Make It Sweet

by Kristen Callihan

She glanced at Lucian, who, despite not cooking the meal, was setting up our plates with his typical fierce attention to detail. “That, over there, is the best choice I’ve seen you make outside of your career.”

“I was a sneak, I know! And I wouldn’t have done it for just anyone, but poor Luc looked so pathetic.” He smirked at Lucian, whose head had jerked up on hearing his name, and he glanced our way. “Besides, he threatened to pound me into a Sal meat patty.” Lucian rolled his eyes. “There were no such threats.” “Maybe not verbal,” Sal countered,

In truth, there was a lazy air about him now. He appeared a man content, his big body loose limbed and relaxed in his chair. It was a good look on him. Even better when his gaze met mine, and a hot knowledge of what we’d done last night and this morning simmered between us.

I want it again, his gaze said. Heat swamped me. Soon, mine said. A small quirk of his brow. Sooner than later, honey. Count on it.

A sound of amusement ended our nonverbal eye communication, and I turned to find Brommy watching us with a sappy grin. “Just look at him.” Brommy gestured expansively with his enormous hands. “Eye fucking and smiling like a teen who ...

Brommy, who’d been clearly trying to get her attention since he’d arrived, leaned over and glanced at the phone. “You’d look beautiful in that.” Tate glanced at him, and her red mouth quirked. “I’m not sleeping with you, so don’t even try.” Brommy merely smiled. “I’d be disappointed if sleep was involved.” Tate did a double take, then laughed, truly amused. And I knew she was hooked. Which amazed me, because her usual inclination would be to verbally eviscerate him.

“Good Lord,” I murmured to Lucian, dipping my head in close to his, mainly because he smelled good, and I wanted to be nearer. “That might have actually worked.” “You have no idea.” His lips touched the shell of my ear and lingered. “Years, I had to witness this.”

I’d taken a night to read over the scripts sent my way. They were all wrong, all weak copies of my Princess Anya role or stale romantic comedies. I didn’t have anything against a good romantic comedy, wit and verve, but the scripts I’d read didn’t cut it. Nor did I want to be typecast.

Frankly, I wanted something meaty, something to sink my teeth into. Something the polar opposite of Anya.

“With that sweetly beautiful face,” my agent had said, “it’s going to be tough to convince directors. They see you as a princess.” “I skewered no less than five men on Dark Castle,” I’d snapped back. “I literally liquidated scores more. Ther...

“Is this where you try to manage me, because I have to say I’m intrigued by what you think will work.” I huffed under my breath, delivering just enough snark to let him know he’d pissed me off. “An offensive player to the core, aren’t you?” He stiffened, and I winced, realizing that probably cut in ways I didn’t want.

My hands smoothed up her thighs. She wore jeans in deference to the cold rink. I missed her floaty skirts and told her so. Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “You just want to stick your hands under them.” “Guilty.”

Hadn’t she said she couldn’t skate? But there she was, gliding around like she was born to be on the ice. When she executed a jaunty camel spin, I burst out laughing. The little sneak had played me. She’d played me well and good.

“Teach you to skate, huh?” I huffed out a light laugh. She made a guilty face. “Technically, I said, If I couldn’t skate, would you teach me?” “Hmm . . .” I dragged the sound out, letting her squirm just a little. Mainly because I loved teasing her. She responded so beautifully to it.

“You are so getting some when we get home, Em.” She burst out laughing, her eyes sparking with humor. “I had no idea you were so easy.” “Yes, you did.”

The moment Lucian glided onto the ice, holding the hand of a little girl with a dark ponytail and a beaming smile, the stadium erupted into a ruckus of cheers. Goose pimples prickled over my skin.

He really did look like a man mountain in full gear, huge and eternal. His smile was the same tight one he’d given me before we’d parted, but as he continued to wave, and the crowd continued to holler and cheer, a real smile broke free—fleeting and shy—and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

“He looks good,” May observed. Of course he did. But it struck me that people might have assumed that Lucian had been diminished and sickly upon retirement. Is that what he feared they’d see when he came here? Either way, he was right...

But he didn’t show any tension as he took his place with the others, and they soon started a mock game, the guys working with the kids. I spotted Brommy and Anton on the ice, each of them helping out their own kid. But my eyes mainly stayed on Lucian. God, he was so ...

“Well, he was an absolute mess when I left. Wouldn’t even get out of bed.” “Oh, how sad. You poor thing.” My brow raised at that. “I know. But it was for the best. He wasn’t the man I thought he was, and I needed to move on.”

“Such a shame. Ozzy would have been a legend.” “No more. Now he’s just a . . .” An expansive breathy sigh stirred my hair. “A sideshow.” At that, I turned around. I couldn’t help it. My hackles were up, and anger coiled in my belly. At my side, May stiffened too. Clearly she’d heard them as well.

Her big brown eyes locked onto me, and she gave me a bright smile. “Oh my God, are you Emma Maron?”

She blinked, obviously expecting more. “And you’re with?” “Lucian Osmond.” It was fairly gratifying to watch the color leach from her face. “Oh. I . . . ah . . . I know Luc . . . Lucian, that is.” “I know.” “You do?” She appeared pleased at this and glanced toward the ice.

It didn’t take any special talent to know she was looking at Lucian. You don’t deserve to set eyes on him.

Her smile was a little less steady now, and she eyed me with wariness. “How lucky for you to find another fiancé so soon.” May made a strangled noise of amusement, and Cassandra’s friend glared.

“Thank me?” Confused brown eyes blinked rapidly. “Yes. If you hadn’t walked out on Lucian, I might not have met him. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. So thank you.”

“Look, I know it sounded bad, what I was saying about Luc. But you should know hockey defines him. Without it, he’s nothing more than a shell.” “You’re wrong. He’s so much more than that.”

Her smile was tight and wary. “I hope for your sake that’s true. Because the man I knew wasn’t capable of loving anything more than the sport.”

As though feeling my gaze, Lucian’s head lifted, and his gaze collided with mine. Something light and sweet flashed in his eyes, and he smiled, giving me a wave. His smile dimmed when he clearly spotted Cassandra...

I searched his face, wanting to reassure him, wanting him. “That woman did not deserve you.” Light filled his eyes with a quiet happiness. “We were poorly suited. I was meant for you.” “Kiss me.” Lucian’s mouth twitched, but the tension left him. “There’s a lot of press around, Snoop. You okay with being seen as mine?” “That depends. Are you okay with being seen as mine?”

His gloved hand slipped behind my neck to cup my nape. “I’ll wear a name tag declaring it if you want, honey.” He kissed me, soft and deep and long.

Whatever I did with the rest of my life, I’d entertained a good portion of people during my stint on Dark Castle. That was a reward in and of itself.

He shrugged. “Our hands were tied. But he’s still the best player I’ve ever coached. Hockey smarts like you dream about.”

“Really is a pity,” Rickman mused. “He’s alive,” I snapped. “The pity would be if he died.” Flat blue eyes peered at me from a face set in stubborn if not sorrowful lines. “Some players would tell you they were better off that way than to have a career cut short.”

She’d gotten a small taste of who I’d been, me at my best. She’d witnessed fans cheering for me and cheered along with them, her eyes shining with pride. It made me want to put that look on her face every day of my life. I wanted her admiration, to make her proud all the time.

My chest ached with a sudden fierceness that had me pressing my hand to it. But she didn’t notice. She was still chatting about all my “effortless skill,” which was cute but made me feel like a sham.

Seeing her talk to Cassandra hadn’t helped. The exchange hadn’t looked friendly, and I could have guessed what Cass had said, but I didn’t want to ask Emma. Mainly because I didn’t want ...

I thought you were more than hockey, Oz. I see now that you weren’t. Annoyed that I even thought of Cassandra’s last words to me, I shoved her into t...

“God, Em, you look . . .” “What?” I rasped, my heart thudding against the fragile wall of my chest. “Happy,” he said, his own smile blooming. “You look so happy.” “Because I am.” I stared right back at him. “Because of you.” Lucian swallowed hard, his throat working. “I make you happy?”

“Everything was dark and empty until you came. No flavor. No joy.” He shuddered, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m just really glad I make you happy.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Em. But I swear I’ll do my damned best to make sure I earn the right to keep you.”

“Em. It’s never been like this,” I whispered. “Never like this.”

The promise had me pausing; the reality of our situation, of how I’d soon change it, crept back up to poke at my insides. I hadn’t told her my news. I couldn’t now. Not in the face of her happiness.

She smiled shyly at me. “You like it.” “I do.” Didn’t explain the way my heart threatened to beat out of my chest. “I’m buying it.” There it was. I’d expected it; why else would she bring me to see a house for sale? But the confirmation still hit with the force of a well-placed kick.

“Yes. But it feels good here. Like home.” Her gaze didn’t falter from mine. Home. Hers. Away from mine. But did I really have a home? Rosemont was Amalie’s. Yes, I’d always be welcome, and it had been my refuge. But was it home or a safe space to hide away from the world?

Home. The temptation of creating one with Emma burned in my gut like boiling sugar, sweet but painful. Because I couldn’t do that. Not now, at least.

Why did I feel cold along my skin, as though she were already gone? Fuck. That hurt. She said I made her happy. I wanted to make her happy and proud.

Her expression was pained yet welcoming, as though she was trying to tell me something I kept missing. “Where do you really live?”

“Playing hockey. A full-contact sport.” She snorted, making a face. “The very sport that got you into this position to begin with.” “Emma . . .” “Don’t Emma me.” She waved a hand, as though she could bat her irritation away. “Don’t . . . placate me!”

“You’re never going to be happy with anything else, are you?” she said. A ripple of something went through me, and all I could do was shake my head in negation. Closed off and shut down, the last thing I expected was for her arms to wrap around me from behind, for her to press against me and hold on tight.