Forbidden on Ice - SR Grey

by Grey, S. R.

  I then double-check, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She nods. “Yes, I do. Why would you think otherwise?”

  Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I say, “It’s just that you’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”

  “I have not!” she exclaims.

  I give her a look. “Noelle.”

  “Okay, okay.” She waves her hand around. “Maybe I have had more than my usual. And true, it is hitting me a little harder. But only because I haven’t eaten much today. Still, I know what I’m doing, Blake.”

  “All right.” I blow out a breath. “But know that I can always drive you to your house and take an Uber back to mine. There’s no pressure here, okay?”

  Placing her soft hand on my forearm and gazing up at me with the most beautiful blues, she says, “Thanks. I truly appreciate that, I do. But what I really want is to go to your house with you.”

  I add, “We can just talk once we’re there,” just to prove I mean what I say about there being no pressure.

  “I know,” Noelle says, looking down.

  I suspect she’s reconsidering, but she shocks the shit out of me when she looks up and says, “I think talking is really overrated, though, Blake.”

  Holy hell, this is so on.

  It All Goes Sideways

  What am I doing?

  I can’t believe I just said talking is overrated to Blake. He’s going to think I’m desperate for sex…or desperate for him.

  Well, both are kind of true.

  But he doesn’t need to know that!

  What happened to playing it cool, Noelle?

  Yeah, right. I’ll tell you what happened—Chablis.

  I try to focus on anything but what’s about to occur. It’s hard, though, seeing as there’s no further conversation once we’re in my car and Blake’s driving us to his house.

  I guess he’s concentrating, and I’m at a loss for words.

  Good thing his house is only a short distance away. Before I know it, we’re turning into an upscale neighborhood, one full of newly built massive homes.

  “Wow,” I murmur, peering out the passenger side window.

  We drive through a labyrinth of streets, ones with names like Summer Mirage Lane and Glitter Bay Crossing.

  “I never knew there was a housing plan back here,” I go on, anxious to fill the quiet void. “And such a nice one at that.”

  “Yeah,” Blake says, “this development is pretty new. The real estate agent told me my home is the most recently constructed one. It was finally finished about two months ago.” He chuckles. “I have to say it does smell really new inside.”

  “Hmm, that’s cool.”

  I probably sound distracted, because inside I’m thinking, Blake sure must make some good money. Wonder what he does for a living.

  I could ask, but we’ve set those pesky no-work-talk parameters. Well, I did.

  I sigh.

  No personal info is just for the best.

  Slowly, we wind our way to the very back of the development, far away from the other homes, where we eventually turn into a large circular stone driveway.

  Blake pulls up to what I assume is his house and cuts the engine.

  “Holy crap,” I murmur. “Your place is enormous.”

  I hope his house isn’t the only “enormous” thing Blake has in store for me.

  It looks like I’ll be finding out soon enough, as he, still chuckling at my comment, hops out of the car and heads over to the passenger side to open my door.

  Offering his hand, he helps me out. Good thing too, as I need the assistance.

  Even with his helping hand, I almost stumble, especially when he lets go.

  “Oops.” I giggle, tottering in my heels. “I think you were right. All that Chablis has gotten to me.”

  “You think so, huh?” Blake deadpans.

  “Maybe just a little…” Squinting, I hold up my hand and pinch my fingers till there’s about an inch of space. “But only this much,” I add, giggling.

  Turning serious, Blake asks, “Are you sure you don’t want me to just take you home?”

  Is he kidding?

  And pass up a chance to experience his hot ass in bed?

  “I think not.” I scoff. “And would you quit asking me that.”

  Crap.

  Did I just say all that out loud?

  Yep, I sure did.

  Blake’s trying not to laugh.

  “Oh, stop,” I admonish.

  He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. And don’t worry, I won’t ask you again. It’s just that I really don’t want you to do something you’ll regret tomorrow, Noelle.”

  He is just too sweet!

  Patting his nice, strong forearm, I assure him, “Don’t worry, I won’t regret a thing. I’m feeling a little more with it now, anyway.”

  Blake, looking doubtful, replies, “If you say so.”

  “I do say so,” I state adamantly. “And actually…” Reaching down, I slip off one heel, then the other, before opening the car door to toss the shoes in. “It was those stupid heels tripping me up, not the Chablis. They’re not great on this kind of, uh”—I gesture down to the driveway, frowning—“interlocking stone stuff.”

  We both know that’s not true. It wasn’t the stones, or the heels, that has me stumbling.

  But we play along like it was.

  I think that’s because Blake wants me as much as I want him.

  And oh, do I want him.

  So when he says, “Shall we go in?”

  I reply, “Hell, yeah.”

  Opening one of several garage doors, he beckons for me to follow.

  You bet your ass I do.

  If I wasn’t so buzzed, I’d probably run into the house with him.

  Once we’re inside the garage, Blake turns on a light.

  And holy crap!

  More surprises.

  “Nice Porsche,” I murmur, spinning around. “And wait, what’s that other car over there? Is that a freaking Lamborghini?”

  “Yes,” Blake replies, chuckling.

  So this beautiful man owns two shiny sports cars—a red Porsche Boxster and a black Lamborghini.

  “Dude, what do you do for a living?” I blurt out, forgetting the rules.

  He just smiles over at me.

  I think about pressing—to hell with my stupid parameters—but then I’m suddenly distracted by some hockey sticks that are leaned up against the wall.

  “Do you play hockey?” I ask.

  Looking a little uncomfortable all of the sudden, Blake says, “Uh, a little.”

  I’m just so in awe that he plays at all—I mean, I freaking love hockey!—that I don’t bother to ask why he suddenly looks so constipated.

  Instead, I marvel, “That is so wild. My brother plays ‘a little’ hockey too.”

  I’m not about to tell him Noel plays for the Wolves. The times I’ve shared that tidbit with other guys, they invariably ended up wanting to meet my brother, like for an autograph, or a signed puck, or whatever.

  So yeah, no, that’s my little secret.

  Quickly changing the subject, I ask, “So, are we going into your house or not?”

  Blake chuckles. “Yes. Right this way.”

  I follow him up a step and into a mudroom. We then move on to the laundry area, eventually emerging into a long hall.

  “Do you want to head to the living room and watch some TV?” Blake inquires, motioning to where I assume that room is. “Or would you prefer a glass of water, or maybe something to eat?”

  “Blake…” I roll my eyes at him. “I think we both know why I’m here.” I take a step toward him. “And it’s not for TV… or water… or food.”

  Blowing out a breath as I close in, he murmurs, “And just what is it that you’re here for, Noelle? Refresh my memory.”

  “Funny man.” I place my hands on his solid chest and state, “This is what I’m here for.” I then start nuzzling his neck.

  But,
whoa, I have to stop. I’m a little too dizzy.

  “What’s wrong?” Blake asks.

  Despite what I told him, I am more than buzzed, and now my mind is everywhere.

  Stepping back unsteadily, I blurt out, “I have to ask you one thing, Blake. Before we go any further.”

  “Okay,” he says, releasing a breath. “Ask away.”

  I shake my head, my eyes raking up and down his body, I am in awe.

  “It’s just,” I begin, “you are so freaking buff. What is it that you do for a living? Work out?”

  “Uh…”

  Coming to my senses, I raise my hand and wave it around. “Wait. Don’t answer that. I forgot that we’re keeping this anonymous and on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

  Blake sighs. “Is that really how you want it, Noelle?”

  Yikes, is it?

  “I’m not sure,” I admit.

  Do I want to see this man again?

  He lives in Las Vegas, not in some faraway town.

  And let’s face it, he is beyond gorgeous.

  Nice too.

  It’d be a shame to hit that and run.

  But maybe that’s what he wants.

  Then why is he asking me if I want it this way?

  Or does he mean that way?

  What the hell am I even thinking?

  I’m too out of it to know what I want. My thoughts are all over the place.

  And now my head is starting to spin again—like really spin. It’s making me feel a little ill.

  Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all?

  “Can we hold up a minute?” I ask.

  Blake crosses his arms. “Yes, of course.”

  I run my hands through my hair, which dislodges my messy bun, causing all the pins to rain down onto the floor.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry.” I drop down to my knees. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. I forgot I had my hair pinned up.”

  Blake crouches down to help. “It’s okay, Noelle. There’s no need to apologize.”

  He starts picking up bobby pins with me.

  And that’s when my stomach does a flip.

  And then it does a flop.

  Uh-oh.

  For sure, I’m about to spew.

  Frantically, I cry out, “Is there a bathroom close by? Please tell me that there is.”

  Glancing up confusedly, Blake says, “Yes, but why do you need…?” He gets it then. “Oh, fuck.”

  Oh, fuck is right.

  Scrambling to my feet, I blurt out, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  A Helping Hand

  Noelle tells me she’s going to be sick, and man, I believe her.

  The girl is turning green.

  “Where is it?” she asks, her eyes darting down the hall.

  “Hold up. There’s one over here.” Standing, I stretch out my hand. “Let me help you.”

  Sounding like she’s about to cry, she sniffles. “Thanks, Blake.”

  After Noelle takes my hand, I gently lead her to a powder room that’s just down the hall.

  “I’ll wait out here, okay?” I tell her as she stumbles in.

  That’s what I’m thinking, but when I start to close the door and catch her dropping to her knees, her beautiful platinum hair tumbling all over the place, I quickly amend, “On second thought, maybe I should stay with you.”

  She groans, “Okay, all right.”

  I think she’d agree to just about anything right now.

  Pushing at her hair, she tries desperately to smooth it away from her face.

  But it keeps tumbling down, the strands dangling dangerously close to dipping into the toilet water.

  “Ugh, this is awful,” she cries out. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Hey, it’s okay.” I take a step toward her. “Hold on, I’ll help.” Crouching down beside Noelle, I gather her soft, silky locks in my hand and assure her, “I got you, okay?”

  “Thanks, Bl—”

  That’s all she gets out before she starts retching.

  As her stomach empties into the commode—mainly just Chablis, from what I can tell—she slumps against the porcelain.

  When she’s done, she swipes at her mouth, flushes the toilet, and says sadly, “I am so, so sorry. I really didn’t think I drank all that much. I mean, I know that I did, but I didn’t think it was enough to make me sick like this.”

  “Hey,” I soothe, “it happens to the best of us.” Letting go of her hair, I lean back against the wall. “We’ve all been there, Noelle. I think most everyone’s found themselves hugging the porcelain throne at one time or another.”

  She sighs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Scooting away from the toilet, she slumps back against the wall across from me. “Still,” she goes on, “it’s not supposed to happen when you go back with someone to their house with the intention of being all sexy.” Peering over at me sadly, she adds, “Guess I ruined that whole vibe, huh?”

  Doesn’t she realize, disheveled or not, she’s still beautiful?

  Quietly, I state, “I don’t think you realize how incredibly sexy you are, Noelle, ill or not.”

  “Really, Blake?” She laughs. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I’m only telling you what’s true.”

  I’m not lying. With her long, wavy hair all over the place, her skirt hiked up and askew, and her chest heaving in her sweat-damp camisole, Noelle is hotter than ever.

  Too bad she’s sick.

  The things I could be doing to her right now…

  But that’s clearly not happening.

  Sighing, I ask, “Would you like that glass of water now?”

  That gets her to smile. “Yes, I think so. And could I have a wet washcloth too?”

  “Sure.”

  I stand so I can turn on the faucet, where I also grab a small glass that sits on the edge. Filling it with cool water, I hand it over to Noelle.

  While she’s sipping slowly, I dampen a soft washrag.

  The least I can do is make her comfortable, seeing as it looks like she’ll be spending the night. Just not in my bed.

  Or maybe she will get to experience my comfy king, as I think I’ll offer it to her. I can just stay in a guest bedroom.

  I could give her one of those, considering there are four, though only the smallest is furnished at the moment. More importantly, the bed in there can’t compare to mine.

  So yeah, since I also like to live by the motto mi casa es su casa, Noelle should definitely have the best room.

  I tell her as much as I hand her the washcloth, and add, “Since you clearly can’t drive home tonight.”

  Dabbing her forehead with the wet rag, she agrees, “Yeah, you’re right. But…” She takes another sip of water. “I can’t ask you to give up your bed.”

  “You’re not asking, Noelle. I’m offering.”

  “I know. But I already feel bad enough that I’ve inconvenienced you so much.”

  Crossing my arms, I rest my ass back against the sink. “Noelle, you’re not inconveniencing me. You got sick. Like I said before, it happens, especially when you had an upset stomach earlier in the day.”

  Sighing, she acquiesces, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “No supposing, okay?” I offer her my hand. “Let me help you up. If you think you’re good, we could go into the living room and maybe talk for a while. And I promise you, the sofa’s much more comfortable than this cold, hard tile floor.”

  She chuckles. “I bet it is, Blake. I bet it is.”

  With that, for the second time tonight, she takes my hand.

  Knowing Me, Knowing You

  Blake is so sweet. He helps me into his living room, where we sit down on a nice leather sofa, he on one end and me on the other.

  I sip my water, but once it’s clear we’re hitting it off really well, and will probably be talking late into the night, Blake offers to make us some coffee and a little dry toast for my stomach.

  “That sounds really good,” I say.

/>   “Great.” He stands. “I’ll be right back, then.”

  Once Blake leaves the room, I take a better look around. The inside of the home is as impressive as the exterior. The décor is mainly a desert motif, with multiple shades of taupe. I note there’s a lot of art on the walls, art that looks to be all originals.

  Blake definitely has good taste.

  I like that.

  He’s more than just a pretty face and an amazing body.

  He’s also super nice.

  How many guys, ones you don’t even know, would hold your hair for you while you puked?

  Probably not too many.

  Blake did, and he didn’t even look all that miserable doing it.

  I smile.

  Yeah, I definitely like him.

  I’m kind of glad that we’re not going to sleep together tonight.

  Maybe I can see him again?

  We could even go out on a real date.

  “Wouldn’t that be crazy?” I mutter out loud, chuckling.

  “Wouldn’t what be crazy?” Blake asks, having just returned with two piping hot mugs of coffee and a plate of toast.

  “Oh, nothing,” I reply, waving it off.

  He hands me one of the mugs, and I blow on the contents. He sets the toast down on the coffee table.

  So that he doesn’t press the issue of what I was just referring to, I hastily add, “I was, uh, I was just thinking about something that happened at work today.”

  “I see.”

  When Blake sits down, he’s closer than before.

  Turning to me, he raises a brow. “Too bad we’re not allowed to discuss our jobs, huh?”

  “Eh.” I wave my free hand. “It doesn’t matter, not now. We’re not sleeping together now, right?”

  Blake clears his throat. “No. But you will be in my bed.”

  Holy crap, must he sound so hot while talking about, of all things, his bed?

  It makes me want him even more.

  But not after being sick.

  No, I’d rather wait and have him when I’m feeling, and looking, my best. It’s important to me that I freaking rock this man’s world when we do hook up. And to do that, I need to be 100 percent.

  “So,” Blake says, ripping me from my pervy thoughts, “what do you think, Noelle?”