Penalty Play

by Lynda Aicher

  Chapter Twelve

  A lazy, sleepy cloud held Jacqui captive. Warm from head to toe, she snuggled into the heat, sighing with the contentment that filled her. A hand slicked through her hair, tugged it away from her face to let it fall down her back. Soothing touch, calm strokes.

  Wait.

  Her brain snapped online in a hitch and stutter. The distinctive scent of sex mixed with Henrik rushed in on an inhale and had her relaxing again. Other details flooded in then. The hot length of him against her front. The bristle of hair where her thigh rested between his legs. The soft thud of his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest beneath her head.

  “You’re awake.” His voice rumbled under her ear, low and unassuming.

  Hmm. She stretched, pressed a kiss to his chest and twisted to look up at him. Her smile was lethargic like she felt. “Did I sleep long?”

  His returning smile was light with soft humor. “Not long.” He kissed her forehead. “Thirty minutes or so.”

  The sated sluggishness that wrapped around her limbs and made moving an unwanted task said it’d been a lot longer—or not long enough.

  She folded her arms over his chest, rested her chin on top and peered back at him. “I’ve never passed out after sex.” Not even close. Cuddling and sleeping next to a man led to the intimacy she’d always avoided. Even so, she had no desire to get up and leave.

  “Thank you?” He arched a brow, voice rising in hesitant question.

  Her chuckle was light and barely heard. “I’ve never had someone do…that before.” She motioned to her backside, her ass clenching just thinking about how amazing it’d felt when he’d licked her there. She couldn’t get herself to detail the act out loud though.

  His wry smile went with the quick tilt of his head. “I’ve never done it before, either.”

  “Really?” He gave a headshake. “Huh. Well it was really, really good.”

  “Nice to know.” His smirk matched the pride that lit up his eyes.

  Men. She jabbed him lightly on the chest before stretching to plant a quick kiss on his lips. “What time do you have to leave?” He had a home game tonight.

  He stretched around to glance at the bedside clock. “In an hour.”

  “Am I interfering with your pregame ritual?”

  His soft puff of laughter and hug flooded her with another wave of contentment. “No. Not at all.”

  This was bad. So, so good, but bad too. Her promise of one more time with him had tumbled away long before his refusal to fuck her. I’ll cherish you. Her heart hitched, constricted. “Do you have a ritual?” she asked, hiding her internal confusion.

  He rubbed at the stubble that darkened his jaw. “I don’t shave until after a game.” That explained the dark dusting in every game picture she’d found of him online. It’d also added some unexpected stimuli to their sex. Was it possible to have beard burn on her inner thighs? “And I like to get to the rink early.”

  “That’s it?”

  He shrugged and trailed his fingers through her hair. “There’re more little ones as I’m getting ready. Nothing big.”

  Her brothers all had quirks or superstitions they still insisted on following before games. “My oldest brother, Dan, will only eat PB&J before a game. And Colin refuses to let anyone touch his stick on game day. Finn has to go for a run no matter how early or sucky the weather is. Now Aiden,” she went on, grinning. “He won’t wash his socks until the team loses.” Henrik wrinkled his nose, and she nodded, mimicking him. “Mom made him leave them in the garage but then the entire space stunk.”

  “You have four older brothers, right?”

  “Yup. Any siblings for you?”

  His swallow was deep, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. A sadness dropped over his face, and she realized she’d unknowingly stepped into painful ground. “Two.” Another swallow. “But my little sister died. Ten years ago now.”

  Her heart immediately went out to him. To the hurt he so obviously still carried. “I’m sorry.” She cupped his cheek and held a kiss to his lips. His eyes were dark and pain-filled when she leaned back. “I can’t imagine losing a sibling.” Even though her brothers had almost lost her more than once.

  He cleared his throat, a rough grind that rattled his chest. “My brother is ten years older than me. We’ve never been close.”

  “But you were with your sister.”

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes, blocking the grief from her. “But not enough.”

  She resettled into the crook of his arm, giving him space. She traced a lazy path over his chest that had no direction or pattern. “I doubt that’s true,” she finally said, believing it. She’d only experienced a glimpse of his giving heart and was overwhelmed by his capacity to love.

  Not that they were there. Or close to there. Or going there.

  Her stomach rolled, doubts and fears festering in the mess of her confusion.

  “Is your family close?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She jumped at the chance to forget where her thoughts had taken her. “Everyone still lives around here too. Plus most of my cousins.”

  “And how many are there of them?” His voice was losing some of the tension that’d held it tight.

  She did a quick mental calculation then gave up with a soft laugh. “Fifty or sixty. Maybe Seventy. I can’t keep them straight. Mom was one of eight kids. Dad one of five. Our extended family stretches across Minnesota and northern Wisconsin.”

  His hand stilled in its absent caress of her hair. “I can’t imagine that.”

  “Irish Catholics,” she supplied. “Before birth control pills became accepted.”

  “So they are now?”

  “Not officially. But unofficially, hell yes.” She lifted up. “Giving birth to eight kids is damn hard. Let alone raising them all.”

  His laughter was full now, his melancholy absent. He hugged her tighter, eyes sparkling. “So eight kids isn’t on your wish list?”

  Bam. The innocent question hit too fast for her to withhold her flinch. His smile dropped, and she cursed her reaction. “Definitely not eight,” she forced out with a stiff smile. “I’d be fine with two.” If I can have any at all.

  “What happened?” He stroked her cheek, tenderness flooding out of him.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, glancing away with a dry chuckle. “Did you like growing up in Boston?” That might be the worst subject change ever, and the prolonged silence confirmed it. She dared a side peek at him to catch his intense study of her.

  He brushed his fingers through her hair until the ends fell away to fan over her shoulder and tickle her skin. “It was fine.”

  “The city or your childhood?”

  “Both?”

  Her chuckle was light. “Is that a question?” Another shrug from him had her shaking her head with a grin. “Okay.” She shifted around, skin stroking skin to brace herself over him. His eyes morphed to the hunter-green shade she loved. “No more family talk.”

  A long kiss obliterated all thoughts but ones of him. She swooped in and savored each slow swipe and little nibble. He still smelled of her, the musky scent clinging to the stubble on his cheeks. It was erotic, respiking the memory of how that bristle had tickled and enticed when he’d been licking her.

  She squirmed. Her spread legs left her open and wanting again. It’d be so easy to slide back, filling herself on him. God.

  How she wanted this man. This complex, caring man who still baffled her.

  The kiss went on and on, a languid exploration that simmered over her skin and eased through her. So easy. So…right.

  That single word—one thought—vaulted to the front and shut down everything else.

  She broke the kiss and tucked her head into his shoulder, hiding. From him. Herself. Everything she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  And he held her. Caressed her back, hair, everywhere he could reach until the tears welled hot and biting behind her eyes. Throat dry and aching, she clamped her lips tight along wi
th her eyes and held it all in. The longing and need. The greedy desire to pull him into her life, despite the ticking clock counting down to December.

  She couldn’t do it though. Not if…

  “I need to get going,” he said, regret in his voice.

  She slid off him without a word. A silent acknowledgement edged with more relief. “I need to leave too.” His hand on her wrist stopped her when she tried to roll away. She turned back, wary.

  “I don’t want this to be it.” Meaning rang clear in his steady gaze. “I have tickets to our game tonight. I’d like you to come watch.”

  Her heart lurched and pattered along with that twisting churn in her stomach. It took everything she had to plaster on a smile and lean in to kiss him. “Thank you. But I’m working again.”

  His head dropped, disappointment rolling off him to kick at her. “Right.” He lifted his head, expression flat. “So it’s just this?”

  Defenses had her turning away to hunt down her clothes. “I didn’t say that,” she said as she left the room. Their path of passion was marked across the great room from the piano bench to the sofa.

  “Then what?”

  He followed her out of the bedroom but didn’t move to dress. She was acutely aware of him watching her slip her panties on. Defiance had her turning toward him, not away.

  “What’s wrong with this? I thought we were having fun.”

  He crossed his arms, shutters coming down to harden his jaw. His casual lean against the bedroom doorjamb was stiff from his raised shoulders to his bent knee, every stunning naked inch of him on display. “It’s more.”

  She frowned and ducked to slip her jeans on. “More how?” He was gone when she straightened, and she quickly found her bra and finished dressing. This sucked. Every part of it. Wanting him and hurting him, which she could see she was doing.

  Weren’t men supposed to want a quickie? The no-commitment hookups?

  “Here.” His abrupt command shot across the silent room. She jerked around, tensing when she saw him. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he was a vision of masculinity. Any woman would be lucky to have him after her. Any woman except her, evidently.

  Her gaze shifted to the box he balanced at his side. The colored picture plastered down the front of the white box showed a keyboard, Yamaha written in bold letters along with a model number.

  She stared, stunned, brain clicking through the implications while violently rejecting them as they formed. Her head was swiveling before she consciously realized it. “What’s that?” Her mouth was dry, denial plummeting her heart. He wasn’t trying to buy her, was he? Or worse—pay her.

  He motioned to the box. “It’s for you.” His brows lowered, lines stacking up his forehead. “For your music. You said this was your specialty, and the guy at your store said this was the best.”

  The guy at her store. Damn it.

  She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the sharp words that bubbled in her throat. “I have a perfectly good one at home. And access to more at school. I don’t need another one.”

  He cocked his head, frown deepening. “I researched them too. This one is the best.” He pushed the box forward to highlight his insistence.

  She stared at him, anger warring with her growing confusion. “Is this…payment?”

  “What?” He jerked back, eyes wide. “No.”

  Her legs were a bit unsteady when she moved toward him, each step hesitant.

  Innocence. It was there now. Confusion along with retreat as he ducked his head, hand scrubbing through his hair. She considered herself a fairly good reader of men, given her experience growing up with four of them. And this right here—the gift—was a gesture of kindness.

  Unless he was playing her.

  “Then why?” She stopped a few feet away from him, still wary.

  “I thought you’d like it.” Exasperation flew from the words, his hand dropping to prop on his hip. “You can exchange it if you want a different one.”

  The constriction on her chest loosened, letting a full breath in. Her head was shaking again though. “I can’t accept this.”

  “Why?” And his frown was back.

  She stepped up to him, cupped his cheek. Everything softened at her touch. His eyes, shoulders, expression. Damn him. He was going to hook her yet.

  “Because it’s too much. I barely know you.” She smoothed her hand back, palm scratching over his stubble to hold his nape. “I don’t want you to buy me things.”

  His sigh was heavy with the confusion that lifted his brows. “Then what do you want?”

  Just you.

  She choked back her instant answer, pulse racing. It was true though. “You.” His eyes went wide, hope blooming bright. “You don’t have to buy me,” she rushed on. “I like you for you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and that’s enough.”

  “You like me?”

  Innocence and disbelief. How could this be the same man who barreled down the ice and crashed into men for a living?

  “Yes.” She placed a quick, hard kiss to his lips and stepped back, grin honest and full. “Trust that. And kick some ass tonight.”

  She squeezed his arm, waited for him to nod then headed for the front door.

  “We leave tomorrow for a three-game road trip.” He’d set the box against the back of the couch and was leaning around her to open the closet when she reached it. How did such a big man move so silently?

  She stepped aside and let him help her into her coat. He gripped her shoulders when she turned to face him. His study of her was brief but intense. “I’ll call.”

  One more time? No wouldn’t pass her lips no matter how hard she tried to shove it out. “Okay.” Whatever that led to, she’d deal with. This man was working his way into her life, and she really didn’t want to stop him.

  Her stomach twisted, a burn firing below her rib cage in a blast of mocking pain. December seemed really far away. There was so much that could happen before then, and chances were good that whatever this was would be long done before Thanksgiving rolled around.

  Despite all the reasons and logic she had for ending this now, she wanted to take what he offered and selfishly enjoy it while she still had the chance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dude.” Justin Feeney slammed into Henrik, knocking him sideways a couple of steps. “We’re heading downstairs in ten. Bunnies are in the bar.”

  Henrik rammed Feeney back and continued down the hotel hallway without answering. Looking for a quick fuck was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Oh, come on,” Feeney complained. “Don’t tell me another girl has your nuts in a vise again.”

  That didn’t even deserve a reaction. Henrik kept his gaze leveled straight ahead and dug his keycard out of his pocket.

  “Roller has balls?” Ted Cutter called out. “I thought he’d lost his years ago.”

  Henrik flipped them off and jammed the keycard into the lock. Their unoriginal ribbing wasn’t worth more. The lock clicked open, and he shoved into his room.

  “I’ll get you when we’re heading down.” Feeney’s words were cut off when the door closed. Thank God.

  Henrik heaved a sigh and tossed the keycard on the desk. The yawn hit him out of nowhere, and he stretched into it. Road trips sucked. They’d always sucked. But they wore him down faster now than they had five years ago. He was a fucking old bastard. That pulled a sarcastic chuckle from his chest. Hockey was one of the few places a twenty-nine-year-old would be considered ancient.

  He collapsed onto the bed, head dropping into his hands. Three weeks into the season, and he was already tired. How shitty would he feel seventy games from now?

  Eat, sleep, play hockey—he’d lived on that endless cycle for so long he had no idea what life was like without it. But there had to be more. Right?

  And there was that elusive more again. Would he even know when he found it, or was it a blind goal with no decisive finish? He felt it with Jacqui though. That something th
at was so much better than what he’d had in the past.

  His previously endless string of back-to-back women had provided a diversion, a dependable way to fill up his free time. Dependable and empty.

  And what did that say about him and the career he was supposed to love?

  He checked the time—three hours until they had to head back to the rink. The lag between morning practice and game prep were some of the few hours they had to themselves on road trips.

  Jacqui would be on campus now. He’d figured that out over the last weeks of texting and calls. Her quick notes and longer chats were now a part of his on-the-road pregame routine he’d come to count on. Much like seeing her when he was at home.

  A part of him kept waiting for her to bolt. He sensed it in her despite the easy bond and friendship they’d formed. He’d stopped asking her to attend home games or buying her anything, since it only resulted in her withdrawing and refusing. And she really did work too much, almost every night and weekends, which made it hard to take her out on a proper date. He’d let his insecurities fade though when he’d realized she wasn’t using work as an excuse to avoid him.

  She was everything he’d wanted without knowing it. Calm was a good word. Soothing. She filled the emptiness and made him laugh.

  The stories of her brothers and family had him longing for that with her. Family, commitment and the security that came with it. She had the “Leave it to Beaver” life he’d always believed to be purely fictional. It was so dynamically opposite of everything he knew that he caught himself doubting it while also wanting it.

  He sent a quick text to her. Are you free?

  He got his tablet out of his bag and scooted up the bed until he rested against the headboard. Five minutes passed while he checked his email. It was mostly junk, but it took up time, and there was the occasional email from the Amelia G. Hedberg foundation that required his attention. He also didn’t want to deal with an irritated call from his mother if he missed a correspondence regarding the Hedberg family trust. It was better to stay on top of those responsibilities, ones he took seriously even if his family doubted it.