He hesitates but plops back down. We sit in comfortable silence, as we both stare at the endless sea while the sound of the waves crashing against the steep cliffs breaches the calm night air.
Until the first rumble of thunder interrupts the peaceful atmosphere and lightning divides the dark blue of the night sky.
With the thunderstorm looming in the air, something shifts between the stranger and me. His gaze burns holes in my side, but I don’t look at him and continue to stare at the sea.
“You’re beautiful.” His baritone startles me.
“You’re drunk.” I turn to him, taking in his flushed features.
His laugh sounds bitter. “I have reasons.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
I’m not sure what to reply, but he doesn’t give me time. Instead, his mouth crashes on mine. His kiss is overwhelming. Demanding. Overrunning me like waves would a beach during a storm. Suffocating me until I have to push him away to catch my breath.
We stare at each other. Breathing heavily. His eyes lock with mine, and I stare right back, taking in his rugged features illuminated by the next bolt of lightning. When I lick my lips, he doesn’t hesitate. His big hand catches the back of my head and he drags my mouth back to his. The second our lips connect, my insides feel like they’re set afire by a volcanic explosion of epic proportions. He doesn’t give me time to contemplate what is happening to me when his tongue invades and plunders my mouth, while he pulls me right into his broad shoulders.
Holy shit, how did this even happen? I don’t know his name, but I don’t care, not when he’s kissing me like there’s no tomorrow. And there might be none for us, but for tonight, I’m his and he’s mine—no words needed.
His kisses are raw and uncontrolled, just like the thunderstorm invading the night. But they aren’t enough anymore. His hands wander underneath my shirt, scorching my skin with their heat, and I shiver. Holy shit, is he for real? No man has ever made my skin feel like it’s on fire. His mouth traces a path down my neck, just to return to my mouth again, and I lose myself in a whirlwind of silky wetness and calloused fingertips. Branding me. Invading both my body and my soul.
The first drops of rain evaporate on my heated body. Only when he pulls his mouth and body from mine with a growl and stands up, dragging me with him, do I feel the rain pouring down on us. He drags me behind him as we run inside.
“Which floor?” he asks once we’re inside, punching the button to call the elevator five times in a row.
“Four.” A one-word answer is the only thing I can manage at this point—not that he’s giving me much time to answer anyway. His lips are on mine again before the elevator doors are closed. While he plunders my mouth, his warm hands on my back press me against his body, letting me feel the big bulge in his shorts.
Holy shit. I can’t compare him to many men, but he must be hiding a snake in there.
When the elevator opens with a ping, I’m lost for direction for a second.
“Which number?” He lifts my chin, staring right into my eyes. I blink twice. Recalling my room number is the last thing on my mind right now.
“406.”
He retakes my hand, leaving me no option but to follow him. At this point, I can’t tell you where left and right is, but he’s taking care of everything. I don’t even try to handle the key card but hand it over. Waiting for me to step inside, he holds the door open.
“What’s your name?” I ask, brushing past him. Sleeping with a stranger is one thing, but sleeping with a nameless stranger is way out of my comfort zone.
“Matt.” His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. Can the sound of a voice give you an orgasm? Because his might be able to.
I step inside but turn around when he doesn’t follow me right away.
“What’s yours?” He joins me, closing the door behind him.
“Emilia,” I say just when the door clicks shut.
Talking isn’t our thing, and I couldn’t be happier when his mouth descends on mine again. Pressing me against the door with his body, he lifts me up in the process. My skirt bunches around my waist when he grinds his hips against my core. He’s like an animal unleashed, barely giving me time to process what is happening to me, leaving me nothing to do but enjoy the friction the big bulge in his pants creates. But it’s not enough anymore.
His hands are everywhere, ripping my top to expose my breasts, pulling down my skirt to bare the skin of my legs to his roaming hands, and stretching my panties to gain access to my pulsing middle. Rough fingers are pushed inside me at the same time his mouth sucks my left nipple deep inside his mouth, and I hold on to his shoulders for dear life, thankful for the support the door provides on my back. I want to scream when he leaves me to shed his pants, and the crinkle of a condom wrapper sounds through the room. Thank God, he’s taking care of protection.
Pleasure and pain explode within me when he pushes his massive erection halfway inside me. I whimper while my body fights against his sudden invasion.
“Shh… relax, you can take me. I’ll go slow.” His lips move against my ear. Then he kisses my brows and the tip of my nose as he slides into my burning core with a gentle rocking motion—a stark contrast to his former wildness.
“You okay?” He pauses once he’s inside as far as I can take him. I nod, unable to form words, and he kisses me briefly on the mouth before he lifts me higher and pulls out, just to push inside again, hitting a spot I never knew existed.
His eyes never leave mine as his movements gain momentum. His passion is as raw and wild as his kisses were on the rooftop. Harder and harder, he hits home with each pump of his hips. He holds my body against his rather than letting me crash against the door. His stamina is impressive. I’m only a passenger in his race for the ultimate fulfillment. Each of his strokes takes me closer to the finish line. I don’t want our encounter to ever end, and at the same time, I need fulfillment more than I need air right now. So, I move with him. Against him. Trying to crawl underneath his skin.
When he bites my neck, I fall, with light exploding in front of my eyes and darkness overwhelming me—an explosive mixture, like the lightning and thunder earlier.
Once his breathing has calmed, he carries me into the bathroom where he introduces me to the delights of water and his hands on my quivering body.
Much later, his hand draws circles on my back, and I shudder when a warm mouth is pressed against my ear. “Are you awake?” Matt’s voice is raspy, and I shiver in response.
Instead of answering, I turn around and our eyes meet in the dark, his glittering in the moonlight streaming in through the window. This time, he’s gentle, not leaving one inch of my body untouched, yet taking me with an intensity I’ve only read about in books.
I fall asleep on his shoulder just to find him gone in the morning as if it was all just a beautiful dream.
Shaking myself from the memory, I press my hand against my stomach. “And that was how your dad and I met, little ones. One day, I’ll tell you the PG-13 version of this story. We just have to figure out if he wants us. And how to tell your great-grandfather about you—that might be the bigger problem. But I’ll give my best. I promise. You do your thing and grow into healthy babies, and I’ll do mine. Deal?”
Nothing happens. How could it? My little ones are way too small to give me any indication of what they think about my plan, but I feel better, more in control of the situation—at least for now.
Time to call their daddy. Telling him over the phone isn’t ideal, but I promised to call him after my appointment. As the team has the evening off, he should be able to answer his phone. Let’s see what he thinks about having twins.
When he picks up, I don’t even wait for his greeting but go for the direct approach instead. “We’re having twins.”
“Twins?” He makes it sound as if we’re expecting aliens.
“Yes, two babies, Matt.”
It’s hard to hear over th
e phone, but it sounds as if he takes a big gulp of air. “Are they okay?”
“Yes, according to the doctor, they look just fine. We will have more checkups because of the twin pregnancy, but other than that, everything is fine.”
He doesn’t answer, but he just sniffles, barely audible. What big, burly man wants to show his feelings, after all?
“Are you crying?” I want to hug him.
He clears his throat. “I’m good. They both have a heartbeat?”
“Yes, everything is as it should be. I’ll send you the pictures, and I have a recording of the heartbeats.” Thanks to Dr. Peters.
“Okay. Thanks.” His voice isn’t steady.
“How’s training camp?” I try to distract him.
“It’s good. Listen, the boys want to catch a movie. I gotta go. Bye, Emilia.”
A movie, huh? Well, at least he said goodbye this time. Baby steps. But steps in the right direction.
Four days later, my optimism has burst into flames. With the team returning from training camp, my workload has tripled, and my nausea has hit an all-time high. Instead of morning sickness, I suffer from all-day or whenever-I-smell-something-that-doesn’t-agree-with-one-or-both-babies sickness, which literally could be anything. Toothpaste has become my enemy, and so has the smell of leather—an amazing thing, considering I have two leather couches in my office. Food-wise I can only tolerate apples, bananas, dry bread, and lobster rolls, which is insane, but better than not being able to eat anything at all.
The team roster is the same as last year. Consistency is the key—at least that’s what Coach Benning told me when I asked him why there weren’t any changes. He’s an experienced coach and has won the Stanley Cup twice with different teams, so what else am I to do but believe in his abilities?
The only thing breaching the consistency is that Nessy is no longer the team’s captain. With two children and a third one planned, he doesn’t want the additional responsibility attached to the role anymore—or his wife doesn’t. Whatever his reasons, the Ice Tigers have a new captain, and it’s none other than Tyler Wolfe.
Tyler as the Ice Tigers’ captain is not a surprise, but Matt being named his alternate was—at least for me.
So, here we go. The father of my babies is my grandfather’s hockey team’s captain—or alternate captain. But who cares about details when it’s that complicated?
My phone rings. It’s my grandfather. Unfortunately, he seems to be on my back again. I’ve dodged his calls so far, being in meetings all the time, but this is the fourth time he’s tried to reach me today, and I’m out of excuses not to answer.
“Hello.”
“I expect results, Emilia. Do your little social media thing. Gianluca thinks it can’t hurt. And make sure these hockey players look good in our suits, but wins are more important.” Another male specimen who thinks greetings are overrated. “The team needs to win on opening night. No one wants to wear clothes worn by losers. A win on Friday and a playoff spot. You better make that work. I’m not wasting money on losers.”
Then he hangs up. Without saying goodbye. What is wrong with me that I’m not shown that curtesy from the males in my life?
I sigh. It’s so typical of him to put pressure on me without giving me the slightest chance to explain anything. How the hell am I supposed to make the team win on Friday? Of all the teams we could play, we’re playing Dallas. They made the finals last year and lost in game seven. With huge trade investments in the off-season and the added motivation of finishing second last year, they’re the favorite for the Cup this season. Even if we lose on opening night, it doesn’t mean we're an incapable team.
But in my grandfather’s eyes, only a win will count. He doesn’t think about the people involved in this organization or that not investing in the team or, in the worst case, selling the team after a short amount of time might damage the Ravelli Group’s reputation in the U.S. irreparably. He doesn’t seem to understand how much people love hockey over here and how much the city of Boston loves its team. Granted, hockey isn’t big in Italy, but soccer is, and he’s a fanatic soccer fan. If someone were to buy his beloved Lazio Rom, not invest in the team, and then sell it to the highest bidder again, without any concern to the team’s welfare, he’d freak out.
If he would give me the time to explain certain things… but he isn’t interested in my explanations. He never was in the first place. Maybe the Ravelli Group’s involvement with the Ice Tigers is just a major setup to make me fail again. But I won’t. Not this time.
Shit, what am I to do now? I don’t want to talk to Rob and Mary yet. Sooner or later, I’ll have to tell them about my overbearing grandfather and his expectations, but I’d rather wait as long as possible for that conversation to take place. Coach Benning is an option, but again, I don’t want to involve him in my personal problems with my grandfather at this point either.
There’s just one person to ask for advice—the one person who’d rather take arsenic than talk to me. Well, not arsenic, but….
I’m not being fair, and I know it, but this whole situation is driving me crazy. It must be the pregnancy hormones.
Just call him, Emilia. He wants the team to succeed as well. So, I press the Call button. I’m about to hang up, when Matt answers the phone after the fifth ring without saying a word.
“Hey, Matt.”
“Something wrong with the babies?”
My hand flutters to my stomach at the mention of our little ones. “No, it’s not the babies. It’s me. I need your help. Can I come over?” I could tell him right away about my grandfather’s demands, but I want to find out if I can rely on him. Having two babies won’t be only sunshine and roses, and if we’re in this together, I need to be able to trust him. I need to know if I can count on him.
He sighs.
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
He sighs again. “All right.” He hangs up.
Looking at the phone’s screen, I blink. And I blink again. No goodbye. Again. One step forward, two steps back, right? This is going to be fun. Not. But he is the alternate captain now. And even if he weren’t, technically he’s my employee—it’s his job to talk to me.
Half an hour and a trip to the bakery later, I greet the doorman at Matt’s apartment complex, who waves me through to the elevator. When Matt opens the door, I move past him, not waiting for him to take my coat, which he probably wouldn’t do anyway, but hang it up myself while balancing the box from the bakery with my other hand.
“We have a problem. My grandfather wants to sell the team if we don’t make playoffs, and he expects a win on Friday or he… he isn’t going to spend money on losers. His words, not mine.” I’m turning to him while I speak, just in time to see his jaw drop. “I need your help. I only have a general idea about hockey, even though I watched every tutorial I could find. It’s not enough to manage the team. Can we sit down, please, and if it isn’t too much, could I have a glass of water? I have some questions. And I brought lobster rolls. Could you please bring plates? I’m starving.”
Why exchange pleasantries if he clearly isn’t interested in them? He thinks me a spoiled princess anyway, so why not act like one?
I don’t wait for his response either but walk inside what I assume is the living room, nearly toppling off the stairs leading down into the open-concept area. Once safely down the stairs, I admire the view out of the enormous floor-to-ceiling window front, but when I hear Matt’s footsteps, I turn around, and my mouth falls open.
In the middle of the room stands a huge futon couch… in dark red. A shade of red you’d typically associate with brothels—not that I’ve ever been to one, but if I were to set a foot inside one, that’s the color I’d expect to find inside. Apart from the unusual color, the couch features nailhead-trim details, velvet upholstery, dark wooden legs, and a reversible chaise.
“So, dark red is your favorite color, huh?” I have to suppress the urge to laugh. Matt is all-male ruggedness, and a dar
k-red couch is the last thing I’d expect to find in his living room. I wonder what the bedroom looks like. Maybe it features dark-red, leather headboards, and handcuffs?
“The apartment came furnished.” Matt sets the glass and the plates on the coffee table. He did mention that. I have a better look around, taking in the yellow décor around me. Holy shit, the previous owner clustered the walls with abstract paintings and wooden wall décor in every shade of yellow imaginable.
“It’s… interesting.” I don’t want to say the previous owner had a serious lack of taste, because if the combination of dark-red and yellow are your thing, this would be your dream living room.
“It’s comfy. I fall asleep here most of the time. The seats can be reclined individually, and once it’s dark outside, I don’t see the color anymore.”
Wow, he’s explaining things. That’s a new one. Not sure what to reply, I sit down on the monstrous piece of furniture and sink in the velvety plushness. Matt’s right; it is comfy. No wonder he falls asleep here. The couch is a prime example of comfort over design.
He looks at me with his eyebrows squished together.
“You’re right, Matt. It’s super comfy. But I’m not here to talk about furniture. Question one. How high are the chances for us making the playoffs?”
While I wait for his answer, I reach for a plate and take one of the rolls. Not an easy task, considering how deep I’ve sunk in the cushion. If I was at a later stage of pregnancy, I’d probably have no chance of getting up. Not that I will be spending much time here, but just in case, I better remember to sit on the edge once I’m bigger. When I’m finally settled back with the plate balancing on my lap, he still hasn’t answered my question. I look up and find him staring at me.
Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2) Page 10
