Hooked On Her: Ice Kings, #3

by Stacey Lynn

  A blush grows on Tessa’s cheeks almost as if she’s embarrassed by her behavior earlier, maybe my need to reassure her the decorator didn’t touch this room. Since I won’t lie to her about that, I say nothing.

  “Aren’t your parents coming soon?”

  She still hasn’t actually entered the room. Maybe she has some room threshold crossing fear I’ve never realized. Or she’s more nervous than she needs to be.

  “Pre-season next week but they’re already planning on staying with Jude and Katie. Katie wants her help with wedding planning stuff.”

  “That’s exciting, your brother getting married, isn’t it?”

  “I’m happy he’s happy. And soon it could be Sawyer.”

  “Right.” Her smile falls and she shakes her head. I feel like a tool. She was supposed to be getting married next summer as well, although I’m not exactly upset about that one. “Everything… everyone’s changing. Fast. I’m not sure I’m keeping up.”

  “People grow and change. It’s life, Tessa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You going to come into the room at any point in time tonight or sleep in the hallway?”

  She laughs, shaking her head, but I notice how her hand goes to her left earlobe again. She always tugs that ear when she’s nervous.

  I give her space. The last thing I want is her nervous, but I get it. I haven’t exactly beaten around the bush with what I want from her but that doesn’t mean I’m jumping her tonight.

  Although I want to. Definitely.

  I step toward the closet instead of reaching for her like I want to and throw open the door. “This is the closet. Hang whatever you want. The bathroom is there.” I gesture to the other closed door. “Make yourself at home, Tessa.”

  “Well yes, me and one small suitcase will be able to manage.” Her face scrunches, unhappy.

  Every time she thinks of Will and makes this face, I want to punch him even more.

  “I’ve got money, you need or want to go shopping.”

  “Oh no. No, no, no.” She shakes her head and waves her hand in the air. “You are not buying me a wardrobe. And Debbie’s already offered.”

  “You’ll take help from them and not me?”

  “Well, yeah… but I don’t want to have to take it from them either.”

  I have to resist throttling her. Hasn’t she learned yet I’d always be there to take care of her? Granted now is in a very different, much less familial way than before. But it doesn’t change the fact I want to.

  Don’t push, asshole. Don’t push.

  “All right. I’m going to let you get settled. Have you eaten?”

  She smirks. “Are you going to cook for me?”

  “No. But I can have something delivered for you if you want.” I hate cooking. I’ll deal with a grill if I have to but standing in the kitchen, wasting thirty minutes to an hour just to eat drives me up the damn wall which is why I have a food delivery service that delivers all my meals. Personally, it’s handy during the season when I’m always on the go. My fridge has barely more than condiments and beer. Even my snacks are pre-packaged and delivered. Guys give me shit for it, but most of them have women to cook for them because most guys hate it as much as I do.

  “Thanks. I’m good though.”

  “But did you eat?” I get why she won’t take help in a massive amount of money to buy new clothes, but is she really going resist letting me order her something?

  “Yes. Debbie cooked tonight so I humored her.”

  “And you survived?” Unlike me who hates cooking, Debbie sucks at it. It’s impressive, considering even though I hate doing it I can. It’s basic math. Measuring. Pouring. Dumping. Cooking. Somehow Debbie screws up everything she tries which is why Sawyer is one of the few guys on the team I know who actually does all of his own cooking.

  “The lasagna noodles were hard to choke down but she was feeling better and had energy, so I did my best.”

  I laugh. I can only imagine. I’ve had food at her house that tastes worse than what I imagine cement bricks would taste like. “Nice of you. I haven’t eaten, so I’m going to warm something up. You change your mind, you’ll let me know?”

  Her eyes have been scanning the room while I talk, like she’s trying to absorb everything into her memory so she doesn’t notice when I step closer until I’m almost touching her.

  I take the opportunity. Perhaps if I move slow while making my intent clear she’ll warm up to the idea of this happening faster.

  “You’ll let me know if you get hungry? Anything here is yours, Tessa. I mean that.” Including me.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  She’s still frozen to the carpet barely inside the room and I slide my hand to her stomach, her waist and move even closer until my chest is pressed to her shoulder and side. She smells like fruity shampoo and fear, sweet seduction with a side of sass. There isn’t anything about her I don’t love. “I’m glad you’re here, Tessa. Want you to know that.”

  “Oh.” She jumps as I lean down and slide my lips over her temple. Her body trembles in my hold and I press my fingers against her before letting go.

  She sighs as I step back and looks up at me with a dreamy, befuddled expression.

  I leave her alone there, smiling at me like that, blushing, and so damn beautiful it hurts not to touch her more.

  Friday night passes with me barely seeing Tessa at all. Apparently after she decided to unpack her small suitcase, I then heard the water running. By the time she came out to the living room, her hair was still wet, but in a thick braid that landed halfway down her back. Her face was unwashed and she scurried by me like a nervous little bunny to the kitchen where she ignored me, filled a glass of water, and practically sprinted back to her room.

  I gave up on her coming out around ten and irritated she couldn’t even bother to act like we haven’t known each other for over a decade, I flipped off the television and went to bed.

  Where I couldn’t sleep because I was pissed at her but thinking of her, sleeping so close to me probably wearing nothing but a tank top and barely-there shorts… or worse… even fewer clothes. I got hard, had to beat it twice to take the edge off before I could finally fall asleep.

  Saturday morning went by in much the same way. My one day a week I take as much as I can to sleep in, by the time I did wake up after nine, she’d already eaten some eggs and toast based on the remnants tossed into my garbage can, drank some coffee from my Keurig, and the door to her room was closed.

  I ate breakfast and did a quick basic workout in my gym room, refusing to leave until she returned from wherever she disappeared to or unlocked herself from her room. The thought she was actually in there, door closed, ignoring me, made me want to either kick down the door, or take it off its hinges altogether.

  Which might be a slight overreaction. I’m in between sets of burpees when she finally returns. I left the door to the gym open knowing she has to pass by here to get back to her room so I see her shadow first and then her legs.

  Long, bare legs carrying a sheen of sweat down her defined thighs and calves. I’m not sure it’s possible for her shorts to get any shorter, but I am not complaining. The view of her in them is sinfully sexy.

  “Tessa,” I call out as soon as I see her. I’m not sure if she thought she was getting passed me or didn’t notice where I was, but she jumps when I call her name.

  “Oh, hey Jason.” She grins and laughs. That hand goes to her left earlobe and I fight down a growl that wants to break through.

  This woman.

  She’s killing me. Especially sweaty from her own workout, her braided hair from last night clinging to her shoulder. Her bright yellow tank top is molded to her ample chest.

  “What’s up?”

  What’s up? That’s what she asks looking like she needs help cooling down in a shower with my hands doing all the cooling down work?

  “Are you ignoring me?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  Her ch
eeks, already red and flushed burn brighter.

  “So, you didn’t hole up in your room last night to avoid me instead of say, have a drink and watch a movie, and you didn’t sneak out this morning hoping I’d probably be gone when you got back?”

  “Nope.” Her fingers go tug, tug, tug on her ear.

  Liar, liar with the sexy little shorts I wish were on fire so I could peel them off her.

  “Cool.” I grab a towel from a bench and wipe off my face. “Good. That’s good. Then as soon as I’m done here, you can head to the grocery store with me.”

  “What?”

  “The store. We need food. I don’t travel for a couple weeks yet and my stuff is empty. Figured you need to eat too, so we might as well go together, right?”

  “Um. Well…”

  “Unless there’s a reason you don’t want to go to the store with me?” I throw down the towel. Workout is immediately over. I’ve barely started but there’s another way I want to work out this tension and it doesn’t involve push-ups or squats.

  She flips her braid over her shoulder, blue eyes wide, bouncing again all over the room instead of at me. “I don’t really need to eat.”

  I laugh. “You don’t need to eat?”

  “Well, no. I mean…” Her shoulders slump forward and she almost curls into herself. “Fine. I’ll go to the store with you.”

  “Good. I’ll be ready in thirty.”

  “Fine.”

  “See you then.”

  “Fine. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. One thing.”

  “What?” She shuffles on her feet and it only draws my eyes to her legs. Trim. Muscled. Hips that curve out with a stomach I know is also toned. To breasts that are larger than a handful, and I have big hands, to the beads of sweat sitting on her collarbone, all the way up to her chin, her nude lips, freckles across her nose.

  I skim every inch of her body, prowling closer while she licks her lips and holds her breath.

  “You look sexy as hell right now and I can’t wait until I’m the one who’s made you all sweaty.”

  Her jaw drops as she gasps. I skirt by her near the doorway and haul off to my own room, my own shower, before I haul her to hers and prove exactly what I mean.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tessa

  * * *

  He’s killing me slowly. I’m on pins and needles, jumpy and unsure, and it’s all because of Jason with his smooth moves and warm touches and gentle brushes of his lips at my skin. The innuendo, the visions he pops into my brain every time he tells me what he wants to do to me.

  I mean, good grief! Can’t a recently-broken up with and stolen from girl catch a break? I don’t need this insanity in my life right now and yet I’m the one fool enough to walk right into it. Literally.

  I stepped right over that doorway last night when I should have hightailed it back to the airport and now I have no clue how to fix this.

  Jason’s current offense? Being nice. Yes, that’s right, ladies. The guy I always thought I know so well is currently driving me mad because he’s so much nicer than I ever expected.

  “You like asparagus, right Tessa?” he asks at the store and then throws a bunch into the cart. “And salads, right? We’ll get your favorite balsamic vinaigrette while we’re here, too.” He swerves the cart through the produce section like a man on a mission and that mission is to buy every.single.one of my favorite foods including my childish cake log roll snacks and caramel swirl ice cream and popsicles.

  Don’t judge. It’s hot as Hades here and popsicles are great for hydration and staying cool. I have a feeling I’ll need the entire freezer selection if I want to have a chance at calming down around this guy. I mean, my favorite Greek yogurt? Shakes? How long has this guy actually paid this close attention to me, and honestly… it’s shockingly weird.

  It took me three months to remember how Will likes his coffee and Jason’s maneuvering a now overflowing grocery cart through the store with everything I love as if he’s been mentally cataloging a list since we first met.

  It’s madness! It’s worse when we get to the checkout and he throws in two gossip magazines because, as he says, “If you’re going to hide away in the bathtub again tonight you might as well have something to read.”

  Then there’s the stop at Starbucks with our stocked up groceries enough to feed me for a month—which I’m not even thinking about that yet!—and orders me a large pink drink, because one) they’re my favorite and two) absolutely necessary for life and happiness.

  Also, joke’s on Jason because I’m not going to hide away in my bathtub again tonight like I did last night. And please… I wasn’t hiding. I was dirty. What’s wrong with a little extra time for some self-care these days? Nothing, that’s what. It’s not like I took extra special time and care shaving certain areas that have gone unused outside my fingers for the last several months. It’s not like I took extra time scrubbing the heels of my feet to ensure my dry skin doesn’t scratch his shin hair straight off if I’m ever given the opportunity to snuggle up next to him. And it’s not like, I took care of myself in said bathtub thinking of what that would feel like exactly, to be curled up in Jason’s strong arms and resting against his massive chest.

  So no… there’s no way I’m taking another bath tonight.

  Nope… I’m getting drunk. And I’m talking, fall down flat on my face, drink the entire selection of fourteen bottles of wine he bought. And yes—fourteen! I went for two. He threw in twelve more and why fourteen do you ask?

  “It’s my lucky number,” he said to me with a wink.

  Because yeah, all I need now is to be thinking of Jason getting lucky every time I have a drink. Which I certainly won’t. Because then, I’m assuming that would mean I’m getting lucky too and as beautiful as the kiss was we shared the other day, as incredible as my body feels every time he touches me, I’m not sure I’m ready for anything that could possibly come next. My heart might explode straight out of my chest with the force of how Earth shakingly magnificent it’s going to be.

  I want that. But perhaps that’s the wine talking, glass number three to be exact, as I sit curled into a ball on Jason’s living room couch, watching some stupid movie he put on an hour ago.

  See? I’m not avoiding him. We haven’t spoken but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m enjoying the view of some Chris guy acting all tough and manly by blowing things up and chasing bad guys. Sometimes he even does it without a shirt on and I have to say, this Chris guy has nothing on the man whose couch I’m sitting on.

  Jason is sprawled out at the other corner, black shorts on, a threadbare, skintight white shirt pulled on. His arms are tossed across the back of the couch. A glass of water is near him. His bare feet are on the coffee table in front of him and every once in a while I can feel him smirking at me out of the corner of his eyes when he glances in my direction, laughing at how I’m tucked into a tiny ball, angled toward the armrest, avoiding him as much as I possibly can while still being in the same room with him.

  Suddenly, he gets up. I jump at the sudden movement of his feet hitting the floor, his body rounding the couch. I stare more when his hand settles on my shoulder and his lips brush my ear. “Need a refill?”

  “Yes,” I croak. My mouth has suddenly gone incredibly dry. I’m parched. I’m hot in places I shouldn’t be, and I’m sitting on the top of a bubbling volcano ready to burst into the air and shatter into a thousand pieces.

  His laugh echoes over me long after he’s gone and there’s the clank of the wine being taken out of the fridge, the door shutting. The glug, glug, glug as he fills my glass.

  I tense, knowing he’s going to come back any second, lean over me, maybe whisper something in my ear that’ll snap my tightly wound tether. Instead, he rounds the couch easily, my glass of wine held in his hand as he resumes his laid-back, man spreading posture on the couch, the arm near me thrown over the couch and the glass of wine held at his stomach.

  “What are you doing?”
>
  He nods toward the massive television screen where again, Chris is half-naked. Why does he have to save the world from imminent doom without a shirt on? “What? I’m watching the movie.”

  “With my wine. Over there.” I point at his stomach. His chest. It’s a breathtaking expanse, too large to ignore, too beautiful for words. Like the Grand Canyon. Stonehenge and all those bricks comes to mind.

  “Then I suppose if you want it, you’ll have to come get it.”

  “I don’t need it that badly. I’m comfortable here.”

  “Curl yourself into a tiny ball any further and I’ll have to give you a back rub to get the kinks all out.”

  It’s not the worst thing he’s ever suggested.

  “While we’re both naked,” he finishes. If this is his way of getting me to relax, he couldn’t be more wrong.

  “Or you could come over, sit next to me, maybe act like I’m actually in the room and you know me, take your wine, and finish watching the movie with me.”

  Well, when he puts it that way with my choices, one seems much more disappointing than the other.

  It’s official. I’ve cracked.

  “Tessa.”

  It occurs to me I’ve been staring at his stomach—my hostage held wine, I mean—and drag my gaze up his body to his face. His hardened and beautifully carved face. Has he had work done? It doesn’t seem possible someone could be molded so perfectly. “Have you ever known me to not be someone who’s going to take care of you?”

  One thick brow slowly raises and I hate that he’s right. I’m being stubborn and stupid and crazy and it’s a movie for crying out loud! With the guy I’ve wanted to kiss for years. So what! It’s not like anything has to happen and I’m not even sure why I’m being so stubborn about this. Or so fearful.