by Lynda Aicher
Scott closed his eyes, in part to block out the goofy looks his teammates were shooting his way, but mostly to absorb the feel of the woman against him. Rachel Fielding. A surprise that’d somehow glided onto the balcony and seamlessly into his arms. How had this happened?
He inhaled just to savor the elusive scent of her perfume under the fruity hint of her shampoo. He’d been trying to pin down the fragrance, but every time he thought he had it, he’d inhale again and his mind would change. It was as fleeting as her, and he reminded himself that she wasn’t permanent.
Maybe that was why he was here dancing when his knee ached, his dick throbbed with desire and there was zero chance of finding relief for either one. Maybe self-torture was his thing. And maybe he was deluding himself into believing things would be different with her if they did make it into bed.
The music spun around them in a gentle tune about love and devotion that was perfect for the event. Weddings were about a future filled with hope and possibilities. Was this thing humming between him and Rachel nothing more than a byproduct of the ambience?
He ran his hand up the curve of her back and nuzzled her temple. She managed to snuggle closer until she was pressed to his length from chest to hips. There was no chance of hiding his erection, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Not yet at least.
It was a rare moment that he let his dreams free, ones that didn’t involve hockey. He’d kept them tightly clamped down since his fiancée had left him days before their wedding. At nineteen, he’d been so certain of their relationship. That they’d had the same dreams and vision of the future.
She’d proven him wrong in a stormy rant about him choosing to stay in college after the draft, followed by her abrupt departure. He’d dropped out of college and gone pro a week after that. Mostly to get back at her.
Fifteen years later, and the memory still stung. But what had his prolonged resentment gotten him? He was at the possible end of his hockey career with no one to come home to. He had millions of dollars in his bank account, endorsement deals that paid more than his hockey contract and a big, empty house he tended to avoid.
Yet tonight there was a beautiful woman in his arms asking nothing more of him than a dance. A slow shuffle that hadn’t changed despite the pace of the music. He’d lost count of how many songs they’d swayed through, neither of them parting after one ended.
Longing strummed through him, both sexual and emotional. This was a snippet in time that would end too soon. Had she been placed in his path to taunt him with what he’d missed out on? Or was it a reminder of what else there was? He didn’t believe in fate as much as hard work and perseverance.
The temptation to grab a room at the hotel and haul her up to it was strong. It’d be one night to hold him. One that wouldn’t be nearly enough.
But she wasn’t a one-night stand.
She was only here for a week, and he was in no place to start a relationship. Not when his career and life were in limbo. Every jabbing throb in his knee was a reminder of that.
She ran her hand over his nape, gentle fingers stroking under his shirt collar to knead the muscles. Damn. He arched into her touch before her palm skimmed upward to ruffle the short hair on the back of his head. If he was a damn cat, he’d be purring. As it was, he moaned his appreciation.
Her touch was heaven. Contact with another human being that wasn’t aggressive or roughhousing was rare for him. That was just one of the reasons he didn’t want to let her go. He had no idea how long it’d be before he got this again.
He took a few quick steps that spun her around to the rhythm of the current song, careful of her bare toes. She’d left her heels at a table before they’d made their way to the dance floor. Words had been brief on the walk from the balcony and nonexistent since they’d started dancing. Was it corny to think they didn’t need a conversation to keep speaking? Maybe, but that was what it felt like. Every touch and sway, step and sigh communicated for them.
“And we have enough time for one last song,” the DJ said, breaking into the moment. “This one is for all the lovers out there. May you find a love as rich and full as Holden’s and Vanessa’s.”
A song started, another lilting tune of affection. One he didn’t recognize. He kept moving, and she remained snuggled close to him. If anything, her hold seemed tighter, like his own on her. Blind wistfulness was all it was. Maybe somewhat altered by alcohol for her or pain meds for him, but she hadn’t seemed drunk, and he was fully cognizant of his actions.
Words of devotion and love pulsed through the room to breathe every word into him. For another fleeting moment he let himself imagine that level of love with the woman in his arms. It was possible in a purely fictional and nonrealistic way.
They’d only just met. Talked for a snippet of time and danced. This was a dream, not the basis for a lasting relationship.
Or love.
Infatuation. Lust. Desire—any of those could be true. Love wasn’t so easy to find or believe in, let alone keep.
The song came to an end, the music filtering away on a lone note that faded into nothing. Was this it then?
He came to a reluctant stop, his feet slowing almost without his permission. She didn’t move away, and he let his hands drift over her back one more time. Down to the gentle arch of her bottom, stopping when he want to continue over the roundness. She wasn’t a woman he’d feel up on the dance floor.
He pressed his other hand to the bare skin on her upper back, soaked up the heat, heart racing for her. For what could be if things were different.
The lights came up, too bright and glaring. It was time.
He eased back, bringing his hands around to frame her face. His breath caught at her dazed look, one that held the hope and wistfulness that dug at him. Behind it was the reality though. The understanding of exactly how unlikely they were.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, heedless of anyone but her. Another dose of longing flashed through him in a rush of heat and nerves.
Her hands tightened on his waist as he brushed his lips to hers. A goodbye that tore at his heart and resolve. Her lips were soft, and they quivered slightly under his.
He pulled back before he dove in to taste her fully. He wasn’t sure if he could walk away if he did. “Thank you for the dance.” His voice rasped, the low words ripping through his dry throat.
She licked her lip, a slow pass with her tongue over the bottom that almost blew apart his determination to walk away. “It was a really nice start.”
His heart ached with a loss he had no right feeling. He was well beyond his years of juvenile beliefs and expectations. “And there’s still that end.”
“I’m in town for another week.” She squeezed her eyes closed, lips pressing into a hard line. She sucked in a breath, held it, her expression flattening out. He winced at her withdrawal. She opened her eyes and backed up, one then two steps that had his hands drifting down her cheeks to drop away. She traced the edge of his cummerbund before her hands fell to her sides. “I won’t cling. Sorry. You probably get that all the time.”
Her smile was tight when it came, and he wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to any place that would keep her close.
“Actually, I don’t.” He never gave anyone a chance to. “And I didn’t think that.”
People were moving to leave, the reception officially over. He ignored it all, but maybe it didn’t have to be over just yet.
“Do you want to grab a drink, or coffee or something?” Anything to keep the night from ending.
She glanced over her shoulder, and he tracked her gaze to where her brother stood eyeing them. The man didn’t intimidate Scott, but the warning in his gaze and stance was one he understood as an older brother.
“I need to leave with them,” she said, regret filling the words. She laid her palm on his chest and reached up to press a kiss to his cheek. The contact jolted through his system to scrape over his sore heart in another reminder of what he’d rejected for yea
rs.
He tugged her in for a last hug. Kissed her temple when he wanted so much more. “I understand. Can I get your number?” What was he doing? He cleared his throat, pulse hammering as his words tumbled out. “I can’t promise anything. There are things going on. I don’t know if I’ll be able—”
She laid a finger over his lips, silencing him. “Yes.”
His chest expanded with that single word. One that was hope and a door still open when it should probably be closed. He held her finger where it was and kissed the digit before he lowered her hand, not letting it go. “Thank you.”
Her smile was gentle and her expression relaxed into the warm welcome that had drawn him from the first and trapped him on the balcony. “Of course. How else can you collect on your tour of life outside of hockey if you can’t reach me?”
The deep chuckle she tugged from him was bittersweet. What would it be like? That tour with her? “Of course,” he agreed for lack of another response.
He released her hand to dig his phone out of his pocket. He called up a new contact page and handed the phone to her. Her navy nails flashed as she entered her info, and he took that moment to lock her image into his memory. On second thought, he grabbed his phone back when she was done and quickly snapped a picture of her.
“Hey,” she protested. “I wasn’t ready for that.”
He stared at the image on his screen. “It’s perfect.” Her smile was genuine and open beneath dark eyes. He wouldn’t forget that look.
She tilted his hands to see for herself. “Now I need one of you.” She snatched his phone away before he could protest, stepped back and aimed it at him in the next instant. “Smile,” she prompted.
The urge to scowl was erased by her small burst of laughter. He gave in easily and let a smile show. Not his practiced one, but one he actually felt. How could he not with the notes of her lilting laughter charming him even more?
She looked at the screen, smiling as she called up the texting app and sent the picture off to what he assumed was her phone. “There. Now I have your number and a picture.” She handed his phone back, grinning. “Now I can stalk you like a crazy fan.” She waggled her brows before she shook her head. “I won’t, of course. So you can take that stricken look off your face.”
“What look?” He hadn’t been aware of any such look.
“Never mind,” she said, waving the comment away. “I promise not to bug you. I know you have things going on, but don’t be afraid to contact me. I listen really well and I can distract you even better.”
The possible ways she could distract him hung between them on a tempting note that had his dick responding once again. Something he did not need right now. Not with her very muscular, scowling brother striding toward them.
“Hey, Rach,” Rock said when he was close. “Are you ready to leave?” He held out a purse and the silver heels she’d left at a table. “Carter and I are almost done here.”
She took her belongings, crouching down to set the shoes on the floor. Rock shot a hard glare over her head at Scott, a thousand things communicated in that one look. Forefront was “don’t you fucking hurt her.”
Scott gave a small headshake, his only way to indicate he had no intention of doing so.
Rachel straightened, her smile saying she was oblivious to the silent exchange. “I’ll be right there.” She laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “Just give me another minute.” She squeezed his biceps, a reassurance before she nudged the man away.
“Don’t be long,” he grumbled like a stony father. He spared one last hard look for Scott before he left.
“Good lord,” Scott muttered. “Is he always like that?” He shook his head, not in anger but humor. “No wonder you’re still single if men have to get past him to date you. Don’t tell me there are more in your family like him.”
She gave a half shrug. “I have another brother and there’s my dad, but none of them have a say in who I date.” Her brows lowered, a determined edge he could identify with. “I run my own life, make no mistake about that.”
Her jaw had stiffened with a slight fierceness that added to her allure. How many layers were there to this fascinating woman? Would he get the chance to find out?
His knuckles were smoothing down the line of her jaw before he realized his hand had moved. “It never crossed my mind otherwise.” He tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted it up. Her lips were as sweet as before, but he didn’t linger when he kissed them. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Rachel Fielding.”
“Likewise, Scott Walters.”
“I hope our paths cross again.”
“You have my number.”
And she had his. “Enjoy your stay in Minneapolis.”
Her small smile held a hint of sadness. “I’ll do my best.” She braced her hand on his arm to steady herself as she slipped her shoes back on. The added height brought her mouth closer to his when she straightened. Lips plump and parted. Tempting.
Fuck it.
He cupped the back of her head and claimed what was offered. Her shallow gasp reached his ears an instant before he closed his mouth over hers. Restraint gone, he caught himself just before he dove in. Hesitated enough to ease back, working his lips over hers in increasingly forceful nudges that allowed him to savor each touch.
Her moan was throaty when her lips parted, a soft rumble that beckoned him in. There was no way he wasn’t accepting the invitation. He held her to him and swept his tongue in to finally get a full dose of her taste. Sweet and rich, another temptation that would hold him captive for way longer than he could hold her.
Blood roared in his ears and his chest tightened around the ball of want growing too large. Every nerve ending was heightened to detect her relaxing muscles as she melted into his embrace. She was absolutely heaven in his arms, her mouth a place he could lose himself for hours.
She slid her arms around his neck, tilting her head to open fully to him. Searching into his mouth with her tongue. Swirling the tip around his in a carnal dance that had his erection charging back. Damn. Damn. Damn. Why did she have to waltz into his life right now?
When he couldn’t follow through on anything he so desperately wanted to do?
With one last slow sweep of his tongue through her mouth then over her lips, he backed off to a series of more light touches that ended with a breathy departure. He rubbed his temple to hers, eyes squeezed closed against the desire and longing raging to break free.
He swallowed. Pressed one last kiss to her forehead. “Goodbye, Rachel.”
She sniffed, a quick inhale cut short. Her hand tightened on the back of his neck before she slid it around to his chest. “Goodbye, Scott.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, so much left unsaid and swirling in her eyes before she turned away. He let her go, his hand drifting down her arm to fall from her fingertips as she stepped out of his reach.
How fucking cliché. At some point, he’d turned into a sappy romantic movie that had overdosed on the sap. Yet he couldn’t make himself move as he watched her walk across the room, fringe swaying with each step, until she left. No backward glance or last wave. Chin held high, shoulders back the entire way.
Could he blame it on the pain pills after all? That’d be the easy excuse for his reaction and subsequent actions. But what about the regrets that already hammered at his chest? Or the guilt for being such an emotionally stunted ass?
That was all him.
“You’re not seriously letting that go?”
The shock-laced mocking question jerked Scott from his personal damnation. Justin Feeney approached, dress shoes clicking on the wooden dance floor. His hair was rumpled, shirt untucked beneath his opened suit jacket, confusion lining his forehead.
Scott shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his boner that still hadn’t gone down and strode away. He was done with the night and every obligation that tugged at him.
“Aw, come on,” Feeney moaned, dogging after Scott. “You never pick up women.
Now you go and let the best one of the night walk away. What’s your deal?”
Scott spun around, patience gone. He slammed his hand into Feeney’s shirt, fisting the material to yank the startled man to him. A move he was only able to do to the bulky enforcer because he’d caught him by surprise. He got in Feeney’s face, his temper unleashed.
“My deal is called respect,” he snarled. “My deal is that I don’t view every woman as nothing more than a piece of ass to fuck and leave. My fucking deal is something you might want to try.” He shoved the man, a muttered “asshole” falling out before he spun away.
“What the fuck?” The outraged exclamation had heads turning, guys moving toward them.
Scott gritted his teeth and threw up a palm at an approaching teammate. His status as team captain for the last six years got him the room he needed. It was respect he’d worked hard to earn and it was just one more knife in his chest. Years spent mitigating disputes, doling out advice, listening to problems would be washed away with the simple swipe of a pen on a new contract—or lack of one.
His family stripped away to be replaced by a new one or none at all. How fucked was that?
No one said another word to him as he jerked his tux jacket off the back of a chair and stalked from the room. The ache in his knee came to life in blinding force when he slumped against the wall of the empty elevator. He shifted his weight to his good—or better—leg and sighed when the burning pain eased. Every doctor he’d seen had a series of options that all involved more surgery with no guarantees. That was time off the ice. Time away that was getting harder and harder to come back from with so many excellent eager younger guys ready to move into his position.
Retirement would open up those options for his knee...and end all of his playing ones.
The doors swooshed open, and he quickly exited, valet ticket in hand. Home, pills, bed and blessed oblivion, that was all he needed to think about right now. The mint case rattled in the pocket of his jacket, tempting him to pop a few right then. The ones he’d taken earlier had obviously faded.
He was reaching for the case when the valet attendant drove his truck up to the curb. What was he doing? He didn’t drive high. Fuck.
