Harlequin Superromance February 2016 Box Set

by Anna Sugden

  “Good morning,” she said with false brightness as she started to move away again.

  He wouldn’t let her. “Not so fast.”

  His erection pressed against her bottom.

  She swallowed hard. “I see Mag is an early riser.”

  “Honey, with you around, he never sleeps.”

  The urge to wriggle against him, to reposition her body so he could easily slip inside, almost overwhelmed her. She reveled briefly in his hardness against her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be a mistake. It certainly wouldn’t change anything.

  Issy pushed out of his embrace and sat up. “Our time’s up. Sapphie will be coming back to the room shortly.”

  J.B. propped himself on one elbow. “Shortly, as in she’s outside the door, or do we have a few minutes to welcome the new day properly?”

  She could lie—tell him Sapphie was nearby—but she didn’t want to. Not when she could create one last precious memory with him. Knowing she’d probably curse her weakness later, she gave in. “We have less than an hour.”

  “No problem.” He reached over, snagged the last condom and rolled it on.

  Their lovemaking had a desperate edge this time. They drove each other higher, faster, using what they’d learned through the night about their bodies, their needs and their desires until, as one, they shattered. Though the throbbing from their completion had faded, they clung together tightly, still intimately joined, for long minutes afterward.

  A tear trickled down Issy’s cheek. This really was the end.

  “So...” J.B. cleared his throat as he gently dried the damp trail with his finger. “I know this was meant to have been one night, but maybe we could see each other again. It wouldn’t be too hard, since we both live in Jersey. We could meet up for a drink or dinner. No pressure, no commitment.”

  Her heart leaped, but she quickly tamped it down.

  Much as she hated to admit it, that simply wasn’t possible. Spending any more time with J.B. raised too many red flags. Even though he’d changed her opinion of a professional athlete—from their conversations over the past few days and especially last night—she knew that they wanted completely different things from their lives. She couldn’t risk ending up like her sister or derailing the course she’d set. Ultimately he could be nothing more than a pleasant—okay, a wonderful—but dangerous distraction.

  Fighting the urge to agree, she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This has been incredible—the best night of my life—but we’re from two very different worlds.”

  Frustration filled his dark eyes, mirroring the feeling that clawed at her. “We’re only talking dinner.”

  Be strong. “We both know it wouldn’t just be dinner.”

  “Okay, dinner with a really nice dessert. Would that be so bad?”

  “Of course not.” She caressed his cheek apologetically. “But if we do it once, what’s to stop us doing it a second time? Then a third. Or more. How long will we let it go on before we know we have to call it quits? A month? Six?”

  He started to speak but she stopped him.

  “You know about my family, my background. Why I want stability and security. If I start a relationship, I want to be sure it’s with someone who feels the same. Who’s ready for and, more importantly, wants commitment.”

  The regret in his expression told her that he wanted to disagree but couldn’t.

  “It’s okay. I know that’s not what you want.” Issy smiled sadly.

  J.B. was silent for a few minutes. Finally he sighed. “You’re right.”

  Even though she knew it was the correct decision, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he didn’t argue his corner a little harder. “If it’s any consolation, I wish I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips, then eased away.

  She missed his warmth instantly and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Damn it!” J.B. jumped up. “Freaking condom broke.”

  Issy’s gut tightened. “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s one thing I don’t ever joke about.” He stalked to the bathroom.

  No! She’d only stepped outside her carefully drawn lines once—once—it wasn’t fair. This couldn’t be happening. She buried her head in her hands.

  The bed dipped as J.B. sat beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Hey, it’s not as bad as you’re thinking.”

  His soothing voice had the opposite effect. “It’s a disaster. I can’t get pregnant.”

  “The chances of you getting caught this one time are really slim. You’re on the pill, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Then you’re protected. The condom was only a backstop. Trust me—it’ll be fine.”

  While her panicking brain fought to deny his reassurance, his logic seeped in and began to calm her. Her thundering heart slowed.

  “Of course,” she said finally, when she could trust herself not to sound hysterical. “I’m sorry. I lost it for a moment there.”

  “That makes two of us.” His chuckle sounded relieved. “All’s well that ends well.”

  He turned her more fully into his arms, leaned down and touched his forehead to hers.

  They remained like that, silently, lost in their own thoughts, until the clatter of a trolley on the path outside jolted them out of their reveries.

  “I should go.” J.B. eased himself from their embrace and gathered his clothes.

  Still feeling vulnerable after the scare, Issy wound the sheet around her. “Thank you. For...everything.”

  “Thank you.” He shrugged into his shirt. “You are an incredible lady. Make sure you choose a guy who really deserves you.”

  A tall order after last night. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll see you before you leave. I’ll help you take your luggage to the shuttle.”

  She wanted that so much—to have a final hug, one more kiss—but it was hard enough to let him go. Delaying would only make it tougher. “I think we should say goodbye now. Make a clean break.”

  J.B. looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

  No. “It’s difficult enough here, in private. It’ll be impossible in the crowded lobby.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.

  He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Okay. Sure.”

  J.B. pressed one last, hard kiss to her mouth and then walked out the door.

  By the time Sapphie returned to their room, Issy had regained some composure. Obviously not enough, judging by her friend’s concerned look and tight hug. Issy was grateful that Sapphie didn’t ask any questions while they packed, but chattered cheerfully about how much she’d enjoyed the holiday.

  As they checked out, Issy tried not to watch for J.B. She told herself he wouldn’t be there, yet she couldn’t help one last glance as they boarded the shuttle bus.

  Her heart skipped when she saw a familiar silhouette in the shadows of the lobby. He stood there until the bus turned the corner and she couldn’t see him anymore.

  “You’ll be all right,” Sapphie murmured, squeezing her hand.

  Issy let out a heavy breath. Yes, she would.

  The line to get through security stretched out in front of the airport. She and Sapphie joined the end and began the torturous process of inching toward the passport-control booth.

  Once they were finally through security, she and Sapphie got sandwiches and soft drinks at one of the airport cafés. After all the fabulous resort food, the stale roll was hard to swallow—literally. Issy made herself eat so she could take some ibuprofen to ease her throbbing temples.

  Sapphie tossed her sandwich in the trash and looked around the crowded, noisy, waiting area. “Newark Airport is looking more appealing by the second. Do you think it’ll work if I click my sandals and say ‘There’s no place like home’?”

  “Probably not, since you don’t actually have a ‘home.’”

  “Good point, darn it.”


  “Try ‘Beam me up, Scotty’ instead,” Issy suggested. “Beaming us back to Jersey sounds pretty good right now.”

  Before her friend could respond, the speakers crackled and their flight was announced for boarding. As they walked out to the plane, the waves of heat from the tarmac combined with the smell of aviation fuel made Issy feel queasy.

  Once in their seats Issy adjusted the winged headrest, leaned against it and closed her eyes. She welcomed the soothing stream of cool air from the vent above her head. The noise of people finding their seat was soon replaced by flight attendants slamming closed the overhead lockers and the drone of the safety announcement. The vibration of the engines firing up exacerbated her sickness.

  Issy drank some more water, then tried to fall asleep. But despite the tiredness that washed over her in waves, she couldn’t drop off.

  After takeoff, her nausea eased a little. But it returned full-force when the meal service started. The smell of coffee made her stomach roll.

  Oh, no. She was going to be sick.

  Issy jumped up and dashed for the toilets. She barely got the door closed before she threw up.

  Welcome back to reality, Isabelle Brandine.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “GOOD TO SEE our Millionaire Ice Boy still gets his hands dirty.”

  From wading in the Caribbean to wading in cow crap in three weeks: the two sides of J.B.’s life.

  He didn’t give his oldest brother the satisfaction of a verbal response but continued mucking out the stalls in their parents’ barn. Shame the shovel of manure slipped, slewing its contents over Marc Andre’s jeans and boots.

  “You ass,” his brother spluttered, jumping back. “I just got cleaned up to go into town.”

  “I’m sorry, but what do you expect from a lowly ‘ice boy’?” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m out of practice at shoveling crap.”

  “Perhaps I should get Dad to send you over to my place to do chores, too.”

  His father would love that. “Nah. Not much call for this skill in my day job.”

  “Maybe not, but it might improve your aim, kid.”

  “I’d say my aim’s pretty damn good.” He grinned and reached for the hose. “Want me to wash you down?”

  Marc Andre laughed and stepped out of the line of fire. “By the time you’re done I’ll need to change everything, even my underwear, and I don’t have time.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time someone walked around town covered in Eau de Cow Dung. No one will bat an eyelid.”

  “True. But sometimes even us yokels need to spruce up.” Marc Andre punched his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, bro. Been too long.”

  “I know.” Guilt twinged his chest. The last time J.B. had come to the farm was back in December when he’d flown out a day early for the team’s swing through Western Canada.

  Though he knew he should make more of an effort to get home, it wasn’t easy to find the time. Unlike the guys who played sixteen games of football and were done by the end of January, J.B.’s season was eighty-two games over seven months. If he was lucky, that was followed by a postseason that took him through to June.

  And it wasn’t like he took the summer off. Technically, J.B. had three months before he had to report for training camp. But in reality, if he didn’t start his workout schedule in the next couple of weeks, he wouldn’t be in peak physical condition come September.

  He’d tried in the past to draw the comparison with farming, where there was little downtime in the calendar, but it had gone over his folks’ heads.

  “This was a tough year for visits, with me being selected for the All-Stars and then our Cup run.”

  “We understand. Well, Dad doesn’t, but the rest of us get it. Who’d have thought a Larocque would be burning up the NHL?” His brother rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It’s a good thing, because you suck as a farmer.”

  “Yeah. So, how come you’re going into town during the day, midweek?”

  “I’ve got a meeting with the bank. Now Amelie and I know for sure that baby number four is due in the new year I want to simplify my finances.”

  “Congratulations.” That would make seven nieces and nephews. Another reason J.B. felt like he’d been born into the wrong family. Much as he loved the rug rats, for sure he wasn’t ready for one of his own. There was plenty of hockey left to play and life to enjoy, before he settled down and burdened himself with those responsibilities.

  “If you weren’t so freaking stubborn, you wouldn’t have any mortgages or loans. Neither would Pierre Luc.”

  “I’m not taking your money.” Marc Andre’s expression was fierce. “You’ll need it to live off when you’re retired. You sure as hell can’t make a living off the land.”

  J.B. leaned on the shovel to stop himself from using it to knock some sense into his brother. This was an old argument that always ended the same. While he respected independence and appreciated that his family weren’t spongers, they were too damn proud. “By the time I’m done, I’ll have more than enough for several lifetimes.”

  “You never know. You could get injured or traded. The team could be sold or go belly-up. And once you’re done, you’ll still be young, with a long life ahead of you.”

  Like farming was any more secure. “So take the money as a loan. I bet the bank can’t beat a no-interest repayment plan.”

  “Appreciate the offer, but it’s best we don’t muddy the family water with money.”

  Straight out of the mouth of Bastien Larocque. Their father said the same thing often enough.

  “Anyway, we’re not destitute,” his brother continued. “This winter was rougher than usual and things got a little tight. The bank’s been great about reworking payments to help ease the pressure.”

  It burned his butt that his brother preferred help from a bank manager over J.B. “If you won’t let me give you the money, at least let me invest in your place. Buy machinery, refurbish buildings or something. It’ll give me a tax break.”

  Marc Andre’s jaw set. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  J.B. knew that stubborn look. “All right. But if you ever need money badly enough to not care about muddy freaking water, you know where to come. Deal?” He stuck out his hand.

  “Deal.” Marc Andre shook his hand.

  “So, what time’s your appointment?”

  His brother swore as he checked his watch. “I should get going. See you at dinner.”

  J.B. brooded about the situation as he finished his share of the chores.

  He understood his dad’s stance. Even when J.B. couched it as repaying what his parents had spent on his hockey, Bastien had refused to accept his money. In his father’s mind, professional athletes were a step above gigolos. Earning money playing sport didn’t count.

  The old man had spent his whole life working the farm, which had never made much of a living for the Larocques. If not for his mom, J.B. wouldn’t be where he was today.

  He hosed off the floor, hung the tools on the rack and headed to the house to clean up.

  In the kitchen his mom was busy cooking. She always made plenty so that her daughters-in-law—who worked alongside their husbands on their farms, as well as looked after their kids—didn’t have to. A good thing since both Amelie and Clare were lousy cooks.

  Twelve loaves were cooling on wire racks on the counter, next to a dozen jars of homemade spaghetti sauce. On the table two coolers were filled with foil-wrapped parcels.

  His stomach rumbled. It had been hours since breakfast and he wouldn’t get lunch until after his mom had done her weekly grocery shop. J.B. sneaked a piece of the potato salad his mom was mixing. “Mmm. Are you sure I can’t steal you away to come and cook for me in Jersey? You’re still the best.”

  She patted his cheek. “Much as I’d like to make sure you eat properly—you look a little skinny—I couldn’t leave the farm. Besides, I’m not sure I’d be happy where you live.”

  Like most people who’d never been to the Garden
State, his mom thought the whole area was an industrial monstrosity. “You’d be surprised how nice it is, Ma. Come visit and see.”

  “Maybe later in the year.”

  J.B. wouldn’t hold his breath. Like the discussion about money, this was another old conversation. “Are you ready to go into town?”

  “Definitely. If you’re still happy to take me.” She slipped off her apron.

  He grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl. “For sure. I’ll have the prettiest woman in the area on my arm.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. Ellen Larocque’s lovely face and cute figure still turned heads. Her black hair was just beginning to be streaked with gray and her pale skin was barely wrinkled.

  She swatted him with a dish towel. “I don’t think so. Maybe if you brought one of those women you’re always photographed with...”

  He kissed her cheek, breathing in her familiar scent: a mixture of her floral perfume and cooking spices. “None of them can match up to you, Ma.”

  “You always were the charmer. I’ll just grab my purse and my shopping list.”

  On the half-hour drive, his mom chattered away about the latest happenings with friends and neighbors. J.B. didn’t know half the people she talked about and was relieved to pull into a parking spot outside the diner.

  Though they only had a block to walk to the grocery store, progress was slow with people stopping them every few yards. A few he recognized, but most he relied on his mom’s clues as to who they were. It was the same at the store and the diner.

  He was grilled about when he was coming home for good. Those who followed hockey were keen to discuss his career. J.B. gave bland answers, his smile becoming more strained with each one. He accepted good-naturedly the usual ribbing about how he should play for a Canadian team, then posed for photos and signed napkins and scraps of paper thrust at him. He never turned down a request, especially from kids.

  By the time they got back into the car for the drive home, J.B. was wrung out, as if he’d played triple overtime.

  Only a few more days, he told himself as he did the evening chores. It was pathetic that he’d barely been home twenty-four hours and he was already counting down to leaving. He loved his family, but he didn’t fit here. New Jersey was more his home than this small town.