Here`s a fun way to discover possible new reads. Just hop from one blog to the next for six paragraphs from that author`s current WIP or published work! I`ll be sharing something from Pink Pucks & Power Plays, the first book in my To Love a Wildcat hockey romance series.
“You must forgive Bruno; he is sometimes very over protecting, je regret,” Alain said, waving at a bleacher. I strode up to the man and offered him the same hand I had given Bruno the Bruiser. This handshake was much warmer than the previous one. His palm was rough but his touch gentle. He held my hand just a fraction longer than required. “What brings you to our humble rink again?”
“I wanted to talk to you about my scout troop,” I said. He nodded sending a wild curl tumbling down to tickle the corner of his eye. It took every ounce of determination I possessed not to gently push the lock of onyx back from his face. I thought the overgrown haircut suited him as wayward curls danced over his collar and ears. I twisted my handbag strap and sat down in a rush. Alain finally sat as well. “They were really awed by what they saw here Saturday, and would like to try playing,” I explained, crossing my legs while hugging my midsection tightly. It was like sitting in a meat locker.
“I take it they have never played before?” he asked. I shook my head. “Well, the fact that they have never played before is not a problem. We all are beginners at some time, yes?” he inquired. My head bobbed up and down. His eyes moved over my face as he spoke, caressing me visually. I felt a touch of pink suffuse my cheeks. “What may be the problem is the fact that they will have to play against boys. Do they realize this? We do not have a girls` league, sadly. Ice hockey is not a very popular sport for female athletes. Although there are teams in the collegiate level and even a professional league but this small town?” He shrugged adorably. My stars this young man was charming! Far too charming, if you know what I mean. “Let me ask you this. You would be their head coach?” he asked.
“I know very little about the sport I`m afraid,” I admitted, hugging myself tighter. I saw his eyes dip down to the swells of my breasts as the 40D`s threatened to tumble from my scoop-necked tank. I instantly stopped cradling my midsection to affect a less tantalizing pose. His gaze roamed up my neck, stopped for just a moment to linger on my mouth, and then settled on my eyes once again. I wet my lips. One side of his tempting mouth twitched.
“Then perhaps you will need some private coaching time?” he asked, his voice suddenly an octave lower and smoky as an Easter ham. Flames raced through my body as erotic imagery engulfed my mind. “Just how much do you know about the sport?” he queried. I suddenly wasn`t cold but I was struck mute. I feared if I opened my mouth something inappropriate would rush out. So I dug into my purse and handed him my scratchpad. Our fingers brushed. A snapping current traveled from his skin to mine as if I had laid my hand on a Van de Graff generator. God, please don`t let my hair be standing on end. Alain`s laughter was sincere and rich when he saw the two meager lines of information. He then turned, tossing a leg over the bleacher. “I am afraid this is not enough knowledge to help coach. Private lessons are in order, coach…what is your name? I cannot call you the beautiful woman in yellow and black forever, now can I?”
“You can call me whatever you want as long as you call,” I managed to say, although it wasn`t as zippy as I had hoped. The comeback was actually a heated whisper. Alain`s smile turned from flirtatious to outright sinful. He said nothing, simply sat and stared into my eyes as he handed me the scratchpad back. I fumbled in my purse, found my Zoppini, and scrawled my name and phone number down on the hockey info sheet. There should have been something witty to say, but speaking would have ruined the moment. I honestly thought he just might lean in to kiss me the pull was that strong.
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