Irresistible You

by Kate Meader

  “Jack me, Harper. Pleasebabyplease.”

  Gladly. But then he slipped his hand inside her panties and she forgot everything but the pleasure his fingers wrought from the slightest touch.

  “Please, baby,” he pleaded again, and her to-do list flashed before her. Meaning the one must-do thing on it: touch Remy and make him lose his mind. But first there was this, his fingers stroking through her wetness. Slipping inside her. Destroying her completely.

  She tried but failed to focus, so he grabbed her hand and put it where he needed it.

  “Here, in case you’ve forgotten what it feels like. ’Cause it ain’t forgotten you. How good this is. How good we are.”

  We. She squeezed, relearning his shape, recalling the tempo that drove him crazy in New Orleans.

  “That’s right. Ça c’est—c’est bon.” And all the time he kept up that wicked slip ’n’ slide through her folds, the exquisite pressure building. The tension was unbearable, a wave hurtling toward the shore, and one slight glance of his finger against her clit, and there.

  Yes. There.

  Gone.

  She paused in her stroke to let the orgasm ride to every extremity, her body clenching, her mouth open, and sobbing at the indescribable pleasure. And then she fell to her knees and wrapped her lips around him in the shower room at Rebels HQ.

  Bad, bad girl.

  But nothing else seemed to matter, not after the release Remy had just given her, not after the sweet torment on his face when she confronted him, not after he’d pumped his cock at the sight of her.

  She read a million things in that gesture, but the most important was this: Look at how much I want you, Harper.

  Time to show just how much she wanted him.

  TWENTY

  Remy was beyond pissed at Harper Chase.

  She’d waltzed into the gym . . . wait now, had she? Okay, he’d lured her in after coming across her being all cute as a kitten GIF in the hallway. Not just cute, but so damn sexy with her tight skirt and tailored jacket and high heels. Those fuck-me babies, the red ones he’d helped her try on as he bent before her in New Orleans, planning her seduction.

  There he was minding his own business in the workout room, working off his frustration at not being able to return home for the holiday and the uncertainty surrounding his career and the ache in his balls whenever his dumb brain so much as strayed to Harper.

  So yeah, he was pissed at her, and that was before she dropped her bombshell.

  Your name was mentioned as a possible trade.

  This information should have made him happy. Why didn’t it make him happy? Maybe because it was soon followed by that little nugget about her holiday plans with Bailey and his mother.

  Which of these things annoys you the most, DuPre?

  All of it. The whole fucking lot of it.

  Now he was trying to hold on to that anger, but it was too busy being crowded out by pure pleasure. Harper’s pleasure coating his fingers. Harper’s lips closed over his dick.

  Harper’s sounds as he tried not to fuck her mouth, because that’s all he wanted to do. Roll his hips and thrust deep until his cock head touched the back of her throat and—

  She moaned, a long hum of pleasure, and it vibrated around him. His hips flexed, pistoning forward with a momentum all their own, and he gripped her head gently to both hold her steady and hold himself in check. No slouch, she grabbed his ass (not so gently) and dug her nails in, taking him even further into the warm, wet heaven of her mouth. Like his cock was her last meal.

  In the haze of lust, he almost missed her hand dropping to between her legs. Merde, was she—? Christ, she was. She was touching herself.

  That’s what sent him over. “Minou, I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna come.”

  In her moan he heard her invitation. Give it all to me, Remy. His balls filled, his spine sizzled, and he came with Harper’s gorgeous lips wrapped around his cock.

  She took it all, licking and sucking him clean like a good little sex kitten, and then released him, resting her head against his thigh. Meanwhile, her fingers worked herself furiously, her moans louder now that his dick wasn’t muffling her sounds of pleasure.

  He stroked her hair and cradled her head so she could watch him while she got herself off. From beneath hooded eyelids, those green eyes flashed silver. He pushed her lower lip down, revealing that pink flash of tongue, the weapon she’d used to make him mindless.

  Watching her reach that peak had him half hard again. Never had it been like this with another woman, but then never had he met a woman like Harper. All that ice-queen armor melted as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she lost herself to pleasure.

  So fucking hot.

  She sat back on her heels, her fingers still down her panties, panting herself back to normal. In a sated lust daze, it was almost as if he wasn’t here.

  “Harper,” he murmured, just so she didn’t forget him.

  She looked up, a sly grin curving her swollen lips. “Still in a huff, DuPre?”

  That made him laugh. “I’d say I’m the opposite of in a huff. I’m out of a huff.”

  She stood with his help and pulled her skirt down. He wrapped her in his arms, needing her close. Needing to cuddle.

  Snap the fuck out of it, DuPre.

  He chose not to. He chose to hold her tighter. Only his brain could tell he was a sap for her.

  “You’re staying with me tonight,” he said.

  “Hmm. How about trying that again with a slight lilt at the end of your voice to signify you’re making a request?” She added a lilt of her own to demonstrate.

  “No request intended. Only statement.”

  “What about your neighbor?”

  He had her covered. “In Atlanta to see his girls. Now go get your things, but leave anything resembling work here.”

  “So damn cocky.”

  “That’s why you hired me.” He pushed the cockiest part of him to her belly. “Let’s take these opportunities while we can, Harper. What happened in New Orleans was so good. What happened less than five minutes ago was even better. Don’t tell me it’s ever been this hot with anyone else because I won’t believe it.”

  She blinked those big, sexy eyes up at him, and for a moment, he thought, This is it. Bon nuit, Remy.

  “One more night. And then—”

  He kissed her to cut off any talk of the future. He would take it one night at a time.

  For now.

  “So are you going to tell me how you managed to acquire a fifteen-pound fresh turkey on Thanksgiving Day morning during a raging snowpocalypse?”

  Remy smiled. Some secrets were worth keeping, especially ones that drove Harper a little bit loopy. It was amazing what could be achieved with the promise of Rebels tickets for the rest of the season.

  This morning he’d caught her trying to leave his apartment at the gray crack of dawn—what was it with this woman and the sneaky slip-out?—and it had taken his A-game on the sofa, the assurance he was not flying out of Chicago today, and the promise of a real Thanksgiving dinner to keep her here for the holiday. That last part required that he tap into his Neanderthal ancestor genes to provide, hunter-and-gatherer style.

  He added a couple more slices of white meat to her plate. Expecting resistance that would match his preconception of her as a woman who ferociously watches her figure, he was more than gratified when she smothered it in onion gravy, added a dollop of cranberry sauce, and loaded up on more dirty rice.

  “A Cajun never tells his secrets. You can thank me properly later.”

  “Will blow for food?”

  “Now don’t sell yourself so short, femme. Never settle for less than a bottle of wine for that BJ.”

  She grinned, that know-it-all smile he loved more each hour he spent in her presence.

  “Sorry
I wasn’t much use to you in the kitchen.”

  He’d set her to peeling potatoes. Ten minutes later, with one measly Idaho skinned, he’d relieved her of duty, but it had sure been fun to watch her hunched over, a look of earnest focus scrunching up her dainty features as she hacked away at the poor, defenseless tater.

  “Your momma didn’t cook?”

  “She did, but she’d only cook for my father, and she never wanted me in the kitchen. She had to have everything just so. Once he left, it was like all her joy left with him. No more cooking. No more—” She bit off whatever she was about to say and took a sip of the nice Pinot he’d opened. “Clifford paid a personal chef to come in and make dinners so I wouldn’t starve. It just seemed easiest.”

  Perhaps, but not exactly conducive to a happy home life. What kind of mother abdicated responsibility for her child because her husband couldn’t keep it in his pants?

  Remy could see how that all went down. A young Harper, old beyond her years, taking care of business in that big ol’ mansion on the lake. Putting her tipsy, teary momma to bed before she did her homework. Making her own lunch before she caught a ride to school. All while Clifford Chase made a life with his spanking-new family.

  Her phone buzzed and she checked the screen. A guilty lip bite told him who it was before she spoke. “That’s Kenneth, hoping my migraine is better.”

  “Wow, a text. Guy’s all heart.”

  She canted her head, a look of subtle, aren’t you? illuminating her features. So he was jealous. He’d deal with that shit later.

  Discomfort twinged in his chest. His greed had overtaken him, and because he was the kind of guy who needed to feed off the company of others, he’d kept her from where she really wanted to be today, with people she knew and cared about. Bailey and his mother.

  As quickly as it had hit, the little red devil on his shoulder pushed the guilt away. That guy was A-okay with his decision to quarantine Harper. The storm was a rager, and no way was he letting her go out in it.

  Not when she looked sexy as sin wearing his team jersey, a pair of tube socks, and a sultry smile as she ate the dinner he’d prepared for her. He had to be careful with the temp in the apartment—not too hot that she’d want to wear a tee instead (naked was too much to hope for), and not too cold that she’d need to cover her legs with sweats. A careful balancing act.

  He reached for her hand and curled a finger around hers. “You’re staying the weekend, Harper. We’re gonna cook and talk and cook and kiss and—”

  “Cook?”

  “Yup.”

  “That sounds a little . . . domestic.”

  “Sure it is, with the amount of cooking I’ll be doing. But don’t you fret, I’ll make time to keep you satisfied in all the other rooms as well, minou.”

  She looked down at their joined hands, a ministorm forming between her brows. “Let’s play it by ear.”

  Hell and damn, this woman was one tough nut to crack. He supposed witnessing your momma falling apart because of your asshole father’s behavior had to have an impact. Made you gun-shy. Harper had grown up desperate to prove herself to the old man, that she was a worthy successor despite being born dickless—and hell if she needed to rely on anyone else to carve her path to glory.

  Why the hell did he care so much? Maybe because it seemed like she could do with someone at her back. Someone taking care of her. Strong as she was, she had to be tired of making that trek alone.

  “You know, it’s okay to let people in a little, Harper. Lean on others. It doesn’t make you weak.”

  She cupped her chin, scrunching up her brow in thought. “You mean, I shouldn’t use my parents’ marriage as a model for all relationships?”

  Smart as a whip, this woman. “Look at my parents. Sure they’ve had their problems, and God knows my sisters didn’t make it easy on them.”

  “But you were a saint.”

  “Sure was. I’m the reason that marriage is so good. They had me and realized, We can stop now, it’s perfect.”

  She mock-punched him in the arm. “So modest.”

  “Modesty doesn’t win hockey games, Harper. Or get hot businesswomen in your bed.” He sipped his wine. “When my dad fell ill, we all stepped up, but it was mostly down to my momma. I know there were times when she was ready to pack it in, because like most men, he’s a big-ass crybaby when he’s sick, but they soldiered through. I guess what I’m saying is that there are examples of marriages that work. Ones that take the vows seriously.” For better or worse, in sickness and in health. Harper was seventeen when her mother died, and Remy would bet dollars to donuts Cliff was no help.

  “I know. Take Ford and Addison. They’re not married yet, but it’s only a matter of time with the baby on the way. And they didn’t even wait until he retired.” She tilted her head and shot him a cheeky look. “You wait any longer and that sperm of yours will be worthless, DuPre.”

  He’d not intended to share, but if anyone deserved to know this, it was Harper.

  “I’ll be working on it sooner than you think.” He hauled air into his lungs. “This is my last year in the NHL.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Harper jumped from her seat. “What? But . . . it can’t be! I mean, I know you’re not getting any younger, but surely you have at least two more years. Three, even.”

  “I’m no Jágr.” The great Czech was still going strong after a thirty-year pro career, but to be honest, Remy couldn’t imagine sticking around that long. Not when some lucky lady was waiting for him to rock her world. He palmed Harper’s hip and pulled her into his lap, settling her with a soothing stroke along her thigh. “My body doesn’t have much left in the tank, minou. I’m skatin’ on fumes.”

  Her eyes shone glossy. “And I almost screwed up your chance.”

  “Baby, you made a business decision. You did what you had to for the team, and yeah, I was pissed at first, but I get it. No sentiment, oui?” He kissed her unsentimentally, loving that lusty moan she gave as she kissed him back.

  “So.” She curled a finger in his hair. “Win the Cup. Find a wife. Knock her up.”

  “That’s about the right of it.” A sudden image of Harper cradled in his body while he stroked her pregnant belly reared up so strong his heart clamped. Where the hell was this coming from? Harper as a momma? Harper as the mother of his child?

  Cool yo jets, fool. He so happened to be cuddling a hot woman he wanted to impale with his dick 24/7 and they were talking cookie-bakin’ and baby-makin’. Bound to get his wires crossed.

  “Back to your opposition to the holy state of matrimony, Harper. What I’m saying is that it’s easy to get spooked. Let past performance be indicative of future results.”

  “Who says I’m spooked? Maybe I just don’t want to have to mollycoddle a husband because he’ll object to where my true love really lies.” At his querying frown she explained, “The team, DuPre. Most guys don’t like playing second fiddle to a woman’s career. I’ve dated guys who went into epic hissy fits because I texted them I’d be late for dinner.”

  “How late?”

  Averting her gaze, she muttered in the cutest way imaginable, “A couple of days. The point is I’m not going to become soft, maternal, wifey material overnight. Or ever. I have an empire to run. A team to rebuild. A legacy to establish.”

  “And don’t stand in your way?”

  She blasted him with a smile that felled him before tacking on the sweetest “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  He loved her honesty, how it made her sound both vulnerable and strong. But Remy’s thirty-five years on this earth had taught him that people were not built to travel through life solo. Harper had to crave something more than making a losing franchise a roaring success. Once she’d done it, then what?

  His phone rang in FaceTime mode with a call from his momma. He’d checked in with his dad this morning but Marie
had been unavailable. He raised his eyes to Harper, a question on the tip of his tongue, but she was already scampering away into the bedroom.

  I guess that answers that.

  He accepted the call. “Where y’at, mon cher?” Marie asked.

  “Good, Momma. Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

  “That’s okay. We’re just worried about you being all alone and starving in the frigid north.”

  Pretty warm where he was at. “I managed to scrounge up something. Is everyone there?”

  “The house is full and starving. Your father’s in the kitchen treating the turkey to some sort of wake to acknowledge all the pleasure it’s going to bring us.”

  Remy chuckled. That sounded like Poppa. His heart panged, missing them, but not as much as he expected. Amazing what wonders having a sexy woman around the house will do for your frame of mind.

  “Of course, if you’d just find a nice girl, I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.” Someone groaned in the background, either Martine or Josette.

  “Ask him if he’s banged his boss yet.” Definitely Josie.

  “Josette!” As his momma admonished his sister, he could feel his body warming and his cheeks flushing.

  “How is Harper?” Which was mom code for “Have you banged your boss yet?”

  “Bon, I guess.”

  “Do you think—” his momma started, then was distracted by someone off camera. Two dark heads popped up, and Mignon and Colette screamed, “Hi, Uncle Remy!”

  “Hi, mes chéries. You hungry?”

  “Starving!”

  His momma repositioned the phone so his nieces were out of the shot. “I know you plan to retire soon. This year, as long as you bring home the Cup, but I think you need to get crackin’ on the woo with a girl who’s ready to marry quick and start a family.”

  Josette stuck her head over Marie’s shoulder. “We’re gonna put you on a dating site, Remy. ‘Pro athlete seeks baby factory for immediate production.’ ”

  Momma was not amused. “You’re not really putting yourself in the position to meet the kind of woman who’s ready for that, now, are you?”