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Allie. The girl from Vancouver eight months ago. The one with the dark curls, gypsy blue eyes, and the sweetest, wettest mouth I ever tasted. The girl who blew my mind and then blew out of my life without even giving me her number.
And in the eight months since I was this close to him, he hasn’t changed. The dark waves of his hair still hang loose around a jaw that’s heavy and square. But it’s that hard edge screaming doesn’t play well with others chiseled into every line of his rugged face I recognize first. Maybe because I know exactly what happens when it softens… when those hard eyes crinkle at the corners and that slash of a mouth lifts, changing his whole face. Like the rest of him, that contrast is hard to forget. Hard not to think about when I’m not supposed to be thinking about him at all.
Cripes, why does he have to look so good with those dark jeans hugging around the mass of his solid thighs, the assortment of tats peeking out from beneath the deep vee of a T-shirt that’s barely keeping up with the body it’s been tasked with covering? And why when I’ve been surrounded by guys with this body type for most of my life—guys I wisely don’t look twice at—is this guy so hard to ignore?
I steal one last glance at Vaughn. A waitress is taking his order, or maybe she’s just chatting him up. I can hardly see past the rack she’s got on offer about six inches in front of his nose. Subtle. A twinge of jealousy blinks through me and it’s definitely time to go.
My belly folds in on itself as eyes like granite lock with mine, and the one guy I was praying to avoid pulls the door closed behind him. “Thought you didn’t date players?” God, he’s even hotter up close. Arms crossed, he walks out to where I’m standing and props a massive shoulder against the streetlight.
He makes an indifferent sound like he couldn’t care less, but the way he’s looking at me says something different. This I remember from Vancouver. This dizzying sense of there not being enough air when I had the full focus of his attention. This feeling of being caught in some kind of gravitational pull toward an object of greater mass. This borderline compulsion to reach out and touch. To run my fingers over the corded muscles of his forearm, trace the lines of black ink.
That’s not how he was looking at me tonight. But eight months ago… man, I don’t want to think about how it was. What it felt like having his hands tightening in my hair and around my thigh. The way he looked at me when he groaned my name and—
I’m already apologizing when I open the door to six-foot-five, two hundred twenty-five pounds of bristling hockey player with one powerful arm braced at either side of the door. Only instead of meeting blue eyes that match mine, I’m confronted by the same steely stare I left back at Belfast.
Her visible relief pisses me off, because as much as this is about who her brother is, it’s not about her fucking brother. It’s about her and me, and a night that ended too soon. It’s about why she didn’t say who she was and what she was thinking when she gave me that half-shy and half-determined look that got me harder than I’ve ever been in my life. Why she kissed me, pushing up to her toes and apologizing a second before those cherry ChapStick lips met mine in the softest, sweetest, hottest damn kiss of my life.
“I was watching the game. I rewatch all the highlights.” Her arms cross and her hip juts out. “So whatever you’re hoping was going on here… forget it.” Wiping the smile from my face, I shrug. Wait a beat. And lean closer to her ear. “So you weren’t watching my face, thinking about what it was like having it between—?” Eyes scrunching shut, she clamps a hand over my mouth.
I’m standing close now. And when she meets my eyes, her head tips back and she’s Allie. She blinks, pulling her hand away. This is the girl whose laugh and smile and soft, needy moans I can’t stop thinking about. I went nuts when she took off like she did. No number. No idea how to get in touch with her. But now here she is, those bright blue eyes locked with mine, her breath shallowing out as the seconds pass. As my fingers itch with the need to touch her. She’s right here.
That pink bottom lip pulls free from the clasp of her teeth. It’s soft and full, and I probably shouldn’t be wondering if it tastes like the cherry ChapStick I’m betting she still keeps in her jeans pocket.
I’m not sure what I thought I’d accomplish coming over here. It doesn’t really feel like I got it, but it’s time to go anyway. I walk to the door and when Natalie stops next to me, I turn to her. Let out a slow breath as I look her over. She’s fucking Baxter’s little sister and I’ve got a career about to go to the next level. Nothing is going to happen between us. Still, that mouth. I can’t help thinking about what it was like making it mine.
With my finger caught in the soft spot beneath her chin, I tip her face to mine and duck my head to press one last kiss to her mouth. Soft and slow, I hold that contact for a beat. Long enough to feel her quake beneath my kiss, for her hands to rest feather light against my chest… and to know without a doubt I shouldn’t have let myself have another taste. “See you around, Allie.”
“I was asking why you’ve been running your fingers over your mouth all day.” Her arms come up and cross over her ample chest as she cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “But now I’m asking if you’ve been holding out on me, because there is definitely something going on here.” Sure enough, my fingers are tracing a path across my lips… and I’ve totally been holding out on her. It’s been two days since my encounter with Vaughn, two days since the kiss I can’t stop obsessing over, and two days since I’ve been able to look one of my oldest friends in the eyes.
“You sure about that?” Her camera-perfect smile stretches and suddenly she looks a little dangerous. “Because I was thinking it might have more to do with a certain guy you don’t want your brother to find out about.” My heart skitters to a stop. She can’t know. She can’t. Except she kind of knows everything. She knows everyone. Like not just around the NHL circles either. This woman could call up pretty much any pro player in the country just to chew the fat. And if they had a juicy bit of gossip, like say, someone saw Greg’s little sister hooking up with his mortal enemy… it would take less
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“Okay, there was a guy from a while back that sort of resurfaced lately, but it’s not going anywhere. Heck, it didn’t really go anywhere the first time either. But definitely not now.” “Definitely?” And great, why did I think Julia would let that go? “And you’re right, this isn’t really something I want Greg to know about. For real.” I tear my eyes away from where Vaughn is stretching out his legs, talking with O’Brian. He turns his head, looking out over the crowd, and my heart stalls… until he skips right past me. “He’s not my type. At least not for anything long term.” Julia turns in her
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“So you won’t be seeing him again, huh?” When I don’t answer right away—because what can I say when I’m literally watching him right now—she gives me a smug smile. “I had a guy like that once, where I knew going in it didn’t have a chance.” “Yeah, what happened?” Taking a drink, she shrugs. “I married him.”
On the girl with the dark ponytail, black leggings, and Chucks. With the exception of the Slayers jersey with her brother’s number on it, Natalie is looking all too much like the girl from that night in Vancouver.
Whyyyyy do so many people think leggings are a substitute for actual pants?!
O’Brian is talking about a trip he took to South America in the off-season last year, and I keep up my side of the conversation with the requisite grunts. But what I’m really thinking about is cutting through the crowd and pulling her away to a quiet corner… just like that first night.
I want to ask her what she was doing at the Canucks game all those months ago. I want to hear what she thought of the game tonight and know if she was watching me the way I watched her. I want her to give me one of those shy smiles that does shit to my insides I don’t know how to handle. And then I want the smile that isn’t so shy at all, the one I’m half hard just thinking about.
Rolling out my shoulder, I make a few noncommittal noises in O’Brian’s direction before scanning back to Natalie… who’s watching the motion of my arm with a look that’s suddenly way less tentative and way, way less subtle. It’s a look that could get both of us in trouble if anyone caught it… one I shouldn’t encourage. But hell. It takes everything I’ve got not to lose the scowl in lieu of a shit-eating grin, but I manage. Just like I keep my focus off her directly as I switch arms to stretch out the other shoulder. Too slowly. Thoroughly.
Oh. My. God. Vaughn’s rolling out his shoulder and I’m pretty sure my panties are about to combust. I can’t look away. I can’t stop the hammering in my chest or the sudden dryness in my throat. I can’t tear my eyes off of him as, bringing one hand behind his head, he talks with his teammate.
Cripes. It’s a Tumblr-worthy stance that shows off the bulging muscles of his bicep, his powerful shoulders and broad chest beneath a custom suit shirt pulled so tight nothing is left to the imagination. Slowly his other hand comes up, rubbing a firm path across his pecs. A sigh slips past my lips.
Vaughn’s waiting on my front stoop when I open the door, his arms braced on the frame in a stance nearly identical to the one from the other night. Only the energy coming off him now is different. Still intense, but where last time he was agitated, defensive almost… tonight he’s friendly. In a scowly, so-hot-it-hurts kind of way.
He makes a scoffing sound and drops onto my couch. “People notice you plenty.” And oh man, he’s doing that thing with his shoulder again and I’m a little nervous I might start to drool. Swallow, Nat! He rubs at his left pec with the heel of his hand, dragging it back in one of those mysteriously masculine moves potent enough to leave me breathless. The corner of his mouth climbs perilously higher. “I notice you.”
There’s something in his tone—something taunting and amused—that has my eyes snapping up to meet his, and the whole shoulder-and-chest-porn business clicks. My mouth drops into a gape, and my cheeks start to flame. “You were doing it… on purpose?”
And then he’s laughing, those granite-hard eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on, can you really blame me? Having not just any beautiful woman’s eyes on me but—” “Greg Baxter’s sister’s?” I offer, maybe just to remind myself of who this man is and why I’ve always known I couldn’t actually have him. He shakes his head, any trace of laughter gone. “No, the girl who left me in a hotel room in Vancouver. The one who turned me inside out and ...
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Geez. I’m not sure whether I’m more embarrassed or turned on, but that clench between my legs and hitch in my breath says I might be lying again. Because I remember what it was like having his mouth on me too. The feel of that sexy mess of overlong hair sliding through my fingers and against my thighs. My back to the wall and one leg thrown over his shoulder. How he devoured me like he couldn’t get...
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Better not to have her laugh with me. Better not to have been looking into her eyes while she reminded me of who she was—pissing me off so much, I ended up reminding her who she’d been to me. Better not to have touched her hand, even with that damn phone between us. Because then I was thinking about how soft her skin was… everywhere. I was thinking about what it was like having her laughing, squirming, over my shoulder as I carried her like a caveman down the hall in that hotel.
I might not want to marry Vaughn, but the guy means something to me. The last thing I want to do is be the cause of more trouble for him with this team… or worse yet the next.
My ovaries just exploded. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes watching Vaughn Vassar—the man voted least friendly player in the league—playing Sharks and Minnows with a rink full of mite-level special-needs kids. Not for the cameras—there weren’t any. And not out of some obligation—the full-on belly laughs and absolutely delighted gleam in his eyes leave no doubt about that. Vaughn loves playing with these kids. And any chance I had at putting this pesky crush behind me while he’s still in town just went poof, taking whatever shot I had of cutting out of the rink before he saw me with it.
That smile. If the press got a hold of the smile I’m seeing right now, the city of Chicago and the rest of the world would fall in love with this man. His endorsements would skyrocket and the female population would flock to him in droves. But today it’s just me and the kids seeing the side of Vaughn he’s so reluctant to share.
“You wouldn’t believe how many times I thought about that scar,” he says casually, putting his skates in his bag, like he’s not talking about something he only saw because I was completely naked beneath him a few hours after we met. “It drove me nuts that I didn’t get to ask you about it. I had a feeling it was sports related, but I didn’t know you were a hockey player until I found out who you were.” Then after a beat, he shakes his head. “The footage from that last game was intense. You were badass out there, but that collision was brutal.”
He watched me play. “Of course, you’re allowed, it’s just not many people do.” Why would they when my brother’s worst day is better than my best. When there’s a real star right beside me, unintentionally overshadowing almost every aspect of my life.
“That’s awesome, Allie.” The way Vaughn is looking at me has every cell in my body straining toward him on a molecular level, begging me to step closer, to give in to the pull that’s been drawing me toward this man for longer than I’d like to think about.
Sliding into the driver’s side, he cuts me a curious look and frowns. “What?” “I think most people would be surprised by what a gentleman you are when no one’s looking.” He huffs out a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. Helping little old ladies cross the street and minding my language in polite company.” There’s more to being a gentleman than limiting four-letter words. “I’ve actually seen you helping a little old lady. And she adored you for it.”
“You’re killing me, Allie.” Vaughn’s focus drops to my mouth as he brushes his thumb across my lower lip. His eyes come up to meet mine, and the look in them has me forgetting about rules and whys and why nots completely. Time turns elastic, seeming to stretch and slow, pulling me closer with every breath. His. Mine. Then snapping back at the bark of a dog down the street. Vaughn rubs his palm over his mouth and looks out over the street in front of us. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
It was a mistake following Natalie into her place last night. I told myself I wouldn’t. The whole drive from the rink, the plan was to drop her and go. But for as much as I’m busting my ass to follow the rules, this girl has me breaking them on the regular. Only to a point, though. I mean, hell, I didn’t pin her to her door the second I got inside. I didn’t touch her at all. I didn’t kiss her or fuck her or finger her or eat her or do any of the thousand-and-one dirty things that were firing through my mind from about the first minute I saw her standing there at the rink looking like every
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Rounding the car, I pop the trunk and pull out the dolly before stacking it with four boxes I’ve got to donate. When I get to the door, Natalie is the one waiting there, her eyes narrowed on me. “What’s this?” “A few books I wanted to add.” “In addition to the check you wrote? The very generous check.” The door swings closed behind us and her hand wraps around my wrist, butterfly light, but it stops me as effectively as if I’d walked into a brick wall. “And oh my God, are you blushing?” No. No, I am not fucking blushing. It’s hot in here and I spend my life on the ice. Or maybe I’ve got a
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He’s totally blushing.
“So you’re overexerted then, from all this heavy rolling?” It’s a taunt, only the way she says it, sort of low and breathy, has my thoughts spiraling into a place I keep trying not to go to with her. Too late. I’m staring at her mouth thinking about what it was like kissing her. Remembering how she bit my bottom lip, lightly, just enough to hold me where she wanted me while she licked it. I’m thinking about her short nails at my shoulders and how her lips felt against my ear— “Okay, I’m blushing.”
I need to stop looking at her jeans and thinking about how sweet it would be to get inside them, or to hear her breath hitch while I played with her. Right here. Against this wall. I could have her coming aga...
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I shake my head because now she’s got another box. I set the first one aside and reach for the one in her hands. Our fingers touch and it’s like someone plugged me into a socket. I feel the heat from that accidental touch like lightning through my nervous system, like a fucking current beneath my skin. But a good one. Her eyes cut to mine, going wide before darting away. And now I’m not the only one with pink cheeks.
“Yeah.” I shouldn’t be touching her, but her skin is so soft I can’t make myself stop. “And this time, you’ll be wearing a jersey with my name on it.” Christ, just the idea of having her wrapped up in my number sparks something in my chest that shouldn’t be there. Something hot and possessive.
“Because after dinner, I’d take your hand to help you up. And even though I’m trying to be good, even though I know better—” my fingers slide around the back of her neck, weaving into her dark curls, “—something happens when we touch.” “What?” she asks, breathless and beautiful. “You look at me like you are right now.” I bow my head toward hers. “And all the good intentions in the world aren’t enough to stop me.”
But whatever she’s about to say next gets lost in the brush of my mouth against hers. This wasn’t part of the plan. It’s a mistake and we both know it, but when her hand moves to my chest, her fingers closing in the fabric, all I can think is this is right. I kiss her again, groaning as I sink into the softness of her mouth, tasting the quake of her breath and the give of her lips opening beneath mine. The tentative stroke of her tongue against mine. Shy and bold. Perfect.
She tugs me closer, and the part of me that’s been waiting for her since Vancouver snaps. I’m all over her. My hands are in her hair, on her ass, and—when I hear that soft whimper that matches the one that’s been haunting my dreams for the better part of a year—pulling at the back of her knee so it’s hitched against my side and I can feel where she’s warm and soft against my thigh.
More. I angle her head back to deepen my kiss, thrusting with my tongue the way I want to be with my dick. And holy hell, the way she moans around me has my hands fisting in her jeans as her hips rock into mine. Snapshots of every fuckable surface in the room flash through my mind. The table, wall, and door… The hip-high stack of boxes to my left—
I don’t want to take off. I want to take Natalie in my arms and bury my face in her hair while she breathes against my neck. I want to carry her heavy boxes and then give her a ride back to my place so I can lose myself in her body, so deep and so good, she forgets all the reasons this is a mistake. We both do.
God, what was I thinking kissing him like that? I know better. For myself and for him. I’ve spent half my life in the shadow of a star that burned too bright for even my own parents to notice me behind it. Half my life finding out that too many friends weren’t really my friends at all, just fans looking for an all-access pass to my brother. Half my life being forced to give up the things that mattered most to me for the sake of Greg’s skyrocketing hockey career.
