Taming Beckett: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 1)

by G. K. Brady

  Paige inched up the list and, settling on a month-old email with several attachments, clicked on it. Her jaw dropped to her chest as she read explicit, intimate details of what Yamila had done to someone named Gino, what she wanted to do to Beckett, what she wanted Beckett to do to her. Paige paused on a sharp intake of air. Yuck! The message degenerated into threats—Yamila would leak salacious details, even allege rape. “Who are they going to believe?” Yamila’s words mocked. “A big, strong athlete or helpless me?” Vicious phrases like “destroy your career” and “trash your reputation” were peppered between pathetic pleas for Beckett to contact her. At the end was a PS: “Remember how it used to be with us, baby. Here’s a reminder.”

  Paige’s virtual car crash was now a twenty-vehicle pileup. Unable to look away, she hit one of three attachments. She scrunched her brows at a picture, unsure what she was seeing. A caption read, “U know u want it.” Then the image registered, and Paige’s jaw dropped beyond her chest to her lap. Yamila, naked on some furry thing, legs flung wide, her hands forming a heart shape surrounding her bare, pierced genitalia. The next picture was as explicit, but what disturbed Paige most was Yamila’s pose: her fingers pointed at her temple in the shape of a gun.

  Paige closed the JPEGs she never should have opened in the first place and minimized Beckett’s window. She jolted upright and paced, her stomach in knots. Why did I look? I can’t un-see it.

  A shower might sluice some of the dirt away, so she retreated to the master bathroom, stripped, and turned on the hot water full blast while thoughts shot through her mind. Yamila was deranged—she had to be—and she was threatening Beckett. A question flashed like a winking red stoplight: Why hadn’t he done anything about her?

  The walk-in shower was a large space, so large it held a built-in bench, two spray heads, and no door—just an open entry. Eyes closed, Paige let water run over her as she smoothed her wet hair. The air shifted, and a whisper of cold caressed her back. She turned toward the opening and gasped.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Beckett, fully dressed, broad shoulders filling the gap, held his hands up in surrender.

  “Beck! Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry, pixie. Some people needed help, and I couldn’t—”

  Dripping wet, the shower running, she went to him and pulled his head down, pressed herself against him, and kissed him with a wild desperation. Whether it was because she was relieved or because she was moved to claim him, mark him as hers, she had little idea, but her need to feel him was visceral, and he returned her passion touch for touch. As their bodies crashed together, thoughts spiraled in her head—of him with her, of him with Yamila—and she towed him under the spray with her. He began peeling off wet clothes. She helped him drag them from his body, kissing, sucking, teasing his bare skin anywhere she could reach. When his legs were clear of his pants and boxers, she sank to her knees on the hard tile and took him in her mouth.

  He gripped her head, digging his fingers in her hair. “OhmyfuckingGod,” he exhaled in a throaty rush.

  She sucked, licked, swirled, grazed, nipped, kissed, and worshipped every rigid inch of him as groans rolled from deep in his chest. Her man, her Adonis. He pushed into her mouth with gentle thrusts, his fingers twisting, tangling in her hair. She stroked him with her tongue, her hand, and trailed her fingers along his thigh, over his ass, in his crease.

  “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, what are you doing to me?” he muttered, his words charging her like jolts of electricity.

  The tile bit into her knees, so she shifted, grasping at his discarded clothes, but before she could arrange them into makeshift kneepads, he hauled her up and locked his mouth on hers, devouring it, and pushed her back against the wall. Hot water cascaded over them, and steam twisted around their bodies like ghostly snakes binding them.

  His erection was a steel rod wedged between them, driving into her stomach. All of her ached to feel him inside her, filling her. She lifted a leg, and he grabbed it, anchoring it around his waist. He grasped the other leg, and she wound that one around him too, locking her ankles together like a manacle that held him to her as he braced her in his arms. She reached down, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, stroking it, drawing him to her opening.

  He pulled back and blinked at her, his eyes dark with desire, rivulets running over his eyelashes and cheeks.

  “I want you inside me now.” Her voice was urgent and hoarse.

  She arched into him, and he lowered his mouth to her breasts, his teeth and tongue pebbling her nipples until they throbbed. Groaning, she dug her heels into his lower back. He hoisted her up a little higher, her back sliding along the smooth tile.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice deep and dusky.

  When she did, he ran his tip along her seam, sinking a fraction into her folds, his eyes seeking her permission.

  “Oh yes,” she gasped.

  He buried himself deep inside her.

  “You feel like velvet.” The words rushed from him in one expelling breath.

  He dropped his head back, his mouth slackening for an instant, then his eyes snapped open and pierced hers. He drove in, pulled back slowly, and plunged in again, over and over.

  His breathing grew labored, noisy above the pounding water.

  With short bursts of breath, she clung to his shoulders as his hips flexed and his thrusts came harder, faster. He hammered into her, holding her eyes. Her own little lava dome of sensation was on the verge of erupting.

  “Come with me, Beck. Come with me.”

  “Oh God, Andie,” he roared as their bodies tensed, clenched, and shuddered together, their groans and grunts dissolving into one voice, one cry of exquisite pleasure.

  CHAPTER 25

  Sooner or Later

  A towel around his waist, Beckett scraped a razor along his jaw, clearing a skin-colored swath through white shaving cream. Andie darted behind him into the shower.

  “Another shower, pixie? I think you missed a spot when you washed my left butt cheek.”

  She poked out her damp head. “No, you goof. I thought I’d pick up your clothes. It’s the least I can do after getting them soaked.” She grinned, and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Pixie, you can get my clothes wet anytime. Especially if I’m in ’em.”

  She heaped a soggy pile at the shower entry, then wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. “Ready for some blueberry crisp?”

  He laughed. “Hell yes! That smell was all I could think about when I first walked in—until your naked little body in my shower blanked it out entirely, which I’m not complaining about, by the way. At all. But I’m glad you’re feeding me after that workout. Where’d you get the blueberries anyway?”

  She snugged herself against his back. God, he loved having her plastered against him. “Found them in the freezer and thought it would be a nice treat. I also found vanilla ice cream to top it off.”

  As if on cue, his stomach growled. “Give me a minute to finish up, and I’ll be right there.” She pulled away, and his back chilled. His eyes tracked her the entire way out of the bathroom.

  Later, he sat at the eating counter, his second helping gone, and his eyes tracked her here too as she cleaned up plates and put away the blueberry concoction. She moved in a fluid, languid sort of way, reminding him of one of her tigers but on a smaller scale. He could watch her all day long. Chin in his palm, he hoped an idiotic grin or a mesmerized adolescent expression didn’t show on his face.

  His mind zipped back to the shower. He loved seeing her there, so comfortable in his place. He also loved that she’d jumped his bones. And being inside her? He’d loved that too, probably more than he should have. Feeling her around him had been breathtaking, heart-stopping, a sensation he wasn’t sure he could forego. Not with her; not now. But had it been wise? Safe sex had been ingrained in him for so long, even before breaking into the league, and it was hard to shake his doubt. He’d seen what one unguarded mom
ent had cost his buddies and teammates. But this was Andie; she was different. He knew her. Sure, he’d known other women, but not like he knew her. He’d step out on a skinny limb based on her honesty. Hell, he had stepped out there, hadn’t he? As for getting her pregnant? That notion warmed his gut instead of clenching it as it should have. What was up with that?

  Yep, she made him all kinds of crazy, and he liked it. A hell of a lot. Was she affected the same way?

  He straightened when she caught him staring at her. “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re watching me to be sure I tidy your kitchen the right way. I never knew what a fussbudget you are.”

  “Oh. No, you’re doing great. I was just admiring the view.”

  Wiping off a glass, she laughed. “So will you do this when we’re back in civilization, or will your head snap to the next shiny object? A tall, cool woman in a black dress who makes your knees weak?”

  “I can’t imagine how. I won’t be looking at her. I’ll be looking at you. My knees only go weak when I see you.”

  She stopped mid-swipe, her cheeks pinking, a skeptical little smile on her face.

  “What? You don’t believe me? It’s true. Besides, being with you is like having my very own koala bear,” he chuckled.

  A frown dented her brows. “I look like a koala?”

  “Well, no, you don’t look like a koala, but you’re compact and cuddly like one, and you’re easy to carry around. Like a backpack with arms and legs. You’re a handy size. Fun size.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She guffawed. “Fun size?”

  “Like in the shower. Fun size.” As images of their escapade danced through his head, his body began to take note.

  Andie folded her arms across her chest, shook her head, and rolled her eyes.

  “What? You sure do that a lot. I’m just saying what’s on my mind.” He raised his hands in an innocent gesture.

  One corner of her mouth twitched, as though she fought a smile.

  “So did you get everything you needed on the computer?”

  Her body seemed to tighten; she cast her eyes to the window and worried a fingernail between her teeth. “I didn’t really use it after I touched base with Katie. I guess you didn’t need to go for the landline, but thanks for that.” Her tone was off. Weird.

  .~ * * * ~.

  For the next two nights and days, Beckett had Andie all to himself in their insulated cocoon. First he thanked the snow gods; then he cursed them when the storm lit out and turned the skies over to the melting power of the high-altitude sun.

  They cooked together, danced, watched movies or read, cuddling on the couch like normal people, and christened every damn bedroom in that house—and a few other interesting places too. A secret smile spread inside him. Beneath her demure exterior beat the heart of an adventuresome tigress—her smoldering “inner goddess”—with an appetite that rivaled his. And damn, did that make him one lucky bastard.

  As more reports of passable roads rolled in, he resolved to return to Denver with her. He just needed a plausible reason so she didn’t think he was following her—which, of course, he was. But he wasn’t only chasing the best sex he’d ever had. No, it went way beyond that. It was falling asleep with her, breathing her in. It was having his clothes and sheets steeped in her fragrance. It was watching her while she slept and waking up with her. It was talking to her—or not. It was holding her hand. It was the look she gave him when he played piano—like he was some kind of rock star, even though his ability was passable at best—and it was the way she made him want to beat his chest like a mighty gorilla. It was how his heart filled to near-bursting when he looked at her.

  She was his new drug, and he knew no way to break this addiction. Nor did he want to.

  In bed on their last night, Andie was propped on her elbow, facing him as he lay on his back. She traced figure eights on his chest while he fingered her hair.

  “You never did tell me what scares you most, pixie.”

  Her eyes flicked to his, and she drew her lower lip between her teeth. With a little sigh, she said, “I’d like a family one day. But I chose so poorly with Adrian that I seriously question my judgment. And there’s my own dysfunctional role models: an anonymous dad, an absentee, ‘good-time’ mom. The odds are against me.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute. And even if the odds are stacked, you can overcome them. You’re made of tough stuff. Just look at everything you’ve built.”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “No ‘yeah buts.’ Let’s look at one piece of the Andie Empire. How many people do you know who talk about flipping houses?”

  She frowned. “Um …”

  “I hear all these ads on the radio all the time. ‘Take my class and do five houses your first week.’ And those asshats get people to sign up—by the thousands. Of those thousands, 99% never do a damn thing. But you’re the real deal. Hell, you could teach the asshats teaching the suckers.”

  She scrunched her nose. “So you’re telling me I should teach classes?”

  He shook his head. “No. My point is this. When you put your mind to something, you do it. Might not be easy, but you put your nose to the millstone and plow away.”

  Her lips quirked. “Grindstone?”

  “Yeah, that. But everyone else? They talk about it—blah, blah, blah—while you flip circles around them. You’re like one percent of one percent. Talk about odds.”

  She gave him a look that nearly turned his heart to goo, then kissed his shoulder. A few beats later, she said, “I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Ask away. Whatever you want to know. Except the combination to my safe. I can’t tell you that.”

  “I didn’t know you had a safe.”

  “I don’t. That’s why I can’t tell you.”

  She gave him a playful smack. “All right. I promise not to ask for the combination to your safe.” Pausing, she pursed her lips as though gathering her thoughts. “Do you ever get stalkers?”

  He wasn’t sure what question he’d expected, but it wasn’t this one, and it must have shown on his face because she rushed on. “I mean, like crazy fans, or women you’ve met and … well, past encounters. People like that.”

  “Sometimes. Any pro athlete does, or anyone who’s in the limelight.”

  “I remember watching you play on TV once,” she said. “You were serving a penalty, and a pair of lace panties landed in the penalty box. Do you remember that?”

  He chuffed. “No. People do all kinds of crazy things to get your attention, and shit like that goes on all the time.”

  She looked astonished. “Women’s panties in the penalty box?”

  “Oh, that’s mild. I learned long ago to tune it out.”

  Her lips compressed together, and her hand slid off his chest. “So have you ever had to, you know, call the cops? Get a restraining order?” Her bright eyes were round.

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think you ever will?”

  Where was she going with this? He shrugged. “I hope not. Less likely now that I’m not pro. For the most part, people are pretty good, and some places are better than others. Take Denver, for instance. Way more low-key than other cities. People there tend to leave you alone. The fans are into it, but they don’t push themselves in your face like in other towns.”

  “You mean, like women throwing themselves at you?”

  He sat up, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What’s this about, pixie?”

  “N-nothing,” she stammered. “Just curious about … about the lifestyle and—”

  He flopped backward and flung an arm over his head. “Oh shit. This is about that god-awful crap I vomited out that day in Marty’s office, isn’t it? God, I wish I could take it back. I cringe whenever I think about it.”

  “You weren’t lying, though, were you?” Her voice was so low he barely heard her.

  He caressed her arm. Her skin was so soft, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “I wish I could
say I was, Andie. You have no idea how much. But I can’t change the past, just the future and the here and now. What if I said I don’t do that anymore? That I haven’t for a long time?”

  “But what if you get signed by another team and you’re back in the spotlight? The temptation is there, ‘pushing itself in your face.’ It must be hard to resist.”

  “I think I’ve changed this last year.” His fingers returned to twisting her silky hair. “I’ve done degenerate, and I’m here to tell you I’m over it. I don’t want it.” I just want you.

  She looked at him as though she was trying to solve a puzzle, as if she was weighing whether or not to believe him. “It’ll be an adjustment going back to Denver.”

  Fuck! She’s not thinking we go back to “just friends,” is she? Something akin to panic rose up in him. “I want to keep this going, don’t you?”

  “It’s … it’s not that easy.”

  He rolled to his side and faced her. “What do you mean, it’s not that easy? It’s only hard if we make it hard.”

  “I keep thinking I should give myself more time.”

  A toothy green monster rocketed up from his gut. “Why? Do you want to see other people? Say what you mean, Andie.”

  The thought of anyone touching her, of her touching anyone—especially the way she touched him—lit him up like that one crazy neighbor’s Christmas display every neighborhood had. He hadn’t minded before when girlfriends fucked around, as long as there was a quid pro quo. Of course, he’d spent those relationships—if you could even call them that—in a drug-indulged stupor, but even in the cold soberness of daylight, that shit had never come back to chew at him. There was always the next girl, and the next. They were interchangeable. Andie was not.

  He didn’t want anyone else, and he sure as hell didn’t want her with anyone else. Picturing it made his guts greasy.

  “That’s not what I meant, Beck. I’m talking about space to figure my life out. The thought of going out with other people is …” Her face puckered like she’d sucked on a lemon, and her shoulders shimmied.