Power Play (Crimson Romance) Read online

  Power Play

  Nan Comargue

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Nan Comargue

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5880-9

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5880-1

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5879-5

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5879-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com, bigstockphoto.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  Under the bright crisp lights of the arena, Lila leaned forward to watch the figures slide by. The ice surface was littered with twirling figure skaters and ice dancing pairs. She paid these skaters no attention. Her velvet brown eyes were riveted to the lumbering forms of the hockey players.

  Between the other more graceful figures, the players skated with power and intensity. Even in this informal atmosphere, their concentration was palpable. All energies were given to their stride and the warm-up exercises that preceded the actual practice.

  Lila knew from a lifetime of experience that the ice surface would soon be cleared. Though the professional hockey players sometimes used this local arena for their practices, it did not mean they would deign to share the space with amateurs. The figure skaters, the ice dancers, and the simple pleasure skaters would have to leave in a half hour. In the meantime, several of the mere mortals took the opportunity to sidle up to their favorite hockey star and demand an autograph. A few of the players obliged.

  Lost in her scrutiny, Lila did not notice the man coming up behind her until he laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Startled, she spun around to confront him. It was only upon spying the familiar smiling face that her own face lost its look of habitual wariness.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the newcomer apologized, his breath coming in convincing pants. “I had to sprint to avoid the media types.”

  Though she had an uneasy suspicion why the media might be chasing him, she refrained from making a comment. Instead, she smiled to show her lack of disgruntlement. She was, in fact, early for their assignation.

  Her companion hitched his heavy nylon bag further up his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to stay for the practice? It’s not exactly fun to watch.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Jack Jarrett’s pale blue eyes skittered away. He remembered why she was so familiar with the lives of professional hockey players.

  “Has he shown up yet?” Jack’s dark head jerked to indicate the ice surface.

  “No, but I haven’t been watching.” She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Maybe he won’t show.”

  “He will,” her companion predicted.

  Almost against her inclination, Lila found herself trying to persuade him. “He was traded only yesterday, Jack. I mean, he wouldn’t be expected to play today, much less attend practice.”

  Jack’s jaw flexed. “He will. He’ll want to show his new teammates that he’s just one of the guys, that he’s not too good to go to practice like the rest of them, even if it’s an optional one. He may be a superstar, darling, but he’s probably the most well-liked player in the league.”

  No one who knew Jack as well as Lila could mistake the bitterness in his voice. It colored his usually mellow tenor tones, distorting the pleasant features that had first drawn her to him. After Cahal she had promised herself that she would never again become involved with a sports figure. She’d broken that rule in the first few months after the separation.

  “Perhaps,” Lila said, “I should go.”

  Her companion’s eyes softened as they lingered on her upturned face. Jack was six foot one while Lila was only a few inches above five feet in height. Even so, the height difference was more manageable than it had been with her husband. Her former husband, Lila corrected herself. The divorce was only a matter of formality.

  “No, darling. I want you to stay.” His face tightened. “Why should we change the plans we made days ago just because Cahal Wallace is coming here? Other players’ girlfriends watch the practices sometimes.”

  She liked the confidence with which he made the statement. Theirs had been rather a whirlwind romance but that did not, in Lila’s opinion, make it any less valid. She and Cahal had known each other for years before they got married. Familiarity and time were not buttresses against betrayal and pain.

  Lila reached for his hand. “I know, Jack.”

  Still holding hands, the couple sauntered away from the ice, moving into the hallway.

  “I have to get ready,” he said. “I’m late as it is. Watch for me on the ice, okay?”

  Watching his tall figure disappear up the hallway to the dressing room, Lila wondered who he supposed she was going to watch for if it wasn’t him.

  She made her way back down the hall. Amid those bodies hustling away from the arena now that the rink was closed to the public and those making their way to the dressing room to suit up, Lila’s scarlet-clad figure was incongruous. Her sweater, her scarf, and her pea coat were all crimson. Only her long slim skirt was a less vivid gray. The bright colors played well against her black hair and her dark olive complexion.

  Even in multicultural Toronto, few strangers were able to identify her ethnic background with any degree of success. The suggestions ranged from Spanish to Italian, from Brazilian to Indian — both of the East Indian and Native Canadian varieties. The confusion no doubt arose from the fact that Lila’s father had been a Russian sailor and her mother a West Indian from an Indian background.

  She had never known either of her parents. Raised by her maternal grandparents in Toronto, she had lived with them until she married at the age of twenty-two. They had both been dead for over five years.

  Except for Jack, she was remarkably alone. That was, she readily admitted to herself, one of the reasons Jack was in her life in the first place. She could stand to be alone for now but the thought of the days stretching into months and years terrified her. Loneliness she could only take in small doses.

  The nearby commotion alerted her to the long-awaited arrival. Cahal Wallace. Toronto’s new goaltender. The man of the hour.

  Unable to resist observing, Lila watched as a group of three men entered the doors to her left. There were, unexpectedly, no reporters with them. These were quite obviously three hockey players. She would have known that even if she had not recognized them.

  Lila turned her attention back to the ice surface, which was filling up with players in their bright practice uniforms as well as an assistant coach carrying a clipboard. The players made lazy circles around the rink, their careful strides eating up the distance between the encircling boards.

  It was clear that she had been spotted when the conversation between the three men fell silent. She imagined that she could feel a pair of very clear, very piercing gray eyes focused on her back.

  “Lila?”

  There was a huskine
ss in his voice that had nothing to do with his emotions, if indeed he was feeling any at this impromptu reunion. That low rasp was his natural speaking tone.

  She took several seconds to turn to face him. The other men had halted on either side but she took no notice of them. It was his figure toward which all eyes were drawn, tall and blond and muscular.

  Lila took the time to force a smile.

  “Hello, Cahal. How do you like being back in Toronto?”

  Like her, he had been raised in this city.

  “I was here a few months ago,” he said.

  She knew. He had called and called at her house. She still didn’t know how he got her number. After two days, he had been gone again. His team had chalked up a victory in Toronto.

  Cahal Wallace was one of the league’s most consistent goaltenders. Just forty-eight hours before, the entire population of Toronto had despised him for his mental toughness and his fluid range of movement. Now they were prepared to adore him if he could bring his winning record to their city.

  “I thought,” he went on, “you were never going to set foot in a hockey arena again as long as you lived.”

  Her foolish words came back to haunt her. Nearly a year ago, the last time they had spoken, she’d thrown those words at him with all of the hurt and loathing she had carried in her agonized heart. Now she wondered how she could have been so melodramatic. Divorce, after all, was not exactly the stuff of fairy tales. They happened all the time. They happened to hockey players, they happened to high school sweethearts, they happened to her.

  The two men flanking her former husband looked embarrassed to be witnessing the exchange. Despite Cahal’s low reasonable voice, there was something personal about the conversation. And, Lila suspected, these two Toronto players knew more about her presence at the arena today than Cahal did.

  Lila’s sense of fair play demanded that she warn him. It would be worse if he learned the truth through their divorce lawyers or from an unsubtle newspaper headline.

  She considered requesting a private moment with him; however, she shied away from spending any time alone. She was afraid of what those daring gray eyes might persuade her to do.

  “I’m here to watch Jack Jarrett practice. We’re dating.”

  She had the unsatisfying pleasure of seeing him flinch. Having expected to be more happy to see him hurt in this way, Lila was disappointed.

  “Jack Jarrett?” Her husband repeated the name after a moment’s pause. “He’s the seventh defenseman, isn’t he?”

  Lila had no cause to be upset at this accurate assessment of Jack’s skill. He was indeed the seventh defenseman in Toronto, the man who was called upon to play when one of the six regular defensemen was injured or scratched from the lineup. Jack knew, she hoped, exactly where he stood on the team and in the league. Though he was, at thirty, in the prime of his career, he was fortunate to be in a job at present.

  Cahal fixed her with a penetrating stare. “How long has this been going on?”

  The implication was obvious but Lila didn’t rise to the bait.

  “None of your business,” she said, smiling all the while.

  Her husband, too, smiled, giving her the benefit of straight, utterly false, white teeth.

  “I wouldn’t make plans for an engagement, darling.”

  The smile, as much as the menacing tone, caused her to shiver.

  “Don’t try to intimidate me,” she told him, afraid that the success of his tactic was already evident in her wavering voice.

  “I’m not. I’m just offering you a piece of advice. Don’t plan for an engagement because it won’t take place. And while you’re at it, I’d suggest that you not make any big plans to celebrate the divorce.”

  Oddly enough, the last threat made Lila relax. She knew that nothing could stop the divorce proceedings. In another month, the year measured out since their final separation would have expired and she would be free. Nothing Cahal could do would alter that.

  She almost opened her mouth to tell him this but he was already moving away, apparently content with what he had already said. If only Lila were not left with the firm idea that her ex-husband had gotten the best of the conversation.

  • • •

  As it turned out, Jack Jarrett didn’t play a big part in the practice. He wasn’t expected to play in the game that night.

  It was just as well that Jack did not skate much as Lila was unable to focus on anyone other than the man in the stark black goalie mask. Cahal had not had the time to repaint his mask since learning of his trade, and rather than wear the colors of his former team he would be playing that night in unrelieved black.

  It had been years since she had watched Cahal play, still longer since she had seen him do so in person. He was a blur of movement. Flexible, graceful, fluid. He anticipated nearly every puck that came in his direction. Those he did not anticipate, he twisted and lunged at impossible angles in order to deter. He was intimidating in the net; at six feet four inches, he was by any account a tall goaltender. He seemed to fill every possible open space, allowing for little leeway to oncoming players.

  He was beautiful to watch. A wonderful marriage of strength and flexibility.

  It was, Lila told herself, perfectly possible to admire a man without feeling anything for him. Even if that man was one to whom she had been married for nearly six years.

  In spite of her avowed apathy, she was glad to see the ice surface empty and the men move back toward the dressing rooms. Practice was over and she would not have to face Cahal again. Perhaps never again.

  Jack was one of the first players out of the locker room. Once they moved together toward the entrance of the arena, however, the two of them were swamped by bodies.

  Some of the amassed crowd were merely autograph seekers hunting the latest Toronto acquisition. A goodly minority, however, were the journalists Lila had been hoping to avoid.

  The shouting started as soon as her face became clear. Jack’s body could not hide her very well.

  “Mrs. Wallace! Mrs. Wallace!”

  Other reporters were more familiar. “Lila! Over here! Lila!”

  Photographers snapped her picture, her face still half-obscured by Jack’s shielding figure.

  None of the reporters were waiting for her to answer. They continued to shout their questions at her and Jack’s retreating figures.

  “How does it feel to have your husband here in Toronto?”

  “When’s the divorce, Lila?”

  “Any plans for a wedding?”

  It was only the steadiness of Jack’s hand over hers that kept her from sprinting to the car. That would have made a funny shot, her hair and scarf flying out behind her as she made like an Olympic athlete.

  She hated to be made to look silly almost as much as she hated feeling so hunted by the press. The attempts at contact had been pretty constant since her relationship with Jack had been made public. Cahal’s superstar status, combined with the fact that his romantic rival was a fellow hockey player, had made an irresistible human interest piece. Sports fans ate up the innuendo as eagerly as soap opera fans might have done.

  “God, I hate this,” Jack muttered, slipping into the driver’s seat of his sports car. With his aid, Lila was already seated in the passenger seat.

  Lila looked at him, alerted by something in his tone. “Have they been hounding you a lot?”

  Her companion nodded as he swung the car out of the parking space. “The reporters know that the divorce is coming up. We are local celebrities, you know.”

  Lila, who considered herself a private citizen, did not appreciate this piece of news. She could understand how athletes attracted fame but she was not an athlete, she merely had the misfortune to have been married to one. And now she was dating another. Perhaps the press felt that she deserved to be hounded if only for her unfortunate choices in partners.

  “The reporters loved Cahal and me,” she said, leaning her head back against the plush seat. “Our marriage made
a good story, good publicity. High school sweethearts, childhood friends and all that. By the time we were married, Cahal was already the number one goalie in Chicago, already a star. Marrying the hometown girl was a good career move. I am sure that it sold a few more jerseys.”

  Jack looked sideways at her but he said nothing. Probably, he had never heard that ugly note in her voice before. Lila hated to hear it.

  “I’m sorry, Jack.” She felt she ought to apologize for that tone, if not the words themselves. “There is so much history between Cahal and me. I think I hate that most of all.”

  “That’s understandable,” he replied. “Now it must feel as if you wasted so much time. He was the first guy you dated, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. The only one.”

  “I know you knew each other since childhood,” Jack went on. “How old were you when you first met?”

  It seemed odd to be raising the question now but Lila was unable to see the strangeness of the situation. Seeing the man must naturally bring up questions concerning him.

  “We were six,” she said, smiling because she knew the entire story by heart. The times he had been traveling on the road, or playing on a different junior hockey team, she had repeated this story to herself like a nursery rhyme.

  “We were in grade one at the time. Cahal had just moved to Toronto from Sudbury because his parents wanted him to have the best coaches and teams to play on. Even then, they had known that he was something special, a talented player. Anyway, we met in Mrs. Vaughn’s class that year and spent about ten more years in the same classes, more or less ignoring one another like boys and girls do at that age.”

  That was not entirely true, of course. She had been unable to ignore him completely. Cahal Wallace was the little boy whom all the little girls had a crush on at one time or another. Lila had suffered through three of her own friends liking him. At the time, she had not seen the attraction. She had had fleeting crushes of her own, on Ricky Deen and Jesse Fernandez.

  “I never even noticed Cahal during all those years,” she continued, “except to know that he was sort of famous for playing hockey. Even then he was getting a great deal of attention. Then, when we were fourteen, in the first year of high school, he asked me to dance at the Valentine’s Day dance. All throughout grades nine and ten, we danced at the dances and we became pretty good friends.”