Read Slap Shot for Free Online Page B

windows.
    “A couple of years now.”
    “It’s nice.”
    “Yeah, it is.” He brought the car to a halt. “But it’s big for one. I rattle around.” He got out of the car and within several fast paces was at my door, opening it and holding out a hand for me.
    I hesitated, I knew how tempting his flesh was, the calluses on his palms only adding to the masculine appeal of him. High on his scent and my ears flooded with his voice, my senses were rapidly becoming drunk on him, and that was after just a car ride. How the hell was I going to keep bad Dana in check for a whole evening?
    “Dana,” he said, cocking his head. “I promise I’ll take you home whenever you ask and I appreciate that you’ve trusted me enough to come to my house on a, you know, first date.”
    “I didn’t have much choice.”
    “Yeah, you did and you know it.” He took my hand and tugged. “Come on, I’ll show you around before I start cooking.”
    I allowed him to lead me up the wide steps. He unlocked the door and immediately an ear-splitting bleeping rang out.
    “Hang on,” he said, flipping open an alarm system box just into the hallway. He tapped numbers into it and studied the screen.
    I looked around at the sheer opulence of the hallway. A sweeping staircase split in two at the landing, the railings white and the banisters gold. A huge chandelier hung in the center of a glass-domed ceiling. To my left was a stunning picture of Miami, the art-deco buildings bright and citrusy.
    “Wow,” I said, taking in a decorative white and turquoise chaise to my right.
    The bleeping stopped and he shut the front door behind me, clicking the lock. “This way.” He turned and walked over a cream rug.
    I followed, my attention suddenly drawn to his expansive shoulders. The pale blue material of his T-shirt stretched between the points of his scapula. The round balls of his shoulders sloped down into his thick biceps, the insides of which brushed dense strips of tapered lateral muscles thinning toward his lean waist. He was so big and I knew he was all solid and honed to perfection beneath his clothes. Not an ounce of fat on him, just lean, highly trained athlete, designed to go the distance.
    “Kitchen,” he said, flicking a hand to his right but walking past the open door. I glanced in. It was all white with black work surfaces. Several blood-red kitchen appliances were dotted around.
    “Living room.” He gestured in the opposite direction, not pausing.
    I had a sweeping look as I rushed to keep up with his long strides. The living room was enormous and set with formal furniture and a giant fireplace.
    “You have great taste in décor,” I said to his back.
    “Don’t be fooled,” he said. “I have a designer, I leave him to it.”
    “I see.”
    “Entertainment room.” He paused and I stopped next to him, blew out a breath. He had his own damn screening room. No not screening room, it was more like a cinema—several rows of plush chairs in front of a massive screen set back on a stage complete with thick scarlet drapes. There was even a popcorn stand in the corner.
    “If you’d agreed to a movie, you would have had a private showing of your favorite,” he said, grinning down at me.
    I folded my arms across my chest and wondered how that would have gone. My favorite movie was 9 1/2 Weeks.
    “Pool,” he said, suddenly turning away. “You like to swim?”
    “Er, yes, sure.”
    Once again I followed behind him. He unlocked another door and as we wandered down a corridor, the scent of chlorine filled the air.
    I stopped in my tracks. A pool so over-the-top, so extravagant was set before me it was more like two huge pools joined by a waterfall. The sides were irregular and lush vegetation grew amongst smooth brown rocks. To the right of the top pool a spa bubbled away, splashing and boiling onto the slate-gray flooring. The whole place was enclosed with thin wire mesh and the last of the sun filtered through, dappling the water