by S. E. Hall
“Gracie, I’m a hockey player. I’m always hungry,” he laughs. “I wasn’t even thinking about the time, sorry. Don’t worry, either; I’ll live.”
Anddd… we’re back to smothering, dead air—parked on the side of the road, late at night—both thinking the same thing, equally afraid to broach anywhere near the subject aloud. I steal a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and he chooses that exact moment to turn his head toward me, a timid, endearing grin slowly curling his mouth.
“Gracie.”
“Brewer.”
“I need you to help me out here. I’m in unfamiliar territory, and I don’t have a clue where or how to get a map.”
God, he’s sexy. A real-life, steal-your-breath-and-wet-your-panties wonder—somehow able to mold his vulnerable and chivalrous request into a seductive, manly temptation.
A temptation I don’t want to resist, or waste any more time that I could be using to enjoy it, him, by feigning ladylike innocence. Life is too short for any of that nonsense, and I’d be a damn fool to pass up a shot at so much as a second of bliss with Brewer Hayes. Men like him aren’t exactly waiting around the corner.
So accordingly, shamelessly, I froth at the mouth like the bitch in heat I am… crazed by the cobwebs, my safety net excuse.
“You know the whole ‘I don’t usually do this sort of thing’ speech that some women give, even though they shouldn’t have to, since men never feel the need to justify themselves?” He smiles, bright and wide, eyes alight with mirth, and nods. “Okay, take that spiel, which sadly, is one hundred percent accurate in my case, then tack on…” I clear my throat, take a few deep breaths in, out, then let loose what will undoubtedly be, and remain, the most mortifying utterance of my entire life.
“Up until last week, I was a cat lady; full-fledged. I even inherited my grandma’s rocking chair and the afghan that’s still hanging over the back of it. The only reason I finally came to visit Nikki is because Tink, my cat, died. It really was her time to go; poor thing was so old, half-blind, ran into walls-” I stop mid-ramble and squeeze my eyes shut from a whole new batch of humiliation… having just made it even worse than already forecasted. But somehow, I forge on—too late to turn back now.
“In case I didn’t quite cover it and there’s any confusion, yes, my cat died.” I attempt to play it off with dry wit. “My parents moved to a swanky retirement community by the ocean a while back, and I’m an only child. So, other than my students—oh, I’m a third-grade teacher by the way—Tink was all I had in my everyday life. Being single is hard; dating just isn’t what it used to be, with all the technology and websites there are now. And, I live in a pretty small town, so I dated, and vetoed, any single, halfway decent guys a long time ago.”
I take another break in my babbling and pry my eyes open, determined to keep them open this time, to gauge his reaction. You know, on the off-chance he might like a turn to speak—for the first time in several minutes. It seems not, though. He simply stares, a certain glimmer in his eyes that might just fool a girl into believing he actually finds her nonsensical soliloquy interesting.
Finally, in the baritone of scandal, he prompts, “Go on.”
Huh. Either he’s a glutton, just as lonely as I am... or has a very skewed opinion on what’s interesting.
“Too late for this, I realize, but… long story short?” I sigh. “I haven’t had sex in three years. Three. I want to. With you, Brewer Hayes. Not because you’re a hockey star. I’ve been to two games in my life—both yours—so clearly not a deal maker for me. I want to have sex with you because… the wink, smirk, picking me out of the crowd, hunting me down, sending the definitely forward note” —we both lightly laugh—“all of it; turned me on. I felt pursued, exhilarated, more excited than I’ve been about anything in a very long time. And, it doesn’t hurt that you are, without a doubt, the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. I want your big strong body on top of me, under me, overwhelming me. And I’m not gonna apologize or feel ashamed about it.”
There, I said it. Laid all my cards on the table—which honestly, felt pretty damn good. To at last, for once, cast aside any and all ridiculous rules, stigmas, double-standards or fears… and just go for it.
It’d probably feel even better if he’d respond, reassure me, laugh, cough, sneeze— at this point, I’d take anything—but he gives nothing.
Not a peep.
He shifts in his seat and starts the truck, then pulls away from the curb and onto the main street… all while continuing to give me nada. I’m guessing it’s because he’s too focused on beelining straight to Nikki’s to drop my jabbering, harlot ass back off where he found me.
And if that’s the case— so be it. I’m still proud of myself; for taking a chance, a bold, brave shot at what I want.
“I’m sorry your cat died.”
That’s what he says to shatter the silence.
My head snaps to the left in utter bafflement, and of its own spontaneous shock, full-body laughter bursts out of me.
“What? I am sorry. I can tell you really loved your cat and losing it broke your sweet little heart. That breaks my heart for you.” He reaches over and blindly finds my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I catch my breath enough to reply, “It did, yes, and thank you, but… I wasn’t expecting that to be the part to catch your attention. Thought maybe it’d be my blatant proposition that snagged it first.”
“Oh, it did, and that’ll be happening, repeatedly, as soon as we get to my house. But offering my condolences seemed like the least I could, considering.”
“Considering what?”
He waits until we’re caught at a red light to look over at me, sporting a disarming grin, and answers. “Gracie, if I’m not into you enough to feel bad that you lost your little kitty buddy, then I’ve got no right to do to you all the things I’m about to.”
He winks… and drives.
Chapter Six
Brewer
“This is your house?” she gasps as we pull into the driveway.
“This is it. Home.”
“Why? Do you have twenty-five kids you failed to mention?”
“No kids, never been married,” I chuckle, climbing out and walking around the truck to open the door.
And the second I do, she continues, “Did you rescue and re-home the refugees of a small country?” She’s staring at my house, speaking as if dazed, so I undo the seatbelt, lift her sexy little body up and out, and set her feet on the ground for her.
“Nope, just me,” I answer… and feel my brows rise in confusion when she turns a scathing gaze on me.
“Ridiculous,” she tsks, shaking her head. “And very disappointing.”
“Do you know a lot of people who’ve rescued those from small countries? I don’t know any; didn’t realize it was common.”
“Funny,” she grits at my dry humor. “I just… why do you need a house this big if you’re the only one who lives here? Are you overcompensating for something, or simply showing off?” My head lolls back as I belt out howling laughter, but I feel the weight of her glare. “I wasn’t kidding, Brewer. This country’s in financial crisis, yet somehow, plenty of people, with plenty of money, find the funds to ensure male athletes are paid exorbitant amounts of money to throw, dunk, or putt a ball… or slap a puck.”
I can’t argue; she’s absolutely right. And I love that she’s intelligent, passionate, and not afraid to speak both. “I can’t change the whole country’s mindset, Gracie, and I’m certainly not going to refuse the salary I was offered; even if it is, I agree, ludicrous. All I can do is give back, pay it forward.”
“Yes, you can, and should.”
“Again, I agree, and do.”
“Oh yeah?” She juts up her chin, squaring her stance and shoulders. Precious. “How? And how often?”
There’s another chuckle I can’t capture. She’s a bold little thing. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she asks me to get my manager on the phone to verify what I say
next—and I’ll gladly do so. Not to impress her… I need her respect. “Well, let’s see.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly a bit embarrassed. “I had a rec center built downtown so the inner-city kids would have a safe place where they can learn how to play sports, certain trades, choose from lots of activities that might help keep them out of trouble, and I fund it, every month. And the whole team follows an unspoken rule that we take care of the women and children’s shelter. Every player, in rotation, takes a month and pays for supplies, fixes stuff, paints, does whatever they need done. Plus-”
“Catch me,” she purrs, launching herself at me, and I easily lift her up by the hips and haul her against me. “Altruism is so sexy,” she puffs before smashing her mouth to mine.
Remind me to sponsor a whole fucking planet.
Damn. When Gracie Bolton sets out to kiss a man, she kisses the hell out of that man. Her legs are wrapped around my waist, fingers clawing at my hair, and ripe-apple ass in my hold as our mouths, tongues, choppy breaths and eager hands get to know each other. Well. She’s wiggling, moaning, trying to climb me—seeking more—every gyration against my dick tempting me to take her right here.
I’ve fucked in bathroom stalls, a dark corner in more than a few clubs, locker rooms that reeked of sweaty balls, and once in the back of a cab. But for reasons I’d probably never understand, should I try to—I want things with Gracie to be… intimate? Yeah… that’s the right word… I just can’t believe it’s the right word. I don’t do intimate.
Maybe it’s the chase that’s got me all fucked up in the head. She didn’t serve herself up on a puck-bunny platter; instead, making me hunt her down. Or it could be our unique prelude—can’t say I’ve ever stopped, on the ice, to play a sexy game of charades before. Never sent a note to a fan, or received one back, before either.
And now that I’ve gotten a few glimpses into who she is and what she’s about, it’s only luring me in more. No chick has ever complained that I have too much money and argued that I should give it away. And although Gracie’s the first woman I’ve ever brought to my house, I’m pretty sure she’s also the only one who’d insinuate it’s ostentatious.
Whatever the reason, likely them all, I force my mouth to release hers and lean back to catch her eyes. “How about we go inside?” I grin, taken completely aback by her—swollen, pouty lips, flushed cheeks, mussed hair the color of sunset—but most of all, the passion blazing in her eyes.
She wants me.
Me.
Brewer Hayes, the man, the person. Not the captain of an NHL team. Not in public, where everyone can see her on my arm. Not beside me, in view of the cameras while I’m photographed or interviewed.
Just me. In the privacy of my home… that doesn’t impress her.
She bobs her head wildly, to make sure I hear her ‘yes,’ too out-of-breath for a vocal reply, and my grin stretches wider as I walk us toward the door.
I readjust her in my arms so I can dig out my keys, and she stops running her tongue along my neck to giggle. “What, no butler to let us in? What about Alexis? Surely, she’s streaming through your whole h-, mansion; just scream at her to unlock the door.”
“Only woman in this house is you,” I growl, swatting her ass.
No sooner than I get us inside, by using a key, all by myself, she wriggles to be put down. Here we go… now she’ll want to see everything… ask for the “grand tour,” gasping and fawning the whole time. I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.
With a hefty sigh, I toss my keys on the counter and move to take her hand. Guess I’ll start by showing her the backyard; the main reason I bought this place. There’s a giant pool, complete with a rock waterfall, hidden coves, and a hot tub. Plus, the kickass landscaping, hammock, cabana, gazebo, and spectacular view help me escape, as if I’m on my own private island, anytime I have time to come back here. Yeah, I won’t hold it against her if she ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over the backyard. Other than on the ice, it’s my favorite place to be.
Turns out though, my worry’s nothing more than wasted time, and the “hunch” I’ve had since first laying eyes on her proves its validity once more; any and all doubt vanishing… for good. She wouldn’t notice, or care, if every wall in this place was painted neon green and there were disco balls dangling from the ceiling. She’s not looking at my house. Her eyes are trained solely on me.
I’m right about her, dammit.
Gracie Bolton is something, someone, special. Worth spending the time to explore, get to know… inside and out.
Dear Reader,
I know, I know… but I never do cliffhangers, and characters write themselves here at Casa De La Hall… so gimme this one, please? ;)
PLUS… you don’t have to wait long for the rest of Gracie & Brewer’s story, because it will be a part of Volume Two in The Heart’s Desire Series— Pick Your Passion —coming in October!!!!!!
S.E. Hall is the author of the Amazon Best Selling Evolve Series, Emerge, Embrace, Entangled (novella) and Entice as well as the bestselling stand-alone NA Romance, Pretty Instinct. She has co-written Stirred Up, Packaged and Handled, a collection of erotic short stories with her CP and friend, Author Angela Graham as well as a collaboration titled Conspire, a romantic suspense with friend and author Erin Noelle. She is honored to be a part of the USA Today and NYT Best Selling Devour box set. S.E., which stands for Stephanie Elaine, resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 3 beautiful daughters of the home, and one married daughter who graced her with two beautiful grandchildren. When not in the stands watching her ladies play softball, she enjoys reading and writing and the occasional trip to the casino. She’s also clutch at Baggo, when it’s warm outside, and definitely the woman to pick on your side for some Flip Cup!
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Books by S.E. Hall (all books can be found on Amazon)
Evolve Series
Emerge: myBook.to/Emerge (FREE)
Embrace: myBook.to/Embrace
Entangled: myBook.to/Entangled
Entice: myBook.to/Entice
Sawyer Beckett's Baby Mama Drama Guide For Dummies: myBook.to/BabyMamaDrama
Endure: myBook.to/Endure
Sawyer Beckett's Guide for Tools Looking to Date My Daughter: myBook.to/DateMyDaughter
Finally Found Novels
Pretty Instinct: myBook.to/PrettyInstinct
Pretty Remedy: myBook.to/PrettyRemedy
Co-Written with Erin Noelle
Conspire: myBook.to/Conspire
Co-Written with Angela Graham
Matched: myBook.to/Matched
One Naughty Night: myBook.to/1NN
Stirred Up: myBook.to/StirredUp
Packaged: myBook.to/Packaged
Handled: myBook.to/Handled1
Handled 2: myBook.to/Handled2
Filthy Foreign Exchange: myBook.to/FFE
Filthy Foreign Exchange 2: myBook.to/FFE2
Books by Hilary Storm
Six
Seven
Mr. Darkness
Taboo
Rebel Walking Series
In A Heartbeat
Heaven Sent
Banded Together
No Strings Attached
Hold Me Closer
Fighting the Odds
Never Say Goodbye
Whiskey Dreams
Bryant Brothers Series
Don’t Close Your Eyes
Alphachat.com Series
Pay for Play
Two can Play
Full Force Footbal
l Romance
Quarterback Sack
Elite Forces Series
ICE
FIRE
STONE
STEELE
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