You’re the one who begged me to come home and handle this problem for you. You said if I wanted a role in the organization, I’d have to prove myself.”
“And so you will,” her father said. “Protect my investment.”
Malin turned to Steve McCrory. “Are you really planning to trade him? He’s one of our best players. And the fans love him. I’m sure I can smooth this over. Just give me a little time.”
“We can’t continue to let his off-ice behavior bring negative publicity to the club,” McCrory said. “He’s gone from drunken brawls to teenage hookers. What’s next? I don’t want to wait to find out. It was my decision to trade him, and your father backs me on that.”
“I don’t agree,” she said. “If you want to see a social media firestorm, wait until you announce this trade.”
“Once we trade him, he’ll be someone else’s problem. Until then, he needs a watcher.”
It was useless to argue. When it came to decisions about the team, McCrory was an immovable force. He was backed by her father, and there was no hope of changing his mind.
She couldn’t blame her father. When he bought the franchise seventeen years before, it was a failing enterprise with the lowest attendance figures in the league. Now the club led the league in season ticket sales, merchandising and number of playoff appearances. Though they’d fallen short in the championship series last month, they were poised to make another run next year.
“I can turn him around,” Malin said. “I’ve got two months before training camp starts. Give me a chance. Maybe I can find a way to redeem him.”
“My mind is made up,” McCrory said.
“Mine, too,” her father added. “Why don’t you go explain what we expect of him these next few weeks?”
“Me?”
“I said he needs a watcher. That’s you. Or are you not up for the challenge?”
“Of course. You won’t regret putting this faith in me.”
Malin walked out of her father’s office, her spirits deflated. She’d never really believed that her father wanted her to work for the team. It had always been an old boys’ club, not an atmosphere welcoming to women. But women made up 45 percent of their audience, a figure that was growing with every year that passed. Sooner or later, the old guys would need to admit that they needed a woman in the executive offices. And she was determined that woman would be her.
She found Thom Quinn where she’d left him in the conference room. She glanced over her shoulder as she entered. “Did your agent leave?”
Quinn shook his head. “No. He had to take a call.”
Malin pulled out a chair at the end of the table and grabbed a phone, punching in the number of her assistant. “Leah, I’m in the conference room. Can you find Jason and have him come in here? He’s probably in the mail room, working on the convention mailing.”
She hung up the phone and met Thom Quinn’s gaze, holding it for a moment longer than seemed proper under the circumstances. Malin swallowed hard. What were the circumstances? She wasn’t his boss. She didn’t have any power over him, at least none that didn’t come directly from her father. What if he refused to do as she said? In one quick stroke, she’d lose the last of her credibility with her father and any shot at a management job with the team.
“So, they sent you to give me more bad news?”
“Bad news?”
“Yeah, that they’ve decided to trade me to the worst team in the league?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her gaze still locked on his. “I—I mean, no.”
He was an incredibly handsome man. That had always been part of his appeal to the female fans. The shaggy dark hair. The scruffy beard. The impossibly blue eyes. Added to that was a collection of imperfections that made him irresistible—the scar on his lip, the slightly crooked nose.
Dragging her eyes from his face, she reached out and straightened her pen sitting beside her notepad.
“Which is it?” he asked. “Trade or no?”
Malin drew a deep breath. “No,” she lied. She was still determined to save him. He’d be much more amenable to her plan if he thought he had a chance to stay. “They’re going to give you another chance.”
He frowned. “Really?”
Malin nodded. “Under some conditions,” she said.
“What would those be?”
“Maybe we ought to wait for your agent.”
“No, please. Give me my punishment. I’m willing to do what I have to do to stay with the team.”
“All right,” Malin said. “There’ll be no more drinking in public. And I’d advise no more drinking at all. You make stupid decisions when you drink.”
He stared at her silently and she paused for a moment, waiting for a comment or a refusal. But when he said nothing, Malin forged on.
“You should also probably take a break from the women, too. I don’t mean to say you can’t date, but consider keeping your private life more...private.” She cleared her throat. “And finally, we’re going to assign you a—a personal assistant.” It sounded so much better than a watcher, she thought to herself. “This person will live with you and help you make the proper choices and—”
“You’re assigning me a babysitter?” he asked.
“Of course not. You’re not a baby. You’re a full-grown man with a lot of decisions to make. Which is why you need a personal assistant.”
He chuckled softly, shaking her head. “All of this because of one photo?”
“If we hadn’t killed that photo, you could have ended up in jail.”
“I knew she was a hooker,” he said. “And that she was underage.”
“What?” Malin asked.
He nodded. “She approached me in the bar. She looked hungry and scared. She had a black eye and a swollen lip. We started to talk and it was obvious she could do with a meal and a decent night’s sleep. So I bought her dinner and rented her a room. The next morning, I stopped by her room and gave her money to go home. She took it, and as far as I know, she’s back in Kansas or Nebraska or wherever she came from. I guess the guy must have snapped a picture when we were in the bar.”
“You didn’t...”
“I do have some limits when it comes to my behavior.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He grinned and shrugged. “I tried, but they wouldn’t listen. Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered. They see me the way they want to see me.”
She studied him silently. Malin had read his bio, the rags-to-riches story—he’d been a juvenile delinquent, virtually orphaned and living on the streets before stumbling into an after-school hockey program.
He’d never had a steady male influence in his life. Instead, he’d been forced to cobble together the rules and expectations of adulthood. Add to that the quick acquisition of wealth and fame and it would mess anyone up. But was she really prepared to untangle that mess? If it meant gaining a whole lot of respect, damn right she was.
“Miss Pedersen?” said a voice from behind her.
Malin turned to see her second cousin, Jason, waiting nervously at the door. His mother had sent him to the Twin Cities when he’d failed to find a job after five years in college. He hadn’t impressed her beyond his ability to overthink nearly every project he’d been given. But Malin needed someone who’d take the job seriously, someone who’d stick to Thom Quinn like glue.
“Jason Pedersen, this is Thom Quinn,” Malin said.
“I—I know who you are,” Jason said. “I met you last spring at the fan convention. You signed my helmet.”
“Mr. Quinn, I’m going to suggest you hire a personal assistant. One who’ll live with you 24/7. I trust you can make a place for him at your home. Of course, the team will provide a stipend for his rent.”
“You want me to live with someone?” Thom asked.
“This is nonnegotiable,” Malin said. “Perhaps we should discuss this with your agent?”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine with me.”
“You’ll also pay his salary,” Malin added.
“I will?”
“Yes. Due to contract restrictions, we can’t force you to hire an assistant. We can encourage you to do it on your own, though. Which I’m now strongly suggesting.” She leaned forward, her hands splayed across the conference table. “Please do it, Mr. Quinn. Trust me, if you want to keep your job, you need to do this.”
Malin waited, knowing that her ability to sway his behavior was key to her plan working. If he fought her, then it was going to be a very difficult summer for them both.
“All right,” he finally said. “I can make room for Jason.”
Jason gasped. “What? Me?”
“You’re going to be Thom Quinn’s new personal assistant,” Malin said.
Jason’s eyes went wide. “I’m moving in with Tommy Quinn? I’m moving in with The Beast?”
“We’re not going to be using that nickname anymore,” Malin said. “Call him Mr. Quinn for now.”
“You can call me Thom,” he said, nodding at Jason.
At that moment, Thom’s agent returned to the room, his phone still held up to his ear. “What’s happening?”
“I’ve just hired a personal assistant,” Thom said in a bright tone. “This is Jason. He’s going to help me get my shit together.”
Jack glanced back and forth between his client and Jason. “That’s it?”
“Yeah,” Thom said. “He’s going to be living with me. I think it will work out just fine. Jeff and Jake both have assistants, and they say it’s great. Maybe he can also do my laundry? And clean the fridge? It will be nice to have a workout partner.” He stood, then held out his hand to Malin. “If we’re finished here, I’ll meet Jason at my place. You can give him the address and send him over with his stuff.”
The moment their hands touched, Malin felt a current race through her body. Thom’s hands were strong, his fingers long and slender. He was known for his great hands, but she’d assumed that referred to his stick handling abilities. She stared down, her mind suddenly occupied with thoughts of what his hands might do to her body. Great hands indeed. A shiver raced through her.
“What about you?” he murmured. “How will you know that I’m complying with your wishes?”
“I’ll be in daily contact with Jason, and he’ll keep me up to date on how you’re doing. You’ll be expected to work out with a team trainer and skate every day. We’ll put together a schedule.”
“All right, then,” Thom said. He suddenly let go of her hand, and Malin wondered if she’d ever have the chance to touch him again.
She watched him follow his agent out of the conference room, then flopped down into one of the leather chairs.
She was acting like a puck bunny, getting all flushed and breathless the moment she set eyes on a handsome hockey player. This had never happened to her before. Why was it happening now?
“He is so cool,” Jason said. “The Beast! How can you not like that guy?”
Malin was wondering the exact opposite—how could she stop liking him?
* * *
THOM STOOD IN FRONT of the open refrigerator door and examined the contents. Old takeout containers, a few packages of hot dogs, juice, vitamin water and beer. Though he worked hard to maintain a decent diet, it was much easier during the season when meals were provided by the club’s caterer.
“Can you cook?” he called.
“Cook?” Jason wandered into the kitchen area. “Sure. Pizza. Mac and cheese. Man, your place is so cool. What guy wouldn’t love living in an old firehouse? Was it like this when you moved in?”
“No, I renovated it myself.” Thom grabbed a couple of beers, starting to make a grocery list in his head. McCrory and Pedersen had made it clear they wanted him to lay low for the next couple of months, so he wouldn’t be dining at his favorite restaurants. He followed the sound of Jason’s voice to the family room at the rear of the house.
Jason had already found the remote for the television and was flipping through the channels. “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?” Thom asked before handing the other man the beer.
“I’m twenty-two. But I probably shouldn’t drink since I’m on duty.”
Thom grabbed the remote and switched to the local sports report. “We need groceries. You might as well hit the store. While you’re gone, I’m going to take a run.”
Jason shook his head. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone. If you need me to shop, then you have to come with me. If you’re going for a run, I go with you. That’s what Malin told me and I’m not going to screw it up. I’m supposed to stick to you like glue on rice.” He cleared his throat. “Or maybe it was white on rice. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. White on rice. Flies on flypaper.”
“All right. We can send out for a pizza,” Thom muttered, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Why don’t you go grab a bedroom and unpack your stuff?”
“I can do that later. I—I’m just gonna sit here and watch the sports report.”
“I’m not going to sneak out while you’re upstairs.”
“No, no,” Jason said. “I trust you. Completely. Why don’t I call for the pizza? Malin—I mean, Miss Pedersen—gave me some cash. My treat.”
“Malin,” Thom repeated. “You call her Malin?”
“Not around the office. But she’s my cousin, so it would be weird to call her Miss Pedersen any other time.”
“What else did she tell you?”
Jason shrugged. “Just...stuff.”
“Like what?”
“She said I shouldn’t let you drink. That I should keep you away from sleazy women. I’m supposed to work out with you every day, and if I can get you to read an actual book, she’ll give me a bonus.”
“She expects you to do all that? She must be tough to work for.”
“Nah, she’s really nice. I’ve screwed up a few times—more than a few times—and she always gives me another chance.”
“What else do you know about her? Does she have a boyfriend?” He handed Jason the beer and this time the other man took a sip, his earlier reluctance forgotten.
“I think she used to. Someone said he used to come to the games, but he lived in New York. That’s where she used to live before she came back to Minneapolis.” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen her with a guy. I’m pretty sure she likes men. I’ve just never...”
“What’s her job?”
“Social media. She runs the team website and all the social media accounts. She filters the team’s Twitter posts and Instagram photos. So if you post something that would reflect badly on the team, she catches it before it goes out.”
“I don’t do social media,” Thom said.
“Yeah, I know. You make up for it with all the other stuff that gets posted about you. God, I wish I had your social life. All those beautiful women. Maybe you can give me some advice?”
“Where does she live?”
“Malin? She’s got a place in Merriam Park. I’ve only been there a few times. Just to check on the place while she was out of town. It’s nothing like this place. Just an ordinary house.”
Thom let those few nuggets of information roll around in his mind for a bit, curious about the woman who suddenly held so much power over him. He wanted to dig deeper, to find out every little detail about her. What did she eat for breakfast? Did she sleep in pajamas or the nude? Did she—
Thom stopped himself. This was exactly the kind of thought pattern that had gotten him into trouble in the past. Once he’d decided he wanted a woman, there was nothing that stood in his way. It didn’t matter how long it took or what he had to do to get her into bed. In the end, he always made it happen.
A voice from the TV caught his attention. “A late-breaking report regarding your Minneapolis Blizzard.”
Both Jason and Thom turned to look at the television.
“Trade rumors are swirling, and at the center of the storm is Blizzard defenseman Tommy ‘The Beast’ Quinn. Sources say his off-ice shenanigans haven’t been sitting well with team’s owner, Davis Pedersen. Is Quinn on his way out? Fans are not going to be happy. We’ll have an exclusive on our late report.”
Thom stared at the television for a long moment. With a soft curse, he shut the television off and tossed the remote on the coffee table. “She told me I wasn’t going to be traded,” he muttered. Launching to his feet, he turned to Jason, looming over him in his most threatening manner. “What do you know about this?”
“I—I— Nothing. They don’t tell me anything. I swear.”
“Come on. I want you to show me where she lives. Miss Pedersen and I have some things to discuss.” Thom shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the keys for his truck. When Jason didn’t move, he said, “Don’t you have to go with me?”
“She’s probably still at the office,” Jason said.
“I’m not going to talk to her there.”
“You can call her,” Jason suggested. He held out his cell phone.
Thom shook his head. “No, this has to be done in person. Why would she lie to me? I mean, I went in there fully expecting to be traded. And then she decides to put me through this crap. Locked up like a prisoner with you reporting my every move. What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “But I do know that if I show you where she lives and you go there, she’s going to fire me. Can you just sit down and we’ll order a pizza?”
“No,” Thom snapped. “I want this settled now.”
He walked to the front door, not bothering to wait for Jason. When he reached his truck, parked on the street, he got inside. As he slipped the key into the ignition, Thom heard a rapping on the window. Jason stood at the passenger door, a stricken expression on his face.
Thom unlocked the door and the kid hopped inside. “I can show you where she parks. We could wait for her there. She always leaves the office at five. If she has to work late, she comes back after dinner.”
“Five,” Thom said. They had fifteen minutes to make a ten-minute drive. At least it would give him a bit of time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say.
Hell, he should have known not to trust her. She wasn’t on his side. She was the daughter of the damn owner. Of course she’d side with her father. Well, he was going to fight this trade. Why lie down and let the team walk all over him? If he wanted to, he could make things very difficult for them.
He knew there was a morals clause in his contract, a section that directly addressed bad behavior. Beyond his youthful criminal record, Thom’s “rap sheet” was long and colorful. The brawls—with fellow players, with fans, with bartenders and limo drivers and bouncers and parking attendants—were probably the most egregious.
The women followed a close second. Though they didn’t cause as much legal trouble as the brawls, they were a distraction, especially when one decided to spill her secrets to a gossip website.
Until recently, Thom had been able to keep the drinking pretty much under control. But now, there seemed to be more reasons to drink than reasons not to. It wasn’t just something he did to relax anymore. Getting drunk was the only way he could shut off the constant hum in his head, turn off all the questions rattling round in his mind.
Life used to be pretty simple for him. He played hockey and he did it better than almost everyone in the league. It provided for him and his family. But now, it seemed that with every year that passed, his life grew more complicated. What would he do when he couldn’t play hockey anymore?
Thom had vowed that he’d get out of the game gracefully. He never wanted to be one of those guys who hung around trying to recapture lost glory. He wanted to go out on top. But how could he be sure the time was right? And what would he do once hockey was over for him?
“It’s right here,” Jason said, pointing to the parking ramp.
Thom turned into the entrance and grabbed a ticket, then steered the truck up the levels. “What kind of car are we looking for?”
“She has a dark green Audi. It’s usually on the fourth level.”
Thom found the car and pulled into a spot across the aisle from it. He shut off the truck, then nervously tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips. “What time is it?”
“A few minutes before five. She should be coming along any minute.” Jason slouched down in the seat. “What are you going to say to her?”
“I don’t know,” Thom said. The drive over had been too short to untangle the knot of emotions in his gut.
“Don’t you think you’d better figure it— Wait. Someone’s coming.”
“Is it her?”
“Yeah, it is.”
They each watched in their side view mirrors as Malin strolled past. Thom reached for the door and then, at the last minute, decided to wait. “She’s gorgeous,” he murmured.
“You think so?” Jason asked.
“Don’t you?”
“Well, she’s my cousin, so I really don’t look at her that way. And I’m really more attracted to brunettes than blondes.”
Malin got into her car and slipped behind the wheel. Thom held his breath, waiting for just the right moment. When she began to back out of the parking spot, he knew the moment was at hand, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the truck.
He didn’t want their next encounter to be an argument. And he certainly didn’t want it to happen in a parking lot with Jason looking on.
“She’s driving away,” Jason said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t get it. Everybody says you’re legendary with women,” Jason murmured.
“Most of that is just talk,” Thom said. “Most of the time I have no idea what the hell they’re thinking. Or what I’m doing.” He reached for the ignition. “You know what? I could use a drink. Let’s go to a bar.”
“I’m not supposed to—”
“Jason, if we’re going to get along, you’re going to need to learn that the rules just don’t apply to us. Got it?”
2 (#ulink_4280a353-150c-52f7-ad90-0183c8cf0baf)
SLEEP DIDN’T COME easily that night for Malin. Her head was filled with memories of the day’s events, which led to her mind weaving tantalizing little fantasies about Thom Quinn.
She’d never been attracted to one of the hockey players before, and she couldn’t explain this sudden attraction to Quinn. By all accounts, the guy was a mess. Yet it was hard to ignore his physical perfection, the handsome features, the unruly hair, the body that had been carved out of solid muscle.
After their meeting, she’d shut herself in her office and searched the internet for any information about him that wasn’t included in his personnel file. She came across plenty of shirtless photos, both professional and candid, along with a fair number of pictures of Quinn and his women. There were even a few of him when he was younger, hockey photos that showed a sweet-looking boy with a chipped front tooth and a ragged haircut.
She knew that unlike most of the league’s star players, Thom Quinn hadn’t laced on his first pair of skates until he was twelve. He’d struggled at first but quickly learned the game. It provided a lucky alternative to the street life that he’d been drawn to.
On the ice, Quinn was confident and strong, in command of all his talents and skills. But once he stepped off, he seemed to have nothing to hide behind, and his life fractured at the slightest stress. She realized he was still that screwed-up kid from the streets. Why was she the only one who recognized that fact?
She groaned softly and pulled the pillow over her head. This was crazy. The guy would probably be on a plane out of town by next week and she was quickly turning him into her imaginary boyfriend.
The sound of her cell phone ringing was muffled by the pillow. She threw it off the bed, then sat up and grabbed her phone. Jason’s number came up on the screen, and Malin fumbled to answer.
“Hi, Jason. What’s—”
“He’s gone,” Jason said, his voice wavering slightly. “We were just hanging out, watching a Cubs game, and I—well, I kinda—lost track of him. Just for a few minutes.”
“How long?”
“Since about nine. I thought he’d be back after the bar closed, but that was an hour ago.”
“You were in a bar?”
“We just stopped for a drink after we— Never mind. I tried to talk him out of it, but then we started playing dice and drinking shots and I got totally wasted.”
“Where are you now?”
“At his place. I’m so sorry. I tried to say no, but he’s very persuasive.”
“All right, just stay where you are. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Have you tried calling his cell phone?”
“He doesn’t answer. Do you think he might have been in an accident?”
“No, no! I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She turned off her phone and tossed back the bedcovers. It shouldn’t have been any surprise that it had taken Thom Quinn less than a day to break the rules.
She crawled out of bed. When she reached the bathroom, Malin ran a comb through her tangled hair and took a few extra seconds with her makeup, then pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a loose shirt.
Five minutes later she was on the road, and ten minutes later she pulled up in front of Thom Quinn’s place. At first she had to recheck the address. She was parked in front of an old firehouse. But when Jason appeared on the sidewalk, she knew she’d found the right place.
“I can’t do this job, Malin,” he said, pacing the sidewalk. “How am I supposed to sleep? And if he decides to go somewhere without me, how can I force him? He could just punch me and knock me out or—”
“Get you drunk?”
“Exactly! I think you picked the wrong person for this job. I’m just not ready.”
“Maybe we could put a bell around his neck,” she muttered as she stepped inside the front door. She dropped her bag on a nearby table, then slowly began to explore the house. “Wow,” she said with a gasp. “This place is—”
“I know,” Jason said. “He did all this himself. He’s my hero. If I could do something like this, my father would think I was amazing. He’d probably talk to me again.”
“Jason, why don’t you take off. I can handle this on my own. It would probably be better if you weren’t here when Thom got back.”
“Am I fired?” Jason asked.
“No. Just reassigned. This one was always going to be tricky. It just turned out to be more difficult than I thought.”
“Tommy’s angry because he saw on the news that they’re going to trade him. He said you lied to him. Is he going to be traded?”
She shrugged. “Probably. But I’m going to make the case for him to stay if he’ll cooperate and if I can get a few more people to back me. It could be our little project.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because if I were the general manager of this club, I’d find a way to turn him into a hero off the ice as well as on it. He can be fixed, and I’m the one to do it. And when it’s time for me to run this club, people will remember how I saved Tommy ‘The Beast’ Quinn.”
Jason laughed. “You want to be general manager? That’s pretty funny.”
She gave him a withering glare, shaking her head. “Would you like to rethink that statement?”
“Sorry,” Jason said. “I’ll just be going.”
“Can you drive?”
He nodded. “I really am sorry. And I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”
Malin walked Jason to the front door, then locked it behind him. Leaning back against the wood, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. With Jason acting as a buffer, it would have been easier for her to keep a professional distance. But less than twenty-four hours after reaching an agreement with Thom, he’d broken it—and she was forced to step in. It was clear he needed a firmer hand, a more determined personality.
Malin wasn’t about to let one little bump in the road deter her. She wouldn’t stop until she’d achieved her goal. She’d tame The Beast or die trying.
Proving her worth to her father had been a lifetime challenge. Her older brothers had it easy. Hockey was a natural fit for them, and they’d played from the time they could balance on skates until they’d been brave enough to quit. The eldest, Daniel, was now a resident in cardiac surgery, and her other brother, Kristian, worked as an attorney for the US Justice Department. They had no interest in running the team. But the moment her father had called, she’d left a prestigious job in New York to take her chances with the team.
She walked back to the kitchen, taking in the details of Thom Quinn’s home. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. Most of the single guys on the team lived in one of the city’s luxury high-rise condos. But Thom’s home showed his artistic side. He was obviously good with his hands. Malin groaned. His hands again. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about his hands.
She tried to refocus on his home. The place had never been profiled in any of the city’s glossy magazines, even though it deserved to be. With her media contacts, she could get an article placed in the next few months.
She wandered through the old fire station, taking in all the details, trying to imagine how a photographer might shoot it.
The cream-colored brick walls were exposed throughout the entire building, and massive wood beams supported each wall. At one time the lower level must have housed horses, because Thom had left the old sliding doors in place.
She paused just inside his bedroom door, wondering if her tour ought to stop there. She was interested in the decor, but there were too many other things that came to mind when she glanced inside his bedroom.
The room was huge, spacious and airy, with a huge bed against one wall. She took a few steps further so she could see inside his bathroom—floor-to-ceiling dark gray marble with a steam shower and a whirlpool tub. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she crossed to the line of bottles on a glass shelf beside the sink.
The cologne held a hint of citrus with a tantalizing cover of musk. She smiled as she set the bottle back in place.
“You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
Malin jumped at the sound of Thom’s voice, the bottle clattering against the glass shelf. She spun around to find him watching her from the doorway of the bathroom. He leaned casually against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest.
Malin held her breath as he slowly crossed the room to stand beside her. He stared at her in the mirror. “Jason called you?”
She nodded. “You got him drunk?”
“He did that all on his own.” Thom paused. “Besides, he wasn’t cut out for the job. He’s too young, too impressionable.”
“You got him drunk to prove a point?”
“I just couldn’t live with the guy,” Thom admitted. “He’s like a big drooling puppy. I need someone a little more interesting. More mature. With less drool.”
“All right. We’ll find someone else. I can contact an agency and they’ll send over some candidates.”
“I can think of an excellent candidate,” he said. “Perfectly qualified. Interesting to talk to. Stubbornly disciplined. Beautiful to look at.”
“You want a woman?”
He gave her a boyish grin. “I want you.” He leaned closer and grabbed her hand. “The question is, do you want me?”
She drew in a sharp breath and tried to control the pounding of her heart. This was crazy. But it could be a great opportunity. If she was with him full-time, she might have a chance at succeeding in taming The Beast.
But was he making the offer because he truly wanted her help? Or was he interested in something else? Something that had nothing to do with business or professionalism or...
Still, she had to take that chance.
“If I agree to do this, you have to do exactly what I tell you. You have to trust me completely.”
“Why should I trust you if you don’t give me the truth?” he asked.
“I told you, the team—”
“Not about that. You didn’t answer my question.” He leaned closer and she held her breath. “Do you want me?”
“The truth and you’ll trust me?”
“Exactly.”
His lips were just inches from hers, and Malin fought the impulse to close that distance and kiss him. “Yes,” she breathed.
His kiss was tentative at first, his lips just barely brushing hers. But then he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, and she felt the warmth of his tongue.
Malin had been kissed by a variety of men in her past, but she’d never experienced a kiss that was so perfect. Just the right mix of overwhelming passion and unspoken desire.
When he finally drew back, she couldn’t help but sigh, wishing that it might have gone on for a bit longer.
“Well?”
She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his expression cool, his lovely mouth set in a hard line. Malin cleared her throat. “It was...nice.” She swallowed hard. “Quite pleasant. But if I’m going to take the job, we can never do that again.” She snatched her hand away and rubbed her palm against her hip. “You have to promise.”
“I’ve never been very good with promises,” he said, his voice low and rough. Thom reached out and smoothed his fingertips across her cheek. “I’m tired. I need some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
As he walked away, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Malin hurried after him into the bedroom. She stopped short as she watched him skim his jeans down over his hips and kick off his trainers. When he reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs, she quickly turned her back.
“If we’re going to be living together, you should probably get used to this.”
Get used to what, exactly? Malin wondered. Get used to seeing him half-naked? Get used to hanging out in his bedroom at night? Get used to wondering what it would be like if she allowed him to kiss her again? There were so many things racing through her mind, she couldn’t imagine what he meant.
“I’ll just say good night,” she murmured. “And see you in the morning.” She risked one last glance at him as she hurried out of the room. It was enough to glimpse him in all his naked glory, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and muscular backside, before he slipped beneath the covers.
She pulled the bedroom door shut behind her, then hurried back to the living room. She stood in the center of the dimly lit room, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and her head to clear.
The image was still burned on her brain, and she sighed softly and savored it for a long moment. Then she firmly put it out of her mind.
* * *
AFTER THE EVENTS of the day, Thom assumed he’d fall into a deep sleep almost immediately. But every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts returned to the woman he’d invited into his home.
When he finally drifted off, images of Malin continued to tease at his mind. Then he awakened and realized that she was so close, close enough to call her name, close enough to find her and carry her into his bed.
Women had a very specific place in his life, a purely sexual place. He’d had a number of affairs over the years, but they’d never lasted long. Sooner or later, women realized that he never had any intention of truly opening himself up to them.
Something as simple as affection had never been present in his childhood, and he didn’t find it necessary in his adult life, either. Pure desire didn’t require romance to burn hot and intense.
Maybe Malin was right to keep their relationship on a platonic, businesslike level. He wasn’t capable of romance, and she didn’t strike him as the type who’d indulge in carnal pleasures without it. Hell, in his experience, no woman was truly happy to avoid romance in favor of simple physical pleasure.
Thom tossed aside the covers and grabbed a pair of sweatpants, tugging them up around his hips before wandering out to the kitchen. He found Malin curled up on the sofa.
He squatted down beside her and took the opportunity to study her face. He hadn’t realized how much her emotions colored her expressions. In sleep, she looked like a teenager, young and fresh-faced, a light sprinkling of freckles visible across the bridge of her nose.
He felt the familiar pull, the need to possess her, to touch her and seduce her, to prove that the desire he felt was mutual, even though she’d already admitted it was. Thom reached out and took a strand of her pale hair, rubbing it between his fingers.
She stirred slightly and he quickly stood, retreating to the kitchen. He made a pot of coffee and put breakfast on the stove. As he waited, Thom observed her from a distance. They had a whole day ahead of them. How would it end? Would they share another kiss, or would she put a quick end to his fantasies?
When the coffee was done, he poured a mug for each of them, then carried the mugs back to the sofa. He sat down next to her and set the mug in front of her nose, hoping the smell might wake her up. But Malin was obviously a deep sleeper. He tried calling her name, shaking her shoulder, tickling the bottom of her feet and pulling her hair, but nothing seemed to rouse her.
Finally, impatient, Thom gently pinched her nose shut. A few seconds later, she jerked, then waved her hand in front of her face. Thom quickly sat back and picked up the coffee mugs, clutching them in his hands.
“You’re awake,” he said, holding out the hot coffee.
Malin rubbed at her eyes and slowly sat up. Her fingers immediately went to her hair, and she ran them through the tangles before grabbing the mug with a nervous smile. “What time is it?”
“Early. Seven-thirty.”
“I fell asleep,” she murmured.
“I expected to find you curled up in front of the door.”
She smiled. “I’m not used to staying up that late. I’m usually in bed by ten.”
“Not much of a party girl?”
“I used to be,” she said with a wistful tone. “When I lived in New York, we went out all the time. But I don’t really have a lot of friends here. Most of my old friends are married and have children.”
“Same with me,” he said with a shrug.
A long silence grew between them as she sipped at her coffee. “So...so what do you do about it? I mean, how do you deal when you’re...lonely? You have family, right?”
Thom shook his head. “Sure. But we really don’t see each other that often. My brothers come to the games now and then. And we get together over the holidays at my grandmother’s place.” Thom drew a deep breath. “It’s better to be alone, I think. No complications.”
“Sometimes complications are nice,” she said softly.
He’d never been very comfortable expressing his deepest thoughts, and now was no exception. Thom wanted to try again, to make her understand. Somehow it seemed important that Malin knew exactly who he was. But he was afraid the more he talked, the more she’d start to think he was too damaged.
He quickly stood, rubbing his hands together. “So, I’ve made us breakfast. I don’t know when you need to be at work, but—”
“I don’t have to go to the office to work,” Malin said. “I can work from anywhere that has internet. But I do want to stop at home and grab a few things, like clothes and my toothbrush.”
“And I need to get a workout in and some ice time.”
“And we should talk about a plan of attack,” Malin added.
“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked, meeting her gaze.
“I thought I explained. Because the fans love you. And you belong here in Minneapolis.”
“Your father doesn’t agree.”
“He’s stubborn and a complete control freak. But I believe I can change his mind as long as you behave yourself.”
“And you’re going to see that I do?”
Malin nodded. “I’ve got a lot of ideas.”
“And you’re sure that the only way to make this work is for you to live here? With me?”
She paused. “Yes, that would be advisable. At least until I can...you know.”
“Trust me to be good?”
“Yes,” she said, tipping her chin up and meeting his gaze. “I want to help you. I think I can.”
She stood up, her body brushing against his. Their legs were caught between the coffee table and the sofa as both of them tried to avoid contact. Instead, their legs got tangled, and Malin began to lose her balance.
Thom grabbed her waist, but she was already falling backward onto the wide sofa. He landed on top of her, absorbing most of his weight with his arms. For a moment, neither one of them moved.
Their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, as if her every curve had been sculpted especially for him. Thom reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Their color in the low light of the morning was stunningly vivid, a pale blue.
“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teased.
Thom shook his head. “If I have, I’m sure I didn’t mean it...until now.”
It seemed the most natural thing to do next was to kiss her. He couldn’t seem to keep himself from touching her. But he also wanted her to trust him.
“Since we’ll be living together, perhaps we should try to defuse the...tension now,” he suggested.
“You may be right,” she breathed.
He moved slowly, giving her every chance to refuse. Nothing in her expression displayed a negative response. “Oh, hell, why not?” he muttered as he bent over her.
Thom brushed his lips against hers in a gentle test. She responded immediately. Her fingers slipped around his nape and a shiver raced through his body. Every nerve came alive and every sensation was magnified until he felt as if a simple touch could send him over the edge.
The kiss spun out like a spell around them, washing away any hesitation that either of them possessed. This was what he craved, yet until this very moment, he hadn’t known it. There was a sweet warmth in her kiss and in the way her body responded to his.
She arched against him, pressing her soft curves against his muscle and bone. And whether it was just a temporary slip or something building between them, Thom didn’t care. For now, he’d be satisfied to take anything she offered.
When he finally drew back, his gaze skimmed her perfect features. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Her lips were damp and he stole one more kiss, sending her an apologetic smile.
Malin opened her mouth and he waited for a reprimand, but then she snapped it shut, her brow furrowing. Thom slowly got to his feet, then held his hand out for her. When she stood beside him, he distractedly smoothed her mussed hair and dragged his thumb across her lips. She tried to speak again, but he pressed his index finger against her mouth to stop her.
“All we were doing was defusing the tension. Now we can forget that happened. We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to be angry with me. We’ll let that one go by.” He started toward the kitchen. “I’ll just get breakfast.”
When he got to the kitchen, Thom opened the refrigerator and put his head inside, drawing a deep breath of the cold air. His head cleared, yet he couldn’t forget what he’d just done. Why should he? It was obvious there was a powerful attraction between them. As much as Malin might want to deny it, that didn’t change the fact it was there.
And why not act on it a bit more? Flirtation was a far cry from seduction. And Thom certainly had the self-control to stop before things got out of hand. He’d be the perfect gentleman.
“Can I help you with anything?” Malin stood at the kitchen island, her face flushed and her eyes bright.
“There’s juice in the fridge,” he said as he ladled oatmeal into two bowls. “And grab the blueberries from the freezer.”
She fetched a few more items for him, then perched on a stool, watching him silently. He glanced over his shoulder, then cursed beneath his breath. “Do you want me to apologize? I will if you want me to. But I’m not sorry I kissed you. I enjoyed it and I think you did, too.”
“I did,” she said.
“Do you want me to promise it won’t happen again? That would be another lie. It might happen. It might not. I prefer to leave my options open.”
“I thought we were defusing the...tension,” she said.
“It might need more defusing.”
He set the oatmeal in front of her, sprinkled the blueberries on top, then squeezed honey over it all. She stared down at the bowl and grimaced.
“It’s healthy,” he said. “I eat it every day.”
“It looks like wallpaper paste,” she said.
“What do you usually eat for breakfast?”
“I usually grab a candy bar from the vending machine,” she admitted.
He pulled the salmon from the oven and placed it on the counter. “Believe me, you’ll enjoy this. And you won’t be hungry again in twenty minutes.”
“You eat fish for breakfast?” she asked.
“Or chicken. You have to have some protein, too.” He chuckled. “You’d better enjoy it. It’s the only thing I know how to cook.”
Malin smiled and tasted the oatmeal. “It’s good,” she said. “Really. And I love salmon. I’ve just never eaten it for breakfast.”
Thom slipped into the spot next to her and dug into his cereal. He’d always wondered what it might be like to have a woman in his life, eating meals together, enjoying their time together, even outside the bedroom. Thom had to admit that it was a pleasant experience, preparing a meal for her, chatting as they ate.
He hadn’t seen the need for a personal assistant, but now that Malin was on board, he planned to enjoy every single moment.
* * *
“I’M REALLY NOT interested in having muscles.” Malin stared at the barbell and shook her head. “When I agreed to work out with you, I was thinking of walking a little on the treadmill, maybe doing a few stretches, and that would be it.”
Malin hadn’t explored the second floor of the firehouse the night she arrived, but when Thom had decided to work out, she’d followed him upstairs to a huge room at the back of the building. The entire rear wall was windows, bathing the hardwood floors in sunshine. The brick walls were exposed and the room was filled with high-end exercise equipment.
Thom chuckled. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re one of those.”
Malin felt warmth rise in her cheeks. “One of what?”
“A woman who doesn’t sweat?”
“I—I sweat.” She’d never claimed to be an athlete or even coordinated. Working out was not her favorite thing to do. Which was why she avoided it at all costs. “I do yoga. Two or three times a week.”
“That’s not exercise,” he said. “That’s posing in pretty outfits. You need to get your pulse up to burn calories,” Thom said. “Start breathing harder.”
“Oh, so kissing you is considered good cardio?” she shot back. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize she’d said them out loud. A quick change of subject was in order. “Do you think I’m fat?” she asked.
He held out his hand. “Hold on. Let’s rewind to that first thing you said.”
“No, answer my question. I can take it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with honesty.” She looked down at her body, smoothing her hands over her hips. “Am I fat?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. Slowly he approached her, his gaze locked on hers, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Are you fat? Hmm. Well, let me see. Turn around.”
Malin groaned inwardly. Was he actually going to answer the question? Oh, God, if the kiss comment wasn’t enough of a humiliation, now her physical imperfections were about to be pointed out in great detail. Well, she had said she could take it.
He stood behind her, and she waited for his verdict. But when she felt his hands slip around her waist, her breath caught in her throat. He splayed his fingers and then slid them down to her hips. A tiny gasp of surprise was all she could manage when he cupped her backside.
She slowly turned and faced him, her expression as calm as she could manage. “Well?”
“I haven’t finished my examination,” he teased. His hands found her waist again, but this time they moved up until his thumbs stopped at the curves of her breasts. Malin’s pulse leaped and for a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. Would he touch her there?
“You’re perfect,” he said. “Perfect.” With that, Thom walked away and grabbed a pair of dumbbells from the rack. He began to work on his biceps, watching his reflection in the mirror.
Malin walked over to the treadmill, glancing at him every now and then. She stepped onto the machine, her body still tingling from the aftereffects of his touch. It hadn’t taken much to get her heart racing. Maybe if she exercised a bit, her body wouldn’t react to him in such a disturbing way.
Who was she kidding? Wasn’t this supposed to be how it went when you met an impossibly attractive man? Never mind the physical reactions. She was having more problems with her mind—the endless fantasies, the lack of coherent thought when he was in the room, the ability to relive every single moment of their last intimate encounter.
Maybe exercise could mitigate the physical problems, but she’d need to cut off her own head to take care of the rest. “Just focus,” she muttered as she struggled to turn on the treadmill.
She punched the buttons and the display lit up, but the belt wasn’t moving. Then she noticed the safety switch and pushed the plastic card into the slot. The treadmill yanked her backward, pulling her off balance.
Malin screamed as she was tossed off the treadmill, her arms flailing and her feet over her head. Before she hit the floor, she hit the corner of the weight bench. A searing pain on the crown of her head caused her to cry out again.
Thom was beside her in an instant. “Are you all right?”
Groaning, she pushed up on her elbow and touched her head gingerly. “I—I just slipped.”
He stood up and switched off the treadmill. “You had it set for five miles an hour.”
“Yeah? I guess that was my mistake.” Her fingertips felt damp, and she looked at her hand to find her fingers dripping with blood. The room closed in on her, and Malin knew she was about to pass out. The sight of blood had always...been...her kryptonite...

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