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Pucked Off, an all-new emotional and sexy STANDALONE from Helena Hunting is LIVE! Enter for a chance to win the entire series personalized and signed by Helena! 

Pucked Off by Helena Hunting
Genre: Contemporary Romance

***A Standalone novel in The Pucked Series***

I’m NHL defenseman Lance Romero, AKA Lance “Romance."

I’m notorious for parties and excess. I have the most penalty minutes in the league. I get into the most fights. I take the most hits. I’m a player on and off the ice. I’m the one women with no inhibitions want.

Not because I like the notoriety, but because I don’t know how to be any other way.

I have secrets. Ones I shared with the wrong person, and she used them against me. Sometimes she still does. I should cut ties. But she makes it difficult, because she’s the kind of bad I deserve.

At least that’s what I believed until someone from my past gets caught up in my present. She’s all the good things in this world. She lights up my dark.

I shouldn’t want her.

But I do.

I should leave her alone.

But I won’t. 

Excerpt:

Armed with my clipboard, I walk down the hall to the waiting room. Lance is impossible to miss. Despite the fact that he’s wearing a sweatshirt and the hood is covering half of his face, he’s more than six feet of broad, hockey-playing man. 

He’s so wide his shoulders encroach on the chairs on either side, which would explain why no one is sitting next to him. He’s slouched down so his head rests on the back of the chair, and his hands are clasped in his lap, a baseball cap hanging off one knee. His lips, plush and soft—I know since I’ve had them on mine; it might have been a decade ago, but I remember it clearly—are parted. He looks like he’s asleep.

I clear my throat. “Lance Romero?” 

He doesn’t move.

Bernadette, the receptionist, gives me a meaningful look.

I clear my throat again and call his name a second time. He jolts awake and the hood falls back, exposing his face. It’s not in good shape. He has a black eye and bruises on his left cheek. There’s a fly bandage across one eyebrow.

Sadly, he’s still hot.

He blinks a few times, yawns, and smacks his lips, his tongue touching the split in the bottom one. His gaze sweeps the room and finally lands on me. Heat explodes in my cheeks and courses through my limbs, warming me from the inside out as he starts at my sneaker-clad feet and roams up over my yoga pants to my company-issued T-shirt before stopping at my face. I can’t look directly at him for more than a couple of seconds. I sincerely hope he doesn’t remember me. I cannot go there and also be professional. 

I’m sure the smile he gives me has melted many a panty off a slutty bunny. Mine stay right where they’re supposed to, wedged up my ass.

I force a polite, professional veneer. “I’m ready for you now.”

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Add to Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2i91aXl 

About the Author:

NYT and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena:
Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5
Facebook Fan group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/385795934890523/
Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/

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***A Standalone novel in The Pucked Series***

I’m NHL defenseman Lance Romero, AKA Lance “Romance."

I’m notorious for parties and excess. I have the most penalty minutes in the league. I get into the most fights. I take the most hits. I’m a player on and off the ice. I’m the one women with no inhibitions want.

Not because I like the notoriety, but because I don’t know how to be any other way.

I have secrets. Ones I shared with the wrong person, and she used them against me. Sometimes she still does. I should cut ties. But she makes it difficult, because she’s the kind of bad I deserve.

At least that’s what I believed until someone from my past gets caught up in my present. She’s all the good things in this world. She lights up my dark.

I shouldn’t want her.

But I do.

I should leave her alone.

But I won’t. 

Excerpt: 

Lance is sitting in the exact same place he was earlier today. He’s wearing a pair of jeans now instead of sweats, and a T-shirt with his team logo instead of a hoodie. His hair looks like his hand has been in it. He proves my theory correct when he looks up from his lap and runs his fingers through it again. No man should have the right to look this good, especially as beat up as he is. 

“Hi.” Wow, my brain is on point right now. 

“Hey.” His knee bobs a couple of times. 

“Holy Jesus,” says Debbie. She grabs my arm and does this swoony thing, falling into me for a second before she pushes away and flaps her hands in front of her face. “Oh my God! You’re Lance Romero! You play for Chicago!” 

I suddenly feel far less ridiculous about my reaction to this man.  

She takes three steps toward him and then two steps back. “I’m so sorry. I just—can I please have your autograph? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t be this close to you and not ask.” The whole time she talks, her hands are flapping. She looks to me. “That’s Lance Romero. I’m in love with him.” I think she means to whisper the last part, but she doesn’t. 

The side of his mouth quirks up. “I’d be happy to sign anything ya want.” That hint of Scot drops. 

Once she’s done fawning over him, and talking to him about how much of a team player he is, and blah, blah, blah, she thanks him half a dozen more times for being so nice.  

As soon as she’s gone, Lance exhales a deep breath and taps on the counter. And I’m alone with him, again. For the second time today.   

“I’m so sorry, and thank you. You really didn’t need to do that, but I’m pretty sure you made her entire year.” 

“It’s cool. I’m used to it.” More desk tapping. 

I try not to fidget or touch too many of Bernadette’s things. “I’m sure you are.” 

“I didn’t mean for that to sound cocky.” 

“It doesn’t. I assume you’re here about your phone?” 

“Aye. The receptionist lady said you had it.” 

“Yes, I meant to leave it with her, but I forgot.” The lie feels thick on my tongue. Despite the awkwardness of this entire situation, I still wanted to be the one to give it back. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” 

“I would’ve waited to see you either way, so it doesn’t really matter.” The last part comes out heavily accented, sounding more like It does nae reee-lly mah-ter. 

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say to that. I don’t understand why he’d wait to see me, unless he wanted to make sure I didn’t jailbreak his phone. 

He looks down and smoothes his hand across the counter. His knuckles look sore, and his nails are bitten to the quick, a bad habit I used to share, but have worked hard to curb. There’s nothing quite like wearing your worry on your hands for everyone to see. He makes a fist when he notices me looking and drops his hands to his sides. 

When he doesn’t say anything else, I shut down the computer and push up from the chair. “Well, I’ll just go get your phone for you.” 

I beeline for my massage room and try not to freak out on the way there. His phone sits where I left it: on top of my pile of towels, where I could see every message come in while I massaged my other clients.  

Lance is standing in the same place when I return with his phone. He has thirty-seven new messages, six missed calls, and two voicemails from DO NOT FUCKING REPLY. I only know because the tally appears every time the phone lights up again. 

I pass it over to him. “You missed a lot of calls.” 

At the quirk of his brow, I rush to explain. “I wasn’t snooping. It just went off a lot.” 

The phone buzzes again. His grin drops and his eyes go wide as he scans the screen and does some scrolling.  

“Fuckin’ell.” He jams the device in his pocket and shakes his head. “I, uh—thanks for holding on to my phone for me.” 

“Of course.” I’m anxious now. His proximity does things to me that I don’t know how to handle. And he’s staring. “Did you forget anything else?” 

“You.” 

I blink a couple of times, certain I’m misunderstanding. My heart does this stupid fluttery thing. “I’m sorry. Pardon?” 

Lance shakes his head. “My teammate Miller says I know you, but I don’t remember, and I should.” 

“I don’t—” 

“I should remember someone as beautiful as you.” It sounds very much like a line, but he taps the desk again. He’s agitated, his frustration obvious. “I want to remember you.” 

Preorder Today! 

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2iWXrAJ
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/zs5ltao
Amazon CA: http://tinyurl.com/znznqfc
Amazon AU: http://tinyurl.com/hboua56
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/jpcq5fy
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/jrpnnuk
Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/jx62v3a 

Add to Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2i91aXl 

About the Author:

NYT and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena:

Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5
Facebook Fan group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/385795934890523/
Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/

Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena's mailing list:
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Pucked Off, an all-new STANDALONE from Helena Hunting is coming February 21st!

Pucked Off by Helena Hunting
Publication Date: February 21^st, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance

***A Standalone novel in The Pucked Series***

I’m NHL defenseman Lance Romero, AKA Lance “Romance."

I’m notorious for parties and excess. I have the most penalty minutes in the league. I get into the most fights. I take the most hits. I’m a player on and off the ice. I’m the one women with no inhibitions want.

Not because I like the notoriety, but because I don’t know how to be any other way.

I have secrets. Ones I shared with the wrong person, and she used them against me. Sometimes she still does. I should cut ties. But she makes it difficult, because she’s the kind of bad I deserve.

At least that’s what I believed until someone from my past gets caught up in my present. She’s all the good things in this world. She lights up my dark.

I shouldn’t want her.

But I do.

I should leave her alone.

But I won’t. 

Excerpt: 

I’ve agreed to go out with Lance. On a date. Two actually. I don’t even know what to think. I grab my purse and slip into my jacket. As fall settles in and the temperature drops, layers are becoming necessary.

When I return, Lance is standing at the desk, checking his phone. He’s smiling.

“Ready to go,” I say.

He hits a couple of buttons, pockets his phone, and turns that grin on me. “Cool.”

I lock up the clinic, and Lance walks me across the lot. This time he doesn’t leave the usual space between us, and the back of his hand grazes my hip.

I’m nervous when we reach my car. His Hummer is parked right behind my Mini this time. I adjust the strap of my purse and look up at him. Strangely, he looks as nervous as me.

He scans my face and takes a small step closer. I can see his hand lifting in my peripheral vision. My hair is in a ponytail, which is sitting on my shoulder. He fingers the end of it.

“Why do I always want to pull this?”

I don’t have the opportunity to answer, because he drops his head and his lips skim my cheek.

“I want to kiss you.”

“You just did,” I whisper.

“I want do it again, but here.” His thumb touches my bottom lip.

“Oh.”

He’s so close. His lips almost touching mine as he asks, “Can I do that?”

“Yes, please.”

His lids grow heavy, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. Lance strokes my cheek and rests his palm on the side of my neck. The other hand skims the length of my arm until he reaches my fingertips.

He leans back a little, and for a second I think it’s over before it’s even begun, but he takes my hand in his. Uncurling my fingers, he lifts it and presses my palm against his cheek. A full-body tremor runs through him, and his eyes drift closed. He turns his head toward my palm, and I smooth my thumb along the contour of his bottom lip. A deep sound comes from the back of his throat, making my skin prickle and heat blossom in my belly.

When he opens his eyes again, the fire in them matches the heat flooding my entire body. “Can you keep yer hand right here?”

“If you want me to, yes.”

“I definitely do.”

He leans in and brushes his lips over mine again. It’s soft and warm. The next time he takes my bottom lip between his, he releases it slowly, and then does the same with the top one. When his tongue flicks out, I might whimper. Light fingers cup my head, and I tilt it back farther.

I part my lips, and his tongue sweeps my mouth. His groan is low, sending a shiver down my spine. He drops the hand that’s keeping mine pressed against his cheek. His arm winds around my waist, and he pulls me in tight against him.

I expect the kiss to grow in intensity. It doesn’t, though I can feel the heat building inside me. That feeling I’ve been searching for all these years is finally back.

  Preorder Today! 

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2kMtv8n

Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/2kMkCM9
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/zs5ltao
Amazon CA: http://tinyurl.com/znznqfc
Amazon AU: http://tinyurl.com/hboua56
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/jpcq5fy
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/jrpnnuk
Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/jx62v3a 

Add to Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2i91aXl 

About the Author:

NYT and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena:

Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5
Facebook Fan group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/385795934890523/
Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/

Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena's mailing list:
https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/f4p1t7