She took both bottles into the kitchen, disappearing from his view. He heard drawers open and close, heard more muttering as she continued searching. "Can I tell you how stupid it is that liquor stores have to be closed on Sundays around here? And do you have any idea how many bars don't sell wine by the bottle? And of course, the ones that do charge a small fortune for them because they know you don't have any choice if you really want it."
Corbin realized his mouth was still hanging open and he snapped it shut. He pushed away from the door, his feet heavy as he slowly made his way to the small kitchen. Lori had stopped her search and was currently using a corkscrew to open one of the bottles. He stared, watching the efficient movements of her hands, of her fingers, and wondered where the hell she had found a corkscrew.
He hadn't even known he had one. Certainly didn't remember unpacking it—
He gave himself a mental shake as reason and awareness finally cut through the fog of his brain. "Lori. What are you doing?"
She looked up at him, a smile in her eyes. "I'm opening the wine. What's it look like?"
"No. What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here—"
"Are you going to kick me out?"
He wanted to say yes. He needed to say yes. She shouldn't be here. Her being here was dangerous. For her. For him.
But he couldn't get the word past his numb lips, couldn't do anything except shake his head. She smiled again then nodded at the table behind him. "Good, because I brought food, too. Chinese."
He finally noticed the aroma drifting from one of the bags, felt his stomach tighten then slowly rumble, the sound embarrassingly loud. When was the last time he'd eaten? He didn't remember. Not too long ago, of that he was sure. Yesterday after practice, definitely. The team always had a buffet of food set out for them, enough to feed a small army. Mostly for the younger guys, or the single ones who couldn't cook, so they'd learn to eat healthy instead of going out and grabbing a burger after practice. Not that that stopped them but at least it gave them a choice. But he couldn't remember what he'd had, couldn't remember how it had tasted.
Couldn't remember the last time he'd even had Chinese food.
"Do you have plates around here anywhere?"
The question must have been rhetorical because Lori was already opening cabinets, finding the plates and glasses before pulling out silverware. She gathered everything up in her arms then brushed past him, stopping long enough to look up at him. And she was close—too close. Close enough that he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body caress his own.
"Can you grab the wine for me? And you might as well grab a beer for yourself while you're at it. Oh, and napkins, too."
She moved past him, leaving him standing there, struggling to draw breath into his constricted lungs. Tabernacle! What was he doing, standing here staring after her as she moved into the living room? He needed to tell her to leave, tell her again she shouldn't be here.
But he still couldn't get the words out. And instead of trying, he simply turned and grabbed the bottle of wine and a stack of napkins then reached into the refrigerator for a fresh beer.
He stumbled to a stop when he reached the living room. Lori was pulling something from the backpack. A blanket. She snapped it open with a quick flick of her wrist then spread it out on the floor in front of her. She looked over shoulder, that bright smile on her face, then motioned for him to join her.
"Since you don't have any furniture, I figured we could just have a picnic. Whatever works, right?"
"Lori—"
She stepped toward him, her hands brushing his as she took the wine and beer from him. "Grab the food, will you?"
"Lori—"
"Corbin." That was all she said, just his name in her teasing voice. She tilted her head to the side, watching him with a small smile that made his stomach tighten and his lungs freeze. Then she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against his chin. "I'm starving. And from the sound of your stomach, so are you. Get the food before it gets cold. We can talk after we eat."
She turned away from him but he still couldn't move. He simply stood there, watching as she arranged the plates and silverware and napkins on the blanket. As she placed the bottle of wine and a glass next to one plate, the bottle of beer next to the other.
His gaze darted to the round curve of her ass lovingly hugged by soft denim as she bent over and toed off her boots. One by one, they hit the ground with a thud, landing on their side. He looked over, frowning as he studied the familiar stitching on the worn leather.
"Are they the same boots you always wore?"
"Yup." She picked them up and carried them over to the door, placing them beside his. "They've been resoled a few times, obviously. And don't worry, they haven't been near cow shit for a while."
Corbin noticed the way her smile dimmed at her reassurance, heard the slight sadness in her voice. He grabbed the bag of food and carried it over to the blanket, finally taking a seat across from her. She took control of the bag, pulling out several cartons and rearranging them between them.
"You don't show anymore?"
"Hm?" She looked up from one carton, then quickly shook her head and went back to opening it. "No. No time."
"But you used to enjoy it. I never thought you'd give it up."
She spooned food onto his plate and passed it across to him, then filled her own and slid across the blanket until her back was braced against the recliner. "I didn't give it up, I just got too busy."
"That sounds like it's the same thing to me, eh?"
"Not really. I mean, I still help out when the fair comes around. But I haven't shown in eight years. Not since—" Her voice trailed off and she looked over at him, a hint of sadness in her eyes.
He placed the filled plate beside him and leaned forward, finishing the sentence for her. "Since I left?"
"That wasn't why."
"But you had your fairs that summer. You didn't show, even then?"
She looked away, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "I had already aged out by then so it wasn't like a could show that much anyway. Besides, like I said, I got busy. It had nothing to do with you leaving."
He didn't believe her. She had enjoyed showing her precious cattle too much to just stop. It had been a part of who she was. He'd only been once to watch her, but that one time had been enough for him to see how much it meant to her.
He remembered watching her, trying not to stare as she moved around the ring, with her fitted plaid shirt tucked into dark blue jeans that clung to her long legs and a big shiny buckle that glittered in the overhead lights. He remembered the joy on her face, the confidence of each step as she led the large animals around in a circle, one hand loosely wrapped around the braided leather of their lead, the other holding a slender stick. Most of all, he remembered the large smile that wreathed her face when she won several ribbons, including a big one for Grand Champion.
He couldn't believe she had just given all that up, not when she had enjoyed it so much, not when it was such a large part of who she was. Just one more thing for which he was to blame, one more regret to add to his growing list.
Yet there would be at least one more, of that he was certain. She shouldn't be here, didn't belong here. Not with him. And he needed to tell her that, needed to convince her to leave. He didn't know why she had come her tonight, was afraid to ask.
Afraid he wouldn't have the courage to make her leave.
He slid across the blanket, nearly knocking over the food and wine. He didn't care, not if it meant getting closer to her. Just to apologize. Just to tell her to leave.
He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears, let his fingers linger against the soft curve of her cheek. "I'm sorry, ma cocotte."
Her gaze met his, her mouth slightly parted. Her voice was soft, so soft when she spoke—but not soft enough that he didn't hear the small catch in her words. "Why are you sorry?"
"For you quitting. For l
eaving the way I did. For—" For too many things he could never find words for. But most of all, for what he was about to do. "For this."
He was going to ask her to leave, push her away. He tried, but the words wouldn't come, he couldn't get the words past his throat, couldn't force himself to say them. Instead, he leaned forward and caught her mouth with his. Soft, gentle, warm. Not meaning to kiss her, knowing it was a mistake but helpless to stop himself.
Helpless to do anything but revel in the taste and feel of her as she leaned into him.
Chapter Twelve
Common sense reasserted itself, calling him a fool. Reminding him that he shouldn't be doing this. He couldn't drag Lori into his mess, not when he knew things might get worse. It wasn't fair to her.
She wasn't his. She could never be his.
But oh God, just one kiss. Couldn't he have just one kiss? This kiss, soft and warm and sweet. Her mouth held the faintest taste of the wine she had been drinking, sweet and intoxicating. No, that was Lori. All Lori.
Her arms came around his neck, moving her closer. Close enough that he could feel the swell of soft breasts pressed against his chest. Close enough that the heat of her body wrapped around him. Filling him with memories. With need.
Her tongue swept across his lips, seeking entrance. Hesitant at first, then more demanding. Coaxing. He groaned, tightened his hold around her when her tongue darted inside his mouth and tangled with his own. Sweet. Hot. Tempting.
He wanted...needed—
He groaned again, breaking the kiss and pulling away, his chest lurching with each breath he sucked into his lungs. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see any emotion that might be in her eyes.
Regret. Disappointment.
Desire.
No, he couldn't bear it, not when he knew he had to make her leave.
She sighed, the sound filled with frustration, and sat back on his lap. And calice! How had she ended up on his lap, with her legs straddling his own? He didn't remember her moving, barely remembered how the kiss had started. All he had wanted to do was to tell her to leave, to—
Tabernacle! Lies. All lies. This was what he wanted. Lori, straddling him. Lori, looking down at him with desire in her beautiful amber eyes. Lori, with her softly mussed hair framing her flushed face. Lori...just Lori.
"Why did you stop?" Her voice was just above a whisper, thick with need. Corbin shook his head, tried to look away, tried to break the spell she was weaving around him.
"You shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be doing this."
"Why?"
"It's—because..." He searched his mind for an answer, just one out of the hundreds he knew were there, but his mind refused to cooperate. "We shouldn't."
"Why?"
"We can't."
She reached out, placed the palm of her hand in the middle of his chest, against his pounding heart. "Tell me why."
And God help him, she dragged her hand lower, down across the thin cotton of his shirt. Her fingers brushed against the bare skin between the hem of his disheveled shirt and his loose shorts, branding him with her touch. He sucked in a breath at the heat filling him, felt the same breath freeze in his throat when her hand dipped even lower, tracing the outline of his thick erection.
"Tell me why, when I know you want to."
He couldn't answer. He couldn't think, couldn't move, not when she was stroking him that way. This was a side of Lori he had never seen, bold and determined. Reckless. Seductive.
No, that wasn't true. He'd caught a glimpse of this side of her that humid morning all those years ago, when she had kissed him as they had never kissed before—as he had never allowed before. And again last week, in the parking lot when she kissed him again. Touched him. When he'd tasted just a little bit of heaven before his life had gone to hell.
She gave his straining cock one last squeeze then sat back, her head tilted to the side as she watched him. Then she grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. And God help him, he was lost.
He stared at her chest, at the firm creamy skin covered in bright blue lace. At the dark points of her nipples, pushing against that same lace. Begging to be touched. Begging to be tasted.
He curled his hands into fists and leaned his head back, searching for willpower he knew didn't exist.
"Tell me to stop, Corbin. If you really don't want me—this—tell me to stop."
His eyes snapped open, focused on the face so close to his own. Wide amber eyes, filled with desire. Flushed cheeks. Parted lips, soft and warm.
One word. That was all he needed to say: one word.
He opened his mouth, closed it again. One word. Why couldn't he say it?
Because it would be a lie. The biggest lie that ever crossed his lips. And God help him, she knew it.
She reached down for his hand, gently uncurled his fingers and threaded them with her own. Then she slowly, so slowly, raised their joined hands up, settling them against her chest.
"I'm not a little kid, Corbin. I never was, even back then."
"I—I know." The words came out as nothing more than a strangled garble. Her lips curled in a small smile as she rubbed the back of his hand against the tight point of her nipple.
"Then do something about it. Show me you know."
The last of his restraint, held in check for so long, finally snapped. He reached for, pulling her to him, his mouth closing over hers.
Hot. Wet. Demanding.
Carnal and possessive.
She sighed into his mouth, her body pressing against his, her hips rocking against the aching length of his cock. He deepened the kiss, claiming her, making her his.
For now. For tonight.
His hand skimmed through her hair, sighing as the silky tendrils sifted through his fingers. He traced the back of her neck, felt her shiver at his touch. Lower, along the tender column of her spine, down to the clasp of her bra. He pinched it, twisted, grabbed the material in one hand and dragged the bra down her arms.
He pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps as he looked. Simply looked.
Full, firm flesh, her nipples a dark brown against creamy skin. He reached up, marveling at how pale her skin was compared to his. How soft her flesh was. How the peaks of her nipples tightened even more as he brushed his palm against them.
As he gently pinched them, rolling them between thumb and forefinger.
Lori gasped, her head falling back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her hips rocked against him again, slow and tantalizing. Torturous.
Corbin swallowed a groan, leaned forward and closed his mouth over one nipple. Licking, sucking, tasting. Soft and tantalizing. Sweet, like sunlight and fresh air, all the things that had been missing from his life for so long.
Since that morning eight years ago, when he had let her walk away.
When he had walked away from her.
Never telling her how he felt.
And he couldn't tell her now—but he could show her.
He bit down on her nipple, gently tugging, swallowing a groan that matched hers. He moved his mouth lower, licking the smooth underside of her breast before lavishing the same attention to the other one.
Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders, her short nails scoring flesh. She whispered his name, the sound filled with need. Corbin slid his hands between them, reached for the button of her jeans, unsnapped it with a small pop. Her hips stilled, her breathing coming to a stop. Waiting.
Waiting...
He pulled his mouth from her chest and watched her, memorizing the fullness of lips, her flushed cheeks, the way her thick lashes lay against her skin.
The way she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as he eased the zipper down. The sharp cry she made when he dipped his fingers inside her jeans and stroked her. Soft, wet.
For him.
"You are so wet, Lori. God, so wet. So beautiful. And mine. Always mine." Had he spoken in English? Or in French, as he had meant to? It didn't matter, not when the words
were so low, so rushed.
He tightened one arm around her waist, shifting and rolling at the same time until she was resting on her back and he was stretched out beside her. His eyes never left her, drinking in the sight of her as he pushed her jeans down past her hips, her thighs. Then he rolled between her legs and kissed his way down her body. Her chest, her stomach, the flare of her hips.
Lower, until his mouth closed over her, drinking in her sweetness.
She gasped again, a sharp cry of need as she twisted her fingers in his hair. Her hips rose to meet his mouth, each swipe of his tongue, each delicate kiss. He heard his name, felt her body tense, heard her sweet cry of release as she bucked against him, riding each wave that echoed against his tongue.
He tightened his arm around her hips, holding her in place, not stopping until her ragged voice begged for mercy. Only then did he ease away from her, his own breath coming in short gasps as he watched her.
Minutes went by, filled with nothing but the sound of their combined breathing. Lori finally stretched, turned to her side and opened her eyes.
Wide. Beautiful. Filled with desire, with want. With emotion he couldn't allow himself to acknowledge.
"You stopped."
He offered her a small smile, reached over and brushed his knuckles against her cheek then leaned forward for a kiss. She sighed and rolled closer, her tongue darting out to taste the sweet saltiness of her own body against his lips. She pulled back, her eyes still filled with need. "I don't want you to stop."
He should say no. Hadn't they already done enough? Hadn't he risked hurting her enough? If they went any further, he'd cross a line he could never go back. He'd lose himself if they went any further.
And risk losing her in the process. Risk hurting her even more.
He couldn't do that.
But hadn't he already? Yes, a hundred times over. He'd hurt her eight years ago, when he had left without telling her how he felt. He'd lost himself to her all those years ago, even before that morning when he had walked away.
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 9
