Title: Alex by Sawyer Bennett
Cold Fury Hockey Series Book One
Genre: Contemporary, Romance
Length: 301 pages
USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett scores big-time with the first novel in a sexy new series hot enough to melt the ice.
Hockey star Alexander Crossman has a reputation as a cold-hearted player on and off the rink. Pushed into the sport by an alcoholic father, Alex isn’t afraid to give fans the proverbial middle finger, relishing his role as the MVP they love to hate. Management, however, isn’t so amused. Now Alex has a choice: fix his public image through community service or ride the bench. But Alex refuses to be molded into the Carolina Cold Fury poster boy . . . not even by a tempting redhead with killer curves.
As a social worker, Sutton Price is accustomed to difficult people—like Alex, who’s been assigned to help her create a drug-abuse awareness program for at-risk youth as part of the team’s effort to clean up his image. What she doesn’t expect is the arrogant smirk from his perfect lips to stir her most heated fantasies. But Sutton isn’t one to cross professional boundaries—and besides, Alex doesn’t do relationships . . . or does he? The more she sees behind Alex’s bad-boy façade, the more Sutton craves the man she uncovers.
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When I look up, I’m momentarily stunned speechless by what may possibly be a mirage. It has to be, because seriously . . . it’s beyond belief.
He’s beyond belief.
In fact, he’s beyond my imagination.
A man walks in, the early afternoon sun outlining a massive body. He has to be at least six-five, six-six with a solid chest, narrow waist and pretty big guns hanging from his shoulders. For a man so large, I’m surprised to note he moves with a natural grace. Charcoal gray dress slacks and a lightweight black sweater are molded to his body, showcasing dips and valleys of muscles that you see only in men’s health magazines.
If I thought his body was incredible, I almost pass out once I take full stock of his face. It’s enough to make angels weep, and I consciously close my mouth as I realize my jaw has flopped open in disbelief.
Dark, dark hair . . . almost black, but most definitely the deepest mahogany, is worn midlength, chopped in helter-skelter layers around his face. The front portion of bangs sweeps left to right across his forehead, while chunks stick up this way and that around his entire head. His face, if cast in marble, would be sought after by all of the world’s finest art galleries. Strong jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, straight-as-an-arrow nose, and even from fifteen feet away and with the sun at his back, I can see the most crystalline blue eyes I’ve ever beheld on a human being.
The last thing I notice about him—because holy hell, I’ve noticed quite a bit—is that his lips are full, the bottom one just a little puffier than the top. Said lips, which may be the most perfect in existence, are now quirking upward into a smirk and the first thing I think is, I wonder what he could do with that mouth.
The second thing I think?
He’s smirking at me because I am so openly checking him out, even at this very moment.
Maybe because my brain has been addled by such magnificence, or maybe because I’ve never been one to get easily embarrassed, I don’t even have a shred of decency that will cause me to cast my eyes away in shyness or shame.
So I hold his look as he walks up to the desk, places his palms flat on the Formica-topped surface and hits me with a brilliantly sexy smile that almost blinds me, and most definitely causes a pang low in my belly.
“I can see you recognize me,” he says, his voice deep and slightly accented.
I blink at him hard, his words penetrating, but not really. I’m still too dazzled by the whiteness of his teeth, and I’d swear I saw one tooth actually cast a sparkle.
“Um . . . excuse me?” I say, because I have no clue who this is or why he’s here, or why I should recognize him. Maybe he’s a famous model or an actor, and I rack my brain trying to place his face.
His smile turns into a bit of a frown and his brow furrows. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
For some insane reason, I feel terrible because I don’t know who he is and he seems to be hurt by that. No, not hurt . . . that’s not quite right.
Yes, maybe intrigued.
Sending my brain into overdrive while it searches my memory for every movie, soap opera or fashion magazine I’ve ever read, I flounder around trying to come up with this man’s name.
“Alex Crossman,” he says, letting me off the hook. “I have an appointment with Sutton Price.”
Son of a bitch.
This is Alexander Crossman? Star player of the Cold Fury and potential GQ model, my new cohort in creating an outreach program for troubled youth and overall putz for being late and not calling? I don’t know whether to have an orgasm or be pissed that he’s walking in thirty minutes after our scheduled appointment.
USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett is a snarky Southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company which lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report she doesn’t have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.
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