Taryn Leigh Taylor - Playing Dirty

A game they both want to win

Lainey Harper has never been a puck bunny. She wants nothing to do with hockey or hockey players—not after what she’s been through. So why can’t she resist Cooper Mead?

Portland’s newest hockey star, Cooper, is all muscle and charisma. And he’s Lainey’s worst nightmare. Hooking up with him would bring back memories that Lainey needs to keep buried. And risk the hard-earned anonymity she’s sacrificed everything to protect.

When Lainey finally gives in to Cooper’s sexy charm, the chemistry’s intense—but so is the media exposure. And now Lainey’s got even more to lose than her secret—she’s got Cooper.

“Need me to do anything else?”

Cooper walked out the back room like he owned the place.

Lainey hated that she noticed his body. That she wanted to run her fingers across the muscles she’d pretended not to notice.

Because that way lay madness.

That way lay hockey.

“What’s your game here, Slick?”

“What the hell do you want me to say?”

His genuine surprise pissed her off more. Because she’d promised herself she was done with hockey. With hockey players.

She pulled him down until their mouths were practically touching.

“I don’t want you to say anything.” Lainey caught Cooper’s bottom lip between her teeth. Oh, God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Like he could handle what she was dishing out tonight.

She wanted sex. She wanted to punish him for making her feel this way. For making her want things she couldn’t have.

Dear Reader,

Well, it’s the end of an era. My last Harlequin Blaze. And I can’t think of a better book to cap off my hat trick.

As a former hockey player, I always knew I wanted to write a hockey-playing heroine, and Lainey was the perfect mix of heart and grit to keep Cooper in line, on the ice and in the bedroom...and the bar...and the parking garage. *wink*

My time with Blaze has been a dream come true from start to finish, and I’ve gotten to work with so many talented people along the way. From cover art to copy edits to moral support, every single person who has touched my books has made them better, and I thank them for that.

And I thank you, too. For taking a chance on a new author, and for choosing to spend your valuable time and resources on the stories I tell. You’re the best. The absolute best. I couldn’t do this without you.

To show my appreciation, I present to you a tale of snarky banter and sexy times.

And don’t be a stranger, okay? When you’re done reading, come find me inside your computer or smartphone at tarynleightaylor.com, Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1and @tarynltaylor. We can be cyber BFFs.

Keep on dreaming out loud,

Taryn Leigh Taylor

Playing Dirty

Taryn Leigh Taylor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TARYN LEIGH TAYLORlikes dinosaurs, bridges and space, both personal and of the final-frontier variety. She shamelessly indulges in clichés, most notably her Starbucks addiction (grande six-pump whole-milk no-water chai-tea latte, aka: the usual), her shoe hoard (I can stop anytime I... Ooh! These are pretty!) and her penchant for falling in lust with fictional men with great abs. She also really loves books, which was what sent her down the crazy path of writing one in the first place.

Want to be virtual friends? Check out tarynleightaylor.com, Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1and Twitter, @tarynltaylor.

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Fay—Thank you for your opinion. (I know it’s funnier if I leave it at that, but honestly, I couldn’t do what I do without your help. If I could sum you up in emoji form, you’d be all four thumbs up and the winky face. And you know that’s the highest praise I can bestow.)

Liz—Writing this book without you would be like seeing Mulder sans hideous tie—unthinkable. (Unless he’s wearing a Speedo.)

This book is for Jenn, Neil, Brad, Lora and Yvette, Craig and Leila—y’all cheer for the wrong hockey teams, but your friendship and support mean the world.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Extract

Copyright

1

“IT’S ABOUT DAMN time you got here, Darius. I know my fa—I know Martin wasn’t much for punctuality, but if you want to keep working here, you’re going to have to show up on time.”

Lainey kicked the beer fridge closed and froze, as though the act had triggered a curse that turned her to stone. In truth, though, her paralysis was directly attributable to the animal magnetism of the man on the other side of the counter.

Black hair just long enough to curl against his collar?

Check.

Dark stubble framing a smirking mouth?

Check.

Muscled arms that could make angels weep and women purr?

Check and check.

“You’re...” Cooper Mead, number sixteen, the Portland Storm’s latest acquisition, currently tied for highest scoring defenseman in the league. “Not Darius.”

“Nope.” The single syllable, deep and rough, was enough to detonate an estrogen grenade low in her tummy.

Dammit.

Cooper freakin’ Mead! Standing in Martin’s crappy little sports bar—her crappy little sports bar now, she reminded herself. And boy, was he something to behold. All six feet two inches and 220 pounds of him, per the team stats page. Lainey cursed the lapse in internet browsing judgment that had led to that knowledge. She hadn’t watched hockey, talked hockey, thought of hockey in years, but in the three months since she’d come back to Portland, the nadir of all her broken dreams and bad luck, she was already falling into bad habits.

And Cooper Mead was the kind of bad habit that would be hard to break.

With great effort, Lainey beat back the hormonal fallout and cast a wary glance around the bar. Oregon might be a long way from Denmark, but something here was definitely rotten.

The Drunken Sportsman wasn’t the type of place that attracted professional athletes. Hell, some weeks it barely attracted enough armchair athletes to keep the lights on and the doors open.

Right now, there were two groups of them, a middle-aged couple sporting his and hers Trail Blazers T-shirts and eating nachos in the booth farthest from the door, and four guys at a table by the window who were stretching a pitcher of beer as far as it could go while staring zombie-like at the basketball pregame coverage on the hulking television above the bar.

She needed to replace it with a couple of flat screens spread around the room for more optimal viewing. She made a mental note to add that to her list and turned back to the defensive juggernaut who stood across from her.