Rory Kydd, dressed in a too-small T-shirt and battered pajama bottoms, walked into the kitchen of her sister’s luxurious kitchen and looked at the dark screen of the TV sitting on the counter.

Her best friend, Troy, had texted to tell her the Vancouver Mavericks had won and there had been high drama during the post-game interview. She was tempted to turn on the TV to see what he was talking about but, because she had a paper due and exams looming—and because she was trying not to think about one Maverick player in particular—she decided to have a cup of coffee and go back to the books. But even if she didn’t give in to temptation, it couldn’t be denied, team newbies Kade Webb, Quinn Rayne and Mark “Mac” McCaskill were a handful both on and off the ice, and Vancouver had three new heroes.

Three young, unfairly talented and, it had to be said, stupidly good-looking heroes.

And the best-looking of the bunch, in her opinion, was dating her older sister Shay.

Rory poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned her butt against the counter. Shay and Mac made perfect sense, she told herself. Again. Shay was a model and a TV presenter. Mac was the supertalented, superfine center for the city’s beloved hockey team. They were the perfect age, she was twenty-three and Mac a year older, and, according to the press, because they were both beautiful and successful, a perfect match.

It was all perfectly perfect.

Except that Rory wasn’t convinced.

And that wasn’t because Mac made her toes tingle and her stomach jump. It had nothing to do with her insane attraction to the man. No, she’d spent enough time around Shay and Mac to see the cracks in their relationship, to know the bloom was off the rose and Shay was acting like a loon. Judging by Mac’s wary, closed-off expression whenever Rory saw them together, Shay had him on the Crazy Express.

Rory would bet her last dollar Shay was feeling desperate, calling and texting relentlessly whenever they were apart. Since they both had such demanding careers, they were apart a lot.

Rory knew why Shay was insecure, why she couldn’t trust a man. Rory had grown up in the same house as Shay. The difference between them was that Shay kept hoping there was one man out there who could be faithful and monogamous.

Rory was pretty damn sure that, like unicorns and the yeti, such a creature didn’t exist.

Rory scowled and wrapped her hands around her mug. Shay hadn’t told Mac why she was acting crazy, Rory was pretty sure of that. To complicate matters further, Rory and Mac had somehow become friends. Sadly, that was all they could ever be. He was too good-looking, too much of a celebrity, too far out of her league. She was a college student. He was a successful player, both on and off the ice... Oh, and that other little thing—he was her sister’s boyfriend!

Besides all that, Mac treated Rory as he would a younger sister. He teased her, argued with her and made her laugh. So she’d caught him watching her with a brooding look on that sexy face once or twice but she wasn’t an idiot, she knew it didn’t mean anything. He’d probably wanted to talk to her about Shay, wanted advice on how to deal with her volatility. Rory never wanted to have that conversation.

A couple of nights ago, he’d given her a lift home from work and she’d been surprised when he didn’t mention Shay. Why he’d waited for Rory to finish her waitressing shift was still a mystery but sitting in his sports car, shoulder to shoulder, saying next to nothing, had been the best twenty minutes of her life.

He’d walked her to the door of her lousy apartment building—the same building that currently had no heat—and he’d stood there looking down at her. Something in his expression had heat swirling in her stomach; he’d looked like a man about to kiss a woman. But she knew that had to be her imagination working overtime. He was dating Shay, tall, slim, stunning.

But, just for a moment, she’d thought he’d wanted to kiss her, to taste her, to yank her into his arms... Rory sighed. It wasn’t possible. He was dating her sister. He was permanently off-limits; messing in Shay’s relationship was a line she would not cross. Thinking about Mac, like that, was a flight of fancy she had no right to take. Enough of that now.

Rory heard the front door open and she waited for Shay’s yell that she was home. It didn’t come, and Rory heard heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, a tread that couldn’t possibly belong to her sister. The saliva in her mouth dried up and her heart rolled; there was only one other person who had a key to Shay’s apartment

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