Home Ice: Las Vegas Sinners, #4

By Katie Kenyhercz

Lorelai Kelly was mere inches from her Olympic goal, but a broken ankle landing a triple axel in the spotlight forced her to delay the gold medal hunt another four years. Now she's starring in the Sin City on Ice show to make ends meet and focused on a comeback that keeps eluding her grasp.

Dylan gained national attention in his early teens and went on to become the NHL's youngest captain and leading scorer in his second season. He breathed new life into a sport that had been dying in the States, but it's lonely at the top. Now the captain of the Vegas Sinners team is feeling the pressure and looking for something more.

America's ice princess might be the only one who can help his current slump-and Dylan's way of expressing thanks could undermine everything Lori has worked for. Can two people who spend their lives on the ice thaw just enough to let each other in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie Kenyhercz
• Release date: Apr 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386658788

Book preview

Chapter 1

Thursday, September 24 th

So many things were just as she remembered. The crisp, clean smell of fresh ice combined with the underlying scents of sweat socks and beer that never completely left the arena no matter how many times it was cleaned. Damn hockey. But even the stench couldn’t disturb the calm and quiet solitude of an empty rink. She could still lace up her skates with her eyes closed. Lorelai Kelly released a slow breath. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. And nobody could know.

She stood on numb legs, squared her shoulders, and kept her face blank. Val, her trainer, sat with his arms folded, high in the seats overlooking center ice. Music played over the loud speakers. It was rap with a gothic, almost monastic background. An edgy choice for someone the figure skating world regarded as an old maid. Twenty-four and ancient. Lori pushed back the tide of anxiety attached to that train of thought, willed her pulse to slow, and focused on the music. The words were indistinguishable, but the beat flowed through her veins. Audio adrenaline.

Stepping into the rink, she took comfort in the familiar glide and quiet scrape of her skates as she acclimated to the recently refreshed ice. The skin of her bare arms prickled in the cold air, and she clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering. She pushed off and skated at a medium pace, doing figure eights around the hockey playoff circles. A harsh cough from the stands brought back her tension, and she switched directions, heading for the other end.

She moved easily, muscle memory taking over as she turned backward and crossed her left foot over her right, arms out for balance. She started with simple jumps, jumps she could execute perfectly in her sleep. The goal was to get her feet wet again and test drive her triple axel—the jump she’d been known for. The one that had broken her ankle.

Trying to block out doubt, she cleared her head and wound up for a double axel. Her movement felt fluid and sure as she spun through the air, landing with only a slight wobble on her good ankle. Still, any wobble was enough to make her heart pound.

Sweat beaded at her temples and warmth flooded her face, but she kept skating. No more coughing from Val, so he hadn’t noticed her hesitancy. She knew what he wanted, and she balled and flexed her hands trying to rein in her nerves. Around the rink she went, building speed and tension. Turning backward, she tried to ignore the whispering reservations. Don’t think. Just do.

Cross step, cross step, cross step, hop forward, dig in the toe pick. She took off with fierce speed, counting her rotations. As she came down, the fall flashed in her mind. Half a year and not a detail had faded. She hadn’t seen it coming. Everything felt right, just as she’d practiced. Then she landed on the wrong edge of her blade. The next thing she knew, she was biting back tears as trainers carried her off the ice.

She came back to the present half a second too late. Instead of even trying to land, she allowed her feet to slide out and spun on her hip. Her pulse slowed, but guilt and frustration made her flush. She got up and tried again. And again. And again. All with the same result. A frustrated sigh from the seats made her look up. Val just shook his head and left. Russian coaches were known for their excellence, not their patience. She gritted her teeth and tried again.

Good job today. Dylan Cole’s Russian was dicey, but he must have been close, because his new teammate, Ilya Kaslov, replied with a humble smile and what Dylan recognized as Thank you. Dylan clapped Ilya on the back, then raised his hand in a wave to the last of the guys in the locker room. Hair still wet from the shower, he shivered as he stepped into the cold air of the rink. The scrape of skates on ice caught his attention, and he looked over to see a girl falling.

Frowning, he slowed and stopped by the glass. She got up, brushed herself off, and skated in the other direction without noticing him. When she rounded the corner, he saw her in profile and raised a brow. Lorelai Kelly. Her picture was plastered around the arena as much as his was. Olympic medalist turned Vegas ice girl.

Some figure skaters were muscular. Lorelai was small and lean, but judging by the determination on her face, in her stride, she could intimidate half of the Sinners NHL team. The top half of her blonde curls were pulled back with a clip. Her skin was almost as white as the ice except for her cheeks, which seemed to be reddened by frustration. And falling.

He winced when she fell for the fifth consecutive time just beyond his spot by the glass. Doesn’t that hurt?

Her head snapped up, and she pierced him in place with her light green eyes. Then she got up, wound up, and jumped again. And fell.

What are you afraid of? His voice bounced off the high ceiling and echoed through the arena.

As she stood, she paused in brushing the snow from her legs. Excuse me?

That’s why you keep falling. It’s like you’re afraid to land.

"I’m not afraid to land. Landing is the whole point. What do you think I’ve been trying to do?" She was hands on tiny hips, glaring.

Dylan repressed a smile. I’ve been watching you for the last five minutes. It looks like you’re afraid of falling on accident, so you fall on purpose.

"That’s ridiculous. I can land that jump. It’s what I’m known for. I just need to keep practicing."

He raised his brows and lifted a shoulder. Okay.

Lorelai glared at him a second longer then sighed and turned away, flitting over the ice with grace and fierce purpose. Tinker Bell on a tirade. Dylan shook his head and started down the hallway to the parking garage. As he was going through the door, he heard the familiar scramble of blades looking for purchase on the ice and not finding it. He smiled to himself, kept shaking his head, and left.

Chapter 2

Friday, September 25 th

Lori woke before her alarm at 4:45 a.m. and turned it off. She never actually needed the thing, but Val insisted on it just in case. He’d all but given up on her after yesterday. How hard could it be to find another Olympic coach? Not that it mattered at the moment. Sin City on Ice demanded her full attention. My, how the mighty had fallen. Her stomach soured, so she pushed the thought away and slid out of bed and into her tights and practice outfit. She had to get to the rink early if she wanted those precious, solo training hours before clocking in for show practice.

She could apply for a bye to make the U.S. team but no way was she settling for the coward’s way out.

She finger-combed the top half of her curls back and secured them with her lucky, amethyst-studded barrette. Not that it had been lucky as of late. The banana and bowl of oatmeal she ate were more for mental preparation than actual physical hunger. Some skaters, like dancers, succumbed to eating disorders—and it was tempting at times—but a body without fuel didn’t perform. Simple as that. She stepped into her fuzzy, warm boots, slung her skates over her shoulder, and headed out.

Her apartment was a short drive from the arena, and traffic was light. She went in through the underground entrance reserved for athletes and staff with the electronic passkey around her neck and stared at the double doors at the end of the hall. The fastest way to the ice was through the Sinners’ locker room. Were they there this morning? She tried to keep a mental calendar of their schedule for this exact reason but couldn’t remember. Better safe than sorry. She turned down the corridor to her right and followed it around to the next rink entrance. About ten yards before the opening, she heard shouts. And skates. And sticks. Damn.

She sighed through her teeth and trudged ahead but stuck to the shadows. She couldn’t very well demand the ice. The players owned it as much as she did, though she would never admit that to one of them. Especially not the arrogant ass from yesterday. Emerging, she stayed close to the stadium seats and folded her arms.

Thoughts of biding her time at the coffee shop across the street evaporated, and the hinge in her jaw loosened. True, these guys were weighted down with bulky pads and oversized jerseys, but they glided. She’d thought hockey would be stilted, stop and start. Violent. Crude like the snippets of games she’d caught on TV while flipping channels. But this, she’d never expected.

In this scrimmage, the players flowed around each other like water, their movements fluid. Mesmerizing. One player zipped by the glass closest to her, and the number on his back made her heart hiccup. Cole. Dylan Cole. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

Ass.

But she forgot his criticisms from the day before as she watched him take control of the puck and wind his way toward the other end. Opposing players tried their best to get in his path, but he dodged them with unbelievable balance and poise. At one point, two players were coming at him from opposite sides, looking to make a Dylan sandwich, and he jumped through the middle at the last possible second, landing on one skate and one knee. Then, he proceeded to dive forward, extending his stick as far as his arm would allow, and used the last of his momentum to crack the puck around the goalie and into the net. Even though they had to be used to playing with him, his teammates looked at each other, bug-eyed and open-mouthed.

Show off, she muttered. But holy crap.

She felt a pair of eyes on her. Looking over at the players’ bench, she locked stares with the coach. The woman smiled, amused, and motioned her over.

For a minute, she stood frozen. The coach gestured again, so Lori put one boot in front of the other and climbed across the rows of seats until she reached a folding chair next to the Plexiglas of the players’ box. Sorry. I’m early for my practice. I didn’t know—

It’s all right. The woman’s voice trilled high and lilting, completely unexpected. I’m Nealy Windham. I’ve seen your picture around the arena. Don’t keep up with figure skating, but I admire your dedication. She lifted her voice. Some of the girls on my team could learn from you. A few players waved her off. The rest didn’t appear to hear. Nealy shook her head and turned back. Pre-season starts tomorrow, and I wanted to sneak in an extra practice. Besides, you’re admiring my players; that means I’m doing a good job.

Oh, I wasn’t… Lori weighed pride-saving denial against the easy truth that would make the coach happy. This was the nicest any non-family member had been to her in years. There were no friends in figure skating. Only competition. Okay, I was admiring. They’re impressive. I didn’t know hockey players could be so…

Graceful? Not many people know that about this sport. Cole in particular, eh?

Ah… She pressed her lips together in the middle of another denial. The coach wasn’t necessarily insinuating that she’d been pining after Dylan. The whole world considered Dylan Cole to be the next Wayne Gretzky. If she disagreed, wouldn’t that be protesting too much?

He is good. But don’t tell him I said that. The amendment came out in a rush, making the coach laugh.

The petite woman winked at her, then returned to studying the action on ice. Said what?

Lori let out a puff of breath and relaxed in the folding chair. As the team recuperated from the show-stopping goal, they began to notice her presence. At first it was one guy, then two. Then the pointing and nudging started, and soon they were all looking at her. Like a zoo exhibit. The coach cleared her throat and raised her tinny voice. Let’s get back to it. I want to see Collier on a line with Kas and Cole. Reese, you swap out with Simmy and let him take some shots.

Without question or hesitation, the players complied with the encoded commands, and Lori was invisible once again. With one exception. Dylan watched her with a sly smile as he skated backward toward the playoff circle. She wished he’d trip or bump into someone and knock the smug expression off his face, but no luck. Mr. Charmed Life was error-proof on skates. Must be nice.

She stayed for the rest of the practice, and aside from an occasional glance from Dylan no one paid attention to her. Most likely, they were too afraid of their coach. The rules were a little fuzzy, but the purpose was clear, and it was exciting. She almost jumped out of her seat when someone checked a player into the glass right in front of her. It shook and bowed but straightened out, and neither man seemed worse for the wear. In fact, they were laughing as they fought for the puck.

A whistle screech just about stopped her heart. It did stop every man on the ice. Simultaneously. It was kind of creepy.

All right, ladies, hit the showers. Rest up for tomorrow’s game. Pre-season does not mean it’s all right to slack off. It may not count in the standings, but it sure as hell counts with me.

The guys filed off, down the tunnel to the locker room, and Nealy shot her a smile before heading up to the main concourse. Dylan hung back, taking a few more shots on net, but if it was for her benefit she couldn’t tell because he didn’t take his eyes off the ice. When he finally unsnapped his helmet and skated for the door, his face went blank like he’d forgotten she was there. Flattering. Oh. Hey. You stuck around.

Well, you are on my ice.

Yours, huh? He smiled, and the dimples almost killed her.

For the next hour, yes.

And then?

And then the circus comes to town.

His eyebrows went up. As in Circus Circus?

She held back a sigh and stood, slinging her skates over her shoulder. As in Sin City on Ice.

You don’t like it? Aren’t you sort of the star?

"I’m grateful for the job and the skating time, but I’d rather be hardcore training for the next Olympics than stuck in a show that’s more about fire and feathers than technique and skill. Not to mention the dangerous lifts with a man I barely know. I tried pairs skating as a kid, but it didn’t stick. I’m having trouble trusting myself these days, let alone a random guy who’s even handsier off the ice…" What am I doing? It was the most she’d said to anyone in months, but there was something about Dylan that opened her up.

He giving you trouble? His soft voice went serious, and he planted the blade of his stick on the floor, his big shoulders squared, his face looking like he was ready to do something about it.

Despite her best efforts to stay annoyed at him, warm tingles spread through her. I can handle it.

I, uh, thought most guys who got into that were…

Gay?

His already flushed face from the practice turned a shade darker, and she grinned.

A lot of them are, but not all. I swear some skate just for the slanted ratio of women to men.

Well, if he goes over the line, let me know.

Damn those tingles. The image of Dylan with his baby face and superhero body knocking out some of Bradley’s DayGlo white teeth made her laugh. Sure.

I guess I should… he gestured toward the locker room.

Yeah. Say something else. But nothing came to mind. This was the longest conversation she’d had with anyone in a long time. At least anyone who wasn’t family or someone who smiled at her face only to snark at her back.

See you around? He’d made it a question even though it was certain they’d bump into each other again at some point. Did he want to be sure?

Play it cool.

See you around. In my daydreams. Naked.

He started down the tunnel, looked over his shoulder, and smiled at her again before pushing through the doors.

The Zamboni cleared the ice, and for the next hour, she went through her old routine on autopilot while her brain was stuck on the hockey hotshot who knew nothing more than her name but still wanted to defend her honor. Was he for real?

Still thinking about those chocolate eyes that gave away every emotion as he had it, she wound up and jumped, spinning through the air. She landed and went into the next sequence. It wasn’t until she went into the backward cross-overs that it hit her. Relief flooded from head to toe, followed by a bigger wave of fear. What if she couldn’t do it again?

Chapter 3

Vaughn Manor

Dylan pulled up the horseshoe drive and parked behind Madden Vaughn’s Escalade. Having your best friend for a roommate was awesome. Most of the time. Except Madden’s girlfriend, Saralynn, had more or less moved in, and he and Mad didn’t get much hangout time anymore. But Saralynn was currently at work as head of the Sinners’ PR department, and it looked like Madden was working from home today.

Dylan swung in the front door and dropped his hockey bag by the coat rack. Marco!

Polo! The reply echoed from the kitchen.

Hey, man. Tell me there’s leftovers. I’m starving. Dylan went straight to the fridge.

Yeah, spaghetti and meatballs in the back on the middle shelf. Saved you some.

Thanks. He grabbed the Tupperware, cracked the lid, and stuck it in the microwave while retrieving a fork. Madden was sitting on a stool at the island, his eyes glued to the laptop in front of him while he shoveled spaghetti into his mouth. Multitasking.

The microwave beeped. Dylan collected his food and sat beside his friend to eat. Hard to stop thinking about Lorelai in that bright purple leotard that didn’t do a great job hiding … anything. Not that a single inch of her was worth hiding. The back of his neck warmed, and he could only hope it didn’t spread to the rest of his face. He had no right thinking of her like that. They’d barely just met, and damned if he’d be anything like the ass who was taking advantage