Crashed

by Elise Faber

  Laughing and shaking her head, she stepped by him. “Order dessert, and if you pass, I might consider a second date.”

  Saluting, he sat back down and picked up the smaller dessert menu their server had left on the table not too long before. “Chocolate?” he asked, glancing up at her.

  “Cheater.”

  “Or are you not a chocolate woman?”

  Half her mouth turned up. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Cheesecake?”

  “Did you get in trouble in school for cheating?”

  “No.” A beat. “But only because I never got caught.”

  She giggled. Actually giggled. Then realized she was standing in the middle of the restaurant, blocking the walkway, and still not walking to the bathroom. Charlie was trouble all right. Just like his sister. Pointing a finger in his direction, she ordered, “Dessert.”

  And then she swept through the tables and into the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

  Fanny was about to push into the single stall when a hand caught her arm and dragged her back against a hard, warm chest. “Charlie!” she gasped.

  The fingers tightened.

  The spicy male scent reached her nose.

  And she knew, even before he spoke.

  “Not Charlie,” Brandon growled. He spun her, pinned her to the wall, his body pressing to hers, and it was . . . glorious. Everything she’d imagined, more. Because it was familiar and not, and the feel of him against her had a swath of heat rolling through her, hardening her nipples, bringing her thighs together, squeezing tight against the sudden burst of moisture drenching her panties as she arched against him.

  “Brandon,” she whispered.

  “What the fuck are you doing on a date with another man?” he snapped.

  She lifted her chin, anger pulsing, twining with her desire in some sort of fucked-up need for this man. She pushed at his chest. “Go away.”

  “Why?” he asked hotly, not moving, not even when she put all her force behind her shoves.

  “Fuck you,” she hissed, raging now.

  He leaned heavier against her, causing her breathing to hitch. “Why are you with that asshole?”

  “I can date who I want,” she gritted out. “You don’t have any right to—”

  “Why?” he repeated.

  And something snapped inside her. “Because you didn’t come. Because I waited all day for you to call and show up, but you didn’t. And I wanted you to.” She shoved him hard, forcing him back a step. “Damn you, I wanted you to. I wanted . . . you.”

  His eyes widened. “Fanny,” he breathed.

  She started to clamp a hand over her mouth, unable to believe she’d said that. She was on a date with another man right now, and Charlie was great, and she didn’t want to go back to the past. They couldn’t ever be what they once were.

  Right? Right?

  But even as he stepped closer, she didn’t push him away, she didn’t leave that hall.

  Even as his mouth lowered to hers, she didn’t retreat.

  She stretched up, lifted her chin . . . aligned their lips.

  And kissed him.

  Or maybe he kissed her. Or maybe—

  Fuck if she didn’t really care.

  He parted her lips with a dart of his tongue, slipping it into her mouth and coaxing hers out to play. Sleek darts and shallow teases. His fingers sliding up along her side, her arm, her neck, before slipping back and weaving into her hair, tilting her head, and angling them.

  It was new . . . and not.

  It was familiar . . . and not.

  It was . . . Brandon.

  She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer, wanting his body flush against her, needing him close after he’d been far for so long. His other hand cupped her ass, brought her leg up. Without a moment of hesitation, she wrapped it around his waist, and then the other. His groan when he pressed her against the wall, their bodies perfectly aligned, the hard length of his cock insistent against the fabric of her underwear had her shivering, uncaring that anyone might walk down the hall and see them.

  His fingers massaged her ass, his hips moved, grinding against her, and she was shockingly close to an orgasm in a matter of seconds.

  “Bran,” she gasped, when he pulled away and nipped at her lips then bent to nip at her throat, the bared skin just above her breasts.

  “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, tongue gliding along her flesh, along the seam of the deep V of her dress.

  Down. Down. Down.

  Until it felt like she’d fall, until it was only his hand and the pressure of his hips that kept her against that wall.

  And then she wasn’t thinking of falling.

  Wasn’t thinking of anything except the fact that his tongue was darting in. That it was slipping under the fabric of her dress and unerringly finding the hard tip of her nipple.

  “No bra,” he whispered, flicking his tongue there.

  She moaned, and though a distant part of her understood this was insane, that she should push him away . . . the rest of her wanted Brandon too much to be thinking clearly.

  She yanked the fabric to the side, and he didn’t delay, just sucked her nipple deeply into his mouth and kept rocking against her. Sparks were shooting through her nerves, glittering pleasure was filling her veins, need and heat and moisture were gathering and coiling and . . .

  Exploding.

  Between her thighs, flooding the rest of body, a rapid surge that tightened every muscle and cell, one that flew through her with all the intensity of a lightning strike. And then it relaxed, her pleasure lapping at her, slowly receding, fading until it ebbed against her like gentle waves against a shore.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, slowly tucking her back into her dress and kissing his way back up her throat until he reached her mouth.

  He kissed her again, kissed her until she was reduced to ash, until she was reformed into someone completely different.

  Only then did he slowly unhook her legs, placing her feet on the floor one by one, steadying her until she found her balance, his fingers and hold gentle now instead of whipping her into a frenzy of need.

  “Beautiful,” he said with another brush of his lips.

  He straightened, stroked his thumb over her cheek.

  “Get rid of him,” he ordered.

  And then he was gone.

  Leaving her panting and alone in the hallway, wondering what in the fuck had just happened.

  Kaydon looked toward the door to the rink, and she would have had to be blind to miss the longing in his eyes.

  “All right,” she muttered. “All right.” She nodded to the exit. “Get out of here.”

  He didn’t question her, just tossed out a wave and hauled ass to the door. “Thanks, Fanny,” he called before taking off down the hall, “that was fun.”

  She grinned.

  He didn’t have to pretend it had been fun.

  She knew it had been a combination of boring, small, repetitive movements he’d done a million times throughout the years and exhausting on-ice maneuvers that he’d never done before. He’d be sore tomorrow—and probably the night after—but it was the only way he would be able to properly relearn the muscle memory. At least to relearn it properly.

  Because he’d had several seasons of skating through the pain.

  Then another of jumping back onto the ice without proper rehab.

  He had all sorts of shit to work through, and it was going to take some more time in order to get there.

  Which was why she called, “See you next week!”

  His groan echoed down the hallway.

  She grinned, started to follow him, ready to get off the ice herself, but a voice called her name. Turning, she skated over to the little girl who’d been patiently waiting for the public skate to start. Opening the gate to let everyone on, she bent to hear the girl over the rush of kids jostling to get on. “Can I show you my axel?”

 
Fanny’s heart squeezed. “I’d love to see it, Lily.”

  This was why she taught, and not just the big guys who thought puck handling was more important, but because it was a fucking joy to see skating through the eyes of kids. It was new and fresh and exciting. Especially in the littlest kids.

  “Yay!” She snagged Fanny’s hand and all but dragged her to the corner. “Stand here.”

  Fanny stood there.

  Lily skated a few circles to warm up, then lined up her take-off, jumped, and . . . fell.

  Closing the distance between them, she helped Lily up. “You were too far forward on your landing. Bend your knee a bit more to even out your weight, and that’ll help for next time.” She demonstrated. “Ready to try again?”

  Lily nodded, determination on her face as she moved to have another go.

  Then she jumped but rotated too early. She landed it, but barely, her hand pushing off the ice, so she didn’t tumble.

  Not that Lily cared. She spun toward Fanny and pumped her hands in the air. “I did it!”

  “You did!” Fanny smiled, hugging her back when the girl threw her arms around Fan’s waist. “Great job,” she said.

  “Someday I want to be able to do a triple.”

  “Someday,” she said, tugging the end of her ponytail, “you’ll be able to.”

  “You think so?”

  “I believe in you.”

  Lily tossed a huge smile in her direction then went off to continue practicing.

  Fanny started toward the exit for a second, only to be waylaid again. She saw some crossovers, a girl take her first strides without the aid of a bucket to hold her up, and then some snow angels. None of which she was getting paid to see. But that was okay. Because kids.

  She really loved them.

  Eventually, she managed to get off the ice and move toward the bench just inside the hall where her bag was stowed.

  She had one skate off when she felt it.

  The tendril of heat sliding down her nape.

  Her eyes shot up, and there he was.

  Striding up to her as though he hadn’t made her come by dry-humping her in a public hallway, and then had left her, knees shaking, lips swollen, hair a fucking mess. She barely remembered stumbling into the stall and trying to put herself to rights, knowing that she looked like she’d been ravished. Feeling like she had been ravished . . . even while part of her wished that he’d torn her panties off, unzipped, and—

  Fuck.

  She’d eventually managed to peel herself out of the bathroom, looking somewhat put together, to find that Charlie had not only passed her dessert test, but fucking aced it. He’d ordered both chocolate cake and cheesecake, and not only that, while she’d been unleashing her dry-humping she-demon in the hall, he’d worried that she wasn’t feeling well, so had asked the server to box them up.

  Then had sent both home with her.

  Then had followed her home, since they’d met at the brewery.

  Then had walked her to the porch and kissed her on the cheek.

  Then had fucking texted her to make sure she was feeling better the next morning.

  The fuck?

  Seriously. The man was wonderful.

  And she was . . . orgasming courtesy of her ex, drooling over said ex, dreaming of him, and—

  She was an asshole.

  But she didn’t have time to ponder the full extent of her assholeness before Brandon was crouching next to her and reaching for her skates.

  “Don’t,” she hissed, jerking her feet away.

  He lifted his hands, stayed crouched, but his face was gentle when he said, “Are you okay?”

  Leveling a glare at him was her only answer before bending to unlace her skates and tug them off. She dried the blade, stashed them away, slipped her tired feet into her fuzzy boots, and stood before striding down the hall. Her car was parked out front and though this exit would put her farther from it, she was willing and able to take all escape routes.

  “Fan,” he said. “I should—”

  She whipped toward him, narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother.”

  His brows lifted.

  “I was just as much a part of that as you were.”

  He relaxed. She saw the tension bleed from his shoulders.

  “But it was still wrong.”

  That tension snuck back in, tightening his jaw, flattening his lips. “It didn’t feel wrong to me.” He stepped closer, his lips finding her ear. “I came in my hand twice last night thinking about how fucking sexy you were wrapped around me.”

  Was there any oxygen left in the hallway?

  Or had this man just stolen it all?

  He’d never talked like that before, his husky voice, the sleek, muscled lines of his body so close to hers, bringing her right back to the previous night. She wanted him. She was two seconds away from jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around him again, only this time with his cock inside her instead of against her. “Brandon,” she breathed, shivering when he ran one rough fingertip down the side of her neck.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She jumped, probably looking guilty as hell.

  Definitely feeling guilty as hell.

  Her head jerked down the hall, seeing Kaydon walking toward her, though his eyes were on Brandon, and belatedly she remembered that it would be strange for Brandon to be here. Agents didn’t just show up at practices, let alone show up twice in a week.

  Brandon straightened slightly, and she watched him as he tucked the heat away, his expression going casual as he held up a folder she had completely missed.

  Was he a fucking magician?

  Where had he been keeping that?

  “I had the signed contract from yesterday.”

  Kaydon studied Brandon for a long moment before he lifted a brow. “You couldn’t email me?”

  “I—”

  Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was smart. Maybe . . . she just wanted to see what lengths Brandon would go to in order to follow her, to talk with her.

  Would he chase her down? Catch her arm again?

  So maybe it was another test, only instead of dessert, this time it was . . .

  To see if he was interested? No. To see if he would forget her.

  Or maybe it was all of that, twisted and tangled together along with the fear of letting him in again, but either way, when Kay asked Brandon to see the contract and then began asking questions, Fanny snagged her skate bag and hauled ass to the exit.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brandon

  “I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Kay said, closing the folder the moment Fanny was out of sight and fixing Brandon with an intense stare.

  He turned to follow her.

  Kaydon grabbed his arm, stalling him. “What are you doing, man?”

  “Mind your own business.” Brandon tried to shrug off his hand.

  The fucker just held on. Damn hockey players and their giant hands. “Dude,” Kay snapped, shaking him slightly. “What are you doing?”

  “She’s mine,” Brandon hissed, finally managing to break Kaydon’s grip. He started walking after her.

  “Doesn’t seem like she wants to be.”

  That had him stopping and turning around. “She’s just scared because—”

  Fuck. It was too complicated a conversation to have in this moment, especially when Kay didn’t know any of their history.

  “Scared why?” Kaydon’s voice was deadly, his expression doubly so, and Brandon had the notion that he was seeing what the other man’s face might look like just before he mowed down an opponent on the ice. “What did you do?” His words grew even icier. “Did you hurt her?”

  Brandon bit back a curse.

  “Not like you’re thinking,” he said, and when Kaydon grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in fiercely, Brandon knew that even though Kay was new to the Gold, Fanny had already earned his respect. Just as he knew Kaydon would throw down to protect her�
�and not just because she was a member of the Gold, but because Kay had seen the woman Fanny was, seen how much love and care she deserved.

  Which was why he took thirty seconds to lay it out for him.

  Kaydon already knew about the cancer. When Kay’s mom had been diagnosed a couple of years ago, they’d talked it out, and Brandon had shared his own experience, but Kay didn’t know about Fanny and everything that had gone down.

  So, Brandon told him in those thirty seconds, understanding full well that the tale might end up on the Gold’s gossip train, that the team might intervene, and the intervention might not be in his favor.

  He wasn’t a safe choice.

  But given a chance, he would love Fanny with every fiber of his being. He would love her until he was in the ground, or until that love was forcibly taken away from him. Brandon couldn’t make guarantees. Fuck knew, he’d lived enough life to understand that, but he also knew that he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

  To do that, Kaydon needed to understand.

  And maybe the rest of the team needed to understand that as well.

  “Fuck,” Kay breathed when Brandon finished his short, sharp explanation. “That’s a fucking mess, man. You still love her?”

  “I do,” Brandon said, starting to move past Kaydon. He was probably already too late. Fan had probably already drifted off. “And she still feels something for me. So, I’m not letting her go. I’m going to fight for her and—”

  “And if she doesn’t want that?”

  Brandon stopped.

  “Will you let her go?”

  Brandon dropped his head, staring at his feet, knowing the answer and knowing it probably wasn’t the one Kaydon wanted to hear. If Fanny wanted him to move on, to let go, he honestly wasn’t sure he could respect that wish. He thought that he might fight for her until he didn’t have breath in his lungs.

  “Make damned sure that you understand what’s in your heart before you make your way back into hers.”

  Brandon sighed. “Not going to warn me off?”

  Kaydon’s mouth turned up. “I think you already understand how well-liked Fanny is with the guys. You’ll have enough people to warn you off when they realize who you’re after.” He clapped Brandon on the shoulder and pointed back toward the rink. “You might have a chance to catch her if you go out that way. She usually parks out front.”