by Kate Meader
With Bren, those sensations came barreling back, bringing with them novel twists to a familiar tale. Old and new joining.
Bren moved inside her, withdrew a few inches—and the man had inches to spare—and plunged again. That hold on her ass was perfect, keeping her rigid while he found a rhythm and used her as he’d promised. His eyes glued to hers, looking for a response—oh, there! He changed the angle of his thrust so it brushed right over her clit.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that.”
The tempo increased, took over, as he slid in and out. Thrusting and testing, seeking and finding. Her loud cry as she shattered released a wild man. He dug his hand into her ass, to the point of bruising her, and pounded hard. No mercy, his eyes burned into her, his thrusts savage and almost cruel.
“Yes, yes. Take what you need.”
He did, giving her more in return. The buildup of tension surprised her as did the fall, another orgasm that triggered his and a groan, long and low.
She was out of breath, completely sated, perfectly boneless. Eyes fluttering closed, she let the stress of the past few days and the pressure release of the past few moments overtake her and send her to sleep.
SEVENTEEN
She looked calm, an angel while she slept.
Had he taken advantage? He suspected he had. He also suspected he didn’t care.
If he’d given her one small moment of peace during this turbulent time for her, then he refused to regret a moment. Violet was a passionate woman both in and out of bed, a woman whose emotions needed to be fed.
Slipping inside her, he’d found her hot, tight, as new as the first time he’d been with a woman. He wanted to touch her again, trace his fingers over every tattoo, explore her more thoroughly. He wanted to learn all her secrets. For now he let his eyes run point, not wishing to wake her. He’d have to get back to the house soon to take over for the tutor.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweats, now pooled on the floor. Leaning over the side of the bed, he removed it and grimaced at a text from Remy: You okay?
Shit, he’d charged out of the locker room two hours ago without a word to his teammates.
Yeah, just had to be somewhere.
A pause while Remy typed. Anything you need to tell me?
How about, I’m not drinking but I’ve found a new addiction? The last thing he needed was Remy getting in his business, but the man was born to interfere. He didn’t want to alarm him and say there was a problem with the girls—or break Violet’s confidence, because he was guessing she hadn’t told her sisters.
A friend needed my help.
Let me know if there’s anything I can do. We’re gonna need you at 100% this week.
Bren smiled grimly at the phone. Since coming across Violet in her car and learning what was troubling her, he’d been unable to focus on his game and it had shown in practice. Quick dispossessions, sloppy passes.
He put the phone back into his pocket and let his gaze wander around her bedroom. Like Violet, it was a mishmash of styles that somehow managed to come together in a way that worked. A half-finished abstract mural took up the west wall, photos of what looked like her mom and maybe her aunts took up the east. Violet had certainly put her stamp on this place, which was strange, considering she was supposed to be leaving soon.
He turned north and found a pair of startling green eyes smiling at him.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?”
“I know that look.”
“What look is that?”
“The look that says you might be regretting what just happened here.”
“Not regretting. Never regretting.” He’d stopped beating himself up over crappy decisions months ago. “I just worry I might have taken advantage.”
“Pretty sure I took advantage of you, Nessie.” She turned over to face him, and he couldn’t help but notice how her breasts moved.
They’d felt different in his hands. Not in a bad way, but in an undiscovered country kind of way. He knew she was self-conscious about them, but when everything about her was perfect to him, she needn’t be.
“You had just heard some emotional news.”
“So had you.”
True. Knowing she was going to be okay had stripped his insides.
“So, really, I took advantage of your relief the nanny wasn’t about to buy the farm. God knows you don’t want to lose your child-care solution in the middle of the play-offs. Kind of sneaky of me, don’t you think?”
“Very.” He’d let her have this if it made her feel better. They both knew the truth.
Coming together like this was as necessary as breathing.
“When are you going to tell your sisters?”
She motioned between them. “About me joining Club Chase-Bangs-a-Rebel?”
“About your health scare.”
Her mouth thinned and it took her a moment to reply. “Why worry them? I’m okay.”
“Yes, but not telling them, Vi . . . That’s not right.”
“I don’t want to put this on them. It’s not . . .” She shrugged one beautiful shoulder.
“It’s not what?”
“My role.”
He leaned up on his elbow. “Your role?”
“In the family. This family. You know how everyone’s got a part to play? Harper’s uptight Ms. Judgment, the one who tells you where you’re going wrong—all with the best of intentions, of course. And Isobel, she’s the peacemaker, the one who wants everyone to get along.”
“And what’s your role?”
“I’m the mixer. The troublemaker. Bringer of fun. I get into the middle of this fucked-up Chase family dynamic and question the status quo. When I arrived, everything with these girls was hockey, hockey, hockey—and don’t get me wrong, it still is. But now they’re less guarded with each other and with Remy and Vadim. I like to think I’ve helped them see their lives from another angle.”
“Violet, love, you make it sound like you’re a cross between Mary Poppins and that angel in It’s a Wonderful Life—”
“Clarence.”
“Yeah, Clarence. Fixing problems, setting people straight, and then poof! you’re out of here to go make someone else’s problems go away.” The thought of Violet leaving, for that’s what she’d eventually do, made him queasy and angry. Quangry.
“Poof?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I like collecting wings.”
“But what about you? Who fixes your problems?”
“I do, Bren. I fix them. I’m one of those self-rescuing princesses you may have heard about.”
“And then you’re out.”
“It’s no secret I’m not sticking around.”
This was not news, and there was no good reason why this should have made him furious, but it did. He stared at her, willing her to understand what he couldn’t verbalize properly. Framing it as a family problem instead of a Bren problem seemed best.
“Your sisters want to be there for you just as you’ve been there for them, Violet. Don’t leave without giving them that chance. I’ve known this family for a long time. I know how Clifford ran it. He left scars.” On this woman, too, even if she refused to admit it. “Sure, you’re the catalyst, Violet, possibly the best thing to happen to them.” Possibly the best thing to happen to me. “But it’s a two-way street. You have to be willing to accept the love back.”
“I—I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. That would do for now.
She leaned over the side of the bed, giving him the perfect vista of her truly exceptional ass, and popped back up with her bra. Turning slightly away from him, she started to put it on.
He cupped her arm. “Do you have to?”
Her mouth went slack a little. “I thought that maybe we—”
“Were done?”
Gently, he removed the bra from her fingers and threw it so it landed on a dresser. A girlish titter came out of her mouth, so odd because Violet ha
d never come across as nervous before.
“Were you thinking I’d bang and bolt? Or is that what you’d like me to do?”
“I don’t want you to think you have to stay.” The vulnerability in her voice snapped a clamp around his heart. Whether she knew it or not, she’d crossed a forearm over her breasts. “You said before that you couldn’t give me 100 percent, and that’s fine. I don’t need that. Five percent. Maybe ten if you’re feeling generous.”
He cursed his previous declaration, which had made Violet doubt that she deserved everything that was in his power to give. But she was right about one thing: his life was being pulled in a million different directions at the moment, and he didn’t have the bandwidth for a relationship. Neither did he want to give his ex any ammunition for when she came at him next.
Yet giving this up wasn’t an option.
He curled a finger over her wrist and pulled gently. “I don’t want to confuse the kids and I don’t want people in my business.”
“Meaning Remy and all those gossipmongers on the team.”
“Aye, they’re the worst.”
She grinned. “Harper and Iz are the last people I would tell about this. Neither am I looking for hearts and flowers. I’m not planning to stay long enough to let you in, Bren St. James, but for the time I’m here, this body belongs to you.”
No strings, the perfect offer, especially for a man who couldn’t commit to more than one day at a time. Especially for a man who didn’t deserve a woman as good as the vision before him.
Hungrily, he scanned the gift she was giving him.
“If this body belongs to me”—he coasted a palm over her generous hip, moving higher to stroke the side of her breast—“then I’ll need to know everything. What turns you on, what makes you hum, what gives you pleasure.” With the backs of his knuckles, he stroked the tops of her breasts. “Can you feel when I touch you here?”
“Touching them is more about comfort than discernible pleasure. The nipple is purely cosmetic. Tattooed to add color.” She traced an erotic circle around it, then moved his hand around the side. “I feel more here, and if you were to taste them, my brain would make connections from the visual. More because I’d assume you’re enjoying it rather than the fact of pleasure itself. A feedback loop.”
He loved her honesty. Had he ever met a woman more in tune with herself and her body?
Thin scars edged along the underside of her breasts, reminding him of her bravery, of what she had endured. His fingers mapped the side, where she’d directed him, then he inclined his head and slicked his tongue over the nipple on her right breast. It felt weird to do this, knowing it did little for her.
He peered up to see her reaction. Her eyes were heavy lidded. “More,” she whispered.
He sucked on the faux bud. It looked like a real nipple. It felt like one on his tongue.
She made a low sound in her throat and his dick responded, pushing against her thigh. She shifted her body slightly, raked her fingers through his hair, and all the while she stared at him with those eyes he wanted to sink into.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand move, her fingers slipping between her beautiful thighs. She stroked gently, then harder, and it drew his moan, a vibration along her breast. Locked together they continued—him sucking on the breast she couldn’t feel, her touching herself with long, slick strokes. She was finding a way to make it work. To craft her own pleasure, and his with it, because her pleasure was his.
He slipped two fingers inside her and their hands worked together to get her to that peak. It didn’t take long, her body a responsive instrument beneath his touch, its clench around his fingers the ultimate reward. And then he watched her lazy smile in the aftermath while she watched him grip his cock and stroke hard.
He knelt over her, using rough and mean pumps to draw out his pleasure, but really it was her eyes that got him there. In them he saw a surrender of trust that broke him open.
At the last moment, she whispered, “Mark me.”
He came all over her perfect breasts, a ropy spurt that lashed across her body, and branded her as his. With her he felt renewed. Changed. Worthy.
With her he felt like the man he was meant to be.
EIGHTEEN
Semifinals, Game One
Chicago Rebels at LA Quake
Violet added the last tortilla to the warmer on the kitchen counter and called out, “Come and get it!” A herd of footsteps, some clacking, others softer, echoed and grew louder.
Somehow, Addison Williams-Callaghan, wife of right-winger Ford, beat everyone to the punch. Normally this wouldn’t have been surprising, because as a former lingerie runway model, she clearly knew how to strut her way to success. But she also happened to be eight and a half months pregnant. Glowing with it, too.
“Vi, this spread looks amazing!”
Violet grinned, pleased at the praise. She’d made her favorite Puerto Rican dish, mofongo—fried plantains with pork cracklings and chicken broth. Also offered were rellenos de papa, stuffed potato dumplings fried to golden perfection. No harm in bringing a little PR flavor to suburban Chicago, even if there was a certain weirdness to playing host at Bren’s house without the man himself present. But it had the best TV room setup, and this way, the girls would be more comfortable in their own place while they watched the game.
Violet might not be a hockey fan, but there was no denying how much the sport meant to Harper and Isobel. For them, it was the family business, and getting this far in the season meant everything. A win tonight would be one step further than the team had gone in years.
A win tonight would keep Violet in a job and in Bren’s life.
So tonight she was a Rebels fan.
Isobel started spooning steak and onions onto a tortilla. Usually she would have traveled with the team, but she’d stayed behind to hang with Harper, for whom the rougher-than-average initial weeks of pregnancy had prevented the trip to LA for the first game of the semifinals. “How come you never cook like this for our awkward sister bonding nights?”
“Because those nights are for cookies, ice cream, and wine,” Harper said. “Except now, no wine.”
“Uh, get over it,” Addison said, rubbing her very swollen stomach.
“You’re at the end of it!” Harper exclaimed. “I have six months of wine-free hell to go.”
Violet called out to the living room. “Cat! Franks! Food’s up.”
Addison looked over her shoulder, and seeing that the girls had yet to arrive, she asked, “So how’s it going?”
“Good. They’re amazingly well behaved, which makes this job easy-peasy.”
“I meant with the hot Sco—”
“Hey, guys!” Violet cut Addison off on the arrival of Franky and Caitriona.
“Mexican food!” Franky said, and Violet didn’t correct her, but Caitriona spoke up.
“It’s Puerto Rican. It’s different.” Cat shot a glance at Violet, then averted her eyes quickly. “Like Lin-Manuel Miranda. He wrote Hamilton.”
“Yes, it is different,” Violet said, surprised at Cat’s interest. She was still pretty reserved around Violet. “Very different.”
Everyone loaded up their plates, and Addison and the girls headed back to the TV room to get settled in.
Violet couldn’t help noticing that her sisters had remained behind. Isobel took a bite of her fajita, then around her chewing said, “So, you and the hot Scot.”
“Excuse me?”
Middle Child wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Addy seems to think there’s something going on.”
“Well, Addy can think all she wants.”
Isobel shrugged. “I think you’d be good for him. Bren could do with a bit of sunshine in his life. He’s always so serious.”
“Nah-ah,” Harper said. “That’s a terrible idea.”
The oh really stares of Violet and Isobel affirmed that this was particularly rich, coming from the woman who was now carrying the child of the man she’d once
declared to be off-limits.
Harper waved at them in annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But there’s a lot of baggage there, Violet. A guy with a tricky ex situation, two kids, and a drinking problem.”
“Good thing nothing’s going on,” Violet lied.
Annoyingly, Harper refused to let go. “As hard as I know he’s trying for those girls, he’s still got issues. In fact, he cut practice early a couple of days ago with no explanation. There was a lot of that unreliable behavior back in his boozing days, so I’m hoping it’s not going to be a problem.”
Damn. He’d cut practice for her. No way could she live with herself if Bren was taking the fall for her crap. She recalled his advice, how she needed to be up front with her sisters. Change the course of how things were done in the Chase family.
You’re the catalyst, Violet.
“Bren did that for me. He cut practice to come see me.” The enormity of it washed over her again.
Harper’s mouth pursed. “For you?”
“I need you both to promise you won’t freak out.”
Isobel frowned. “That’s so not a good way to start whatever it is you’re about to tell us.”
“First of all, understand that I’m fine. I went to the doctor and it was a false alarm, but a few days ago, I found a lump under my arm and I thought the worst. Bren witnessed my freak-out, and then a couple of days ago, he found out that I’d gone to the doctor alone. That’s why he left practice early. To ream me out.”
Isobel’s frown had vanished, now replaced with a hard, angry glitter in the green eyes they all shared. “You went to the doctor by yourself? You had this for days—”
“Four days. I felt it four days ago.”
“And you didn’t tell us.”
“Iz, I’m sorry. I’m not used to this. The last time this happened, I had my mom and aunts.” She gestured between them. “We’re all still in this weird getting-to-know-you space.”
“It’s been months,” Isobel shot back. “And I seem to recall you being pissed as all get out at me holding on to secrets a few weeks ago.”
