Body Check (New York Blades, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Deirdre Martin has written scripts for the daytime drama One Life to Live. She lives with her husband and her dog, Molly, in Ithaca, New York.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 01

Not many women could boast bossing around a locker room full of buff, naked jocks as part of their job description, but then again, there weren't many women with a job like Janna MacNeil's.

A publicist specializing in retooling clients' images as well as damage control, Janna had been hired by Kidco Corporation to help transform the reputation of the New York Blades, the NHL's Manhattan-based hockey franchise. To put it politely, the guys on the team were renowned for playing hard both on and off the ice. Never had this been more obvious than last season, after winning the Stanley Cup for the first time in twenty years. Everyone knows boys will be boys, but these boys brought the Cup to a number of strip joints around Manhattan, where they enjoyed the rare and singular pleasure of watching ladies with pasties and very little else "perform" with what many considered the Holy Grail of sports. Worse, rumors abounded that a photo existed of a group of players gathered around the Cup with plastic straws up their noses, heads reverently bowed to snort up a small mountain of cocaine. No wonder Janna's crusty new boss, Lou "the Bull" Capesi, guzzled Mylanta like it was spring water. The team was a PR nightmare.

Janna was being paid big bucks to change all that.

Edging her way through the boisterous cluster of beat writers hovering in the brightly lit, concrete hallway near the locker room door, Janna steeled herself, knowing what awaited her on the other side: naked, sweaty, male bodies. Lots of them. Big, muscled men laughing and joking with each other, flicking towels at each other's butts. Men sauntering off to the shower. Men stretching, massaging their battle-weary bones. She'd met these men-all but their captain, Ty Gallagher, who was a day late to training camp-in these very circumstances yesterday. Lou had introduced her around, and not one of them seemed fazed about parading buck naked or half undressed in front of a petite female publicist. Janna, on the other hand, had had to work hard to avoid the irresistible urge to stare, slack jawed and salivating, at the well-sculpted physiques of these guys. She made doubly sure she kept her eyes north of the equator, too.

Once inside the locker room, the same scene she'd been initiated into yesterday greeted her. Some of the players lounged on the long wooden benches in front of their lockers, chatting, half dressed. Others stood at a large, rectangular table at the far end of the room, gulping down mammoth-sized glasses of Gatorade they'd poured from huge jugs. A few acknowledged her with nods; some, she thought, deliberately looked away. A boom box blasted music. The Who? Pearl Jam? She couldn't tell. The atmosphere was exuberant, almost adolescent in its giddiness. Though it was September, still pre-season, the Blades were clearly psyched about making another run for the Stanley Cup in the year ahead. She took a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the pungent odor of male sweat that was inescapable, and made for the bench closest to the center of the room, climbing up on it. Then, with all the power she could muster, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled. The room fell silent as all eyes trained on her.

"Listen up, guys: Now that I have your attention, I need your help." She looked around the room, carefully making eye contact with each and every player. "As you know, the Blades organization was recently purchased by Kidco Corporation, which prides itself on providing family entertainment." Boos and amused chuckles filled the room. "Kidco wants the Blades to be winners both on and off the ice, meaning they'd like each of you to give a little something back to the community you play in." She held the papers aloft in her hand. "This is a schedule of charity events going on all over the city over the course of the next year. I've highlighted those that don't conflict with your playing and travel schedule. I'd like each of you to sign up for at least three."

"And if we don't?" a rogue Canadian voice challenged.

"If you don't, then I kick your butt, and believe me, I can do it. I might be small, but I'm wiry." The players laughed appreciatively, and Janna relaxed somewhat. None of them could tell, but beneath her tailored suit she was a bundle of stomach-churning nerves, something she was a pro at covering up after years of practice.

"Speaking of butt-kicking, I just want to remind you that no one is to talk to the press without clearance from the PR office, understand? I don't care if some reporter stops you outside Zabar's and asks if that's where you shop for groceries. Everything-everything-has to go through me or Lou. Not only that, but if God forbid you do find yourself saying or doing something stupid, you're to call me immediately. That's why I gave all of you my cell phone number yesterday. I expect you to use it, day or night, if you have a question about something or if an emergency arises. Now, back to the business at hand." She flashed them a quick, determined look. "Signing up for three events now will save you the aggravation of me following you around and nagging you to death for the rest of the season-which I'm paid very handsomely to do." More laughter. "So whaddaya say?"

She didn't expect them to come forward in droves, but she was hoping a few might be willing to get the ball rolling. Instead, a stubborn silence filled the room. One second passed. Two, three. Janna's heart began beating just a little bit faster, her palms moistening. She took another deep breath, steadying herself. You can do this, she repeated in her mind. As the silence dragged on, she wondered if this was how comedians felt when they "died" on stage.

"Come on, guys, don't make this any harder than it needs to be," she coaxed. "Either you sign up, or I start putting your names down at random. The choice is yours."

She watched as their collective gaze suddenly shifted from studying her to something on her left that was apparently fascinating. She looked. There stood Captain Ty Gallagher, a white towel knotted at his waist, his rock-solid body still glistening with damp from the shower. His blond hair was slicked back, and his deep-set, brown eyes were hard and unwelcoming. Feeling Lilliputian, despite still standing on the bench, Janna struggled not to let herself become overwhelmed by the nausea gathering force and momentum inside her. She smiled at him politely.

"Captain Gallagher?"

"The one and only." The voice was polite but guarded, giving away nothing. Janna gingerly climbed down from the bench and extended her hand to him. Gallagher took it, briefly, for a very firm shake. Her hand grasped in his looked doll-sized; the thought flashed through her mind that with one quick squeeze he could easily ground her bones to powder if he wanted to. Which, thankfully, he didn't. Yet.

"I'm Janna MacNeil."

"I know who you are." He folded his strong arms across his chest and continued staring at her, challenging, expectant.

"I was just telling your teammates that as part of our effort to improve community relations, Kidco Corporation would like it if every player signed up for at least three charity events. Maybe you could lead the way and sign up first."

"No."

Janna blinked. "But-"

"No." He strode toward his locker and began dressing. She'd heard from Lou that he was an arrogant, uncooperative bastard. Here was her proof. Determined to play his dismissal down, she turned back to the players.

"Moving right along," she continued smoothly, "is there anyone who would care to sign up?"

"I'll sign up," a voice called out from the back.

Relieved, Janna stood on tiptoes and peered over the sea of heads to see who had spoken. It was brawny, curly-haired Kevin Gill, one of the team's assistant captains. Janna had met him yesterday and had been utterly charmed by how articulate he was. Truth be told, she hadn't been...