Serena exhales, yanking me from the shit-ton of guilt that weighs me down because I didn’t take his call, prolonging the inevitable.
“What are you thinking?” I’m almost afraid to hear her answer, fearful that I scared her off by getting too personal and revealing too much of myself.
“That’s a dangerous question. You never know what you’ll get when you ask me what I’m thinking. In this instance, I’m thinking that money is a magnet. It’s hard to know who wants you for you, and who just wants a piece of you.” There’s no judgment in her tone. Just understanding. From a woman who went to prep school.
“You know a lot about that?” I rest my chin on her soft curls.
“Not as much as you, I suspect. You’re center stage. Or center rink, I suppose. Though you are photographed a lot off the rink. Everywhere, really.”
She’s done her research since we last saw each other. It’s in her voice. She knows about the public me, the models, the gossip. “It’s not real. None of what you researched is real.”
Serena sits straight up, rounding on me, and I immediately miss the way her body melds with mine. The sudden emptiness is like a shock to my system. It all but winds me as she stares into my eyes, silver flecks highlighting her baby blues.
“Why do you think I came here tonight?” Her question lingers. There’s something in her intense gaze that keeps me silent. Waiting for her to continue. “It wasn’t the promise of dinner, or a night with a hockey god. It was the promise of you, or at least the hope that I would get to know the real you. I Googled the address and saw where you were taking me, though I didn’t peek at the interior pictures. I wanted that to be a surprise. With you. I’m here for the real you.”
“Sounds like you’ve learned a lot about me already.” If I sound a little bit terrified, it’s because I am. Sure, I’m fearless when it comes to hockey, but when it comes to this woman, I am completely discombobulated. She knows too much about me and I know next to nothing about her. Short of her website and sparse social media posts, which is next to nothing.
She grins, her expression thoughtful and sweet. How she can pull off drop-dead-sexy and sweet at the same time remains a mystery to me. Still, her tender grin puts me at ease. “I know that you own this rink and a gym next door. A soon-to-be franchise. That tells me you’re a businessman. You’re preparing for the future. A future without hockey.”
“Why is there so little about you on the Web?” My complete change of subject seems to amuse Serena. Her dimples deepen and she arches a honey-colored brow, like she’s got a secret. “Ah! It’s deliberate, isn’t it?”
Tilting her head to the side, Serena purses her lips. “Are you psychic?”
No, but I seem to understand her. Or at least I’m starting to. I wait. She’ll explain. I know she will. I guess I do understand her after all.
Kicking off her heels, she buries her feet beneath the blanket. “I’m just a girl who didn’t belong in the social circle my parents dominated. I could always stand to lose a few pounds, never dated the right guy, and had few friends. But they were good friends. Solid friends.”
“Becca?”
Nodding, Serena adds, “And my brother-in-law, Charlie. I met him long before he married my older brother, Lucas.”
She pauses, like it’s a test. My nonreaction seems to be the answer she’s waiting for.
“My parents aren’t happy about Lucas and Charlie. It’s part of who my parents are, yet try as I might to accept their views, they’re cruel and disapproving. Too much so. I can’t condone how hurtful they are.” She glances at the rink. “Your world, your rink…it’s real. My world is fake. I grew up with money, but my business is all I have. Well, I’ve got a trust but with strings attached from my father, so I don’t touch it. Instead I took a loan from my grandmother to start my business. It’s still a loan. I have such a small footprint on the Web because I want my business to speak for itself. Not because of my parents or their social circle.”
She walked away from a shitload of money on principle; I’m not sure I could do that. “You are out of my league.”
“Then why do I feel so far out of yours?” Her response is swift, questioning, and stuns me.
Damned if I know. We’re opposites, yet I feel like we connect in a way that I can’t explain. Christ, she confuses me. My life is about balance, about control. Me on the ice. Me on my own. I can’t control the rumors, but I control everything else. What I wear, what I drive, what I own, where I live. When I give cash to my dad. When I decide to answer or reject his calls. So why do I feel out of control when Serena’s around?
“You promised me dinner.” Her change of topic is a welcome distraction from my crazy thoughts. I don’t want to go where my mind is leading me, so I let her take over. “I’m starving. Feed me.”
We eat with chopsticks, and Serena has this habit of taking bites from my container. It’s funny, makes me laugh, yet is strangely intimate. I need to keep reminding myself to shut my mind off, enjoy this dinner, enjoy her. No overthinking. Learn more about her.
“You took a loan from your grandmother, not your dad.” I chew my egg foo yung while Serena places her sushi down and reaches for the glass of wine I poured with dinner.
Taking a sip, she holds the stem. “White wine and bottled water. I thought you weren’t listening to me last night.”
“Are you stalling?”
“Me? Never. The truth is that everything from my father comes with strings, and I refuse to be his puppet. My grandmother, on the other hand, is a Southern no-holds-barred spitfire who would make even you blush.” Serena winks at me and I feel warmer. I feel like I’m special and I could easily lose myself in the moment with that wink, that grin, those dimples.
I brush a curl behind her ear. My thumb gently caresses her cheek and she quivers. Though it’s a subtle response, it sends my senses reeling. I like the fact that my touch causes her body to respond in such involuntary ways.
“Locker-room talk is nothing compared to a piss-and-vinegar dame like Savannah Ellis.” Though teasing, her husky tone is laced with something I can’t put my finger on. I think of Serena’s description of her grandmother.
“You take after her, then?” It’s a guess. A good one. I’ve never known anyone as sassy as Serena.
Her eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief in the shadows. “You have no idea.”
“Tell me.” I put my container down. “You have no choice now.”
She smiles. It’s a wait until I tell you smile. It’s also hypnotic. She’s hypnotic, speaking with her hands, explaining how she was the first person her brother came out to.
“Our parents were never tolerant. Them uninviting Lucas to Thanksgiving was the worst mistake they ever made.” She sips her wine and places it on the bench in front of us. “That Thanksgiving was one they will never forget. It involved me and my grandmother, a huge fight with my parents, and ended up with me tossing the turkey across the dining room.”
I choke on my bottled water. “Seriously?”
“Yep. I threw it straight across their all-white dining room with lots of expensive crystal. The turkey annihilated an antique vase. My parents were mortified. Not my grandmother, though…she was proud of me. My grandmother has always been proud of me.”
“Bet your parents got the point. Don’t mess with Serena Ellis or those she loves.” I shoot her a wry grin.
“You have been warned,” she teases in that raspy tone that makes me forget everything but her. “You terrified yet?”
Flattening my palms against her waist, I hook my thumbs through her belt loop and tug her toward me. “Of you? Never.”
Serena leans forward, then traces my lips with her tongue. I quickly grant her access to explore my mouth and she does so with an urgent need.
It matches my own.
I can’t get enough of this woman. My h
ands rove under her sweater and T-shirt, to her silky bare skin. Her kisses become more seductive, more prolonged, while she undulates on top of me. This is when I realize I am not wearing any underwear and my erection is rock hard for her. Shit, what must she think of me? Probably that I’m a Neanderthal with no class, out of her depth in more ways than I can count. She’d be right, of course. I wouldn’t blame her for bolting. Just when I’m sure she’s going to, she nips my lower lip with her teeth. It’s gentle and sends a current through my spine.
“I like the effect I have on you.” Her voice is coy, as she runs her fingernails through my beard. It’s sensual, it’s electrifying, it’s making me harder for her. “Yeah. I like what I do to you.”
So do I. So much so that it is becoming painful.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Struggling to form any words whatsoever, all I can imagine are her nails clawing my back as I fuck her long and hard. “That kiss was both of us.” I’ll take some credit, but she is solely responsible for the blood rushing to my cock.
Serena nudges my nose with hers. “Thanks for inviting me here…for entrusting me with something so personal.”
Trust doesn’t come easy to me. Not at all. Not in business, family, or relationships. For the first time, I realize the severity of my situation. I don’t just trust Serena Ellis. I’m desperate for her to trust me. Because I want her.
The alpha male in me is like a drill sergeant barking that I have to fuck her so hard, so long, so rough that she won’t want anyone else ever again. Other than that, I got nothing. No plan. Not yet. But, I have to think quick. Because as sure as her skin is supple, her lips are soft, and her body is made for me, I know that she’s going home soon. To her real life. One I’m not a part of. “I want you so much that this is killing me.”
She kisses my neck, trailing her tongue down to my collarbone, then back up to my earlobe. “You wanted to take this slow. Earn my trust.”
Shit. “I’m an idiot.”
Straddling me, Serena’s lips linger above mine between kisses. She’s teasing me, deliberately prolonging every kiss until she nips my upper lip with her teeth. Then she explores my mouth with her tongue. She tastes like white wine. For the first time, I want to down the whole damn bottle. I want her—all of her.
Running my fingers through her curls, I grab tight and invade her mouth. She strokes my tongue with hers as she grinds against me. Erotic. Hotter than hell. She ignites my need for her, my hunger for her. And she knows it, stoking the flames until I feel like I will combust.
Tearing her mouth from mine, she remains inches from me, her breathing labored. “What are you thinking?” Serena asks in a hushed whisper, gazing at me with hooded eyes.
The shorter answer would be to what am I not thinking? “How long have we got?”
“How long do you need?” She wipes my lips with her manicured thumb, then licks it. She’s doing this on purpose. The naughty grin on her upturned lips tells me so. As does the way she shifts her weight, just enough, until I groan. “What’s wrong, Christian? Do you want me to get down?”
Her sex kitten pout is too much for me to bear. I thrust forward, penetrating her pursed lips with my tongue. Judging from her stifled giggle, this is just what she wanted. Raw, hungry, our teeth scrape and she bites my tongue. No matter how demanding I make this kiss, she matches me.
I’ve lost control. First with my team. Now with my personal life. Where the hell does a guy from the Michigan sticks fit into Serena Ellis’s life? Little did I know that walking into a 7-Eleven gas-station convenience store and a local bar could change so much in such a short period of time.
Serena wraps her arms around my neck and I inhale. Her perfume is this Asian floral mix. Different from last night. I may like this more. It makes my heart race and my adrenaline spike.
Sighing against my ear, her warm breath fans my earlobe as she asks, “What’s your next move, Christian? Do you still want to take it slow?”
“That depends. Do you trust me?” It’s my challenge to her. Even as she’s shifting against my rock-hard cock again. Even as I adjust, to where she can feel my erection best.
She nips my earlobe with her teeth. “Invite me to your place tomorrow night and let’s find out.”
“It’s a date.” Date sounds so natural with her. But, let’s be real. “Socialites like you don’t date guys like me.”
“Oh please…as you now know, I’m not your average socialite. Can you handle that?”
“Can you accept that I’m a jock?” I offer her a grin, but I’m hiding my nerves. I’m worried that she can’t or won’t.
Serena plants another kiss on my lips, soft and full of meaning. I hold her in a sturdy embrace, tracing lazy circles on her back until my pulse slows, until I feel centered again.
“You’re not the average jock,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t want you if you were. I’ve seen what they’re like.” Her remarks permeate the haze of lust between us, but I decide not to pry. Not yet. The rush that I normally thrive on now scares me to death, and I don’t know why. I’ve got no fucking clue. Serena seems to sense this, squeezing my hand. That’s all it takes to make my heart rate return to a normal pace.
“You can’t invite me to a rink without skating. You know that, right?” She stands, surveying the rink. “You’ve got to have skates for me.”
I laugh. “Yeah. But they’re not designer.”
“Even better.” She kisses my cheek. It’s such a subtle intimacy, yet one that holds such a huge significance. Because it’s natural. Something that happens in a relationship.
Relationship. Another word I don’t use lightly. Shit is getting real, fast. And, oddly enough, I feel like I’m ready for that. It’s liberating. It’s invigorating.
“So, Prince Charming, find me a pair of skates already and let’s go.” She’s joking, and it makes me push the rest aside. All of the overanalyzing, the fear of the unknown, is gone as I take her hand and lead her down to the rink.
“I got you, Cinderella.”
By the time we lace up, Serena is giddy. “My grandfather used to take us to Rockefeller Center every winter. I loved it. Some of my happiest childhood memories are with him on that rink.”
Funny how the ice holds such different memories for us. I hold her hand and we line up at the ice.
“Fair warning: I’m a little rusty. And a klutz.” She places her toe on the ice. “I do remember toe picks, though—holy shit! Yours don’t have toe picks. How the hell do you stop?”
“Carefully.” I say it with mock sincerity and she laughs. So, she gets my dumb jokes. “Are you ready?”
She places one blade on the ice. “I’m at a rink owned by one of the best players in the NHL, about to make a fool of myself by trying to skate with him. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a champ.” I inch onto the ice gradually. “Come on. I’ve got you.”
Serena wobbles, then grabs my arms. Giggling the whole time, as I lead her with care. “I’m doing it.” She wobbles again, and I grab her waist.
I tug her against me, and she rests her palms on my chest. “You’ve got me.”
This is my favorite place, with someone who’s turning out to be more than I ever imagined. I’m holding her, in my arms, on ice that I adore. I’ve got her. I don’t want to let go. That’s why I kiss her forehead. Because that simple action has come to mean much more than I would’ve ever thought.
Sighing, Serena looks up at me. Our height difference, without her heels, is more evident now. She’s wearing that mischievous smile of hers. “What?”
“I have a confession.” Tilting her head to the side, Serena releases me and skates on her own. “I might have omitted the last time I skated at Rockefeller Center.”
What the fuck? “Seriously?”
“I’m no ice hockey player, but I can mak
e my way around the rink.” She begins skating the span of the rink, slowly but steadily.
She’s good, but no match for me. I catch up to her and grab her waist. Her laughter peals through the rink as I spin her around. “You fooled me.”
“I couldn’t help myself. You were so sweet and protective. Besides, I liked being in your arms too much to say something.”
How do I compete with that? Holding her feels right, like an extension of myself. Instead of letting panic seize me, I lift her off the ice, my hand firmly planted on her ass as I capture her mouth with my lips. My tongue strokes hers, and I can’t tell where one of us begins or ends. It’s just us, and I’m starting to forget the newness. I’m starting to feel things that are shaking me to my core.
I kiss her until we’re each breathless, then rest my forehead against hers. Minutes tick by, but I don’t want to let her go.
When we finally pack everything up and head to our cars, there are still no words. Just us, holding hands. Then kissing again. Under a night sky rich with stars. In a parking lot. It’s the least romantic place ever, yet somehow it’s right.
Neither of us wants to pull away first. I was noble last night. I’m not about to let her go first again. Eventually, she breaks our kiss, but remains in my arms.
“And you wanted to take it slow.” Her tone drips with sarcasm.
I yank her against me. “Make it worth my while. Tomorrow.”
She traces my scruffy jaw with her fingernails. God, I love it when she does that. I always trim my beard between seasons. It grows out as the season progresses. She’s got me rethinking it. The way her nails feel, the intimate yet possessive gesture, makes me smile.
Her lips are feather soft against mine. Then she cups my face in her palms. “I plan to make tomorrow well worth your while.”
She leans back, and her lacy bra is visible again, just above her full breasts.
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