by Olivia Luck
“Stella, a word?” Blake’s talking against my ear again. His tongue darts against the delicate shell and I know it’s on purpose. The seductive jerk.
“One,” I snap childishly.
“One?”
“Have fun, kiddos!” Felix sing songs and flounces off. I barely notice his departure.
“You asked for a word. That’s singular,” I explain snootily.
“Sassy is a good look for you.” The hand not on my back shoots out to the bar effectively trapping me against him. Inside a war wages: I want him close. No! He’ll use you again. “It seems that I need more than a singular word to get through to you, Snow White.”
My nose wrinkles at the familiarity, but inwardly, I’m swooning. The man thinks about me enough to give me a nickname, a very favorable one at that. My mom would call it romantic.
Don’t succumb to this.
“There’s no getting through to anything, Blake. You showed all of your cards last month.”
His eyes narrow dangerously and darken to a deep brown, nearly black. “We aren’t having this conversation shouting in a club. Let’s go.” He shifts his grip to my upper arm. It’s not painful, but it is commanding and he steers me toward the back of the cavernous club.
“Stop bullying me,” I snap, trying to wrench my arm free. When we reach a quieter hallway leading toward the administrative offices of the club, I manage to break free and take a step backward. Fury and shame overpower all of my other emotions. My tongue doesn’t hold back, the words ripping from me. “You treated me like a whore and now you want to speak to me? Not happening.”
I thought I saw him angry before? Nothing compares to the emotion sparkling in his deep brown gaze. He crowds me against the wall, voice taut. “Never call yourself that, Stella. Never.”
“Why not? You couldn’t be bothered to kiss me, couldn’t be bothered to use a condom,” I shoot back.
Blake’s expression softens in an instant. “I’m so sorry, Stella. You’ll never know how much I regret the way that I behaved. On our first time together, no less.”
First and last time, I think angrily. His statement implies more times in our future and I see nothing lying ahead of us.
“Okay,” I say stiffly. The apology doesn’t make me relax. I’m defeated, devastated. Alone with the man who clobbered my heart in one swift blow. Shaking my head, I scoot around him. “Then there’s nothing else to say.” Using what little energy I have left, I hurry through the hallway and push open the door leading to the outside.
A blast of frigid air shoots through my shoulders the second that I step outside. It’s freezing and I’m hardly dressed for the plummeting temperatures. The cold distracts me momentarily, and I don’t hear his pursuit.
Blake catches my wrist and all the fight evaporates.
I don't have a chance to consider avoiding him. Blake prowls toward me, collecting me against his chest in a heartbeat. One arm braces my waist and the other hand splays across the width of my back. My mouth falls open to say something, but he leaves no space for me to speak. The moment he slams his lips on mine, my eyes shut out the rest of the world and I'm lost to him.
Automatically my arms twine around his neck. I tug him forward, needing to be closer. Needing to taste him, needing to know that he's real. And if only for this exchange, needing to know he's mine.
He tastes like spearmint. Clean. Fresh. Delicious. Consuming.
The man knows what he's doing.
Blake deepens our kiss, leaning into me enough that I arch over the arm bound to my lower back. My breasts mash up against his chest, the thin material doing nothing to hide my pebbled nipples that have little to do with the cold weather and more with the arousal tingling all the nerves in my body. I hold him tightly, giving into his demanding tongue. It's wet, intense, sloppy…perfect.
Tearing his mouth from mine, Blake takes a step back and jams his hands on his hips. His lips tilt into a confident smirk.
"Good enough of a kiss for you, Stella?"
Pleasure disappears behind burning embarrassment. Is he making fun of me? Before I realize what I'm doing, I charge across the damp alley, draw my hand back, and slap him clear across his smug face.
Shoot! That stings.
The pleased expression Blake wears fades into shock and then...an emotion I can't discern.
"Thank you," I spit at him as I wipe my smarting hand along the length of my hip.
"For what?" He narrows his eyes, taking an intimidating step forward. "I let you do that, Snow White."
I shrug, pretending his mocking doesn't wound me deeply. "Maybe so, but now I know for certain that I'm nothing but a game to you. I'm too old to play."
Whipping around without pausing to gauge his reaction, I walk toward the club's back entrance. My hand is inches away from the ripping the door open when his hand clamps around my elbow, forcing me to pause.
"What?" I want it to come out viciously, but instead the fight diminishes into the chilly evening air.
"Stella, please wait."
I know my heart is at risk. It's tottering on the edge of a cliff, and a stiff wind could send it over the edge. He has the power. To scar me. To break me. To destroy me. But the moment that he murmurs my name, I relinquish control.
“Why?” I choke out. “Who are you? The nurturing big brother? The loving, compassionate guy I’ve come to know, or the conceited prick using me for my body? You know what; don’t answer that. I can’t do this anymore.”
I take a few steps back. Heartache, my steady companion, reappears. Without the distraction of his touch, I’m reminded that it’s bitterly cold outside and a stark shudder rolls through my entire body.
“You’re cold,” he mutters unhappily and shrugs off his suit jacket. Before I have a chance to argue, he drapes it around my back. Blake’s large hands settle on my upper arms and begin to rub vigorously.
“Why does my temperature matter?” I ask the question to this collarbone, refusing to make eye contact with the man who continues to torment my emotions.
“Stella –” there it is again, my name on his lips is tremendously distracting–“I want to start over with you.” Another shiver cascades through my shoulders and he makes a pained expression. With an arm anchoring me to his side, Blake leads me back through the door of the club and into the secluded hallway. I wrench out of his grip and put some much-needed distance between us.
“Start over with what?”
“A first date, we’ll need one of those.”
“You’re not making any sense, Blake.”
“It’s pretty simple. When a woman captures all a man’s attention, when she’s the only thing on this mind, he takes her on a date. Then another and another and another until he can convince her to be his.”
The words make my body go rigid in disbelief and my heart slow in my chest. I let my eyes fall closed as I shake my head back and forth. “Don’t say things like that to me, Blake.”
Even though I can’t see him, I sense him getting closer. Then his knuckles trail down my cheek in a whisper of a caress. “I won’t stop, Stella. This is going to happen and we’re going to do it right. That night last month… I don’t regret what happened between us because I wanted you.” His voice drops into a husky murmur. “I still want you, but not that rushed bullshit.”
Tilting my head backward, I peel my lids open to assess his tone. Intensity vibrates around him. He pins me against the wall, with his gaze, without so much as touching me. I want to trust his sincerity that I can practically see tattooed across his forehead, but if he hurts me again, I’m not sure that I’ll ever recover.
“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” he directs through a voice as smooth as honey.
“Don’t boss me around like one of your athletes.”
He smiles wryly. “They only listen to their coach.”
I frown. “I’m busy.” Thankfully, it’s the truth, and I don’t have to fake an excuse.
“Message received. Have I mentioned
how much it turns me on when you stand up to me?” Blake says.
Gulp. Yep, that noise came from my throat. How very sophisticated of me.
“What’s happening tomorrow?”
“Family game night.” I can speak easily about this safe topic. The Baccino cousins get together for food and games. It doesn’t happen every month, but a regular tradition for us kids, as our parents still refer to us despite our ages.
“Monday, then.”
Blake cups my jaw in one hand, preventing me from responding by sending a jolt of awareness through my body. Will this happen every time that he touches me? “Don’t say no,” he murmurs huskily. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!” Violet’s voice breaks the spell between us.
Blake’s hand falls from my face to my hip, holding me in a possessive grip. Mama help me, but I love the pads of his fingers touching my body. I glance to my left where Violet watches us with unhidden shock.
“What’s up, V?”
“Raffle and announcement time. You’re supposed to be my lovely assistant.”
It takes all the strength that I have to shrug out of Blake’s jacket and lose the physical connection between us.
“Monday.”
“Blake…” Paying no mind to my friend, he touches my cheek again, this time drawing a straight line with the tip of his pointer finger.
“I’ll see you then, Snow White.”
Lord help me, but I want to be with him—Monday night and every night after.
“What am I missing?” The four-seat dining room table has enough food for ten people, not just my three cousins and Violet. Bruschetta, meatballs, spaghetti, and an antipasto platter should be enough, but Max and Ben eat like they’re starving.
Antonia, Ben, Max, and Violet will be here soon. First comes food (and lots of it) then a round of Scattergories or a card game before falling into conversation. This is the first time that game night is at my house and I want to make this a place that my cousins want to return, down to the menu and the extra throw blanket that I tossed on the couch to ward off the subzero temperatures.
I’m thankful for the distraction of cooking and cleaning today. Otherwise my mind would land on Blake and never escape. The man is like quicksand—no matter how hard I fight to break free, he keeps pulling me back, deeper and deeper, until I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to survive him.
Wiping the thought from my mind, I head into the bathroom to run a brush through my hair and toss it into a ponytail. There’s no dress code or need to impress my cousins. In a pair of leggings and a baggy sweatshirt that hangs off my shoulder, I’ll be no less fancy than the rest of the lot.
Buzz!
My shoulders start at the abrupt sound from my doorbell. Without asking who’s there, I press my thumb on the button to unlock the front door of my building. Leaving my front door ajar, I walk toward the kitchen to wash my hands.
The main space of my condo combines the living-slash-dining-slash-kitchen area. The three areas squeeze into the square room. I’ll admit, my home isn’t large but the size doesn’t bother me. All that matters is this place is mine. Lots of scrimping allowed me to put a decent down payment on this place with enough left over to furnish.
“We’re here!” The front door bursts open and my cousin Ben tramples inside. I open my arms and he runs into them, smashing me into a hug.
“And I’m thrilled to see you, Mr. Energetic,” I tease.
Antonia trails behind him. “Bless you for hosting, Stella. Tony’s got the girls tonight and I don’t have to change diapers.” My cousin may lightly complain about her daughters, but she loves them more than life itself. She brushes a wayward brown curl behind her ear and presents a bottle of wine. “Thank you for cooking, I prepped with the kitchen staff all afternoon.”
“How could I not cook? It’s the first time that we’re getting together at my place.”
“Something smells unreal.” Violet enters next, also toting a bottle of wine. Max appears next and then…
“Dominic!” I gasp in excited surprise. It’s been months since I’ve seen Max’s identical twin, and I’m thrilled that he’s here. My cousin lives in Canada and works in player development for the Wings, a professional hockey team.
“What are you waiting for? Get over here, kid.” He uses my nickname to irk me, but I don’t mind. Dominic’s always been rough around the edges, though enigmatic, like his father. While Max never says a bad word about anyone, Dominic’s critical and at times judgmental. Past his rough veneer is a sensitive man deeply devoted to his family.
His jacket still carries the cold air from outside, and it chills my cheek when I press it against his chest. Dominic slides his arm around my upper back and squeezes me tight. “Nice digs.”
“Thanks, but what are you doing here?” I begin shuffling around the small space, taking my cousins’ coats to the small closet in the hallway leading toward my bedroom while they strip off their boots.
“Mom and Dad weren’t too happy that I missed Christmas.”
“None of us were,” Antonia says as she drops into the Cayenne-colored armchair. I admittedly relied on the West Elm catalog to decorate my home, but I think it turned out nicely—modern furnishings with a hint of feminism.
Dominic rolls his eyes good-naturedly, joining Benny on the gray sectional. “Working the holidays was not my idea of fun either, but there was a player…”
“And you had to check him out,” Max finishes.
“If I ever want to work at an organization like the Scrapers, then yes. They say jump, I ask how high. It’s my dream job,” he explains defensively.
“We missed you at our family dinner, that’s all,” I remind him softly. “But we are proud of you for chasing your dream, even if we’re sad that it takes you away from us.” Crossing the living room, I grab his shoulder and rock it back and forth a few times.
“I know.” He puffs out a breath. “Wings play the Scrapers tomorrow. Here for a tour of Midwest teams. If I can get tickets, Benny boy and I are going to hit up the game, right, B?” My older cousin nods enthusiastically at Dominic.
Ben’s my cousin who adores hockey. He follows the Scrapers with near religious fervor. Last night, I tried to win tickets to a game at the raffle but came up short to my disappointment. No matter now, though, because Dominic’s shown up at the perfect time to take my thoughts away from a certain member of the Scrapers organization.
“This is the best kind of surprise,” Antonia affirms my thoughts in a softer tone making my cousin visibly relax. I cast a glance at Violet, who’s been uncharacteristically silent during this entire exchange. Something’s off with her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Buzz!
I jump around in surprise toward the intercom system. “I wonder who that could be.” I’m not expecting anyone else and hardly get visitors outside of my family. “Hello?” I mutter into the device, tuning out the conversation behind me about who will open the first bottle of vino.
“It’s Blake.”
A familiar sensation of being locked in place halts my brain from rational thought. “Hi,” I say stupidly. How does he know where I live? Oh. He dropped Zoe here a time or two. God, he’s got me so twisted up that I can’t remember the little things.
“It’s freezing out here. Can I come up?” There’s laughter in his voice, as if he knows that he renders me senseless.
“Oh, um, sure.” I know if I turn around, I’ll find curious cousins staring at me, and I’m not prepared to answer them because I don’t know what’s happening, either. Why would Blake show up at my place? He knew that I had plans.
Once again, I crack open the front door, but this time nervous anticipation crackles around me. Thumps sound against the carpeted steps during his ascent and then he’s here. Six foot something, glorious wind-swept brown hair, dark gray wool coat and brown leather boots. Did he step off the cover of GQ or a blustery winter night? Like my cousins, h
e’s brought alcohol with him, three bottles of wine wedged against his body.
I step out into the hallway, halfway closing the door behind me to muffle our conversation from my eavesdropping cousins. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t turn down family game night.” The man has no shame; he’s smiling cockily as if he’s not intruding on my life.
“I don’t recall inviting you. And how did you know it would be here? Speaking of that, how did you know where to find me last night?”
Blake steps forward, crowding me toward my front door, but I refuse to be intimidated. Even if it means tilting my head back, I continue to meet his gaze unafraid.
“Marla’s a wealth of information. A couple of questions and I found out about the charity event.” My stomach flips. He went to the trouble to find me? “And if you want me to believe that you’re dating Channing Tatum’s twin, you should tell him not to help a guy out when he’s begging for details.” My heart catches on the word choice of begging.
“Violet was the one who said I had a date with Felix, not me,” I remind him. “And when you say begging, it gives the connotations of desperation.”
His expression becomes intent. “Was I not clear last night? I’ll do whatever it takes to spend more time with you, Stella. Whatever. It. Takes.” With the last three words, his voice goes soft, but no less firm and believable.
I’m silently cheering at his confession. Somehow, I manage to keep my face even. “By all means, join us.” Using the back of my body to push the door open, I make way for him to enter.
“What the funk is he doing here?” Violet asks from where she’s curled next to Max on my sofa. It’s not said spitefully, but full of surprise.
“That’s the second time you’ve used funk instead of its lewder alternative. Gotta tell you, friend, I don’t think it’s sticking.” I train my wide, shocked eyes on my friend. Violet raises an auburn eyebrow in question. Max tugs her against his chest and presses a kiss to her forehead. It’s a sweet gesture, but his eyes are stuck on Blake.
