Broken (Breakers Hockey Book 1)

by Elise Faber

This woman was going to be the death of him. He shook his head, cleared enough of the desire so he could cup her cheek and explain. “When I kiss you, I feel like we should be in a movie. Music should blare to life, doves should be circling overhead, woodland fucking creatures should tie you up in ribbons.”

  “Music playing?”

  He nodded.

  Her lips twitched. “Tying me up?”

  “I meant tie ribbons in your hair.” He tracked the amusement in her eyes, her expression, and knew his explanation hadn’t helped his cause. He groaned, let his head fall back. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

  “No,” she said with a laugh, her hands gripping his jaw, tilting his head up again. “Though, for the record, I definitely don’t mind a little kink.”

  His brows rose. His cock somehow got harder. “What kind of kink?”

  A husky laugh. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to date me and find out.”

  “Oh?” he asked archly.

  “Yeah. Oh.” She lowered her head, inhaled deeply. “You smell so good,” she moaned, nipping at his jaw. “I want to taste you all over.”

  A fire was burning inside him, had been burning in him for what felt like an eternity. And her words, the way she clung to him, her thighs around his hips, had him at risk of losing control. Especially after the emotions of the last half hour, the fact that she’d come back and said she wanted to date him, that she seemed to like kissing him as much as he enjoyed kissing her.

  He wanted to lasso the moon for her, to capture the stars in a mason jar, to—

  Her hand came to his cheek, stroked gently. “So fierce,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over his lips.

  “Only for you,” he said, capturing that palm and pressing a kiss to the center of it before he continued his explorations, dancing his hand up her side, trailing his lips over her collarbone, using his nose to nudge the neckline of her shirt to the side.

  “Mmm,” she moaned when he shifted his focus, arrowed in on a sensitive spot just behind her right ear.

  And he knew he was two seconds from taking her to that bench and fucking her into oblivion. His hands shook, his cock throbbed, his spine was a rigid piece of steel, his muscles taut and primed, ready to be called into action for just that noble cause.

  But . . . too soon.

  They hadn’t even gone on a first date yet.

  Lexi deserved a first date, deserved romance and care.

  But . . . just one more.

  He slanted his mouth across hers, tasted her, knowing he would never get enough of this woman. And then he slowly set her away from him. Gently took her hand and led her into the house.

  “Breakfast,” he murmured when she glanced up at him in question.

  So many inquiries in those eyes, but surprising him, she didn’t put a voice to them. Instead, she just weaved their fingers together and squeezed.

  Then they went in and made pancakes.

  Pancakes.

  With syrup and butter and sticky fingers and shining lips and laughter and teasing and shoulders and hands and bodies brushing against one another.

  Friendship. More.

  As though nothing had changed . . . and yet, everything had.

  The team was playing like absolute horseshit.

  Fumbled passes, two fucking empty nets missed—two!—and a bunch of flat feet on the ice.

  It was times like this that it killed him to not be on the ice.

  Especially with that morning’s events roiling under his skin, making him feel alive, making him burn with the need to claim, to plunder. Yeah, he felt like a fucking Viking, ready to scorch the earth just to bring a smile to his woman’s face.

  So, he would give a lot to be down there, to feel the cool air on his sweat-covered skin, to take any hits thrown his way, the burning in his lungs, his legs.

  To fly again.

  But he’d had lots of practice with ignoring that urge.

  With ignoring many of his urges—to play again, to claim Lexi for his own, to have something that resembled a family again.

  The only bit of grace was that Lexi had given him a shot.

  And he wasn’t going to blow it.

  His forward got picked at the blue line, and the other team’s player went streaking down the ice toward the Breakers’ end alone, and fuck, but Luc wished again that he’d managed to pick up Dominic Bullard at the trade deadline two seasons ago.

  Two years before, when the scouting reports had come in, the kid had just been coming into his legs but hadn’t burst through the rest of the pack yet, hadn’t turned into the type of player that was currently down on the ice, making mincemeat of Luc’s defense. Luc’s best chance to get him on the roster had been before the potential he’d seen in the young player had erupted to the forefront and every other team had wanted him.

  Case in point, Dominic skating through the Breaker’s defense and making them look like pylons.

  Tiny, little, ineffective cones.

  But Luc hadn’t been able to get the deal down.

  Dominic hadn’t come to the Breakers, and now every damn coach and scout and GM in the league could see that Dominic was going to be fucking great. Really great.

  Another reason it also would have been nice to acquire Dominic’s talent?

  Because the Breakers were rebuilding.

  Still. Six years after they’d won their second Cup.

  It was taking too fucking long for his competitive nature, though if he were being truthful, the rebuilding technically hadn’t begun in earnest until three years before. They’d made the playoffs every year, gone pretty far down the track to those sixteen wins it would take to win another Cup in the three previous years.

  But not all the way.

  And then three years ago, contracts had begun to expire, trades were made—some for different players, some for future draft picks or prospects. The salary cap was considered and planned for, scouts did their job, coaches adjusted lineups, and even with all that work, this year was still off to the worst start in Breakers history.

  Two wins.

  Two.

  Out of fourteen games.

  That was right. They were two and twelve.

  So, circling back to pathetic . . . and the game.

  Dominic streaked in toward Martin Robinson, their goalie, and Luc could see, even from way up in the nosebleeds, that a goal was imminent. A deke to the left, one slow drag of the puck, and . . . in the net.

  The Breakers down two points with thirty seconds left in the game.

  Not an impossible lead to overcome.

  But not one his team had the will to close. Not that night.

  Sighing, he wanted to get up, to go back to his office and start looking at stats and players their scouts were tracking, reviewing the millions of details that went into his job, but the team was still on the ice, still playing. So, he did what he’d promised himself he would do when he’d taken a position in the front office—he stayed.

  And watched as the Breakers went two and thirteen.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, already hating the post-game interview that was coming his way. The questions about the direction of the team, questions the fans and investors and players all deserved answers to.

  The responsibility for the team began and ended with him.

  But on nights like this, after runs of games like this, that accountability fucking sucked.

  Sighing, he pushed through the door, headed down the hall, and popped into his office, waiting for the players to do their interviews as he caught up on emails and requests. Then it was his turn to go in front of the cameras and take his well-earned blows from the media.

  Two and thirteen.

  Two and thirteen.

  Fuck, two and thirteen.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lexi

  She watched Luc on TV, so calm and poised during his turn at the press conference. The post-game reporting only stayed on him for two questions before cutting away to the remainde
r of the coverage, but his answers were crisp, taking responsibility for the team, though he was far from the only person in the organization.

  It was funny, but she hardly ever watched the team play.

  She wasn’t much of a sports fan, preferring to binge documentaries on Netflix and Hulu, and if there wasn’t anything new, then to re-watch her favorite couples on 90-Day Fiancé.

  Tonight, after this morning, after they’d eaten pancakes and then had spent a couple of hours on Luc’s back porch, talking about the offer on her house and how accepting it had made her feel, about the team and his work, and . . . about nothing, blathering away as they watched the birds flit through the garden, until he’d had to go to work and she’d needed to get to the realtor’s office to sign the contract. He’d walked her to her car, had kissed her like she mattered.

  And with promise.

  So much promise.

  Now, she was in her apartment. In her pj’s and tucked snuggly under the covers, the intention to not move, to slip off into sleep had weaved lazily through her body.

  They had plans for the morning, to go on a hike and then gorge themselves at their favorite brunch place. Tom’s had homemade lemon ricotta pancakes and they were only one step shy of an orgasm.

  Sometimes she actually dreamed about the lemon curd drizzled on top.

  Tart and sweet, making her taste buds zing with awareness.

  Kind of like Luc’s kisses, she thought with a smile.

  The hike had been his choice and based on past experiences with his “easy” hikes, frankly he was in better shape than her. Much better shape. Usually his choice meant her pain, so Lex had crawled into bed early, intending to soak up all the sleep she could manage. But some force had propelled her to turn on the TV, to watch the game, her heart pounding when the camera cut to Luc up in the team box, his face placid, composed.

  But frustrated.

  She could see the dissatisfaction even through the screen, though she highly doubted anyone else could see it. They didn’t know him like she did, couldn’t deduce the emotions behind the mask—

  And maybe she shouldn’t be tooting her own horn.

  Fuck, she hadn’t even known the man had any feelings for her that weren’t platonic.

  Wrinkling her nose, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, understanding now that she hadn’t had the mental headspace to even begin to consider something more than friendship for a long, long time—even if her soul had always seemed to . . . settle in his presence.

  Yeah. Settle.

  Not in a bad way. Not as though she were accepting something mediocre. But rather as though every cell in her body was paying attention, coming to prickling, absolute awareness, and yet also calming, relaxing.

  No stress. No angst.

  Just Luc and her.

  So, she’d slipped into bed, intending to rest up before whatever ass-kicking trek he’d take her on and she was very much looking forward to the next day.

  But those two questions the media had asked him and his responses, the slight note of misery in his eyes, had her tossing the covers back, shoving some clothes and toiletries into a duffle, her feet into her cozy boots, her hiking boots in one hand, her purse over one shoulder.

  And then she was driving to Luc’s house, parking at the curb so as not to block the driveway, using the key he’d given her to go inside, to turn off the alarm.

  Soft footsteps took her upstairs and into his bedroom, where she tucked her bag into the bathroom.

  Mischief had her shucking her pj’s, sliding naked beneath the sheets.

  She had no clue what time Luc would make it home, how long it would take him that night to get his post-game necessities done. But she was here, waiting, and there wasn’t any doubt in her mind that he would think it was a good surprise.

  Funny, that.

  Wonderful, that.

  Smiling, she turned off the lights, turned on the TV, cueing up a documentary she’d been in the middle of before she’d watched the Breakers lose, and then she waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Luc

  Fatigue pulled at the edges of his mind as he pulled into the driveway.

  He’d finished what he’d needed to at the arena, but then he’d needed to pick up a few things for tomorrow. For his “hike” with Lexi.

  He grinned, the first time since that disaster of a game, thinking about the expression on her face when she’d told him to pick what they did on their first date tomorrow. Not happy. But also not going to let him win by saying that.

  He might have worried about starting off on the wrong foot, with her not being able to tell him when she was unhappy.

  If they didn’t have a long history of torturing each other.

  Him with hikes. Her with her documentaries and copious amounts of M&Ms.

  Maybe he should worry about that, too. Their affinity for torture. And probably he would, if he didn’t know that she secretly enjoyed the hikes, even if she moaned about her legs for the next few days. Because there was a quiet moment whenever they made it to the top of a peak, or when they spotted a particularly beautiful bit of scenery where she went still, where joy bloomed on her face, where . . . she would grab his hand and just hold it tight as they surveyed what was in front of them.

  It was why he’d paid for the pro version of the hiking app, just so he could find more trails.

  She enjoyed the hikes, despite the complaining.

  Same as he groused about the documentaries, though she seemed to find fascinating and bizarre films that he never would consider watching on his own, but with Lexi, they made for the perfect night in.

  Paired with loads of M&Ms and plenty of wine.

  Smiling, he rounded to the trunk of his car, pulled out the bags, and hauled them all into the kitchen, spending a few moments to get everything sorted for the next day’s “hike.”

  Then he sighed, rolled his shoulders, and climbed the stairs.

  His mind was focused on that date, on all the things he needed to prep in the morning, so perhaps that was why he’d missed the car at his curb, the blue light of the TV coming from his bedroom, the bag in his bathroom.

  But it wouldn’t be until later that he realized he’d missed those signs.

  At that moment, he stumbled into his closet to strip off his suit, went to the sink to brush his teeth, and then blearily crossed the carpeting to slide into bed.

  And nearly jumped out of his skin when he encountered a body beside him.

  A naked body.

  A naked, female body.

  He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light after the bright of the bathroom, the blue illumination from the sleep screen of the TV drifting up and over the covers, clinging to the curves of Lexi, fast asleep beneath the covers.

  Naked and asleep and next to him.

  A surge of greedy, predatory need coursed through him, his fingers curving into fists, his heart pounding. She was here. In his bed. But . . . sleeping. Her lips parted slightly, curled on her side, both hands tucked up under the pillow. He ran a light finger down her spine, watched as she shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the covers, the pillow. Still asleep. Out soundly.

  That was okay.

  Sliding closer, he slipped one arm beneath her, brought his body close to her spine, his other arm tucked tightly around her middle. In his embrace, completely wrapped up in him.

  He wouldn’t wake her, and yet, it was still the best surprise ever to find this woman naked and in his bed.

  She shifted again, moving closer, his name a whisper on the air, and Luc knew he couldn’t have released her, not even if the world were ending, not even if a portal were opening up beneath their feet and threatening to suck them both down into oblivion, not even if a meteor were barreling toward them.

  So, no, he wouldn’t wake her.

  Because even asleep, Lexi in his arms was still the best surprise of his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lexi

  Fire.

>   She was burning up with it.

  Sweat pooling between her breasts, her skin threatening to scorch, to turn to ash. And more heat drifting up to her nose, spice instead of temperature, and that pulled her out of sleep, dragged her into reality.

  The TV was still on, its blue light casting the room with an almost otherworldly glow.

  But even as that was processing, she became aware of what was behind her.

  Who was behind her.

  A warm, calloused palm resting between her breasts, the heavy weight of his arm draped over her hip, his chest, the sparse hairs tickling her back, making her shiver and shift closer to—

  Sweet mother of God.

  Where had he been hiding that?

  She’d seen the man in swim trunks, in gray sweats (because seriously, hello gray sweats and all the gloriousness they lovingly cupped and showed off), and never once had she caught a glimpse of the monster currently hard and pressing between the cheeks of her ass.

  Instantly, her hips canted back, rubbing against it, heat now pooling between her thighs.

  She wanted to roll over, to touch him, to trail her fingers south and wrap them around his cock. But her hands were trapped beneath her, his body almost pinning hers to the mattress. Not a bad place to be, all things considered; it was just that she wanted to trace every inch of him with her tongue.

  Except, pinned.

  The hard man on top of her. The blankets on top of them both, adding to that sweltering environment, a humid jungle beneath the covers, a fucking jungle cat behind her.

  Lexi stifled a giggle.

  Because jungle cat? Really?

  She bit her lip. But it was just . . . he felt all big and possessive and yummy behind her, although there was nothing particularly funny about his giant cock.

  More giggles. Though this time, one escaped.

  She turned her head toward the pillow, stifling the sound, even as his hand dragged down her abdomen, drawing her ass even closer. “Is there a reason you’re laughing at me?”

  Lexi stilled, tried to roll him back so she could see his face.