Page 6 of He Has Charm

“She?”

“Oh my god—can you just stop it already? Get your mind off women. No dating for you.”

“I wasn’t thinking of dating.” He’s serious. I squeeze my eyes shut. He adds, “And I’m pretty sure you can’t stop me if I wanted to.”

“You’re right. I can’t make you do anything.” He gives me a wary look, so maybe he’s not in complete denial of the seriousness of his situation. “But according to the agreement you signed with the Boston Brawlers today, the addendum, you need to confine yourself to monogamous relationships only, no tomcatting around.”

“Monogamous?" he says. "And does it really say no tomcatting around in the contract?” His grin is barely suppressed and there's amusement in that damn twinkle in those killer blue eyes of his. But I keep on track.

“Not in so many words. Would you like to reread the agreement?”

“No. Bottom line is it’s all temporary. Just until the end of the season. I can stand anything for four months. I won’t break.”

I half laugh. “I’m not worried about you breaking. I’m worried about the contract getting broken. But no worries, I’m here to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

“Did you once work in a convent?” he deadpans.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and my muscles clench, my arm coming up instinctively to strike back as if he’s accused me of being a whore or called me an unmentionable four-letter word. He catches my hand in his before I can do any harm.

“Whoa there, sugar buns. Just joking.” He smiles. “Let’s face it. That would be some convent if they had women like you there.”

“What do you mean by that?” Stupid question. I pull my hand from his. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just… forget about women and concentrate on hockey for the duration. Do you think you can do that? Honestly?”

“Absolutely, except…” He stares at my eyes so hard I wonder if my mascara is smudged.

“Except what? No holding out, no secrets, Knight. Seriously. We both have a lot riding on this contract. It’s your only chance to finish the season and my chance to get a promotion.”

“A promotion? From handler to what?”

I sigh. “From junior agent to senior agent.”

“Big raise in it for you?” I nod. “All right then, St. John. Now that I know the stakes, we have a deal. No women.” He grips my hand in some guy’s secret hand-shake and I almost let myself smile because he is like an overgrown kid—if it weren’t for those killer hormones or whatever that irresistible aura of sex-inducing chemistry is that he has surrounding him. A girl could drown in it or get hopelessly lost—if it weren’t for the stakes. The stakes my boss made abundantly clear. I didn’t mention to Maddox the flip side of what might happen to my job if I fail, if he breaks his agreement.

“Except there is one problem,” he says, causing my heart to stutter.

“What the—what problem?” I say, sounding like I’m doing a Minnie Mouse impression.

“You.” He arches a brow and I have no idea what he’s talking about but I draw my brows together in an effort to puzzle it out. “You’re a woman, Harper, and if we’re spending time together, you can’t ask me not to—”

“I can. Yes I can ask—insist. Don’t think of me as a woman, Knight. I’m a jailer. A mean, nasty prison guard who—” He starts grinning and shaking his head. “What?”

“You’ll never carry it off. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.” Then he has the nerve to give my body a once-over, lingering on my boobs as I try shrinking into my shapeless suit.

“Yes, I am. Very mean. You bring it out in me. I’m an angry bitch.” I make a stern, angry bitch face and he, of course laughs. But I don’t have a chance to say something scathing—not that I have any idea what it would be—because the flight attendant, a lovely young and slim dark-haired woman with big doe eyes, approaches us with a big fat drooling smile aimed at Mr. Hockey Hunk.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Knight.” She turns to me and nods. “Ma’am. Can I get you something to drink?” She returns her adoring gaze to Mr. Knight and I feel like the invisible woman. But Maddox turns to me.

“What would you like to drink, Harper?” With all his attention focused on me and that signature grin in place, I heat up. But then he leans in, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and whispers. “How about if we splurge on champagne to seal our deal?” His breath skates over my skin and I shiver involuntarily.

“I don’t know.” My breathy voice trails off and I clear my throat. Shit. He winks at me and then tells the flight attendant we’ll have two champagnes and she takes off to get our drinks. Shit. What am I doing?

“Maybe you shouldn’t have ordered two.”

“One glass of champagne isn’t going to make you reckless, St. John. Is it?”

He has me. There’s no good answer to that and I’m already sounding like a wimp, not giving him a firm yes or no. So I improvise.

“It wasn’t me I was worried about.” I give him a warden face, narrowing my eyes. He laughs.