Taking a Shot

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  He settled her palm against the front of his pants.

  “That’s because of you.”

  His erection jumped under her touch, and his whole body tensed, but he let go of her wrist.

  Her fingers lingered against the thick ridge of him for an agonizing moment before she forced her hand away and met his eyes.

  “I got hard the second you shoved me up against the wall. I want you on your knees more than I want my next breath. But when that happens, I want it to just be you and me in the room.”

  Chelsea kissed him, just wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. She didn’t want him to change his mind, take back any of the sweet, sexy words that had just made her feel special and wanted.

  When she finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard. She dragged a hand down his chest, the backs of her fingers flirting with his shirt, with his abs, tight and unyielding beneath it. She stared straight ahead, at the column of his throat, watching the muscles work as he swallowed. His exhalation ruffled her hair.

  She dropped her hand to his waistband, but he shook his head.

  “Not here, okay? I don’t want you to think I said all this to get in your pants.”

  Her heart melted.

  “I’m not wearing pants,” she teased.

  “Your panties then.”

  “I’m not wearing those, either.”

  He dropped his head and swore against her neck as his hips thrust forward, grinding against her and startling a gasp from her lips.

  With a curse, Brett pushed away from the door. Away from her.

  “Okay, I’m calling a timeout. I need to regroup.” He walked over and sat on the top step, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  Chelsea sat down beside him, staring down the short staircase at the landing below. After a moment, she angled her body toward his and dropped her forehead against his arm, exhaling some of the pent-up emotion.

  They sat there awhile, with only the buzz of the lights and the sound of their breathing as it evened out.

  “We good now?”

  She nodded against his shoulder before lifting her face. “Yeah. But I think I bruised my knee,” she admitted, half-glaring, half-pouting at the embarrassing admission.

  “Awww.” He reached over and gave it a squeeze. The warmth of his palm seeped through her dress. “If it makes you feel better, I think you might have chipped my tooth when you attacked me with your mouth.”

  “What?” Her eyes snapped to his, guilt and concern warring for dominance in her chest.

  He tipped his head back, jamming his finger against his left incisor. “Is it bad?”

  She batted his hand out of the way so she could examine it in the crappy lighting.

  It took about four seconds to determine that his stupid tooth was fine, and she knew he knew it by the way he grinned at her when she finally pulled back. “Jerk.”

  “C’mere.” He slung his arm around her and pulled her against his side. She leaned in and closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her hairline.

  “Why would chipping your tooth make me feel better?”

  “Because it sucks being the only guy on the injured reserve list.”

  “Because it means you’re in pain?”

  “Because it means you’ve got to watch everyone else play while you sit on the sidelines.”

  Yeah. She got that. That’s how she’d felt tonight when he was having a good time with his teammates and the sequins. Left out. And not just because she was doing her job while they were gambling. And drinking. And laughing. And flirting.

  Her mood took a little nosedive and made her voice sound petulant. “Well, I was trying to play with you.”

  His shoulder rocked under her cheek when he chuckled.

  “And when we’re done working, I’m gonna meet you at your place and we’re going to play all night. That’s a promise.”

  She opened her eyes, risked a glance up at him. From this angle, she could only see the underside of his stubbly jaw. Was there no part of him that didn’t turn her on?

  When we’re done working. She hadn’t thought about it like that. Watching him smile and laugh while people took selfies with him had seemed more fun than carrying around a clipboard and making sure things were running smoothly behind the scenes. But she supposed he was on the clock. That was the part of professional sports people didn’t think about as much. The volunteer work, the fundraising, the giving back.

  A totally different kind of work than he did on the ice, but work nonetheless.

  “Do you think we’re going to die in here?” she asked idly. The material of his suit was soft against her skin. His body was warm and she could smell the faint, clean scent of his shampoo. His rib cage expanded and contracted against her arm in time with his breathing.

  Not such a bad way to go.

  “I doubt it.” He reached into his jacket with his free hand and produced his phone.

  A little smile curved her lips. “Geez. Good thing this wasn’t a heist. That’s how the coppers find you, by triangulating cell phone towers. You would have blown the whole thing before we even got a chance to Bonnie and Clyde our way out of here.”

  “The coppers, huh? I take it back. Obviously, you’re a total bad girl. You’ve got the jail yard lingo down and everything.”

  Chelsea pressed her mouth to his, indulging in a soft, sweet kiss.

  Desire flickered in Brett’s eyes, and she liked the way he licked his lips as she pulled back. “What was that for?”

  “Because I like you better when you’re not talking,” she teased, getting to her feet. He followed suit, and she gestured toward the phone in his hand with a tip of her chin. “Now use that to get someone to spring you.” Chelsea looked around the space. There was a dusty wedge of wood tucked in the corner of the landing. Obviously, they weren’t the first people to be trapped in here. She grabbed it and held it up. “Jam this in the door when you leave so I can follow when the coast is clear.”

  He hit send on his S.O.S. and tucked his phone away. “Or we could, you know, both walk out of here when Jason opens the door,” he suggested, though he accepted the doorstop she was shoving in his hand.

  “First of all, how are we going to explain this?”

  “Why do we have to?”

  “Because I’m the boss’s daughter. The guys will never let you live it down.”

  “I can handle the guys,” he told her.

  “We’re not even supposed to be—” Kissing? Sleeping together? Sneaking around? All of the above? “—doing this.” She used the word as a catch-all.

  “Okay, I get it.”

  Chelsea looked at him, trying to parse the curtness of his reply. “Are you mad?”

  Brett shrugged, shaking his head. “Why would I be mad?”

  She wasn’t sure, but he seemed like he was. And it got worse as she walked down the seven steps that took her to the next landing.

  “What?” she asked at his frown, leaning back against the smooth concrete. It was cold against her bare skin. “If I don’t hide, then I might as well walk out with you.”

  “God forbid.”

  Definitely mad.

  She didn’t get a chance to take issue with his snarky tone, because the door flew open and the resulting bang ricocheted through the concrete stairwell like a gunshot, jacking up her heartrate.

  “What are you doing in here, ya dumbass?”

  Chase Hawkins’ voice. Great. The team bigmouth.

  “I could ask you the same question,” Brett countered.

  “Decker’s turn to deal, so he sent me to rescue you.”

  Crap. She’d missed the dealer shift changeover. Thank God for Shanna. They might be mad at each other, but she could always count on her friend when she needed her.

  “So what exactly am I rescuing you from?”

  Her heart stopped for a second as she waited for Brett’s answer. Not that she thought he’d sell her out, but his earlier anger had her a bit off-balance.

&nbs
p; “Just needed some air. Didn’t realize I’d be trapped.”

  “Uh-huh.” She could hear the grin in Chase’s voice. “Next time, stick to a bathroom stall. That way she can’t lock you in after you thanks-but-no-thanks her phone number while you’re zipping up. Unless she’s still in here? Is it the girl in the pink sequins?” Chase took a step forward so the two men were almost chest to chest as he jokingly pantomimed looking over Brett’s shoulder.

  Chelsea sucked in her breath and pressed tighter against the wall, as if it would make her invisible or something.

  “Fuck off, Hawk.” Brett said it in the dismissive, bullshitting kind of way that accompanied the constant teasing of teammates before planting a hand on the man’s chest and giving him a good-natured shove that knocked him back into the hallway.

  Chelsea’s breath came out in a sigh of relief.

  “You’re such a player, you know that?”

  Chase laughed. “Whatever, man. You’re the one who got locked in a stairwell. Hope she was worth it.”

  Brett paused, glanced down at her for a second that stretched to five, then ten.

  “You coming?”

  Chase’s demand stole his gaze from her. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

  And then he was gone, but the door didn’t bang shut behind him, and she let out a breath as she walked up the five steps to see the wooden triangle had done its job. She grabbed it as she pushed the door open a little, peeking around the edge to ensure the coast was clear. It was. Chelsea tossed the doorstop back where she got it, and it clattered against the floor when it landed. She stepped back into the tiled hallway, her solitary footsteps echoing as she returned to the casino.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The knock on her door was unexpected. When she opened it to find Brett, she was floored. While she’d changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he was still in the tan suit he’d worn to the casino, but all his suave sophistication was gone. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it constantly since she’d last seen him. His shirt was rumpled, and the first three buttons at his collar hung open. The knot in his tie was tugged low and askew.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Huh?”

  She gestured in the general direction of his chest.

  “Oh, yeah. I…it was too tight on my neck.” He exhaled, seeming defeated. “Look, I just came here because you’re right. My focus should be on making the playoffs. It’s better for me, and for the team, if we stay under the radar. And because I wanted to tell you okay.”

  She frowned, shaking her head, uncomprehending. “Okay?”

  “I’m in. Let’s do this your way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He stepped farther inside, then turned and shut the door with an almost nervous precision she wasn’t used to seeing from him. All his easy-goingness was gone.

  She wrapped her arms around herself as he met her eyes. The cold winter air radiating off his coat made her shiver.

  “You want to suck my cock, right? You want to do this dirty?”

  Her breath left her lungs in an audible rush.

  That’s what she’d asked him for. Daring and dirty and sexy. That’s what she wanted.

  Her nod was stiff.

  Brett pulled off his coat, and the jacket beneath it, in a single move as he walked into the living room. He draped them over the chair…the same spot he’d left his coat the night they’d watched the movie together, and went and stood in front of the couch. The memory of using popcorn for target practice brought a hint of a smile to her mouth.

  Uncrossing her arms, she walked toward him. He’d already rolled his left sleeve up his forearm, and was currently doing the same to his right, revealing his tattoos as he went.

  Seeing them usually sent something warm sliding through her tummy, but tonight, she was distracted by the vaguely down-to-business feel of the action.

  When he’d finished, he raised his eyes to hers. They stood there in the silence. Her breathing was stilted. She was suddenly and inexplicably nervous.

  Brett shoved a hand through his hair, confirming her earlier hypothesis of its disarray. “You want me to order you around or something?”

  “I, uh…is that what you would…” She stopped herself before she asked him if that’s what he’d do with someone else. He was here for her. He was doing this for her, so she should just tell him to get on with it. Dirty talk was sexy, right?

  “Yes. I want you to order me around.”

  “Come here.”

  Chelsea walked toward him, her bare feet almost silent on the hardwood floor. She stopped in front of him, waiting like a robot for his next order.

  “Take off your shirt,” he said, and she noticed that he didn’t quite sound like himself. Not like he’d sounded in the stairwell, when he’d told her to turn around, when his voice had quaked through her, commanding, but tempting, too. Like a plea wrapped up in an order, one she couldn’t help but grant.

  She pulled her shirt off and let it fall to the ground.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, and his jaw flexed as he swallowed. For the first time since he’d shown up at her door, something flared in their gray-blue depths as they roved her curves, pushed up courtesy of her pink bra. It wasn’t very sexy, just a racerback with a front-closure that she’d picked up from a sale bin once, but it was doing the job, holding Brett’s attention, and lighting a spark in her abdomen. When he raised his eyes, there was a connection again, and the spark in her belly flickered into a flame. He placed his palm against her cheek, brushing his thumb against her bottom lip.

  Her breath caught at the softness of the touch, but as though the slight sound had penetrated his consciousness, he dropped his hand, shaking his head as if he’d just woken from a dream. He felt farther away than he had a moment before.

  “Get on your knees for me.” Despite the harshness of the order, he reached behind him and grabbed one of the throw pillows, then tossed it on the ground in front of him. A thoughtful gauntlet.

  One that her sore knee thanked him for, but the sweetness of that small consideration got lost in the wave of uncertainty that swept through her as she got to her knees.

  His fingers brushed the top of her head, and she looked up at him.

  “I’m just gonna…”

  He twisted his hand, fisting her hair, and the tug on her scalp wasn’t unpleasant. “Is that okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She reached for his belt again, but with none of the heat and fumbling of earlier.

  In the stairwell, she’d been so full of emotion—anger, insecurity, desperation—that she hadn’t really been there, not fully. And right now, she got the distinct impression that she and Brett had switched places.

  The brown leather of his belt went lax on the first try.

  “That’s right, baby.”

  His button and zipper parted easily.

  “See how big and hard I am for you?”

  Something about his words rang hollow. Like they were actors in a really depressing porno.

  Was this how he’d felt when he’d called things off earlier that night? This lack of connection?

  “I’m gonna fill you up so good.”

  When she glanced up, he wasn’t even looking at her. Just staring straight ahead. “Brett?”

  At the sound of his name, he squeezed his eyes closed, exhaling before he looked down at her. She pulled her hands back from his pants. Everything felt wrong—not the good kind of dirty. This was the kind that left a stain on your soul.

  “Brett, stop. I can’t do this.”

  He let go of her hair immediately and dropped onto the couch.

  Seated, he was almost at eye level. As his gaze searched her face, she could read the defeat there. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  She’d thought so, too. She’d wanted something raw. But nothing about any of what had just happened felt right. She hadn’t felt like her. Brett hadn’t seemed like himself. They hadn’t been l
ike them.

  “Not like this.” Not like strangers.

  It had never been like that between them before…not even that first night, when they actually had been strangers.

  When he placed his hand on her cheek, it was strong and warm, but his voice was hoarse. “Just tell me how you want it, Chels, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  The words came out broken. They reminded her of their discussion about his ex-wife. About trying to be what she wanted. About playing the role.

  She’d done that to him. She didn’t have the words to apologize, but she tried anyway.

  “I just want you.”

  He went still. Blinked. And then their eyes met, for real this time. He wasn’t looking through her anymore, and she was so relieved to have Brett back, to have him there with her that she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his as she wound her arms around his neck.

  His big hands spanned her rib cage so he could pull her into his lap. His kiss filled the cold places inside her, reminding her how good it was between them just the way it was.

  It was the softest meeting of mouths. Unhurried. A leisurely reacquaintance that didn’t feel so much like being wanted, as being cherished.

  …

  He never wanted to let her go.

  Brett pulled Chelsea even closer, desperate not to lose whatever the hell was happening between the two of them right now. He’d come over with some insane notion of giving her what she’d wanted—letting her prove whatever it was she’d needed to prove in that stairwell. There were worse things in the world than having an incredible, gorgeous woman use your body to get you both off, right?

  But what had started out as about the shittiest sexual experience of his life had morphed into something he’d never felt before. He was used to women wanting him, but this, whatever this was with Chelsea right now, was so much deeper than just sex.

  He was pretty sure he could have sat on this couch with her in his arms for the rest of his life, but his cell phone wasn’t about to let him test that theory. It buzzed in his pocket, caught between their thighs. Chelsea laughed, pulling back.

  “Is that a phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

  Brett’s hands tightened on her hips. He wasn’t ready to lose this moment yet.