Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Corbin sat just in front of the loveseat, one arm casually draped around the knee drawn to his chest. The flames cast his face in a warm glow, the light bright enough that she could see he was still awake.

  Quiet, immovable. A million miles away as he stared into the flames.

  She rolled onto her side on the sofa and propped herself on one elbow, her gaze never leaving him. How could she look away, when just the sight of him mesmerized her? Chiseled face, with strong cheekbones and jaw. Full lips, softer than any man should have. Broad shoulders and chest, trim waist and lean hips. Powerful legs, long and thick. And his arms—her gaze shot to his arms, to the biceps stretching the sleeves of her uncle's t-shirt.

  The giggle came out of nowhere, surprising her. She covered her mouth with her hand but it was too late because Corbin heard her. His head turned toward her; she didn't need to see his face, she knew him too well, knew his brows were lifted in silent amusement as he watched her.

  She finally stifled the giggle and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I guess it's not really funny, is it?"

  "And which part would that be, ma cocotte? My discussion with your uncle? Or maybe my baptism in the stall, eh?" She heard the laughter in his voice, saw the flash of white teeth as he smiled. "Or maybe the part where I'm afraid to fall asleep for fear of being castrated while I dream?"

  "Actually, I was thinking more of the part where you're sitting there in my uncle's clothes and all I can think of doing is getting them off you."

  He growled, the low sound filled with frustration. "You really do want your uncle—and your father—to castrate me, eh?"

  "They're not going to do anything to you. Not with me here." She patted the edge of the sofa. "Come here."

  "Lori—"

  "Please?"

  She sensed his hesitation, knew exactly when he gave in to her plea. He scooted across the floor, finally sitting by her side with his back braced against the sofa. "I didn't mean on the floor. There's room here for you."

  "I think it's safer that I stay here."

  She laughed again, then draped her arm over his shoulder, her fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone, his chest. She bent her head, brushed her lips against the back of his neck and felt him shudder in response. His hand closed around hers, holding it in place, just above the steady beating of his heart.

  "I'm sorry. If I had known we'd get stuck here, I would have never suggested coming." And if she had bothered to check the weather, none of this would be happening. They could be home right now—at her place, curled together. In her bed.

  Not here, in the large family room of the old house, with her dad and step-mom and younger brother a hundred yards away in the addition. With her aunt and uncle and two cousins somewhere upstairs, asleep.

  That was why her uncle was home, instead of the romantic bed-and-breakfast in the mountains of western Maryland: because of the weather. What she had thought was only going to be a light dusting had turned into a forecast of six-to-eight inches—and that was down in Baltimore. Up here, that amount was expected to be doubled, at least.

  And by the time they had finished getting Annabelle settled with the new bull calf then come back here to the house and cleaned up, it had been decided that it would safer for the two of them to stay here. Lori had argued—it was just snow, even if it was coming down in thick flakes that had already covered everything in sight and obscured visibility. She knew how to drive in snow, her car handled just fine, they wouldn't have any problems making it back to her place.

  But even Corbin had agreed—reluctantly—that it would be better to wait. So she had been outnumbered, five-to-one, and the decision had been made.

  She wondered if Corbin was regretting that decision now.

  Maybe.

  She tugged her hand from his, drew it across his chest, up to his shoulder, his neck. The heat of his skin blazed her fingers, warming her as she gently kneaded the knotted muscle at the base of his neck.

  His head fell forward with a soft groan. She shifted on the sofa, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side so she could use both hands. Gently massaging. Rubbing. Caressing.

  She leaned down, brushed her mouth against his ear. "Take your shirt off."

  He stiffened, shook his head. "I don't think—"

  "Just your shirt. So I can rub your back."

  He hesitated, then slowly peeled the shirt over his head. He folded the material, carefully placed it on the edge of the sofa, then settled between her legs.

  She continued the massage, her hands caressing warm flesh, kneading taut muscles. His neck. Shoulders. His upper back and biceps. Touching, always touching. She traced the tendon from his shoulder to his neck, traced the soft skin just below his hair. Up, to the indentation at the base of his skull.

  "Why did you cut your hair? It was longer when you were playing for Colorado."

  He shrugged, the motion relaxed and unhurried. "Just for a change. No reason."

  The truth? Maybe. She made a soft humming sound, leaned forward and traced the lines of his strong jaw with one finger. She slid her other hand along his shoulder, down across his chest. Lower, until her palm grazed the sharp point of his nipple. He groaned, the sound nothing more than a breath of air, then wrapped his hand around her wrist. He grabbed her other hand before she could protest, held them both in front of him, imprisoning her with his gentle hold.

  She tried to tug free, opened her mouth to tease him, but he silenced her by pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. Awareness shot through her with just that little kiss, a million tingles warming her, taking her breath away.

  "You asked me earlier if I loved her."

  Just that quickly, her blood froze. She stiffened, tried to sit back, to put distance between them but Corbin held fast to her hands, refusing to let go. "I don't want to hear this, Corbin. Please."

  But he kept talking, ignoring her plea, ignoring her attempt to free herself from his hold. "You asked if I loved her. But you never asked why I married her."

  "I don't—it's none of my business." And oh God, why was he doing this? She didn't want to hear any of this. Not about his ex-wife, or his ex-fiancée, or any of the other women that were in his past.

  He silenced her struggles with another soft kiss against the underside of her wrist then released her hands. She yanked them away, fisting them together in her lap as she slid away from him, moving to the corner of the sofa. But it wasn't far enough away because Corbin was right there, kneeling in front of her, his hands warm and heavy against her legs.

  She shook her head, looked away from the piercing intensity of his dark eyes. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to hear him—

  "I was lonely—"

  "Corbin, don't."

  "That first year in Vegas...it's still a blur. Everything was so different. Here, I had friends to guide me, to make sure I did nothing too foolish. I had friends who cared." He paused, reached up and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb before letting his hand drop. "I had you."

  "Corbin—"

  "But there—it was a new team. We didn't know each other. Everyone was still trying to figure out where they fit in, there was no time to worry about anyone else. And the city itself...it can swallow you whole, ma cocotte, before you even know it."

  She glanced at him, could see the sadness on his face, in his eyes. She turned her head, tried to focus on the dying flames in the fireplace instead of his words. Instead of the sympathy she felt welling in a corner of her heart.

  "I was looking for something to fill an emptiness I didn't know I had, not then."

  "Did—did it work?"

  "Non. I knew, even before the vows, that it wouldn't. And later, with Marissa—not then, either. There was still that emptiness, always there, always a part of me." He leaned forward, brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead, then sat back. No longer near her, no longer touching her.

  She closed her eyes, ignored the stinging behind her lids. Why was he telling her this? Why now?
Was he suddenly regretting showing up at her place last night? Regretting coming here with her today? Or did this have something to do with the discussion he'd had with Uncle Ian?

  She didn't know what to say, or how to act. How could she, when she wasn't even sure what he was trying to tell her?

  She grabbed the blanket bunched at her feet and tugged on it, pulling it up to her shoulders. At least, she tried, but the stupid thing was wadded in a useless ball and all she succeeded in doing was twisting it. She finally gave up, turned to stretch out her legs so she could pretend to go to sleep—and saw Corbin still watching her, his face carefully guarded.

  She cleared her throat, tried to look away. "I think I'm going to sleep—"

  "Aren't you going to ask me, ma cocotte?"

  "Ask you what? And please stop calling me that—"

  "About the emptiness."

  "No, I'm not. It's none of my business. And it sounds like you don't know anyway so—"

  "But I do know. I think I've known all along what I've always been looking for."

  "Good. Glad to hear it." She punched the pillow under head and started to roll over so her back was to him. Started—then just as quickly stopped when she heard his low chuckle. That, more than anything he had said so far, hurt the most. How could he laugh at her? Didn't he know how much his words had hurt?

  No, she wasn't going to acknowledge it. Wasn't going to acknowledge him.

  She stiffened when his hand closed over her shoulder, tried to shrug it off when he gently eased her onto her back. He sat on the edge of the sofa, pinning her between his arms as he leaned forward. Close, so close, his mouth only inches from hers. And his eyes, so deep and dark and warm. Holding her gaze, refusing to let her look away by the sheer force of his will.

  "All this time, I've been searching for what I had ten years ago, when I first played with the Banners. And I found it again last month—when I first saw you again."

  Her heart slammed against her chest. With shock. With surprise. Then with every emotion she'd done her best to forget over the years. She opened her mouth—to laugh, to cry, to tell him how she felt—but he silenced her with a kiss. Sweet, warm. Filled with promise.

  He pulled away too soon, brushed the hair from her face, and slid away. "Get some sleep, ma cocotte. We can talk more in the morning."

  She grabbed his arm, used it for leverage to push to a sitting position. Then, before he could pull away again, she leaned up and kissed him. With her heart, her soul. With all the passion that had been bottled up for the last ten years—passion meant only for him.

  "Lori, we can't. It's too risky."

  She pulled her shirt over her head, tossed it to the side and straddled him. "Aunt Kayli locked the door on the way out."

  He watched her, his deep eyes blazing with the same fire she felt scorching her. Then he grabbed her, his mouth crashing against hers. Hard. Hot. Demanding.

  Possessing.

  Hands, big and rough, reached for her. His palms grazed the hardened points of her nipples. Rubbing, teasing as his mouth trailed a fiery path along her skin. Her neck, her collarbone, lower until he caught one nipple in his mouth and sucked. Teased. He pulled the hard peak between his teeth, gently nibbled. Liquid fire pooled between her legs. Hot, ready. Needy.

  She dragged her hands along his arms, squeezed her breasts together as he licked and sucked. She dropped her hands to the waistband of her sweatpants, grabbed the hem and jerked them down. Past her hips, her thighs, wiggling and moving until she got one leg free. One rough hand palmed the round curve of her ass, squeezing, caressing. His other hand reached between them, one long finger sliding along sensitive flesh swollen with need. His finger settled against her clit, rubbing, stroking. Teasing at first, then faster. Faster still until her inner muscles clenched, until her body tensed. Tightening, tightening...

  She leaned forward, pressed her mouth against his neck, muffling her cry as she exploded. French words, hoarse and needy, echoed in her ear as wave after wave of red hot fire crashed over her. Scorching, burning, until she was afraid she'd disappear into a pile of ash carried off by the winds of desire.

  He slid one finger inside her. Two. Thrusting. Deep. Hard. Fast. Sending her over the edge again until she couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

  Her senses slowly returned, along with awareness of her surroundings. The fire, burned to nothing but embers behind her. The soft blanket bunched under her knee. The rise and fall of Corbin's chest against hers, each breath strained and harsh.

  The hard length of his cock, pushing against her as she straddled his lap. The soft cotton of the sweatpants he was wearing, the only barrier keeping him from entering her.

  She pressed a kiss against his neck, his collarbone. Eased off his lap and kissed her way down his chest, pausing to feel the heavy beat of his heart pounding against her mouth. Lower still, until she grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them down.

  His cock sprang free. Long and thick. Hard. Swollen with unspent desire. She dipped her head, swirled her tongue around the engorged tip, felt the rumble of his groan vibrate throughout his body. His hands tangled in her hair, gently tugging as he muttered something in French, the unknown words fanning the flames of her need.

  She shook her head, leaned forward and caught him in her mouth. The taste of tangy saltiness and pure male desire exploded against her tongue. She closed her mouth more fully around him, sucking him. Back and forth, harder. Faster. Matching the rhythm of his bucking hips as he thrust his cock deeper into her mouth. She reached between them, teased the sensitive skin of his sac, heard him groan at her touch. Bolder now. Squeezing. Sucking and licking until his hands tightened in her hair, holding her in place as his hips thrust faster. Harder. Deeper.

  She wrapped one arm around his hips, anchoring him as she sucked. Up and down, her own little moans matching his. Wet heat spread between her legs, her own muscles clenching. Readying herself. Close. So close.

  She reached between her spread legs, ran a finger along her clit, hard and fast. Faster still as Corbin's hips thrust again. Once. Twice. One final time as his climax exploded in her mouth. Hot and sweet. Thick. Tangy. She swallowed, felt him shudder when she eased his cock from her mouth and kissed the inside of his thigh. Strong arms came around her, lifting her, settling her onto his lap. His mouth crashed against hers, swallowing her cries when her own climax crashed over her.

  Anchoring her when she would have been swept away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sweat dripped along his spine, beneath jersey and pads and shirt, pooling near the small of his back and soaking his shorts. He ignored it, ignored the tickle between his shoulder blades and along the side of his jaw. His focus was at center ice, at the fight for the puck between the Banners and Tampa. The score was tied, had been tied since the start of the third period, when Caleb had scored a short-handed goal, high and to the right.

  They needed to add another one to the board. To win. To break the fucking losing streak they couldn't seem to shake. As long as he kept his focus on the puck, as long as the scorers did what they were supposed to, they could do it.

  Today's game was instrumental in that. Corbin knew it with every fiber of his being, felt it in his gut. If they could win this game, they could bounce back. If they didn't—

  He didn't want to think about what might happen if they didn't. The streak was taking a mental toll on everyone, from Coach Donovan all the way down to the equipment staff. Tempers were short, frayed as far as they could go before exploding. Some had already passed that point, like the scuffle between Hunter and Kostya Popov during the first intermission.

  They didn't need that shit. None of them did.

  They needed to focus. Needed this win.

  His eyes followed the puck as it moved between Hunter and the center from Tampa, his body tensing as it crossed into their defensive zone. He crouched low, his weight carefully balanced, ready to spring into action. No, not yet. Christian raced in
from the side, knocking the puck loose and sending it back toward center ice. The puck hit Hunter's blade, right on the tape, a perfect pass. He spun around, raced toward Tampa's net, three players chasing after him.

  Corbin straightened, his eyes still focused. Watching. Waiting. Hunter took a shot, the puck bouncing off the post with a loud ring Corbin could hear all the way down here. Jaxon reached for it on the rebound, missed it, swung again but not before Tampa's winger, Walt Harrison, gained possession.

  And shit. He hated this guy. They'd played together in Winnipeg, had never gotten along. But the man had sick scoring skills, Corbin had to give him credit for that.

  Not tonight. Not here. Not with him in net.

  Corbin lowered into his signature crouch—knees bent, legs apart, arms back. Glove hand hovering at waist level, stick held, wrist loose. Weight slightly forward. Not much, just a bit, just enough for that extra edge when he needed it the most.

  And he'd need it.

  Harrison raced closer, with only Christian close enough to do anything about it. But Christian wasn't quite close enough, not yet.

  And he wouldn't get close enough in time to stop him.

  Fuck.

  Corbin's gaze narrowed in on Harrison, everything else around him fading into grayness. Nothing else mattered—just Corbin, Harrison, and the puck. He kept watching, muscles bunching in readiness under the weight of his gear, his body not moving. Watching, waiting, his eyes never leaving Harrison as he moved closer. Closer...closer—

  There. Harrison's tell. Just a small twitch of his left arm as he cut in front of the net, faking a shot high and right. Corbin didn't move, waiting until Harrison spun around in a quick three-sixty and pulled back on his stick, sending the puck low and right.

  Corbin slid to the right, batted the puck away with his stick, sent it flying toward Christian before sliding back into position. Something hit him from the side, sent him reeling against the net hard enough to knock it from the post. His helmet flew off as he stumbled and regained his balance only to be hit again. He dropped to one knee, lowered his head and turned to the side as Harrison shoved the shaft of his stick against his shoulder, knocking him over.