Chapter One
Lila
My heels clickedagainst the vinyl tiling as I hurried down the familiar utilitarian hallway. How many hours had I spent running up and down these halls, full of sugar and excitement to hit the ice?
When I’d been younger, it had made perfect sense to me that Daddy owned the Bramblebluff Ice Complex. Ofcoursehe did; he knew how much I loved to skate!
It was only after graduating college and looking at the records of his real estate acquisitions—and realizing how much of a loss leader anice arenaactually was—that I realized he’d only purchased it because he wanted me to have a place to practice.
So now, returning here always made me smile.
Even if my professional skating days were behind me.
There’d been a time when I only showed up here in leotards or rehearsal leggings, but I’d put that world behind me. Now, when I did make time to skate for fun, I wore comfortable clothing, rather than the sparkly costumes Daddy used to spend an outrageous amount on to satisfy my glittery princess soul.
Today I was dressed in what I called myprofessional persona.
As much as I might still love sequins, the head of the charity arm of Fairbanks Enterprises needed to appear a certain way in public: silk blouse, pencil skirt, upswept blonde hair, simple pearl earrings.
It was as much a costume as any I’d worn on the ice.
My steps slowed as I turned down the hallway to the executive offices. This is where the managers and medical staff of the arena worked, but Daddy also had an office here for when he didn’t want to work at Fairbanks headquarters. The décor here was more artsy, less practical, and the framed photos on the wall tended to feature more landscapes and less of the signed photographs of figure skaters and hockey players that dominated the public areas.
Still, the television in the atrium was playing a hockey game.
Not just any game;thegame.
The last game of the second round of the playoffs, the one the Teal Terrors lost.
I blew out a breath and realized my feet had stopped moving entirely. I clutched my notebook to my chest and watched the inevitable play out on screen.
The Terrors were the Orc Hockey League’s youngest team, and were made up of orcs who had made their home here in the Rockies. Daddy had been excited when he’d convinced a coach to set up a team here at the ice complex; they played their games at the nearby arena, but this place was their home.
A home they shared with the youth league and all the hopeful figure skaters in the county.
I’d been in college when Daddy had announced his plans one Thanksgiving, and I remembered I’d carefully set down my dessert spoon, wiped my lips with my linen napkin, cleared my throat, and politely blurted, “Orc hockey?”
“It’s all the rage, Pumpkin,” he’d assured me. “The country loves hockey, and this league is even more brutal. Have you ever met an orc male? They’re huge, powerful, and fierce.” He’d used his finger to mime the shape of tusks. “Fans are going to go nuts for seeing them beat on each other.”
I hadn’t understood the appeal then, and I still didn’t.
I’d been raised to know which knife to use on fish, how to address an ambassador, and what thread count constituted an acceptable hostess gift. The thought of two males hitting each other with sticks wasn’t particularly appealing.
But I’ll admit that, like the rest of the area, I’d been caught up with support for the Terrors. I wore shades of teal or turquoise on game day, and I loved to watch Daddy’s enthusiasm for the team.
Which meant that I shared everyone’s excitement when we’d advanced to the second round of the playoffs in the spring…and disappointment when we’d lost to the Crimson Crushers by one goal.
Standing there, watching the game unravel all over again, I chewed my lip, knowing what I was about to see.
Kardok.
He was the Terrors’ talented forward, an enforcer who didn’t seem to know the meaning of fear. He took all the risks and was rewarded with success more often than not. When one of those chances paid off, he had this sort of celebration that drove the female fans wild; he’d turn to the glass and open his mouth wide and stick out his tongue…and pretend to lick something in front of him.
I have no idea if it was an orc thing, or if it was just his version of an endzone dance…but I was not immune to it.
The camera zoomed in on him now, and I felt my breath catch. God, he was hot, wasn’t he? Even behind that ridiculous mask they all wore, even with the features I should find foreign or unattractive, Kardok had this primal sort of magnetism.
And his tongue? Wide and gray andridged? I’m certain I wasn’t the only woman frantically searching the internet forWhat else do orcs have that are ridged? and being pleasantly surprised.
