Head Over Skates

Sometimes you have to play dirty to score big.

OWEN:
I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t deke out—until Emily Brooks blasted into my world with all the subtlety of a slapshot to the face.
When an underwear incident (don’t ask) gives Emily ammunition for her gossip blog Blades After Dark, I’ve become her very reluctant muse. Perched on her Zamboni with a crafty smirk on that gorgeous face, she’s determined to turn my life into one big penalty box.
Not only does this woman have an Olympic-sized grudge against me, she cheered—yes, cheered—for the other team.
When I find out she has a secret she doesn’t want out, it’s gloves off.
I’m tempted to toss her right into the sin bin, but she’s skating circles around me.
In a catsuit. (don’t ask about that, either)
But now the championship cup’s gone missing, and we find ourselves sleuthing in closed quarters—despite Emily’s stubborn determination to keep me at stick’s length.
Now I can’t stop thinking about that stolen kiss, and I want another taste.
Am I playing for keeps? Or am I the one who’s being played?

EMILY:
My Olympic figure skating dreams got toe-picked, but driving a Zamboni at the Toronto Blizzard Dome has its perks—like not being recognized.
Beneath the cloak of anonymity, my words do what my skates used to; they slice with precision—in my late-night hockey blog.
Enter Owen Jablonski, the cocky star player with more notches on his hockey stick than all the pucks in Canada. Yet he singles me out to—get this—come on to me.
The gall. But the pen is mightier than the skate blade, so they say.
Do I have reasons for slamming Owen’s name against the boards? Yes, I do.
And when a funny post about him goes viral, can you blame me for finding Owen’s flustered face a little bit delightful?
But instead of a simple exposé, Owen turns the tables on me and brokers a twisted deal: polish his precious public image in my blog in exchange for his silence on my identity. It’s extortion with a side of sultry glares.
And secret kisses against the wall.
He’s maddening, infuriating… a reeaaally good kisser.
Now I’m stuck in a reluctant pact with Owen. Stack on a mystery and the sting of his smoldering kiss on my mind, the heat between us might just melt all the ice in the rink.
He’s not what I expected, or wanted. How fiercely protective he is. How he insists I wear his jersey. How my heart flips when he stands up for me.
Or the way his eyes rake over me with want.
Oof. Is it getting hot in here?
I need to body-check my feelings before Owen scores more than just goals.