His expression turned blank for a moment as if he couldn’t recall who Vi was. “Oh, Ms. Pink?”
“Yes, her.”
“Hmmm.” He scratched his chin and stood abruptly. “Let’s take a walk on the dock.” He whistled to Macy and waved at her to follow them.
“She’s not a dog.”
“I know that.” He cast an annoyed sideways glance in her direction, almost as if he were insulted.
Together the three of them walked down the wide dock, which ran between rows of tightly packed houseboats. Brick glanced from side to side, taking in the houseboats with an eagle eye.
“You’re really serious about getting a houseboat, aren’t you?”
“Serious as a heart attack.” He glanced at her. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“You still don’t strike me as the houseboat type.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what type I am, but we could fix that.” His heavy-lidded smirk promised all kinds of ways they could get to know each other. Despite her irritation, her lady parts tingled with anticipation. Her breath hitched, and she licked her suddenly dry lips. He read her perfectly. He put his hand up to her throat, spreading his fingers across her neck, and lowered his mouth. She should turn away, deflect the kiss, but she wanted it too much to resist. Her lips parted, and her eyes fluttered closed. His lips met hers, and nothing could’ve prepared her for the tender emotions curling inside her chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself up to his kiss.
He kissed her with the passion of a starving man who’d been waiting for this moment all his life, and she met that passion. Moving closer to him, she placed one hand on his chest and splayed her fingers, grasping a handful of his shirt. His tongue mated with hers in a dance older than the glaciers on Mount Rainier. Amelia leaned into him, completely in the moment.
He broke off the kiss, and she whimpered. For a moment, he stared down at her with an unfathomable expression, giving her the distinct impression she’d rocked his world as much as he’d rocked hers. His hand shook as he tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Brick.” She moved toward him, wanting to be back in the circle of those protective arms.
“I want you, too, babe, but not in front of an impressionable child.” Brick’s dark gaze flickered to Macy, who’d stopped at the end of the dock in front of a two-story blue-and-white houseboat with a covered front porch and “For Sale” sign. She stared longingly at the quaint little house.
Amelia stifled her comeback as they approached Macy, while Brick sported a self-satisfied smirk.
“Mr. Brick, can we live in a house like this?” Macy cooed.
“You like this house?” He looked from Macy to the houseboat and back again. Holding up his camera, he took a picture of the “For Sale by Owner” sign.
“Yes!” She jumped up and down, causing the dock to sway, and giggled.
“I like it, too. A lot.” He chuckled and ruffled his daughter’s hair. Macy took a small step back, as if the spontaneously affectionate gesture had caught her off guard.
Brick’s jaw tightened, and he turned away from them, glancing at his watch. “I should get back. I need to get to the rink for a team meeting.”
Macy’s face fell, but she didn’t cry. Amelia shot him a disapproving glare, and he winced. Father and daughter were finally making progress, and the dumbshit chickened out.
“Can we do something fun tonight?” Macy asked him. She’d never asked for his time before.
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound overly enthusiastic or committed, but Amelia would take his response as a win.
* * * *
Brick couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. He didn’t hear one word of the team meeting. Instead he daydreamed about how those lips felt on his over and over. He’d intended to kiss her to show himself her kiss wouldn’t be different than it was with any other woman. She was nothing more than another conquest and one more notch on his hockey stick. His heart obviously didn’t get the memo. Her lips felt like silky rose petals, unlike any kiss he’d ever tasted before. The power of that one kiss had buckled his knees and shocked his heart into arrhythmia. She’d robbed him of his breath and made him forget his name, but not hers. He definitely remembered her name.
He was beginning to wonder if what he was feeling went beyond sex. He wouldn’t know, because for him it’d always been about sex, sex, and more sex. Oh, he wanted sex with her in the worst way. But he wanted more than that. He just didn’t understand what those wants might entail. He was a fucking virgin when it came to relationships.
Is this what falling for someone felt like? This overwhelming need to see her, to spend time with her, talk to her, touch her? Just be with her?
Hell if he knew, but he was going to find out.
As if coming out of a trance, Brick glanced around, realizing the meeting was over and his teammates were filing from the room. He stood quickly, avoiding the coach in case he might ask a question Brick couldn’t begin to answer.
Rush caught up with him, matching him stride for stride. “A bunch of the guys are going to Gib’s later. He’s throwing a big party. Then ve’ll hit some clubs. Are you coming?” Rush glanced over his shoulder, making sure the team captain and all-around tight-ass, Cooper Black, wasn’t lurking in the shadows to thwart their plans.
“Absolutely.” Brick paused, then he remembered. “Ah, crap. I promised to do something with Macy tonight.”
“It’s Saturday night. You can take her to the family skate tomorrow.”
“I’m not going,” Brick answered automatically. He’d never liked those things. They’d always been too tame for his blood. They didn’t serve alcohol, and there weren’t any puck bunnies present.
“You never go out anymore. Not even on road trips,” Rush complained, looking as if he’d lost his best comrade. In some ways, he had. As much as Brick had promised himself he wouldn’t let fatherhood change him, it had, despite his best efforts to squelch any semblance of growing up and taking responsibility for life beyond a hockey net.
“You’re sounding like a whiny old lady,” Brick said.
“Better sounding like one than being one.”
Brick bristled. The truth hurt. He’d been a homebody lately, and he hated the thought of that. He’d lose all his friends if he kept this up, find himself alone with no one for company but himself, which sounded like a fate worse than death by slow torture.
“Fine, I’ll go,” he answered before he could talk himself out of it.
“We’re leaving about seven. Be at my house.”
“I’ll be there.”
Amelia was going to be pissed. They’d made plans to go bowling.
But she didn’t control his life. He could do as he pleased.
Even if doing so made him feel like ten kinds of dickhead.
* * * *
Brick made another decision—this time, the right one. He wasn’t going. He was sticking to the plans he’d made earlier in the day. If he didn’t show at Rush’s house, his buddy would leave without him, or so he assumed.
The ring of the doorbell interrupted their dinner and blew Brick’s assumption all to shit. Dread settled in his stomach. He didn’t move, willing them to go away.
The pounding started. He could hear multiple voices. Brick groaned. They weren’t going away. They were right here, pounding on his door. He was knee-deep in dog shit.
“Are you going to answer the door before they tear it down?” Amelia’s puzzled expression hardened with suspicion. She was onto him, and he was screwed.
She pushed past him and threw open the door. Rush, Drew, and Hot Rod stumbled forward in a tangle of legs and arms. Already well on their way to a drunken evening. They were all talking at once, but Brick understood them.
“Hey, man, let’s go,” Rush bellowed impatiently. The rest shouted their agreement.
“Go where?” Amelia turned on him like a cobra striking a wary ra
bbit. “Where are you going?”
Macy stood nearby, Simone dangling from her fingers. Her face was impassive.
“We’re going to a party, Amms.” Rush swayed a little and hiccupped.
“It seems like you’ve already been partying.” Amelia’s face pinched with annoyance. Her accusatory glare hit Brick right in the chest, knocking the air out of him. “You’re not going.”
The guys hooted with laughter, and he heard the words “pussy-whipped” several times. He fucking wasn’t pussy-whipped, and by God he’d show them he wasn’t. Besides, he needed this. He’d been a good boy, but a man could only be good for so long before he exploded. He needed a night out with the guys to forget his responsibilities and his nanny and regain his balance. He needed balance in his life. His wings had been clipped, and he wanted to fly again. He had his moment of domesticity; now he needed to prove to himself he was still in charge of his life.
Brick turned to Amelia. “I’m sorry. I’m going out with the guys. Don’t wait up.”
Amelia lifted her chin and her nostrils flared. He was going to pay for this. He spun around and grabbed his coat, heading out the door before she could lay a guilt trip on him. He felt a tug on his coat and turned.
“You promised.” Macy stared up at him. Her brown eyes luminous.
His throat constricted, and he swallowed hard. Before he could do something unmanly in front of the guys, he had to get to fuck out of here. “We’ll do it another time.”
“I don’t believe you,” she muttered, and turned her back on him.
He wavered on the verge of changing his mind when Hot Rod and Drew grabbed his arms and hauled him toward the door.
“There’s a family skate tomorrow. Want to go to that?” Rush asked Macy. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. Brick shot his best “you’re in deep shit” glare at Rush.
“Yes.” Macy grinned, suddenly happy. Amelia, on the other hand, didn’t look so happy. He got the hell out of there while he still had his balls intact.
As the night wore on, he realized Amelia hadn’t needed to put a guilt trip on him. He was doing fine on his own. Which pissed him off. He was a grown man and answered to no one. Not Macy and not Amelia. The more guilt flooded him, the more he rebelled, and the more he drank. He pounded back straight shot after straight shot.
His stepmother had tried to control him, constantly criticizing him, tearing down his confidence, unfavorably comparing him to her perfect son until he became exactly what she’d said he was. A worthless party boy with booze for brains. She’d been wrong about one thing—he had made it in the NHL, to her dismay.
Maybe he’d overreacted to Amelia telling him what to do, but it’d been like he had seen red and couldn’t help himself. Now he was miserable and wishing he’d stayed home.
Women came out of the woodwork to proposition the guys, and they hung all over Brick. He choked on the scent of their overbearing perfume and recoiled from the feel of their fake breasts rubbing against his arm. One particularly persistent blonde with tiger-striped hair stuck her tongue in his ear and ran her hand up his thigh. She cupped his crotch in her hand, squeezing way too hard.
“Ouch,” he protested, and yanked her hand from his crotch.
“You’re quite the wuss for such a macho guy.” She laughed and leaned on him. As drunk as she was, she needed his body to prop her up.
“Don’t damage the package.” Irritation cut jaggedly through his worn-thin patience. Usually he was a laid-back guy who welcomed any and all female attention.
What the hell was wrong with him?
One fucking kiss did not ruin a man for any other woman. He’d been kissed plenty, and he’d never dwelled on a kiss. He’d been celibate too long and been too consumed with personal shit. This had to stop. He didn’t worry about anything but hockey. He didn’t concern himself with anything off the ice. He lived life as it came to him, always ignoring the bad and reveling in the good.
But it hadn’t been just any kiss.
The anonymous woman’s hand drifted back to his crotch. His dick shriveled, announcing its lack of interest. The tigress wasn’t deterred. She probably thought he had problems getting it up. A month ago he’d have been appalled any woman might think that. Now he didn’t give a shit.
Her mouth moved over his neck, across his jawbone and cheek to glom onto his mouth. He turned away, repulsed. He grabbed her hand and held it away from his body. She took his gesture as a good sign rather than as the self-preservation that it was.
Abruptly, Brick stood and gently pushed the woman away. He turned to his friends, holding the back of the chair to steady himself as a gravity storm hit him full force. The woman snuggled next to him, assuming they were going somewhere private together.
“I’m out of here,” he told his buddies. A few made rude remarks; most were occupied with their own collection of admirers, Rush especially. The Russian attracted women like bees to honey and fully embraced “the more the merrier.”
As Brick once had.
He threw a wad of bills on the table, called for a taxi, and headed for the door. The tigress hurried along behind him as fast as her deadly spiked heels would allow.
He stepped outside into the cool, crisp air and breathed it in. She was kissing his neck again.
“Stop.” The harshness in his tone sank into her pickled brain, and she backed off a few steps. He lowered his voice. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re not going home with me tonight. I’m not feeling great, and I just want to get the hell out of here.”
“I could make you feel better.” Her hopeful expression tweaked something inside him. This plastic, made-up woman was some guy’s precious daughter. He’d probably nurtured her, rocked her to sleep, watched endless dance recitals, and threatened her prom date with bodily harm. Yet Brick treated her and all the women in his life as if they were no more than playthings. The worst part was they were happy to let him. He didn’t want this for any daughter of his.
And he had a daughter. One who was a complete stranger and one he hadn’t gotten to know, hadn’t even wanted to know. One he was hoping to pawn off on his parents within a month. She was still innocent and not warped by life despite all it’d thrown at her in her young years.
He didn’t want this—any of this. Only this time the this he referred to was the empty, endless partying and nameless women who were used and discarded, forgotten as soon as he left their beds.
No man dared treat his daughter as he’d treated women. He’d see to it she had more self-respect than that.
He faced the woman standing on the curb. “Honey, go find a guy who will care about you. You don’t need this crap. None of us do.”
She gaped at him as if he’d turned into bigfoot and threatened to have her for his next meal. Blinking several times, she staggered backward. His taxi pulled up to the curb.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?”
She shook her head. “I have friends inside, asshole. I don’t need your help.” Without another word, she spun on a lethal heel and stomped off.
Brick shrugged, got in the cab, and went home. By the time he got there, it was 5:00 a.m.
* * * *
Amelia couldn’t sleep, so she spent her waking hours plotting Brick’s slow and painful demise. Rush may have saved the day by inviting Macy to the team’s family skate, but that didn’t rescue Brick from her lynch mob of one. In fact, she’d hang him even higher, and with a new rope. A nice scratchy one that hadn’t been broken in yet.
She got tired of watching TV and started pacing about 4:00 a.m. and made a cup of coffee at five.
Shortly after, she heard the click of the door lock, and the front door opened and closed. Brick peeked around the corner, squinting into the harsh kitchen light. He clung to the wall, his eyes unfocused and his face ruddy. He was wasted drunk, and she was spitting mad.
She leisurely poured them both a cup of coffee, lulling him into a false sense of security, and invited him to join her on the deck. The cool air would
do him some good. He gladly complied and followed her outside. As he weaved toward the glass doors, his coffee sloshed over the sides of his cup and left a trail from the kitchen to the door.
He fell into one of the lawn chairs and gulped the hot coffee while he gripped the sides of the chair.
“Spinning?”
“Yeah.”
Amelia stood, wanting a tactical advantage. “You, Mr. Bricker, are an asshole of the highest degree.”
“Huh?” He stared up at her, not comprehending.
“Yes, you. You broke that little girl’s heart, and don’t think for one damn minute that Rush’s invitation got you off the hook. It did not.”
Brick shot to his feet and stalked toward her, surprisingly steady. He backed her right up against the railing. His hot body pressed against hers, and he anchored his hands on either side of her.
She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and she gazed up at him in alarm. Only he didn’t look angry, he looked—
Hot?
Amorous?
Ready to jump her bones?
She grabbed his arms, and he growled. A pure male growl vibrating from deep within his chest.
“I want you,” he rasped.
Amelia shook her head, struck mute by too many conflicting emotions.
“I turned down a hottie who was practically climbing inside my jeans ’cause I couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking kiss. What guy does that?”
She couldn’t answer. He’d been obsessing about their kiss. Welcome to the horny and unsatisfied club, Martin Bricker.
“Well, not this guy. That’s for guys who stick with one woman. I’m not that type of guy.”
“And what type of guy are you? The type who makes promises to his daughter and doesn’t keep them?”
He winced. She’d hit her mark. He narrowed his eyes, a predator sizing up his prey. A slow smirk spread across his face.
“I’m the type of guy who gets what he wants. And I want you.”
Before she could utter one word of resistance, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. She expected a bruising, passionate kiss. Instead, his lips were soft, pliant, and cajoling. Their other kiss had been filled with raw need and naked passion. This one was so much more. As if the alcohol had laid bare emotions he didn’t even acknowledge. His tongue deftly slid inside her mouth, searching, seeking, exploring with gentle sweeps and slides across her tongue.
Goaltending: Seattle Sockeyes Hockey (Game On in Seattle Book 8) Page 13
