A Perfect Compromise

Theirs is a game of give-and-take...

Schoolteacher Issy Brandine has a plan to build a stable, secure future for herself. No settling for second-best. Anything more than a sultry Caribbean fling with hotshot hockey star Jean Baptiste Larocque isn’t part of the plan. A New Jersey Ice Cat with the ultimate hockey trophy in his sights won’t fit into her low-key lifestyle. Except a surprise pregnancy changes everything.

Issy knows her child deserves more than a part-time dad. With JB’s eyes on the championship that will redeem his career, compromise is out of the question. But love—and the baby between them—might prove that nothing is impossible.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

JB’s soft question startled her. Issy’s gaze shot up to meet his. There was nothing but mild curiosity in his dark eyes.

“You’ll be disappointed, trust me.”

“Let me make up my own mind on that.”

Damn it. She should have made something up. He wouldn’t give up until she told him.

“It’s hard to talk about. Personal stuff.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “We shared a lot of personal stuff in Antigua. Why is this any different?”

Her throat ached at his gentle tone and the understanding in his eyes. She had no choice. The time had come to tell him.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the world of the New Jersey Ice Cats! It’s time for another dedicated and delicious hockey player to face off against a lovely but challenging woman who will turn his world upside down.

There are some characters who steal your heart the minute they appear in a series. Jean Baptiste “JB” Larocque captured mine when he skated onto the page as an arrogant rookie who caused trouble for Jake “Bad Boy” Badoletti in A Perfect Distraction. From what many of you have told me, and the number of requests I’ve received for JB’s book, I’m pleased that he’s one of your favorite characters, too.

I hadn’t planned for JB to redeem himself or to have his own story, but he had other plans! Of course, he had to wait until he’d grown up enough to be ready for love. And for the right woman to appear in his life. For sure, he didn’t expect that woman to be mousy, uptight Isabelle Brandine.

As for Issy, if anyone needed a little detour from the neatly laid-out path she’d created for her life, she did. And who better to provide that unintended detour than JB? All of which goes to show that sometimes the unplanned journey can yield the greatest pleasure and the person you least suspect is the one who makes your heart sing.

I love to hear from readers. Please contact me at anna@annasugden.com or via my website (annasugden.com). You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter.

A Perfect Compromise

Anna Sugden

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former marketing executive ANNA SUGDEN loves reading romance novels and watching films with happy endings. She also loves watching hockey and football, where she prefers a happy ending for her teams. When she’s not researching hockey players (for her books, of course), she makes craft projects and collects penguins, autographs and memorabilia, and great shoes. Anna lives in Cambridge, England, with her husband and two bossy black cats. Learn more about Anna, her books and her shoes at annasugden.com.

Dedication

For Laura and Julia, with love.

For Keith, love always xxxxx

Acknowledgments

Wanda Ottewell—who helped me become a better writer and without whom there wouldn’t be an Ice Cats series.

Jill Marsal—the best agent!

My gals—Beth Andrews, Terri Garey, Kathleen Long, Janice Lynn and Tawny Weber. I couldn’t do this without you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE HORN BLARED. Game over. Players vaulted over the boards. Helmets, gloves and sticks flew into the air and rained down onto the ice.

As the arena erupted, Jean-Baptiste “J.B.” Larocque stood stock-still—his mind numb—unable to believe it.

The New Jersey Ice Cats had lost. Game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. In overtime.

So damn close.

They’d put everything on the line but they’d fallen short by one goal. One lousy goal.

He’d had the puck and the game...the Cup...on his stick.

Only, he’d missed. He’d freaking missed.

Worse, in the shocked seconds after, Denver’s defense had grabbed the puck, streaked up the ice and done what J.B. couldn’t. Just like that, it was all over.

Sudden-death overtime had never lived up to its name so perfectly before.

The aches and pains J.B. had blocked for the past two months came flooding back full-force, making him stagger. Leaning on his stick, he fought to stay upright. As terrible as he felt, he wouldn’t let the watching world see him crumble.

Around him, his dejected teammates leaned listlessly against the boards. His closest friends, Kenny Jelinek and Taylor “Mad Dog” Madden, sat slumped on the ice. Scotty Matthews looked ashen beneath his gray-streaked play-off beard. The captain had stayed on, hoping to win one more Cup. Instead of retiring on a high, he’d hang up his skates as second-best.

J.B.’s throat tightened. Last time the Cats had gone to the Finals, he’d been the conquering hero. That meant nothing now.

He had to get out of here.

A stick tapped his leg “Come on, bro.”

Jake “Bad Boy” Badoletti nodded to where Scotty and the Cats’ veteran goaltender, Ike Jelinek, were skating slowly to center ice to form the traditional handshake line. The rest of the team followed to congratulate the victorious Avalanche players.

Damn, that was the last thing J.B. felt like doing. But he had to man up and show his opponents the respect they’d earned.

“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.” Jake laid a hand on J.B.’s shoulder. “Unless you plan to stick around for the Cup presentation.”

“Yeah, like I’m a glutton for punishment.” Each stroke of his skate on the pitted ice jarred his joints.

“Your goal got us to overtime.”

“I should’ve finished the job.”

“Truth is we should’ve put the game away in the second period. Those missed chances came back to bite us in the ass in the third.”

J.B. took off his glove and shook the first hand. He continued down the line, alternating between “good job, man” and “good game.” When he got to Tru Jelinek, J.B. hugged him briefly, congratulating his friend and former teammate.

“Thanks. I’m just sorry it means you guys had to lose.” Empathy shone in Tru’s eyes.

J.B. hitched a shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I’ll catch you guys before you all fly home tomorrow.”

“For sure.”

Never had J.B. been so relieved to get off the ice. Though he felt like crap, he tapped the hands of fans hanging over the glass by the tunnel. But he couldn’t face the disappointment in their eyes, so he looked straight ahead.

The quiet in the locker room was unnerving. Guys stripped off their gear and showered without saying a word. Here and there, pockets of bright light shone as the media carried out their postgame interviews quietly. They understood how devastating this loss was to the players.

J.B. slumped onto the bench at his stall, knowing his turn would come. He took off his skates, then rested his arms on his thighs and stared at his hands, unable to stop replaying those last moments in his head. When the light shone on him, it was almost a welcome relief.

Until the dumb questions started. How did they freaking think he felt?

Fighting his growing irritation, he toed the party line. “It was a tough series. Both teams were evenly matched.” Blah, blah, blah.

“Take us through that last play. What happened?”

Seriously? J.B. glared at the polished TV presenter, barely resisting the urge to shove the idiot’s microphone where the sun didn’t shine.

The jackass stared back at him intently, as if he’d asked the one question that would reveal something earth-shattering the public didn’t know already.

“My. Shot. Went. Wide,” J.B. said through gritted teeth.

“Do you feel responsible...?”

“Enough!” J.B. surged to his feet and pushed the mikes and cameras out of his face. “We lost. It sucks. If you’d ever strapped on a freaking pair of skates and played, you’d know exactly how it freaking feels and what freaking went wrong.”

He stomped to the shower room, ripped off his gear and stood under the pounding water, eyes closed.

“You just blew your Mr. Charming image to hell,” Kenny said beside him.

“Maybe the rest of us will finally get airtime,” Mad Dog added from the other side.

J.B. opened his eyes and swore colorfully. “The jerk deserved it.”

“Definitely.” Mad Dog’s blue eyes were shadowed from the loss. Probably also from the niggling pain in his lower back that he’d been playing through for the past few games. “Dude always asks the dumbest questions.”

“That’s why he got tossed from the Rangers’ locker room last year.” Kenny winced as he worked his jaw. A bruise was forming where he’d been caught by a high stick in the dying seconds. “Man, this blows chunks. I thought for sure the ice tilted our way when you got the equalizer.”

“Yeah.” J.B. leaned his head back against the tiles and let the water stream over his face. He swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat.

The three friends finished their showers in silence, each lost in his own miserable thoughts. By the time they walked back into the locker room, the media vultures had departed to cover the Cup celebrations.

While the players dressed, their equipment was packed away and loaded onto a cart for the journey home. The next time they saw their gear would be in a couple of days, when they cleared out their lockers at the Cats’ arena. The final act of the season.

J.B. pulled on his suit jacket. First he had to get through tonight. Because they were playing in Denver, it was still only 9:00 p.m.

“Ten minutes before the bus leaves,” one of the trainers called out. “You miss it, you walk back to the hotel.”

The good-natured heckling he got was subdued.

Mad Dog hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “What’s the plan now?”

“Tru told me about this rock club downtown that’s supposed to be real sweet.” Kenny ran a comb through his wet hair. “Great food and hot babes. You with me?”

“Hell, yeah. What about you, Larocque?”

Part of him wanted to hole up in his hotel room with a bottle of Jack. The other part preferred to drown his sorrows in the company of a sexy woman rather than his long-time roommate, Rick “Ice Man” Kasanski.

“Count me in.”

A few hours later he wondered if he’d made a mistake. His head throbbed from the loud music, his stomach roiled from the fiery nachos and tequila shots, and his entire body felt like it had gone the distance with a heavyweight boxer.

Kenny and Mad Dog were busy with a couple of hockey groupies in town for the game. Hailey, the blonde J.B. had been chatting with, wanted to dance, but he knew if he stepped into that mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies, he’d either pass out or puke. Or both. Kasanski was looking better by the minute.

“Sorry, Hailey. Another time. I’m beat. I’m gonna cut out of here.”

“Stay a little longer. Please.” She trailed a finger down his chest.

“I can’t. I’m dead on my feet.” He smiled wearily. “But I’ll take a rain check. Next time I’m in Denver with a free night, I’ll look you up.”

J.B. turned to let his friends know he was bugging out.

That was his first mistake. His second was underestimating how unsteady his legs were.

Hailey tugged his arm. As J.B. pulled himself free, he felt his feet slide out from under him and went down hard, smacking the back of his head on the floor.

Unfortunately, as he fell, J.B. caught Hailey with his arm and knocked her backward.

All hell broke loose.

“Oh, my God. That jerk hit Hailey,” a woman yelled.

“You drunk ass,” shouted another.

J.B. tried to check if Hailey was all right but couldn’t see her through the gathering crowd. “I didn’t mean to hit her,” he tried to explain but no one was listening.

A male voice joined the rising wave of female outrage. “We’ll show you how we treat bullies in this town.”

“Bastard,” someone else swore.

J.B. felt the kick but didn’t see it coming. Curling his body to protect himself brought on a wave of nausea. He should get up, get out of there, but he was so woozy he could hardly move.

After that, everything was hazy. J.B. was vaguely aware of Kenny and Mad Dog pulling people off him, dragging him to his feet and out of the club, and shoving him into a cab. They managed to get him back to his room before the nachos and tequila made a violent reappearance in the bathroom.

At some point they must have put him to bed because, when he awoke the following morning, he was facedown on the bed, still fully clothed. His mouth tasted like he’d spent the night licking his hockey gloves.

“Coffee, ibuprofen, juice and dry toast,” Kenny said.

J.B. groaned and gingerly rolled over.

“Do you want the good news or the bad?” Mad Dog’s quiet words triggered memories of what had happened the night before.

J.B. swallowed the pills, then drained the juice before answering. “I’m in a crapload of trouble. History has pretty much repeated itself, only this time no one can bail me out.”

Back in his rookie season J.B. had got into a predicament in a nightclub that could have ended his career before it got going. Not only had his teammates rescued him, but Bad Boy had taken the blame in the media. It had been a rude wake-up call and J.B. had steered clear of situations that could go belly-up ever since.

Until last night.

“Yeah. And the story is all over social media,” Kenny added helpfully.

Damn it! “Coach Macarty will love that. Not.”

“He’s taking it better than expected, but he doesn’t want to see your face until this has died down.”

“How am I supposed to avoid him? We’re taking the same plane back to Jersey.”

Mad Dog looked uncomfortable. “He’s arranged for you to fly home separately so you can keep a low profile. I volunteered to go with you.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Coach is also delaying your end-of-season interview for a week,” Kenny said. “He reckons he’ll have cooled down by then.”

Not only did J.B. feel like crap he also had the indignity of having to sneak out of Denver like a crook on the lam. Plus, he’d blown his reputation to hell—once again. “And the good news is?”

“Instead of going home,” Mad Dog said. “I thought it’d be better to get out of the country altogether and hang out for a few days someplace where they don’t follow hockey.”

“Where’s that? The Sahara Desert?”

“Funny.” His friend slapped a piece of paper on the bedside cabinet. “Antigua. The Golden Sands Resort. All inclusive. Adults only. A two-bedroom, beachfront bungalow.”

J.B. frowned. “Isn’t that the place we’re heading to in a couple of weeks for our vacation?”

“Ding, ding! Give the man a prize. I got hold of Tracy at Making Your Move and asked her to pull our reservation forward to tomorrow. Not today, because I don’t want you spewing in my lap at thirty thousand feet. We fly at noon.”

“But I’m supposed to go to my parents’ place.”

“You can head to the farm after you’ve got back from the Caribbean.”

“We haven’t got the right clothes with us.”

“Jeez, chill. You can buy what you need when you get there.”

“Okay. Great.” Maybe he’d feel half-human by then.

Kenny shook his head. “A vacation on a tropical island. Even when you screw up, you land on your feet. Think of me. While you’re sipping frothy drinks with umbrellas, I’ll be working with hordes of kids at Ike’s summer hockey camp.”

“Them’s the breaks.” Mad Dog grinned.

Kenny flipped him the bird. “Just make sure Larocque stays out of trouble.”

“It was a freaking accident,” J.B. protested, massaging his aching temples.

“We know. But bad stuff always seems to happen to you, even if you don’t go looking for it.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior. I’m not interested in anything but chilling and deciding which ‘frothy drink’ to have next.”

Besides, how much trouble could anyone get into at a fancy Caribbean resort?

* * *

“I CAN’T WEAR THIS.” Isabelle Brandine held up the tiny but admittedly cute red polka-dot bikini she’d just pulled out of her suitcase. “It’s so...small.”

“It’ll look great on you.” Her best friend, Sapphire Houlihan, who was lounging on the other bed in their resort room, waved her hand. “It’ll show off your fabulous figure.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about it showing, Sapphie.” Issy dropped the bikini on the bed and continued unpacking.

“Tough, because your frumpy one-piece is in the trash back in New Jersey.”

Issy stopped for a moment. “You threw away my swimsuit?”

Sapphie sipped the Antiguan rum punch they’d been given at check-in. “You’ve had it since college. Consider it a gift for coming on the trip with me.”

Though she knew it wouldn’t change anything, Issy made a token protest. “You already paid for my ticket and this gorgeous beachfront room. Besides, this is meant to be your thirtieth celebration. You should be getting presents, not me.”

“This is for me.” Sapphie shot her a wicked grin. “No hot guys would come near us if they saw you in that ancient thing. Now we’ll be fighting them off.”

“I’m not interested in a holiday fling.”

“Why not? A few days of sun, sand, sea and no-strings sex, and you’ll feel like a new woman.” Her friend sighed happily. “I certainly will.”

“You know that’s not me.” That sounded as frumpy as her trashed swimsuit. “I can have fun without having sex with a stranger.”

“Of course you can.”

Having grown up together, in the same small town, on the same wrong side of the tracks—not that there was a right side—they had no secrets. They’d been friends almost since birth; their heavy-drinking, heavy-partying parents were cousins. The two girls were even conceived at the same Labor Day blowout, though their birthdays were ten days apart.

Issy and Sapphie had spent their childhood being the responsible ones, looking after their younger siblings and trying desperately to make ends meet when their parents wouldn’t or couldn’t. When the two girls had left their small Southern town together at eighteen, they’d promised each other they’d never be like their parents.

Issy was determined to build the traditional family life she’d always dreamed of. She had a steady job at an exclusive private school for girls, which meant she didn’t have to worry about where her next meal would come from or how to pay her bills. She’d managed to save enough that she’d celebrated her own thirtieth birthday by buying herself a small apartment in a nice suburban town. A solid roof over her head was worth all the extra hours she’d worked to achieve tenure.

Someday she hoped to find a good, honest, hardworking man. Together they’d raise their children in the kind of happy and stable environment she’d been denied growing up.

Sapphie, on the other hand, was committed to her work and the highly successful corporate consulting firm she’d built, and rejected permanency of any kind in her personal life. Home for her was a serviced apartment on each coast, as well as one in Chicago. She had a similarly casual approach to men.

“Sex isn’t required.” Sapphie shrugged. “I want you to enjoy yourself while we’re here.”

“Then I’ll take the sun, sand and sea, and leave the rest to you.”

Her friend made a face. “I got you the bikini’s matching sarong wrap.”

“Thank you.” Issy pulled a couple of short but equally unfamiliar sundresses out of her case. “Did you toss out all the outfits I packed?”

“Nope. The rest of your clothes are back at my apartment. Though you may not want them after this.” Sapphie finished her drink and swung her legs off the bed. “Are you going to waste the whole afternoon unpacking? I want to hit the beach and get this holiday started.”

To heck with it—the world probably wouldn’t come to an end if Issy didn’t get everything put away right now. “Give me five minutes to change.”

A short while later the two friends headed down to the beach. As they strolled along the path, Issy hitched the red polka-dot sarong firmly around her chest. Though the bikini wasn’t as revealing as she’d thought, and it did flatter her figure, she was glad for the cover.

It didn’t take long to slip into the laid-back, Antiguan tempo. The rhythmic tinkling of the resort’s steel band by the pool bar seeped into her blood and gave her hips a subtle swing. The warm sea breeze, fragrant with lush tropical flowers, caressed her skin. The water was so clear and blue it looked fake. If she hadn’t been here, her toes sinking into the soft white sand, she’d never have believed it was real.

They managed to find two beach loungers in the shade of some tall palm trees. Sapphie had put their cooler under the table, shimmied out of her flowery beach shorts and settled onto her chair before Issy had straightened her towel.

“Stop dithering, Issy.”

She inhaled deeply then undid the wrap and draped it over the back of the lounger. When no one fainted at the sight of her scantily-clad, too-curvy body, she applied sunscreen and lay on the towel. But she found it hard to relax.

“You’re as stiff as a board.” Sapphie sighed. “Don’t worry—the chances of anyone from Farlingdale Academy being on this beach are slim to none.”

“I’m not worried.” Though the school had a strict morality clause, she doubted it applied to a tiny swimsuit. “It feels odd to be doing nothing.”

“So read your book.” Sapphie whistled softly under her breath. “Don’t look now, but a couple of prime examples of manhood are walking this way.”

Issy glanced up and caught her breath.

“Dibs on the one on the right and please don’t let him be gay.”

Both men were tall with finely honed bodies. Walking barefoot through the lapping water at the sea’s edge, they wore mirrored shades, ball caps with a logo that featured a snow leopard’s head and long, brightly colored swim shorts. Sapphie’s choice was dark-haired and good-looking with a nice smile. Totally her friend’s type.

But it was the somber man walking beside him who caught Issy’s attention. So handsome, he was almost beautiful. His straight nose, high cheekbones and angular jaw were so perfectly formed they could have been carved by a sculptor, and his lips were full, without being feminine.