It had the requisite sofa and chairs, large television and audio system. Coffee table, end tables, lamps. But that was about it. His place was missing that welcoming lived-in feel he got whenever he was at Courtney's. Her place was a home. This…this was just a place to crash.
"I, uh, I had a cleaning company come in. To get rid of the cigarette smoke and shit. You can't still smell it, can you?"
Courtney shook her head, gave him a small smile. "It smells fine."
"Okay, good. I was worried—I told him not to smoke in here but…" Harland's voice trailed off. Why the fuck was he even bringing up his father? He gave himself a mental shake and moved toward the living room, stopping before he got to the small hallway leading to the large eat-in kitchen—and the bedrooms in the back.
"Did you, uh, want the quick tour?"
"Sure." It looked like she was trying to hide her smile and Harland couldn't figure out why. Was she humoring him? Or did he look as uncomfortable as he felt?
"So. This is the kitchen. Like you couldn't figure that out, right?" He laughed, the sound a little forced, and waved his hand around. Yeah, it was definitely a kitchen, with a refrigerator and stove and dishwasher and cabinets. It even had a table with four chairs, in case she wasn't sure it was an eat-in kitchen.
Yeah, because it was so hard to tell.
Harland gave himself a mental shake and moved down the hallway, pointing as he went. "Bathroom. Spare bedroom that I use for an office." He pointed out the desk and computer, the overstuffed chair that probably needed replacing. "The other spare bedroom. It's, uh, empty now. And, uh, the master bedroom is through there."
No way was he going to take her in there. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea, even if it was really the right idea because that's all he could think of. He just didn't want her to know that.
Although she probably did, because she gave him a small nod and looked away—but not before he saw her smile. And yeah, he was being an ass. There was no reason for him to be this uncomfortable, none at all. It wasn't like this was their first date or anything.
Except it was. Kind of. They hadn't gone anywhere by themselves since the day he'd learned about Noah. Hell, they hadn't really gone anywhere, period. They'd gone out for dinner after that one hockey game, gone to family skate. That was pretty much it.
So he wanted tonight to be…if not special, at least nice. He just wasn't sure how to make that happen.
Courtney headed back toward the kitchen, still looking around, taking things in. Then she turned the corner and disappeared from his view. Getting something to drink? Yeah, probably. He heard the refrigerator open, heard her moving things around.
He followed her, leaning against the doorframe and just watching her. A bottle of white wine was in one hand as she used the other to open and close drawers—probably searching for a corkscrew.
"Top drawer over to your left."
She glanced over her shoulder, gave him a smile. "Thanks."
"Yeah. I babyproofed it."
Courtney paused, her hand reaching into the drawer. Then she looked over her shoulder once more, frowning. "You babyproofed the corkscrew?"
"What? No. This place. I babyproofed it. Well, I tried to. Uh, in case Noah ever comes over and…well, in case he comes over." He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what that look on Courtney's face meant. Should he tell her what else he was thinking of doing? What he wanted to do? Probably not. But his mouth had a mind of its own and decided to keep on talking.
"I was thinking we could go shopping this week and maybe, you know, buy some kid furniture and shit so Noah has…a place…" His voice drifted off, his mouth finally coming to the same conclusion his mind had already made. Courtney was staring at him, her mouth slightly open, surprise in her eyes—and not exactly the kind he had hoped to see.
"Harland, I don't think—"
"Never mind. Stupid idea." Did his face look as hot as it felt? Probably. He forced a smile and pushed away from the doorframe, reached around her to grab the corkscrew. He took the bottle from her hand and nodded toward one of the cabinets. "Glasses are in there. I'll get this."
"Harland—"
"No, it's okay. Really." He stepped to the side, turning slightly so she couldn't see him. And fuck, now his damn hands were shaking. Stupid. So fucking stupid.
He finally got the fucking bottle opened. He tossed the cork—still attached to the corkscrew—to the side and turned, expecting Courtney to hand him a glass so he could fill it. She hadn't moved, hadn't bothered to even look for the glasses. He looked at her, saw that same expression in her eyes, and looked away. Fine, he'd get the glasses himself, find some way to change the subject.
She placed her hand on his arm, stopping in. But he still wouldn't look at her. He couldn't.
"Harland." She took a deep breath, let it out on a heavy sigh. "We need to talk."
"No, we're good. I told you, forget I said anything. Stupid idea."
"I didn't mean—"
"Courtney. Stop. I said it was cool. Let it go." He shrugged off her hand and moved past her, grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. He placed both on the counter, filled them, put the bottle to the side. Then he grabbed his own glass and headed to the living room.
And he managed to do it without stomping—too much.
He sat in the middle of the sofa, took a long swallow of the wine. Why the fuck was he even drinking this? He wasn't a wine drinker, never had been. But isn't that what people drank when they were having a romantic night? Yeah, sure. At least it wasn't red. He couldn't—wouldn't—drink red wine. Couldn't even stand the smell of it.
He took another swallow, grimaced, and placed the glass on the table. Then he leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands, trying not to think.
How could he not think? He had hoped this would be a nice romantic night for them. A real date. They'd gone out to dinner. Talked, laughed. Just the two of them. Then he brought her back here because her mother had been adamant when she told them not to worry about coming home early—or at all.
Yeah, he'd brought her back here and completely ruined everything by running his fucking mouth.
He heard Courtney's hesitant steps, felt the sofa dip as she took a seat next to him. Then she wrapped her hand around his arm, rested her head against his shoulder, and sighed.
"I'm sorry. You freaked me out a little."
He tried to shrug, couldn't because he was worried she'd move if he did. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't you want to know why?"
Fuck no, he didn't want to know. He didn't think he could handle whatever her reason would be. "No. I'm good."
She was quiet for a long time, long enough that he thought now would be a safe time to change the subject. But as soon as he shifted, as soon as he opened his mouth, Courtney started talking.
"I'm still getting used to all of this. Used to you being around. It's…for the longest time, it's just been me and mom in Noah's life. And when you said you wanted to buy kid furniture, I got scared."
Harland tilted his head, watching her. She chewed on her lower lip, not quite looking at him. He leaned back, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. "Why would that scare you?"
"Why? Because I'm not used to sharing him. I'm not used to anyone else being in his life. This is all happening so fast." She glanced at him, looked away and brushed the hair out of her face. "And because it's going to take some time getting used to letting him sleep over here."
What was she saying? Harland repeated the words to himself, his scowl deepening each time. "Is that what you thought? Courtney, I didn't mean for him to visit, to sleep over. I mean, I did, but not the way you're thinking. I meant—"
She kept watching him but he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Could he tell her why? Could he go through with asking her to move in? He wanted to. He wanted that more than anything: for them to be a family. To be together. He wanted to come home and have her face be the first he saw when he walked through the d
oor. Wanted Noah to run up to him with his bright smile, wanted to scoop him up and toss him in the air and kiss his wife and—
Whoa. Holy fuck. Where the hell had that come from? Wife? No. No, that was not what he'd been thinking. He was going to ask her to move in. That was it. Just…move in. He wasn't ready for marriage. He didn't think she was ready, either. There was still too much between them, too much shit from their past to work out.
Wasn't there?
He didn't know. Fuck, he didn't know anything anymore. But the more the idea played in his head, the more right it felt. They were his family. Courtney had always been his family, from the very first moment he laid eyes on her all those years ago.
He looked back at her, the words on the tip of his tongue, fighting to come out. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth…closed it again. He couldn't do it. Not yet, not when she was looking at him like she was expecting the worst.
"I, uh, I just meant he should have a place to sleep. You know, in case…in case you guys wanted to spend the night. That was all." The words fell flat but there was nothing he could do about that now. And she was still looking at him, that odd expression in her eyes. A cross between disappointment and shock and…he couldn't tell what.
He leaned forward, reached for the glass of wine and drained it one swallow. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't tell what Courtney was thinking, couldn't feel what she was feeling. That bothered him, for reasons he couldn't quite put into words.
It didn't help that Courtney laughed, the clear sound filled with something that almost sounded like relief. "Sorry. I guess I just jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'm off on Thursday. We could go shopping then. If you want."
"Yeah, sure. I can pick you up after practice." He leaned back, forced a smile he didn't quite feel. He needed to get over this. Did he really want to ruin the rest of the night, thinking of everything he had wanted to say but was too fucking scared to? No, he didn't. This night was supposed to be just for them. The two of them. By themselves.
He leaned to the side and wrapped his arm around Courtney, planning on pulling her closer. But instead of meeting him for a kiss, like he'd expected, she rested her head against his shoulder and gave him a tiny smile.
"Is practice going any better?"
No. "About the same."
"Still not able to score?"
Fuck no. And he was starting to think he'd have the same problem tonight. "Not yet, no."
"You shouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure it'll happen soon enough."
Christ he hoped so. "Tyler said I was trying too hard."
"Maybe."
No, no maybe about it. He hadn't even started trying yet. "Jason said I was jinxed. Zach said I was cursed."
"Why would they say something like that?"
Because they were both assholes. "Who knows? Jason thinks it has something to do with why my game went to shit last year but it doesn't. Not even close."
Courtney shifted, pressing closer as she looked up at him. "What did happen last year? You still haven't told me."
And fuck, why had he brought that up? He hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized they were skirting that close to the subject. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."
He felt her stiffen beside him, felt her start to pull away. Yeah, there was no missing the disappointment in her eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to say something, but he didn't want to hear it, was afraid she'd somehow talk him into telling her. And no way in hell was he going to do that.
So he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. She stiffened under his touch and for a horrifying second, he was afraid he fucked up again, that she knew he was trying to distract her. Yeah, she knew. Courtney knew him better than he knew himself.
But she didn't pull away, didn't push him away. Her arms slid around his neck and she moved closer, like she was trying to climb inside him. Her mouth opened under his, her tongue sweeping out to meet his.
And he was lost. Completely, totally lost. How could it still be this way between them? After everything they'd been through. After everything that had happened. He didn't want to question it, didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to feel it.
He twisted, got his arm under her legs, and stood, holding her against him. She tightened her arms around his neck and pulled back, her eyes already glazed with the same passion that seared him.
"Bedroom. Real bed." His voice was husky, low and thick, but she understood the words, gave him a small seductive smile that damn near made him drop her. He made it back to the bedroom, yanked the covers back with one hand then lowered her to the mattress. He stretched out beside her, his leg trapping hers as he captured her mouth once more.
She tasted like heaven, sweet and spicy. She tasted like home, warm and comforting. He deepened the kiss, claiming and possessing even as he lost a little bit more of himself. He dragged his hand along her side, grabbed the hem of her shirt and slid it up. Skin, soft and flush, its warm smoothness so different from his own.
Harland broke the kiss, pushed himself over her so he was straddling her, and skimmed his hands along her sides, moving the sweater up. Slow, so slow, like a present to be savored.
Too slow.
Courtney pulled her arms from the sleeves, yanked the sweater over her head then reached for the buttons on his shirt. He grabbed her wrists and held them above her head, pinning her in place.
"Not yet." He dropped a kiss against her mouth, dragged his lips along her neck. Gently nipped at the muscle between her neck and shoulder, sucked at the skin until he heard her gasp, felt her hands tighten around his.
He kissed her again, released his hold on her wrists and ran the tip of one finger from her chin, down her throat, lower. Slow, so slow. Down to her cleavage, across the swell of soft flesh pushing against the lacy cups of her bra.
He watched her, waited for her eyes to flutter open. Then he grinned. "Don't move. No matter what I do, don't move your arms."
She opened her mouth to say something, probably to tell him no. Or ask him why. He shook his head in silent warning and ran his thumbnail across the hard peak of one nipple. She gasped, closed her eyes as her head fell back.
"Don't move."
He watched as her fingers dug into the mattress above her head. But she didn't move. Harland smiled then kissed his way down her body, pulled a hard nipple between his teeth, sucked it through the smooth lace. She shifted under him, her hips surging up, reaching.
Harland tightened his legs around her thighs, using his weight to press her against the mattress. He ran his tongue along the swell of her breast, used one hand to pinch and tease her nipples. Kissing, sucking, licking. Always through the lace, the rasp of material rough against his tongue.
Rough against her skin.
She moaned, soft little sighs that shot through him, made his cock strain against his pants. He shifted again, moving lower, then grabbed the lacy edge of her bra and pulled it down over her breasts.
He cupped her soft flesh, squeezing, his thumbs circling each nipple. Soft, hard. Slow, fast. Over and over as she tried to move beneath him. He dipped his head, ran his tongue between her breasts, moved his head and captured a hard nipple between his teeth again. He bit down, used a gentle suction to pull the hard peak into his mouth, capturing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Courtney gasped again, a high-pitched moan. Her back arched and her fingers dug deep into the mattress. But she didn't reach for him, not yet.
He slid down her legs, his fingers making quick work of the snap and zipper of her jeans. He dragged them down to her thighs, trapping her legs so she couldn't move them, couldn't spread them. Then he straddled her again, his legs tight around hers. Leaned forward, dragged the tip of his finger across her stomach, down along her hip bone, following the edge of the matching lacy underwear. She moaned, tossed her head from side to side, tried to raise her hips.
Harland watched her, his eyes burning with fever at each little move, at each
tiny sound. He dipped his finger under the edge of her underwear, across the heat of her soft flesh. Back out, across to the other side. Back and forth, his touch gentle, teasing.
She was panting now, her chest rising and falling with each harsh breath, her nipples hard, erect. His cock strained against his jeans, almost painful, eager for release. He ran a hand along his hardened length, closed his eyes and bit back a groan.
No, not yet.
He grabbed her hips, lowered his head and licked her through the lace. He could taste her even then, sweet and salty, a delicacy only he had savored. "I love the way you taste."
Her only reply was a soft moan, a harsh breath as he licked her again. He dipped his thumbs into the lacy waistband, pulled the underwear past her hips. Dragged his thumb across her soft folds, back and forth.
He leaned forward, used his other hand to separate her flesh. Ran his nail down along her clit. Gently at first, then harder. Watching her hips tilt toward his touch, watching as her body sought more. Her legs trembled under him, the muscles of her thighs tightening as she tried to spread them, tried to open herself to more of his touch.
He dipped his head, ran his tongue along the hard flesh of her clit. Pulled it between his teeth, sucked and licked. Her back arched again, her moan a desperate gasp. Part pleasure, part pain.
He slid a finger into her, felt her muscles clench around him. Slid it out, heard her sigh. In, out. He stroked her with his tongue, harder, his finger mimicking the rhythm.
"Harland." She called his name, her voice hoarse, pleading. "Harland, p-please."
He raised his hand, watching her through half-closed eyes, his finger still stroking her. "Tell me what you want."
"Y-you. Always…you." She arched her back, her hips rolling under his. Seeking, demanding. "You're all I've ever wanted."
Her body shook as her climax swept over her. A flush crept across her skin, her chest heaved with each harsh breath as she cried his name.
Harland reached for his jeans, popped the button with clumsy fingers. Fuck. He'd wanted to play, wanted her to feel just a fraction of what he felt when he was with her, inside her.
[York Bombers 01.0] Playing the Game Page 16
