by Jill Shalvis
When his hands reached around to play with her breasts she realized she was naked. And that she’d fallen asleep.
“I fell asleep,” she said, turning to face him. “I didn’t mean to. I should probably get going.”
His eyes were slumberous and sexy. “You should stay for breakfast,” he mumbled. Now that the back of her neck was unavailable, he kissed his way across her shoulder, heading for her breast.
“Breakfast? I can’t stay the whole night.”
He stopped in his tracks and glanced up at her. “Darling, you already did.”
Only now did she realize that it was light outside. She squinted at the fancy clock on the bedside. It was eight in the morning.
A strangled sound came out of her mouth. “I can’t stay the night.”
Amusement faded from his eyes and for a second she got a glimpse of the tough player who’d once terrorized opposing teams. “Why not? Somebody waiting for you at home?”
“What?” She rubbed her eyes, and, as his meaning sank in, she snapped, “No, of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t—” She stopped, not sure how to explain her confused feelings, threw her hands up. “I just don’t. Not any of it.”
He still regarded her somewhat warily, but the sharp suspicion had faded. “Well, you sure did last night.”
“It was different last night. It was dark and I thought it would be simple to slip into bed with a stranger and then slip out again and go home.”
He stroked the side of her face with his finger, this tough guy with his delicate caresses. “But you’re not built that way. I could have told you that.”
“How could you know?”
He shrugged. “Gut instinct. A lot of women are interested in guys who play hockey. You get a sense of who wants bragging rights and who wants something real.” A sudden frown darkened his eyes. “At least, most of the time you do. Sometimes we all get fooled.”
She suspected he was thinking of the ex Mrs. Jarrad McBride and she really didn’t want the shadow of a swimsuit model darkening this bed, especially not while she happened to be in it. Naked.
“I didn’t even know who you were until I saw that commercial. Then I had to look you up on Google.”
“I know.” He stroked the side of her waist where it curved, traced it to her hip and let his hand settle there, warm and comforting.
“You must have thought I was stupid.”
“Nope. I thought how nice it was to have a conversation with someone where I was just a guy she was getting to know.”
“I can’t believe how well I got to know you.” She shook her head. “This time yesterday, I didn’t even know you existed.”
“Now you do.”
She rolled over to face him. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “I’m not really the casual-sex type.”
He kissed her nose. “Believe it or not, neither am I. I tell you what. Since I accidentally made you stay all night, how about I take you for breakfast?”
“How does that make me staying over here any better? If we go for breakfast?”
“Doesn’t. But I’m hungry. I can’t think when I’m hungry.”
“Well…” But it wasn’t like she had anything pressing to do at home. Laundry that could wait. And besides, after all their night-time activity, she was hungry too.
“Okay. But I need to shower first.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Jarrad.”
“What?” He threw up his hands all Mr. Innocent. “It’s a great way to save water. I’m all about saving the environment.”
Because he was adorable and made her feel so good, how could she resist?
* * *
HE MIGHT HAVE TAKEN her to a fancy place for dinner but she discovered his taste in breakfast was more of the diner variety. Naturally, everyone knew him in Tracy’s, where the choices for breakfast were pretty much bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes and steak and eggs. This wasn’t a place that would serve, say, muesli and yogurt, or an organic fruit compote.
Oh, well. She supposed a good dose of cholesterol wouldn’t hurt her once in a while.
The coffee was good and strong, and while Jarrad launched into the West Coast Trucker which pretty much seemed to contain every single item on the menu times three, she stuck to bacon and eggs. Jarrad waded through all of his and still managed to eat half her hash browns.
“I don’t know where you put all that food,” she said, amazed.
“Sex,” he said around a mouthful of potato. “It’s fuel for sex.”
She did not know how he did it, but even the stupidest comments like that one made her hot. She knew she only had him for a couple of weeks so she was determined to enjoy every minute.
Simply being here eating breakfast in a diner while wearing her black dress from last night made her feel gloriously wanton. She might as well wear a neon sign that said, Got Laid Last Night. Not that anybody spared her a second glance, but it was cool nonetheless.
She tried to cross her legs and felt a muscle twinge. “Ow.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked immediately. “Did I hurt you?”
“I don’t think it was you. I think it was the hockey.”
He seemed enormously relieved that it was hockey and not the aftermath of his loving making her wince. “You need to practice every day. Then your body will get used to skating and you’ll get better fast.”
“Jarrad, I have a job. I can’t practice every day.”
“Sure you can. When does your team meet up again?”
“Thursday.”
“Okay. Come on. I’ll give you a private coaching lesson today. We’ll see if we can get you caught up enough that you can go after a puck without clinging to the boards.”
“I need to change my clothes. I can’t go skating in a little black dress.”
He leaned forward. “I’m telling you right now that your thoughts are way too limiting. Haven’t you ever watched figure skaters? They skate in dresses all the time.” Then his voice lowered and he got that sexy look in his eyes that made her melt. “Imagine how it would feel, the cool breeze rising up underneath your skirt, maybe letting me get a little feel in if you manage to skate in a straight line without looking at your feet.”
She tried to look prim and annoyed but only ended up laughing. “You are a sex maniac.”
“Only with you.”
She drank the last of her coffee. “Don’t you have to coach the fire and police team today?”
“Hell.” He smacked himself upside the head. “I totally forgot.”
“That’s okay.” She wouldn’t be disappointed. Sure, if she hadn’t stupidly reminded him of his coaching gig, she’d be getting another private lesson, but she wasn’t nearly as interested in skating as she was in some other physical activities they could do together.
However, she had reminded him, and of course that was the right thing to do. Now she had fewer than thirteen days with him. She had a feeling it was going to fly by.
“Can I call you later?”
Okay, so lucky thirteen was still a possibility. She nodded. Gave her best attempt at a seductive smile. “You can definitely call me later.”
She must have done an okay job because he made a low animal growl that called up a corresponding response in her body. Oh, yes, she’d be waiting by the phone.
* * *
BUT WHEN HE CALLED, it was with the disappointing news that he’d been delayed. “My brother and sister demanded a family dinner. We haven’t all been together for a while. I didn’t know how to get out of it. If I told them I had a date, then they’d ask a bunch of nosy questions about you, which I don’t think either of us want.”
“Right. Of course. I understand.” And she did, all too well. She was his little secret. Not even his family could know about her. It was Michael all over again. Except that with Jarrad the sex was really good, and since she already knew he could never be hers for more than a couple of weeks
, she wasn’t hurt that he didn’t want to own up to her presence in his life. At least, not very hurt.
Later, she was pretty sure she’d suffer when he was gone from her life, but in the meantime, it was so nice to be with him.
“Can I come over later? After dinner?” he asked.
“Oh, um…” It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do to make a visit from a celebrity hockey player unwelcome. “Sure.”
“Great. See you around ten.”
Her apartment was neat. It was always neat, but with a gentleman caller coming later, she changed the sheets, vacuumed her bedroom, went out and bought fresh flowers. Then she ironed her best silk nightgown. The softness of the fine fabric and the thought that it would soon be the only thing separating her and Jarrad made her feel hot and twitchy.
She’d already enjoyed the best night of her life, how could she be so greedy as to be panting for a repeat? She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sexual woman.
Until now.
When she recalled how bold she’d been last night she felt her cheeks heat. But Jarrad had seemed to like it, and in truth, she’d liked that version of herself too. A woman who wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. To offer herself to a man who interested her.
She was strong, sexy, in control. She was right up there with Madonna.
Though she doubted the Material Girl ironed her own nightgowns—if she even wore them—or spent an afternoon correcting the spelling of second graders.
She decided to continue on her road to personal boldness and while she was waiting for Jarrad, did her hair in sexy curls, slipped on her silk nightgown and imagined meeting him at the door wearing so little that she was a blatant invitation.
Then he was there, buzzing her to get in. “Come on up,” she said, and then panicked. What was he going to think of her? Her outfit pretty much begged for sex. Maybe he was here to talk about coaching, to get some more of her advice for seven-year-old boys.
She raced into her bedroom, tore off the gown, shoved herself into jeans and a sweater, and ran to get the door when he knocked.
She opened the door.
He stepped inside.
She was in his arms.
He kissed her for a long, long time. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he told her.
“Me, too.” And then she cursed herself for being such a chicken. She should never have changed. On the other hand, now she’d have the pleasure of having him undress her.
He backed her into the living room, still kissing her. Oh, it was nice to be in the arms of someone so athletically coordinated. By the time they got to the couch, she was panting with desire.
So was he.
She wondered why she’d bothered changing her sheets. They never made it to the bedroom.
Much later, when they were sprawled on the couch talking idly, he said, “So, did you practice today?”
“No. I had marking to do.”
“It’s very important to practice.”
“I can do it when you’re there, but when I’m on my own I kind of freak out.”
“Well, until you get the hang of it, I guess I’ll need to be there with you,” he said, perfectly cheerfully. As though teaching a complete novice how to play hockey was as much fun as playing in the NHL.
“Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure.” He stretched his arms over his head. She could have watched him do that for hours. The muscles in his arms were so sexy, so defined. His chest was broad, his belly a classic six-pack. She felt like drooling every time she looked at him. “You tired?”
She didn’t think she’d ever be too tired for more sex with this amazing man. “No.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hockey, of course,” he said, with a wide “gotcha” grin. He leaped up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I never joke about the world’s greatest game.”
“But it’s after midnight.”
“I know.”
“We’ll never get in the rink.”
He began pulling on his clothes. Glanced up at her. “Care to make a small wager on my chances?”
In that moment she saw the little boy in him, the hockey hellion he must have been as a kid. Charm and talent and guts. What a combination.
“I think I’ll save my money for something sensible. Like bail for when we get thrown in jail for breaking and entering.”
“Put your clothes on and stop stalling, woman.”
She couldn’t imagine Michael ever calling her “woman.” He was much too politically correct. But the strange thing was that Michael had all the veneer of a man who respected women, while Jarrad might talk like a redneck, but he was the one willing to teach a hapless female how to play hockey. Actions, she reminded herself, speak louder than words.
“Yes, sir,” she said and put her clothes back on.
“I like your hair like that, by the way,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Now go get your stuff.”
7
OF COURSE SHE’D KNOWN he’d get into the rink. But it was even easier than she’d imagined.
“Big J!” The night manager had been thrilled to welcome them into the complex in the middle of the night.
And he talked all the way as he led them to a rink. Mostly about Jarrad’s team and some of the game highlights he recalled.
“It’s a damn shame, what happened to you,” he said at last.
“Ah, I had a good run. I’d have had to retire soon anyway. Not getting any younger.”
He talked a good line, but she suspected he wasn’t having an easy time adjusting to his unexpected retirement. The man had too much energy. Well, witness him bringing her here at midnight to skate. After sex.
The lights were dim, and it was sort of spooky seeing all the ghostly trophies in cases and feeling the emptiness of the usually bustling space.
The night manager unlocked the rink and hit the lights. “You’ve got the whole place to yourselves,” he announced cheerfully.
“Now, doesn’t that sound good?”
Everything with him sounded good.
She couldn’t believe how much fun it was. He teased her, bullied her, pushed her, and by the end of two hours, she pretty much forgot she wasn’t back playing field hockey. Skating was beginning to feel natural again, she’d lost her fear and concentrated on getting the puck—which seemed to fly around at astonishing speeds across the ice—and smacking it in the general direction of the other goal.
“Okay, champ,” he said, skating up and giving her a hug. “You can hit the showers now.”
“Hit the showers?” she said, laughing. “I guess I’ll have to wait until I get home.”
But a teasing, sexy smile was already squinching up his eyes, and that one extra-long scar-turned-laugh-line pulled her in. “I say we shower here.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Who cares what time it is, we’re sweaty and I am personally very, very dirty.”
She laughed so suddenly the sound echoed around the empty rink. “You certainly are.” She shrugged. Since she’d become involved with Jarrad she knew nothing was ever going to be normal and staid. “Okay, I’m not sure where the women’s change room is.”
His wicked grin only intensified. “I bet you’ve always wanted to see where the naked men shower.”
Not until now. But the very words had her conjuring him up naked and soapy and her naked and soapy and… “You read my mind,” she said, her voice going low and sexy in spite of herself.
He chuckled, deep in his throat. Grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
A deep ache began low in her belly. There was something about this man that made the craziest things deeply erotic.
They walked down the dim, empty corridor to the men’s shower. He entered first, hit the lights.
“You know, this isn’t the most erotic place I’ve ever been,” she said
, regarding the harshly lit shower room. Wooden benches, metal lockers, a row of sinks and mirrors and big shower cubicles weren’t exactly equivalent to a spa. Still, it was ruthlessly clean. And he was here with her.
“It gets better when you’re naked,” he promised her.
And then he pulled her to him and began to kiss her. And like that she zoomed from zero to a hundred.
She was running on an adrenaline high from the fun of skating in the middle of the night, and she was tired too, which added to the surreal feeling. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors and barely recognized her usually neat self. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed from exercise, cold and probably lust, and her lips were puffy and wet from his kisses.
She was so happy her school was closed that Monday, stretching out an amazing weekend.
Her clothes felt suddenly too heavy, enormous, like a ski suit in summer. She began pulling off clothing, grabbing it, dragging at it, not remotely caring that the night manager could walk in at any time.
Jarrad caught her fever—or maybe she’d caught it from him—and yanked and pulled at his own clothing until there was nothing but a pile of discarded fabric between them.
He was the most glorious thing she’d ever seen naked. And the way his eyes worshipped her, she knew he liked her more modest body too. Which made her feel beautiful.
He started the shower and then pulled her in under the flow of water. She sputtered a little as her head went straight under, then pulled out and enjoyed the sluice of wetness over her hot, sweaty skin.
Big hands reached for her, soaped up and ready. The light was ridiculous, fluorescent, bouncing off white tile. She’d been in five-star hotel bedrooms that weren’t as exciting.
He soaped her breasts, thoroughly, kissing her with his wet mouth. And as his hands began to roam, cleaning her thoroughly, she felt herself begin to dissolve.
“Turn around.” His voice was low and commanding in her ear.
She did. Felt his hands, rough and tender, move over her back, her hips, rubbing her butt, her thighs.
“Spread your legs.” Again the commanding tone, which she kind of liked. She thought about refusing, to see what he’d do, but she so wanted him there that she complied, easing them apart a little bit.
