by G. K. Brady
“You seemed to enjoy being mobbed by munchkins,” she posed.
“The kids make it fun. I love seeing their faces light up when you talk to them about hockey. They absolutely love the game.”
“Almost as much as they love you.”
He yanked off a boot. “Nah. To them, I am the game. If I were on the street in regular clothes and they didn’t recognize me—or their parents didn’t recognize me—they wouldn’t look at me twice. But the connection, that’s all about hockey.”
“I think you’re being humble. You’re underestimating your impact.”
He glanced at her as he pulled off the second skate. “On them? I beg to differ. Hopefully I’m underestimating my impact on you, though.” His boyish grin widened, and a sudden shyness overcame her even as tingles raced along her spine and her limbs.
“You’ll make a good dad,” she blurted out in her fluster. “If you want to be a dad someday. Do you? Want to be a dad?” A flush shot up her neck, engulfing her face. How had the errant thought slipped in and taken control of her mouth? She needed to keep a tighter lid on her musings before they pulled her too far out on a branch that could break under her hopeful weight.
Putting the skates aside, he bent over and pulled on hiking shoes he began lacing. When he looked up at her, a frown had replaced the grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it much.”
“Right. When you don’t believe happily-ever-after is in your future, it’s probably hard to imagine parenthood in the mix.”
“Not necessarily. Lots of people have kids together without love being part of the equation. My parents are a great example.” The words came out as though they left a bitter taste in his mouth, and a pang stabbed her heart. Before she had time to cobble together a soothing speech, his sunny smile made a sudden reappearance. “C’mon, Curly. Let’s get out of here before my pint-sized fan club mobs me again.”
She let out a relieved laugh. “All those knee-biters hanging on your legs could be dangerous for your health.”
As they stood, he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Hungry? Want to grab a bite somewhere?” He nudged her toward the entrance of the facility.
She smirked up at him. “Is that wise? Don’t you get mobbed in restaurants too?” An image of pretty women lining up for “autographs” flashed in her brain. Did he like that kind of attention? Weeks ago, she’d have answered her own question in the affirmative. But now that she’d had a peek behind the celebrity façade? The answer was much murkier, and she found herself thirsty to learn more about this man walking her toward his SUV.
A sigh escaped him. “Yeah, sometimes eating out can be a pain in the ass.”
“You could always cook for me.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
His smile dropped. “Not at my place.”
Oh shoot. The Ferguson factor? “Um, okay. My place, then? I don’t have much food, though.”
Whatever cloud had come over him quickly vanished, and a laugh rumbled through his chest. “No, you certainly don’t.”
“Wait. How do you know?”
“Because when you opened your fridge last night, I only saw clear shelves. No wonder you’re so skinny.”
She stopped mid-walk to gape at him. “Skinny? Me?”
He reached the passenger side and opened the door. “Not skinny in all the right places.” His voice came out low and husky, like a man with sex on the brain. As if to back up his words, he made a slow, assessing sweep of her body, heating her skin wherever his gaze landed. It lingered for several beats on her chest, as if he could see through her jacket, her sweater, her bra, to her bare breasts. As if he were fondling them right there in the parking lot with his eyes. Her mind zoomed back to his mouth and fingers on them, manipulating them the way she’d shown him she liked. Her nipples perked right the hell up.
The spell was suspended when she took a step forward. As he helped her into her seat, she murmured, “A boob man if I ever saw one.” How many other boobs had he admired?
He leaned in, his face so close his warm breath fell on her mouth. His light green eyes were dusky and glazed as they took in her face, her mouth. Her lips parted on instinct, inviting him to kiss her. Instead of granting her wish, he whispered back, “Never was a boob man before. And just for the record, with you I’m also an ass man and a leg man. Pretty much an any-part-that-belongs-to-M man.”
Then he kissed her, taking his time, playing and probing and plunging, exquisitely torturing her by touching her with only his lips and tongue. Wanting all of him in contact with all of her, she grasped his biceps and arched her back, pulling him to her, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he pulled away and gave her a cocky grin. “Is that your way of saying I passed the kissing class, teach?”
She blinked, unable to form a coherent thought. He’d left her speechless, breathless, and unsure of her own name. And she loved it.
Damn. I am in so much pucking trouble.
Chapter 21
Zigging Instead of Zagging
After the fun at the rink, they had returned to M’s place, where Blake had made himself at home.
“How did you end up in this place again?” he called out to her as he perused shelves of law books in the hallway built-ins outside her office door.
“Paige Miller arranged it,” she sang from the kitchen, where she was putting away the leftovers from their Thai takeout. Normally, he didn’t leave any food, but he’d ordered extra tonight. All part of his diabolical plan where he’d convince her to let him stay over, in which case there’d be something to eat if hunger struck him in the middle of the night. “She has a client on a six-month assignment in Australia, and I’m covering his HOA dues and utilities in exchange for staying here.”
Stuffing his hands in his front pockets, he sauntered toward her. “Where do you go when he comes back?”
Wiping her hands on a towel, she shot him an impish grin and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe by then, she’ll have another uber-rich client whose place I can house-sit for a while.”
“Seriously? You’re okay with moving from place to place?”
“I don’t know. This is my first time doing it. So far, it’s worked out well.” She patted his pec.
He trapped M’s hand against his chest, reeled her in, and encircled her in his arms. “Can’t argue with that. Thank you, Paige Miller.” The move soothed a burgeoning need to have his hands on her, though it didn’t go far enough. He’d been hungry for her touch all day, chasing it like a fox chasing a rabbit.
Tilting her head, she slid her hands to his shoulders, her eyes twinkling like starlight. “Did you want something from me?”
He drew in a hissing breath and tightened his hold. “Now that’s a loaded question.” I want everything.
She tapped his bottom lip with her forefinger. “Maybe you were looking for more kissing lessons?” He tried to bite her finger or suck it into his mouth, but she was too quick and pulled it away with a laugh. Then it was back, smoothing his lower lip in a way that made his dick twitch. “Or maybe you’re looking for some other kind of lesson?” Her voice was soft and smoky, like aged whiskey, and she arched an eyebrow.
“Anything you want to teach me, Curly, I’m willing to learn.” He dropped his head to the spot where her neck met her shoulder and sucked so she wouldn’t see his tongue lolling as though he were an eager dog.
She canted her head to give him better access. “Bet you say that to all the girls,” she murmured.
The thought of kissing someone besides her popped into his head, leaving him a little tepid. His head whipped up, and he looked her square in the eye. “No, I don’t.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, and she flinched in his arms. I’ve never acted this way with anyone else. You’re special, M, and I’m not sure what to do about it. She was coaxing emotions from him he hadn’t processed and didn’t understand. The pace at which this thing between them was moving spun his head, but the feel of her body pressed ag
ainst his distracted him, flinging his apprehension into a remote corner of his brain.
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—”
“Then kiss me, woman. Show me what you got.” He pushed a curl behind her ear.
A giggle-snort escaped her. “I thought that was my line? And I also thought I’d already shown you everything I’ve got?”
“Mm-hmm, but it was dark, and I didn’t get a good look.” A total lie. “I’ll need to see it again. All of it. In the light.” When had he become so damn bold? She brought it out in him, for better or worse, and he liked it. Liked how complete he felt with her, as though some missing piece of himself had been returned and woven back into his psyche. Is this how his dad had felt when he’d met his mom?
Shit! Where did that come from?
Her hands curled into his T-shirt. “All of it?” she teased, pulling him back to the present.
He nodded, but his mind zigged when it should have zagged. As he stared into the depths of M’s eyes, he contemplated whether this thing between them would turn into something more—he wanted it to—and if it did, whether it would endure. He wanted that too. His words about his parents’ relationship floated back to him. “How does something so good go so wrong?”
M’s expression transformed from seductive to concerned, her eyebrows knotting. “Hey, big guy, where did you go?” She brushed her soft fingers over his jaw.
He straightened and loosened his grip on her. “Nowhere. Just zoned out for a sec.”
Something unreadable flashed in her eyes. “You’re probably tired from last night.” Her fingers continued their gentle caress, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Why don’t we relax and watch a movie?”
He snapped his eyes open. “Yeah, okay.” Maybe a movie would hold his heart-constricting brain-churn at bay. With any luck, he’d drift off in her arms.
They sat on her red couch, and she fiddled with the remote. “My parents did pizza and movie night every Friday, and the three of us would curl up on the couch together,” she said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark was one of their favorites.”
“Sounds nice,” he offered. Wonder what growing up like that would have been like?
“I haven’t seen any of the other ones, though. Isn’t the second one Temple of Doom?”
“Yeah, but it’s terrible. The chick screams the entire time, like this one scene where they’re in some palace and they serve her monkey brains.” At odds with the subject, his stomach began to uncoil.
“Ew! Well, we’re not watching that one, then.” She clicked some more.
He dropped his head against the top of the couch and rolled it toward her. Her face was scrunched up, her tongue poking out at the TV. She looked ridiculous and adorable, and his emotions climbed a roller coaster. A laugh burst from him, and he couldn’t stop. Dipping one eyebrow, she gave him a look that telegraphed she thought he was nuts. Her expression shifted, and she joined him, laughing along with him. Every time they got their laughter under control, one shared look sent them into hysterics … over absolutely nothing. Jesus, it felt good! Being with her felt good, he mused as he wiped tears from his cheeks.
They settled in to watch Vertigo, but Blake barely paid the suspenseful film any mind because his attention was riveted to M. She was all heart, sunshine, and flowers, bringing lightness into his rain-cloud-covered life. If a few days was all he could get from her, he was richer for it, but God, he longed to turn a few days into weeks … months … years.
Awestruck, he stole glances at her while her focus was glued to the screen. A good and bad thing. Good because he could fill his inner photo album with her upturned nose, her pinked cheekbones, her perfect peachy skin without her thinking he was a creeper. Bad because … well, her attention wasn’t on him. Which was where he wanted it to be, he realized.
He lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch. Her sweater had slipped from her un-inked shoulder, and his fingers inched toward it. It was sprinkled lightly with freckles he wanted to count. If he connected the dots, what picture would emerge? His fingers stretched involuntarily.
“Oh my God, did you see that?” She turned, and he jerked his hand away like a kid caught sneaking a nip of Grandma’s bourbon. Her eyes skated to his hand, and he patted the back of the couch a little too vigorously. The casualness he feigned was nothing close to the vibe rolling off of him in waves. Jesus! What was the matter with him?
He knew exactly what was the matter with him. M made his mind race in all directions until those directions got all twisted up and he had no idea whether he was coming or going. She tied his tongue. Knotted his insides. Gave him whiplash. Made him uncomfortably hot. Filled his eyes with stardust. She was so far out of his class she may as well have been in college and he in kindergarten. They may have been the same age, but this girl—this woman—was light years beyond his dumbass jock self.
But he was damned if he’d let that stop him from trying to win her.
She turned toward him. “You’re not watching the movie, are you?”
He shook his head.
“Should I find something else?”
“It doesn’t matter what you put on. I’m too busy watching you.” Oh, smooth! Now she has no doubt what a numbnut you are. He wasn’t good at lines and hadn’t meant it that way in the first place—it was simply a slice of unadorned truth. But something flared in her pretty eyes, and soon she was tucked against him, kissing his neck, shooting chills along his scalp and down his spine, her small fingers roaming over his chest, snaking under his T-shirt, outlining his abs while he fought the gasps rising in his throat from her light, ticklish touch. Then those fingers went to work on his belt, the button on his jeans, his fly, slipping nimbly beneath his boxers. When she took him in hand, he couldn’t hold back that gasp.
He dropped his head back on the couch with a strangled sigh. A smile tugged at his mouth. Yeah, the only vertigo happening is right here on this couch. Bring it, Curly.
And she did.
Even his pinging phone and clouded conscience couldn’t pull him away from M’s expert hands on him and her even wickeder mouth. He shoved the question of how she acquired those skills to the back porch of his mind, letting himself get carried away in the sensations.
When he woke the next morning, he was curled around her small form, his chest to her back, his knees tucked behind hers, her bare, silky skin caressing his with each slow breath moving through her. Her furnace heat wasn’t blasting him today. Nuzzling her hair, he pulled in the scent of soap and flowers and her, and his cock swelled. They’d gone at it pretty good last night, but he found himself wanting more—from her, with her—despite a gratifyingly deep ache in a few muscles that had gotten one hell of a workout.
Jesus! It was probably a good thing he was leaving on a road trip this afternoon. One part of him registered relief to escape the dizzying emotions being close to her stirred up, but the other part missed her already. Not merely her hot little body, but her sharp mind and her twinkling smile. How easily she laughed at his stupid jokes and even stupider trivia. How she saw into the heart of a thing or a person. Her warmth, her kindness. Her ability to live life out loud. He admired all of it. Craved all of it for himself. Was he good enough for her, though? Would she leave him with a wrecked heart that would never heal? What if he fell hard, like some guys he knew who weren’t only whipped but lost their minds and their game? What if he lost himself to the mercy of a woman like his father had? Ultimately, his father hadn’t been good enough for his mother.
The realization sent a shiver rippling through his body.
Don’t end up like Dad.
Maybe if he didn’t get too close … Trouble was that train had already left the station, a fact made abundantly clear when M sighed in his arms and nestled a little closer. God, she felt good. He could die like this and have no regrets. She was the polar opposite of his mother, he assured himself. Right now, his biggest regret was that he had to leave her bed. Wanting his fill before the
inevitable, he rolled her onto her back, interlaced his fingers with hers, and stretched her arms above her head. Eyes closed, a sleepy smile twitching her lips, she arched her warm body into him, purring, “Good morning, handsome.”
It was a good morning now.
Chapter 22
Mystery Woman
“Where the hell were you? And why the hell don’t you answer your phone?”
“Jesus, Ferguson, you sound like my wife—if I had one. Only she’d be a whole hell of a lot prettier and way more fuckable,” Blake snapped as he dropped his packed duffel by the door. Ferguson had blown up his phone when Blake had been burning up the sheets with M, asking where he was and if they were riding to the arena together. By the time Blake saw the messages, it was time to leave M’s scorched bed and traipse the few feet to his own place.
“So what the hell kept you so fucking busy?” Ferguson grumbled as they headed out the door.
Blake shrugged. “Little of this, little of that.”
In the hallway, his eyes strayed to M’s front door, and he pictured her where he’d left her, dozing in bed on her stomach, naked except for a swath of ivory sheet covering most of her butt. The image wasn’t one he’d have to carry in his head, he thought to himself sheepishly. Not when he’d captured it in his phone.
Call him dishonorable, call him a perv, but he wanted to take beautifully bare M with him on this extended road trip. Besides, no one else would ever see it.
When he and Fergs climbed into Blake’s Range Rover, what used to be a comfortable ride to the arena was suddenly awkward as hell. Fifteen minutes seemed to triple in the charged silence.
Ferguson stared out the window as Blake pulled into the players’ parking lot. “If it makes you feel any better, Tracy and I are done.”
