"I know what you mean." And if there was one other person on the planet who did know what it was like to have your life shattered, it was Rob "The Hammer" Sutter. "One day you have everything and the next you don't."

Mark looked up.

"I thought my life would never be good again. Now it's better than I ever imagined. Sometimes G.o.d has His own plan. Sometimes s.h.i.t happens for a reason."

Lord, he missed the Hammer. No one else could get his face slammed into the boards and get all philosophical about it afterward like Rob. "You sound like a Hallmark card."

Rob grinned. "When you care enough-"

"Stop or you're gonna make me cry."

"Pansy-a.s.s girl." Rob chuckled and shook his head. "You always were an emotional wreck around your period."

"Rob?"

Both men looked at Kate. Her brows were lowered as if she didn't recognize her husband.

Rob blinked several times and his cheeks turned red. "Sorry, Kate."

Mark laughed. "Have you seen Luc?"

Rob looked around. "Martineau? Not yet. Ran into Fishy though."

Mark hadn't seen Bruce Fish since he'd retired a few years ago. Together, he and the Sutters moved across the foyer to the ballroom where a decent band was playing. Inside, round tables set with tea lights dotted the perimeter of the dance floor while two bars served the thirsty crowd. His gaze skimmed the dimly lit room and landed on a familiar little beige dress. She stood in a small group of people, laughing at Sam as if he was the king of comedy.

He turned to Kate. "It was great to meet you." Then he shook Rob's hand. "Good to see you again."

"Take care of yourself."

As Mark made his way across the room toward her, he ran into Hugh Miner and his wife, Mae. Hugh was a legend in Seattle hockey. A wild man who'd played between the pipes for the Chinooks until he got traded to Dallas a year after Mark signed with Seattle.

When he glanced in Chelsea's direction, she was gone. His gaze skimmed the room, and he spotted her on the dance floor grinding with Walker Brooks. He leaned closer to Hugh's wife to hear what she was saying, but he kept his eyes on Chelsea. So, maybe she wasn't grinding. Exactly. But she was dancing with her arms in the air and undulating her hips like she was a d.a.m.n belly dancer or something. She wasn't all that coordinated, but she looked so good in that dress that it didn't matter that she really couldn't dance.

After Mark talked to Hugh and Mae, he got stopped by general manager Darby Hogue, who told him that the a.s.sistant coach position was still available. He wanted Mark to come and talk to him about it Monday. Mark said he would, but at the moment his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere approximately twenty feet away. While he listened to Darby, he watched Chelsea dance with Frankie, then Sam.

"Forget it," he muttered, and headed to the closest bar. He wasn't going to chase her down. Especially since he didn't have anything to say and didn't want to dance.

For the most part, hockey players were fairly decent on the dance floor. They had natural timing and rhythm in their bodies. Even though it wasn't his favorite way to pa.s.s time, Mark wasn't bad himself, but that didn't mean he was about to drag his a.s.s out onto the dance floor. He felt good tonight. Good enough to leave his cane at home. He hadn't taken any medication, and on a scale from one to ten, his pain was only a three. Almost nonexistent, but even if he did feel an overwhelming urge to grab her up and drag her out onto the floor, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't fall on his behind. Like the day in his kitchen when he'd had her close to naked and his hand inches from her crotch. He'd been about five minutes from having s.e.x with her, but instead he'd ended up on the floor gasping in pain and choking on humiliation.

He took a long drink from a bottle of Beck's and watched Jules lead her out on the dance floor. Jules was young and healthy and wouldn't fall on his a.s.s. Jules pulled her close, and the acid in Mark's stomach rose up his chest and ate at a spot just below his sternum.

He lowered the bottle and watched her smile. Somehow, in a matter of two short months, he'd gone from trying to get rid of her, to looking for her in a crowd. From avoiding her because he didn't like her, to avoiding her because he liked her too much. She was the one person on the planet who made him feel whole again. Like a man.

Jules spun her, then brought her back against his chest. Suddenly Mark felt tired and old. He set the beer on an empty tray and moved toward the door. It was ironic as h.e.l.l that the one person on the planet who filled him up, remind-ed him that he was empty.

FIFTEEN.

Chelsea glanced over Jules's shoulder as the band sang a decent version of "Harder to Breathe." She felt the weight of his hand on her waist and the warmth of his palm against hers. She liked Jules. He was a good-looking guy with an impressive body, but it was another good-looking guy with an impressive body she looked for in the dark ballroom. A few moments ago, she'd spotted Mark at the bar. He wasn't there now.

"John Kowalsky was inducted into the Hall of Fame a few years back," Jules told her. "He was one of those guys, like Bressler and Savage, who dominated with size but whose slap shot was clocked at over a hundred miles an hour."

"Where's he?"

"I just told you. We're you listening?"

No. "Sorry. The music's loud."

"He's the big guy dancing with the tall brunette to your left. This room is filled with hockey legends."

Jules sounded really excited, like he was about ready to bust an important vessel. Like he just might start spouting statistics. "So, are you ever going to ask my sister out on a real date?" she asked before he made her endure that particular snorefest.

Jules paused in mid-step. "We argue too much."

"That's because you guys are s.e.xually frustrated." Chelsea stopped and looked up into his green eyes. "You're like cats yowling and scratching at each other. For G.o.d's sake, go find my sister and just do it already." Jules opened his mouth to say something and closed it. The music stopped, and Chelsea moved to one of the round tables and grabbed her purse. She headed out into the foyer and glanced around for the restroom sign. She spotted Mark standing in a group of men and several women a few feet away. His head was bent to one side while he listened intently to Faith Duffy. He'd brushed back one side of his charcoal suit jacket and shoved a hand into the front pocket of his wool pants. As if sensing her presence across the foyer, he lifted his gaze and looked at Chelsea over the woman's shoulder. His brown eyes stared into hers, then lowered to her mouth. He smiled and said something to the owner of the team, but his gaze slid down Chelsea's throat to her chest. A hot shiver ran down her spine, and her footsteps slowed. She forced herself to keep walking. One foot in front of the other, moving farther and farther away. Down the long foyer until she was inside the cool bathroom stall. Of all the available men on the planet, why did she have to feel something for the one man off limits to her?

She used the bathroom, then set her purse on the counter next to the sink while she washed her hands. Of all the men on the planet, why did her body have to respond to him? She didn't fool herself that what she felt was love. She didn't love him any more than he loved her. What they had between them was nothing more than l.u.s.t. The intense kind that burned hot and furious but ultimately burned out quickly.

She dried her hands and opened her purse. A tube of pink lipstick lay in the silky bottom and she bushed it across her mouth. She didn't need that kind of complication in her life. She knew what she wanted. She had a plan, and he was the one person who could ruin it all. Best to take a page from his book and avoid him. Which of course wasn't going to be possible. Especially when he stood in the hall across from the bathroom, leaning his back against the fire es-cape door. The door to the bathroom swung shut behind her, and his intense gaze reached across the distance and pinned her feet to the floor.

"Are you looking for the men's restroom?"

He shook his head. "I'm looking for you."

"Oh. Do you need something?"

His gaze lowered to her throat. "Yeh."

A tight little ball of nerves tickled her stomach, and she forced herself to walk toward him. "What?"

He blinked and looked back up into her face. Instead of answering, he asked, "Are you having a good time dancing with the guys?"

"They're nice." She'd have a better time with him. "I saw you talking to Ty Savage. Did you mean what you said about being grateful to him?"

"Maybe. He's not too bad a guy." One corner of his mouth lifted. "For an a.s.shole."

Her nervous laugh came out sounding a little breathy. "Did you see the ring he gave Faith Duffy?"

"Hard to miss that ring. It's like he thought that if he bought it big enough, she'd have to say yes."

"It'd be hard to say no to a ring like that."

"A big ring doesn't mean you'll stay married." He leaned his head back against the door and gazed at her from beneath lowered lids. "Believe me. I know."

He looked tired, his face a little drawn "Should I call the car service to come and pick you up?"

"No."

"It's not a problem."

"Stop. I'm not helpless."

"I know." She opened her purse and pulled out her cell. "But if-"

"I drove."

She looked up at him. "What?"

He raised one shoulder. "I drove."

"Your car?"

"What else?"

She dropped the phone back into her bag. "If you couldn't get a service to pick you up, you should have called me."

"Chelsea..." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I've been driving for a month now."

"But..." She'd taken him to a doctor's appointment the afternoon before. "But I drove you yesterday."

"I know." He dropped his arms to his sides.

"I don't understand." Either she was crazy or he was. She chose to believe the latter. "You hate my driving."

"True, but I love the way your skirts slide up your thighs when you drive." He reached for her hand and pulled her close. "What are you wearing under your dress?"

Maybe it was her, because she answered, "Nothing," and she knew better. Knew exactly that it would make his gaze all hot and intense as he stared down at her.

It did too. "Don't f.u.c.k with me."

"I'm not. I put on a thong but I could see the strap on my hip. So I had to take it off and go commando."

With his free hand, he opened the door behind him and pulled her into the stairwell.

"Mark!"

"Do you really think that you can tell me something like that, and I'll let you go off with Sam?" He backed her against the door and put his hands on both sides of her head. "That's not going to happen."

Her hands grasped his lapels and she looked up into his face. "I wasn't going to go anywhere with Sam or anyone."

"That's right." He lowered one hand and slid the strap of her dress down her arm. "You're coming with me."

Her palms slipped beneath his jacket and slid up his chest. "To do what?"

"Have s.e.x. All night."

She liked to have s.e.x all night. "You know that's a really bad idea. I work for you."

He shook his head and ran his hand up her arm to the side of her face. "No, you don't. I don't pay you."

"I get paid to work for you."

"And it's Sat.u.r.day. You're not at work."

In her l.u.s.t-filled head, that was good enough logic for her, and she rose on-to the b.a.l.l.s of her feet and kissed the side of his neck. "So, technically I'm not getting paid to do this."

A deep groan vibrated his throat as he slid a hand to the small of her back and lower to palm her behind. She sucked his warm, salty skin into her mouth and pulled the knot from his tie until the ends hung down both sides of his chest. "Or this." Her fingers worked the b.u.t.tons at his neck until the top three lay open and exposed the hollow of his throat. "I want you, Mark Bressler." She ran her tongue up his neck. "I want to kiss you all over."

His fingers tangled in her hair, and he brought his mouth down onto hers. "Not until I kiss you first," he said through a hot breath. He kissed her hard and spread hot, aching pa.s.sion across her flesh. It tightened her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and warmed her thighs. Instantly, the kiss turned into a ferocious feeding frenzy of need and greed and dominance. His hands were everywhere at once, pushing at the top of her dress until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilled out and her nipples grazed the front of his shirt. She felt every fibrous thread against the sensitive tips. One arm wrapped around her back, holding her up as she pressed into him. Into his hard chest and harder p.e.n.i.s. She ground against him, feeling the length of his erection from her pelvis to her belly.

Mark shoved his warm hand beneath her dress and cupped her between her thighs. Heat spread to the core of her body, and her knees buckled. His arm tightened around her to keep her from falling. "You're wet."

"You're hard."

He rested his forehead against hers. "Let's do something about it."

"Here?"

He shook his head and took his hand from between her legs. "Meet me out front in five minutes."

She licked the corners of her mouth. "Where are we going?" Not that it mattered. She'd follow him anywhere he chose to take her.

"Home. My house."

She lowered her arms and shoved her skirt down her thighs. She supposed that made better sense than s.e.x in a stairwell. "I came with my sister."

"You're leaving with me."

She bit her lip as she pulled her dress up over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "How do I look?"

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Turned on. Like you were about to get laid."

She smoothed her hair. "Better?"

"No." He tugged at the top of her dress, then put his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and adjusted her cleavage. He leaned back and looked at her. "You can't go out there like that."

She looked down at her nipples making two very obvious points in the front of her dress. She placed her palms over each and pressed inward.

Mark tugged the tie from around his neck and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "That's not going to help." He took off the jacket and hung it across her shoulders. "Five minutes." He grabbed the lapels and pulled them over her chest. "If you're not out front in five minutes, I'll come back to get you."

"I'll be there."

Chelsea tossed Mark's jacket on the island in the kitchen while he dug in a drawer and took out a box of condoms. She tugged the ends of his shirt from his wool trousers, and by the time they made it the short distance to the elevator, her shoes were off and his shirt lay on the floor. On the way up to the second floor, she unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops. His socks and shoes littered the hall to his bedroom, and he kissed her while he walked backward to the couch. He unzipped the back of her dress as she unzipped his pants. Their clothes. .h.i.t the floor, and she slid one palm across his hard chest while her other hand dove beneath the elastic of his boxer briefs. Except for his underwear they were both naked. They stood so close, the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s touched the hair on his chest.