Naughty Or Ice

by Sylvia Pierce

  “I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”

  “What?”

  “Six p.m. Text me your address, and then go home and put on something nice.” His eyes trailed down her body, lingering on her thighs. “Or festive.”

  Eva’s head was spinning again, a side effect she was quickly getting used to with Walker. “Dinner? That’s your genius solution?”

  He met her eyes, the fire in his gaze filling her belly with butterflies. “I’m taking you on a date, Eva. Then I won’t be just a client, and you can get over your little hang-up.”

  Eva pressed her lips together, considering. It was a bad idea, but… “Fine. But it’s not a date. It’s a work meeting. Team-building exercise. That’s all.”

  Walker grinned. “I don’t give a fuck what you call it, princess, as long as I can keep kissing you under the mistletoe.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Who are you?” a small but determined voice demanded.

  Walker brushed the snow off his shoulders and stood on the small front porch, looking down at the glowing green lightsaber pointed at his chest. At the other end of it stood a little girl with crazy red curls, dressed in a Snow White costume and black utility belt, complete with grappling hook.

  “Um.” Walker glanced at the numbers painted next to the door, certain he screwed up the address, but they matched the one Eva had sent him. He was definitely in the right place. “I’m Walker Dunn. I’m here to see Evangeline Bradshaw?”

  A dog with a head the size of a small sedan sidled up next to the kid, looking up at Walker like he was waiting for the secret password. Drool hung lazily from the dog’s jowls. Walker felt a whoosh of hot breath against his thigh.

  Tough crowd.

  The little girl finally lowered the lightsaber, her eyes narrowed. “Are you the hockey man?”

  Walker smiled, relaxing a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mama says you have issues.”

  “Yeah?” Walker laughed. “What kind of issues?”

  “Gracie!” Eva appeared in the doorway, resting her hand tenderly atop the girl’s head. “Why don’t you go refill Bilbo Baggins’s water dish.”

  Now the girl smiled, and Walker noticed she was missing two teeth. She was beyond adorable. She waved at Walker, then grabbed the dog by the scruff, leading them deeper into the house.

  Walker could barely move. Eva looked… God, she was stunning, her red hair swept off her face, pulled into a loose ponytail that draped over the front of her shoulder. She wore a tight black dress that made her amber eyes stand out like jewels and that would keep Walker up all night long, imagining what it would be like to peel her right out of it.

  His dick stirred at the thought.

  They held each other’s gaze for a minute, breath puffing out in white clouds between them. The sight of her had distracted him from the shock of finding out about the kid, but now Walker blinked, his thoughts returning.

  “You have a daughter,” he finally said. “And a dog named after a hobbit.”

  Eva nodded. “Gracie. She’s six, going on twenty-five. She named him.” Then, softer, “She loves that book.”

  “She’s… she’s beautiful, Eva.”

  A daughter. Of course. Kid had the same red hair. Same amber eyes. The dusting of freckles across her nose was practically a matched set for her mama’s. Walker searched his memories, sorting through every conversation he’d ever had with Eva, starting with their very first introduction on the ice.

  He was sure she’d never once mentioned a child. He blinked again, trying to make room in his head for this new bit of information. “I can’t believe you have a kid.”

  “Gracie,” Eva said again, offering no further explanation. Her jaw jutted out, hands on her hips. It was her battle stance—Walker recognized it immediately.

  He wondered if she was testing him, but then she lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumping.

  Did I fail? Already?

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, holding up her cell phone. “My sister was supposed to babysit, but she just called. She’s sick.”

  “A sister?” Eva is someone’s sister. Eva is someone’s mother. Eva has a dog. Eva has a whole entire life that has nothing to do with ice skating. Nothing to do with busting his balls. It was stupidly obvious—of course she had a fucking life—but Walker still couldn’t process what he’d seen. A daughter. His brain felt slow and sluggish, like his fingers when he skated without gloves. “I mean, is she okay?”

  “Sure, just a bug. Probably picked it up from one of her students. Marybeth’s a reading specialist. Sorry,” Eva said again. She sounded genuinely disappointed, and when she looked up again, she shook her head, regret written all over her face. Stepping back into the small foyer, she started closing the door. “It’s probably for the best, anyway. Walker, we really shouldn’t—”

  “What. Eat dinner together?” He took a step toward the doorway, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re not sick, right?”

  “I don’t have a sitter.”

  “We don’t have to go out,” Walker said, thinking fast. God, he felt like a schmuck. He hadn’t reacted right, hadn’t said or done a single thing right since he stepped onto this porch. He didn’t want the night to end so early, and especially not like this. “Do either of you have any food allergies? Anything you don’t like?”

  “Walker, you don’t have to—”

  “Eva.” He stepped fully into the doorway, so close he could smell her honey-vanilla scent, could see the pulse beating beneath the delicate skin of her throat. He brushed the pad of his thumb across her plump lower lip, thrilled that his touch still made her shiver. “You promised me a dinner date. You aren’t getting out of it that easy.”

  A smile finally broke across her face. Walker felt like he’d gotten an early Christmas present.

  “It’s not a date,” she said. “We’re team-building.”

  Walker laughed. “Answer the question, Eva.”

  “No allergies for either of us,” she said. “I don’t do olives. Gracie will eat anything.”

  “And there’s no one else in that house I should plan for, right? No other kids, or cousins, or long-lost siblings you forgot to tell me about?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What about hobbits? Wizards? Elves?”

  Eva smacked his shoulder, and he grabbed her hand, holding it tight. With his free hand he pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and sent out a quick text.

  “What are you up to, forty-six?” she asked.

  Walker grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Be back in half an hour.”

  Twenty-six minutes later, the front door swung inward as Walker stomped up the porch stairs with enough takeout to feed the neighborhood. He couldn’t see any faces beyond the steaming bags of food in his arms, but he heard everyone crowding at the entrance—Eva, laughing at the sight of him. Gracie, cheering. Bilbo Baggins, snuffling and panting.

  “Where did you get all this?” Eva took the bags off his hands. Walker was thrilled to see that she hadn’t changed out of the dress.

  “Pasquale’s. He’s an old friend,” he said, hanging his wool coat on a hook by the door. “We grew up together.”

  “No way!” Gracie beamed. “We love Pasquale’s! My favorite is meatball pizza.”

  “Yep. Everyone loves Pasquale’s,” Walker said, following Eva into the kitchen. Gracie and Bilbo were right behind him, all of them tumbling into the small room, practically tripping over one another. “But I didn’t know what you liked,” he said, “so I got a mix of different stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Gracie asked.

  Setting the bags on the kitchen counter, he turned to look at her, her bright eyes beaming with delight. Smiling, he said, “I’m pretty sure there’s a few slices of meatball pizza in there with your name on it.”

  “Yesss!” Gracie pumped her fist. Freaking adorable. “What’s got your name on it?”

  “I’m partial to chicke
n finger subs myself,” he said.

  Eva laughed, emptying the bags onto the counter behind him. “Looks like you got four of them.”

  “What, you don’t like them?”

  “Depends.” Eva narrowed her eyes. “With bleu cheese? And hot sauce?”

  He pressed a hand to his heart in mock indignation. “What am I, a freaking amateur?”

  Eva cracked up. “Apparently not.”

  She dug out some paper plates and napkins, lit a few candles, then they all loaded up their plates and sat together at the table. It was small and square, tucked into a nook at the end of the kitchen. There wasn’t a lot of elbow room, and Walker’s knees banged against the table every time he moved, but sitting there with Eva and Gracie, laughing as they all took samples of one another’s food, he’d never felt so at home. Where his place was cavernous and sleek and cold, Eva’s was cheerful and sunny and lived-in, the way he always thought a real home should be. Gracie’s drawings covered the fridge, and the cupboard doors were decorated with paper Santas, snowmen, and gingerbread houses, their edges curling up from what looked like years of use. Every few minutes, Bilbo Baggins would wander through the kitchen, sniff longingly at the table, and then move on, nails clicking softly on the linoleum.

  Walker was glad Eva’s sister had cancelled.

  “Mr. Dunn?” Gracie asked suddenly.

  He smiled at her across the table. “You can call me Walker.”

  “Okay.” Nodding, she set down her half-eaten slice of pizza and looked up at Walker expectantly. Seriously. “Walker?”

  Walker took a deep breath, waiting for her to ask something mortifying or impossible, like why do you keep staring at Mommy like you want to eat her? Or Do you know that my daddy can kick your butt? Or Where do babies come from?

  “Who do you think would win in a cage match—Snow White or Luke Skywalker?”

  Eva burst out laughing. “That’s my daughter, everyone. Sugar and spice.”

  Walker grabbed a napkin and blotted the hot sauce from around his mouth, considering. “Luke the farm boy, or Luke the Jedi?”

  “Jedi.”

  Walker crumpled up his napkin. “Snow White. She’s a total badass. I mean, butt. Total badbutt.”

  “Luke has The Force,” Gracie said. “And a lightsaber.”

  “True, but my girl Snow White is resourceful. She can talk to animals, she knows how to survive in the woods, and she knows how to put up with seven dudes. Can you imagine how many dirty socks they left? Not to mention never putting down the toilet seat. And you might be too young to realize this, Gracie, but let me tell you something about boys.”

  The girl’s amber eyes widened, and Walker leaned in conspiratorially, whispering behind his hand. “We stink like farm animals. You should definitely stay away from us until you’re at least forty.”

  “Forty-five,” Eva said.

  Gracie cracked up, and Walker was damn near ready to make it his life’s mission to keep that gap-toothed smile on her face for all eternity.

  “Did you know in the real Snow White,” Gracie continued, dunking a carrot stick into a tub of bleu cheese dressing, “the evil queen tries to kill her a whole bunch of times?” She was breathless with excitement, her red curls bouncing. “But at the end the queen goes to Snow White’s wedding to the prince and they make her wear red-hot iron shoes and dance around in them until her feet burn up and she dies.” She smiled brightly, then popped the carrot into her mouth.

  Walker raised a brow. “I.. No. I didn’t know that. Thank you for enlightening me.”

  “Gracie, you are the creepiest child ever.” Eva cracked up. “Who raised you?”

  Gracie rolled her eyes, a move straight out of her mother’s playbook. Walker caught Eva’s gaze and smiled, squeezing her knee under the table. He wondered if Eva even realized how alike she and her daughter were.

  “I saw it on a documentary at Aunt Marybeth’s,” Gracie said. “All the fairytales are like that. In Cinderella, the step-sisters cut off their own toes and left blood all over the glass slipper.”

  “We’re eating!” Eva said, but she was laughing.

  “Well, all the more reason I’m sticking with my original answer,” Walker said, stealing a chicken wing from Eva’s plate. “Snow White is a survivor. My money’s on her.”

  Gracie looked down at her dress, considering. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t pack a lightsaber for backup,” Walker added.

  “And a grappling hook?” Gracie asked.

  “Also very handy,” Walker agreed.

  “Hey,” Eva said to Gracie, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Think you can grapple with clearing the table? I’d say were about done with dinner.”

  Walker stood up to help, unsure what was supposed to happen next. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready for the night to end. He wanted to spend more time with them. With both of them. He was still processing the fact that Eva had a kid, that she hadn’t told him about her, that he was here, now, hanging out with the two of them, seeing Eva in a whole new light. He was still getting to know her as a skater and coach, as his lover. And now he wanted to know her as a mother, too—a realization that nearly knocked him on his ass.

  So when the table had been cleared and the last of the leftovers tucked into the fridge and Eva looked up at him with those bright golden eyes and said, “Who wants dessert?” Walker didn’t even bother hiding his dopey-ass grin.

  He knew it was crazy, getting tangled up like this. Reckless, even. But he no longer cared. Two hours in this home with Eva and Gracie, and he was a goner for them both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eva felt like she was in high school again. Her stomach was fizzy, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she could barely keep up with her sister’s frantic texts.

  She’d made the mistake of texting Marybeth after Walker had gone out to pick up the food, and Marybeth had been texting for updates approximately every four minutes since.

  Now, Eva sent Walker and Gracie into the living room to relax while she dished up gingerbread ice cream and tried to catch up with Marybeth’s demanding texts.

  Her phone buzzed again. EVA! What is happening over there?

  I’m in the kitchen getting dessert, she replied. W&G are hanging out in the living room.

  What are they doing?

  Eva didn’t actually know. She couldn’t see the living room from the kitchen, but she heard them laughing, and figured that was a good sign. She crept out of the kitchen and took a peek.

  OMG, she texted Marybeth. He’s reading to Gracie on the couch.

  What book?

  Does it matter?

  Paint the picture for me, Eva.

  Eva paused to listen, then texted back, The Hobbit. OMG, he’s totally doing the voices. All of them.

  What voices?

  Like hobbits and wizards and everyone. Eva’s heart skipped every time Walker read another line, every time he made her daughter laugh. Gracie had always been a happy kid, despite some of the challenges they’d faced. But it’d been a long time since Eva had heard Gracie truly crack up—the kind of laugh that made your eyes water, your stomach hurt.

  Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that sound. How much she’d longed to make it herself.

  The phone buzzed again in her hand. You are in so much trouble.

  Can’t talk, Eva replied. Ovaries melting. Send ambulance.

  !!! You need an intervention, not an ambulance!

  They’re seriously melting, Marybeth. I can’t even deal with this level of sweetness right now.

  It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Crazy as it was, the sight of that impossibly sexy badass Buffalo Tempest center scrunching up his face and talking like a hobbit while her daughter sat next to him on the couch, utterly enraptured, was enough to make her—for the first time since Gracie was born—think about having more kids.

  That thought should’ve scared Eva straight—should’ve had
her ushering Walker right out the front door, banished with all thoughts of more children and family and a settled-down kind of life. Instead, it made her heart beat with new life.

  Marybeth buzzed in again, and Eva headed back to the kitchen, leaving Walker and Gracie alone in Middle Earth.

  EVA! You are not allowed to get attached!

  Eva’s reply was automatic—I’m not!—but it was also, Eva had realized the instant she hit send, pure bullshit.

  She was getting attached. Hell, she’d moved past attached a long time ago. This? This odd thumping in her chest? The butterflies flitting around in her stomach? The laughter bubbling up from deep down inside, just waiting to burst out? The way her skin heated at his touch? The way her thighs clenched with just one look from those deep, soulful eyes?

  Yes, Eva was pretty sure there was a word for all that… but it wasn’t attachment.

  She looked down at the screen, fingers hovering over the letters, not sure what to tell Marybeth. Not even sure what to tell herself.

  Was it even possible? Was she actually… was she falling for Walker Dunn?

  “I hope that’s not your wingman on the phone.” Walker’s voice, soft and warm on the back of her neck, made her jump. She dropped the phone on the counter and whirled around to face him.

  He was close, his eyes full of desire, his breath tickling her lips. Their bodies pressed together, fit together, warmth seeking warmth. Eva slid her hands up the front of his shirt, the crisp white button-down he’d put on for their date now rumpled and covered with dog hair. She fisted it in her hands, feeling his heart pounding beneath the fabric.

  “You’re already home, Eva,” he said, his voice a sexy, sultry whisper, so intimate in her tiny kitchen. “So if you want to get out of this date, you have to convince me to leave.” Walker put his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. “And it won’t be easy. I like it here. Really like it.”

  She was paralyzed in his arms, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to blink.

  Walker leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “Damn, you smell good, woman. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin where her shoulder met her neck, and she felt her nipples harden, aching for the bite and caress of his mouth. Eva had thought the other times they’d been together had been so perfect, so hot, but now she knew they’d only been a prequel, too short, too fast. Her legs trembled as she imagined taking him to her bedroom tonight, locking the door, letting herself be devoured hour after agonizingly sweet hour.