Naughty Or Ice Read online

  The fuck?

  “Just do us all a favor.” McKellen finally looked at Walker, the warning clear in his eyes. “Don’t scare her off.”

  Chapter Two

  There was a time in Eva Bradshaw’s life—not that long ago, actually—when she had standards. When certain lines were more easily left uncrossed. When there were still a few things—okay, one thing—she swore she’d never, ever do.

  Not even for money.

  Avoiding her own gaze in the locker room mirror, she unhooked her plain beige bra, let it fall soundlessly to the bench.

  Desperation had a funny way of eradicating a woman’s principles.

  “There has to be another way.” Marybeth, Eva’s sister, handed over a tight-fitting tank, shaking her head at Eva in the mirror. The concern was clear in her eyes, made all the more stark by the Hollywood-style light bulbs surrounding the glass. This wasn’t the kind of chipped-tile, dented-lockers, bleach-and-sweat-scented dressing room Eva was used to. The benches here were mahogany, the lockers gleaming with fresh paint, every inch of the place decorated to make you feel like you actually deserved to be here.

  Eva rolled her eyes. She’d been lucky to even get the invitation. “There isn’t, Marybeth.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Won’t ever find out about this.” Eva yanked the top down over her head and turned to face her sister, narrowing her eyes. She knew exactly what Marybeth was thinking, and yes, their mother would love nothing more than to swoop in with her third ex-husband’s checkbook and save the day. But Eva couldn’t—wouldn’t—give her mother the satisfaction of asking for a loan. Not when Eva still had options—no matter how despicable those options might be. “I mean it, Marybeth. I’m trusting you here.”

  Marybeth sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not telling Mom your dirty little secrets. I’m just worried about you.”

  “I’ve got this.”

  “That’s what you said about—”

  “Marybeth, honestly. It’s just two hours with a man.” A cocky, arrogant, dick-swinging man who could probably buy his way into and out of any possible situation, including the one she was about to get tangled up in right now.

  Eva was more than familiar with the type; seven years ago, when she was still too young and idealistic to know better, she’d gotten up-close-and-personal with that particular brand of douche bag. The experience had left her broken, destroyed. And no matter how many years had passed, there would be no forgetting it—even if she’d wanted to.

  But Eva had learned a lot from her past mistakes, and now she knew exactly how to handle guys like this. They were all the same—serious mommy issues. And like the man-babies they were, they needed boundaries. Clear expectations. Rules.

  And if Walker Dunn didn’t agree to the terms, she’d return his trainer’s cash and call off the deal without a second thought. That simple.

  Well, other than the part where she really needed that money.

  Eva blew out a breath, then forced a smile she hoped looked reassuring. “Come on. How bad can it be?”

  Marybeth raised an eyebrow. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

  “Good. Then there’s no need to rehash the past.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  No. “Yes,” Eva said, sliding her plain cotton panties down over her hips—they’d only get in the way. She folded them into a triangle and set them on the bench next to her jeans and beige bra, then quickly pulled on a pair of padded spandex. She hoped this affair wouldn’t be too hard on her butt, but it was always better to be prepared, just in case.

  “God, Eva. When did you turn into Mom?” Marybeth wrinkled her nose at the boring undergarments on the bench which—okay, fine—looked like a pile of old paper bags. “I hope you don’t wear that stuff on dates.”

  “What dates?” Eva turned back toward the mirror to wrap her long hair into a bun, securing the loose strands with bobby pins. “Anyway, I can’t have nice things. Bilbo Baggins chews through everything.”

  “Changing the subject to your oaf of a dog is not going to work.”

  “He’s not an oaf. He’s just a little needy.” Which was fine by Eva. Unlike the two-legged men in her life, the Saint Bernard had never disappointed her. Chewing through her shoes, her purse, her underwear? Whatever. She’d take that over getting her heart shredded any day.

  “Eva. When was the last time you went out with a man?” Marybeth rested her hands on her hips, her eyes still full of concern that wasn’t altogether misplaced—just ill-timed. Marybeth was in a ridiculously happy marriage with a man who’d given her the world, and she truly believed that everyone deserved the kind of relationship that stole your breath away. And, like many people who’d found their one-and-only, Marybeth honestly believed that epic, soul-shining love was out there, even for Eva, just waiting to be discovered.

  Eva wasn’t opposed to the idea. She hadn’t sworn off all men—just hockey players. But even if what Marybeth believed was actually true—that she could find her soul mate if only she’d put in a little effort—Eva didn’t have the time or the energy for a hunt like that. In her experience, men were unreliable at best, cruel and deceptive at worst, and she had other priorities right now.

  The same priorities that had led her to this way-too-fancy locker room in the first place.

  So why should she put her heart on the line? No way. Eva would rather rely on herself, no matter what challenges she faced.

  “Well?” Marybeth asked, handing Eva her pink fleece.

  “Hmm… the last time I went out with a man…” Eva cocked her head and tapped her chin, pretending to consider the question. “Does today count?”

  “Pro-tip, sis. It’s not a date when they’re paying you.”

  “Oh, right. I must’ve skipped that part of the handbook.” Eva zipped up her fleece and gathered her regular clothes, tucking them into the oversized locker where she’d already stashed her snow boots and overcoat. Turning back to her sister with a smile she hoped was reassuring, she said, “Thank you for your concern, Marybeth, and for your undying devotion to my love life. But—”

  “Lack of love life.”

  Eva shrugged. “I have you and Nate. And I have Gracie.”

  Gracie, her six-year-old daughter, was the reason Eva got out of bed in the morning. The reason she was here right now, sweating in her padded spandex and fleece, already counting the money Walker’s trainer had promised her.

  “Not to mention Bilbo Baggins,” Marybeth deadpanned. “Who eats your underwear.”

  “A small price to pay for his endless affection.”

  After a beat, Marybeth sighed and said, “Are you all set, then? Do you need me to pick up Gracie after school?”

  “Don’t you have students today?” Eva asked. Marybeth was a reading specialist who worked one-on-one out of her home office with kids who needed more individualized attention. She set her own schedule, like Eva, which meant that the sisters could be there for each other at a moment’s notice.

  Eva had always appreciated that, especially when it came to Gracie, who adored her Aunt Marybeth and Uncle Nate. But at the same time, accepting help—even from family—had always been challenging for Eva. Marybeth truly had a heart of gold, but their mother operated from an entirely different place. Sure, she’d do anything for anyone, but not until she’d let the whole world know about the great sacrifices she’d made for you, lording it over you for all eternity.

  It was bad enough the woman was covering Gracie’s school tuition, reminding Eva about her own failures as a mother at every turn.

  Last year, after Eva discovered that Gracie had endured months of emotional torment by a group of boys twice her size—bullies which the school administration refused to expel on account of their parents being so-called “prominent” members of the community—Eva yanked her right out of that school and enrolled her in a private elementary school. The change in her daughter had been almost instantaneous—Gracie thriv
ed, making new friends and excelling in her class, her familiar smile even brighter than before. But Eva’s salary wasn’t enough to cover the tuition and costs over the long haul.

  Enter her mother, who’d swept in and pre-paid the tuition for the entire school year, and who was already telling her neighbors that she’d be “sacrificing her own retirement plans in order to fund her granddaughter’s education, probably through college.”

  Normally, Eva wouldn’t take her mother’s charity—their relationship was perilous enough without adding money into the mix. But when it came to Gracie, Eva swallowed her pride. It was no match for her daughter’s well-being. For her happiness.

  Still, it wasn’t a permanent solution. Eva would not stand by and let her daughter become another victim of Grandma’s martyrdom, especially as the girl got older. Eva knew firsthand that once Gracie hit a certain age, Grandma’s so-called kindness would transform into something dark and cruel, a weight around Gracie’s neck, just as it had been around Eva’s for her entire life.

  Yes, it was a screwed-up dynamic—one Eva was pretty certain would keep a therapist busy for decades, if she ever decided to see somebody. But for now, Eva needed to find a way to pay her mother back, to cut her out of the family finances. To truly take care of Gracie. To plan for their future.

  “My afternoon appointment canceled,” Marybeth said now. “Poor kid has mono. So I’m around if you need me.”

  Eva dug the phone out from the bottom of her purse and glanced at the screen, which was currently covered in Star Wars stickers and something that smelled suspiciously like grape jelly. Eva smiled. Gracie’s handiwork was just another reminder of why she was here today.

  She scraped off the stickers with her thumbnail and checked the time, ignoring the icky residue. “Assuming this guy isn’t a total freak show, I should be out of here in time.”

  “Okay. Let me know if anything changes.” Marybeth tried to sound casual, but Eva picked up on the concern lingering in her sister’s voice.

  “Promise,” Eva said, grabbing her duffel bag and slinging it over her shoulder like the pro that she was. She’d finish gearing up once she got out there.

  Marybeth shut the locker door. “Anything at all.”

  “Yep,” Eva said, but nothing was going to change. Eva had accepted the trainer’s ridiculously generous offer over the phone—a two-hour session, $500 in cash—because she needed that money, the sooner the better, and this was the least complicated way to get it.

  No matter that the thought of what waited on the other side of that door filled her with dread.

  No matter that she was trying to raise a strong, independent daughter who’d never be reduced to a bundle of anxious nerves at the thought of dealing with a man like Walker Dunn.

  And no matter that once upon a time, seven years ago, she’d made a solemn promise to never, ever get hot and sweaty with a hockey player again.

  Chapter Three

  “She’s your grand plan?” Walker folded his arms over his chest as a woman skated out onto the ice, her strides long and graceful, like something out of a little girl’s music box.

  Yep. A woman. On skates. Dressed in a fitted pink fleece and a pair of black spandex pants that hugged every curve, her red hair wrapped up in a prissy little bun right on top of her head.

  Walker laughed, wondering whether the rest of the guys had anything to do with this unexpected little present, or if it was just the bosses. Normally he’d be all over it, but at the moment he was a long way from normal. It was hard enough keeping a clear head with his knee throbbing like a motherfucker. Walker didn’t need to get anything else throbbing today.

  “Her name’s Evangeline Bradshaw,” McKellen said. “And she’s not cheap, so I suggest you make the most of your time together.”

  “How much time we talking?”

  “You’ve got her for two hours today. We’ll see how it goes after that.”

  Walker shook his head. Did they really think he was that desperate? He’d only been riding the bench a handful months—on the ice and in the bedroom. He’d had no say in the former, but the latter was his choice; since the accident, he’d brought only one woman home—someone he’d met at a bar last month. They hadn’t even taken their clothes off. Walker had called a car for her after one round of drinks, feigning a migraine. He just couldn’t get into it. Not that night, and not any night since.

  But getting the women wasn’t the problem—never had been—and he certainly didn’t need help in that department from his coaches. His bosses. And he absolutely did not need anyone paying for it.

  Hell, wasn’t there a law against that kind of shit?

  He took another look at Evangeline, wondering what the fuck her story was. Long, lean legs. That uptight little bun. Fuzzy pink fleece. Probably liked a man to hold her close, whisper in her ear, all that chocolate-and-roses bullshit. Definitely not the kind to want her hair pulled, to let him take her hard and fast against the wall as she screamed his name, over and over…

  “You hear me, Dunn?”

  Walker shook his head again and laughed, clapping McKellen hard on the back. “No offense, Mac, but you don’t even know my type.”

  “Far as I’m concerned, your type is anyone who can deal with your bullshit long enough to get you back in the game.”

  Walker watched as the woman glided toward them, her long legs graceful and powerful as they stroked across the ice.

  She was gorgeous—no denying that, even from halfway across the rink. Flame red hair Walker imagined spilling down her back. Taut little body that was probably flexible enough to do just about anything his dirty mind could imagine. And hell, that woman had presence. He could feel it radiating off her from the moment she’d stepped onto the ice.

  “Who’s idea was this?” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

  “Mine. It’s not unheard of, Walker. I’ve made arrangements like this for a few players over the years—guys who needed a different approach. A boost to help them get back on track.”

  Walker’s mouth curled up at the corner. Apparently Mac had a kinky side that Walker had yet to fully appreciate. Alright, maybe he’d dismissed the idea too quickly. It’d been awhile since that epic fail with the woman from the bar. Maybe a long, slow night with the too-sweet good girl was exactly what he needed to help him unwind, burn off some of his pent-up energy. Even if she was uptight, Walker was pretty sure he could teach her a thing or two between the sheets, help her unleash her hidden wildcat. Make it a good night for both of them.

  His dick stirred at the thought. If not for his protective gear, everyone on the rink would’ve gotten an eyeful—including the woman, who’d finally glided to a stop in front of them.

  She was keeping her face neutral, not quite meeting his gaze, but behind the cold-as-ice exterior, she couldn’t hide those soft, soulful brown eyes. Lush, kissable lips. That red hair. She was… damn. Walker didn’t even have the words for it. He’d been around beautiful women before—gorgeous women, state after state, country after country, each one a fond memory to heat up his lonely winter nights. But there was something about this woman that completely captivated him. That presence, he thought. She hadn’t even made eye contact yet, but he could fucking feel it, like the crackle in the air before a lightning storm.

  “This is Evangeline Bradshaw,” McKellen said. “She’ll be working with you for the rest of the afternoon, providing you can act like a gentleman.”

  “Working?” Interesting choice of words. Walker choked back a laugh, but McKellen didn’t look amused.

  In fact, he looked dead serious.

  “She’s a two-time Olympic medalist,” McKellen went on. “Renowned skating coach. And possibly your only shot at getting your speed and balance back.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Walker’s dick shrunk, right along with his hopes.

  No, they hadn’t found him a woman to spend a few hot, steamy hours with. They’d hired an ice princess to teach him how to skate.
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  As if he hadn’t grown up on the ice.

  As if he’d lost all those years of hard lessons, hard work, hard-won experience right along with his mobility.

  As if they could just make these decisions for him. About him.

  A figure skater.

  Teaching him how to play hockey.

  Walker glared at McKellen. “Yeah, well. As much as I’d love to practice my twirls and jumps, I’m late for my ballet class. And after that, I’m having a facial, maybe a mani-pedi.” He wriggled his fingers in jest, but anger and frustration slithered along his spine, twin snakes ready to bite. He didn’t care about taking one for the team now, about proving his commitment to recovery. He’d done everything in his power to show them how much he wanted back in, and this was their answer? Their grand plan to get him back in shape?

  Fuck this.

  Captivating woman or not, Walker wasn’t about to accept this. He turned his back on them both. “I’m outta here.”

  “Actually, you’re not.” Evangeline what’s-her-name finally spoke up, her tone firm and commanding. Walker was so surprised, he stopped in his tracks, turning around to face her.

  She skated right up to him, toe-to-toe. Her eyes, he saw now, weren’t brown. They were the color of honey, amber, shot through with yellow and gold and other colors he couldn’t even name. They flashed at him from beneath thick lashes, her cheeks blushing.

  “And you’re going to stop me?” he asked.

  Those amber eyes blazed, pinning him to his spot on the ice. “Believe it or not, Mr. Dunn, I’ve got better things to do today than babysit your ego.”

  “Excuse me, princess?”

  Jerking her head toward McKellen, she said, “Your trainer and coach stressed to me the importance of your recovery—how hard you were willing to work. Said you’d do anything to get off the bench. Did they mislead me?”

  Walker felt the weight of McKellen’s stare heating his skin. There was only one right answer here, unless he wanted to walk away from all of it right now—for good.