Boldly

by Elise Faber

  Oh shit. Oh. Shit.

  She was kissing Oliver James. Her client. She was kissing her client. Oh, fucking hell. She was a psychologist and kissing a client and—

  “I lost her,” Oliver murmured, pulling back slightly, enough that she could see the humor in his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder.” He leaned back in.

  “O—”

  The doorbell rang again.

  A sigh. From him? Her? She didn’t know. But he didn’t seem particularly upset, so she figured it was from her and the weird push-pull in her gut rather than Oliver, especially when he smiled gently and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll get the door. You try not to freak out.”

  Yeah.

  Like that was going to happen.

  But before the sound of disbelief made it up her throat and out through her lips, he was striding into the hallway and she heard him open the door, the crinkle of him accepting a bag—their dinner, she supposed—and his footsteps returning.

  Then he was back, smiling, calm, and assured, as though he hadn’t kissed her in a way that changed everything…and she’d only gotten a marginal amount of tongue.

  As in, it had been in her mouth, stroking along hers, coaxing hers out to play, and giving her the best kiss of her life—and that included those given to her by Trevor, the freaking man she was supposed to have married, kisses that she’d thought were fucking fantastic considering Trevor could use his lips and tongue in a way that was hot, not sloppy, and didn’t leave her wiping her mouth on the back of her hand after they’d finished.

  So yeah, she still had more trauma from her high school days, and that didn’t end with her mom calling her Banana Bread Sweetums in front of the entire teenage populace.

  First boyfriend.

  First kiss.

  First time she’d been slobbered on.

  That made her shudder.

  And fingers found her cheek again, that light brush of Oliver’s knuckles over her skin, causing her to shudder again, though this time for a completely different reason than the previous one. Namely, that every time he’d done that—did that—it made her imagine him doing that on different parts of her body.

  Naked.

  And by different parts, she meant everywhere.

  “Cold?” he murmured, setting the bag on the table.

  “No.”

  It was a whisper. One that drew his focus.

  “Freaking out?”

  “No.”

  Still a whisper.

  “Then why are you trembling like you’re in the rink in a bikini?”

  That had her mouth twitching and her tongue—unfortunately in her own mouth and not being coaxed out to play by his supremely more talented one—loosening. “First, it was a shudder because I was thinking about our kiss and how it was good, better than even Trevor’s, and that got me thinking about the bad, and how my first kiss had warranted a rub-off afterward.”

  His brows rose, something like displeasure flitted across his face.

  Defensiveness crept into her tone. “What?”

  “Rub-off?”

  She paused, brows drawn together for a long moment, then gasp. “Not that kind of rub-off. I meant having to rub the spit off my lips because he tried to Hoover my mouth.”

  “Ah.”

  A glare. “That’s all you have to say?” she demanded.

  “Well, in fairness, I didn’t know what kind of rub-off you were referring to.”

  The fucker’s eyes were twinkling, as though he had tiny stars glittering in his irises.

  “I wouldn’t jerk off a boy in high school after one kiss. Hell, I wouldn’t do that now. That’s third date stuff or fifth or—”

  “Babe.”

  “Sixtieth date stuff and—”

  “Babe.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I wasn’t talking about you jerking him off. I was talking about you rubbing one out.”

  “And it’s up to me if I grab a cock or not and when I want—” She continued to snap at him, for no reason except because he was being presumptuous, and she wasn’t going to allow him to be presumptuous, not on her time—“so long as the man whose cock I’m grabbing wants that, too, because consent is a thing and—” Then his words processed. “Rub. One. Out?” Her mouth gaped open, and she stared up at him.

  The sparkling stars were still in his pale blue eyes.

  But now they’d been joined by heat and—holy hell—was that some heat. Christ. The man was threatening to set her on fire.

  “Yeah, babe,” he said, like he was completely unaffected. “I’m assuming you touch yourself?”

  She nodded.

  “But I’m also guessing, based on your reaction and the aforementioned Hoovering, that it wasn’t in relation to that kiss.”

  She nodded again.

  Knuckles on her cheek. “When do you do it?”

  A silken question, one that almost had her telling him.

  But then she remembered herself, remembered where she was and who she was with, and was she seriously discussing her masturbating habits with Oliver James, who was still a client, in her boss’s house, while holding her boss’s baby.

  Seriously.

  What. The. Fuck. Was. Wrong. With. Her?

  She was holding a baby.

  She resisted the urge to earmuff his tiny little head so he wouldn’t hear, even though the damage would have already been done to his developing brain at this point if he’d been able to understand a word of what they were talking about with their discussion of rubbing.

  Fuck.

  Okay, she was starting to save up for his therapy fund now, and she’d start gathering referrals immediately.

  “I’ve lost her again,” Oliver murmured.

  Hazel narrowed her eyes.

  “Second?”

  She blinked.

  “You said first.” He was close again, those knuckles on her skin, sliding down over her jaw and along her throat. “So, what’s second? Why else were you trembling earlier?”

  The man had magical powers.

  That was it.

  He’d wielded his imaginary wand and put some charm on her that made everything running through her mind slid right off her tongue.

  Okay.

  It wasn’t him.

  At work she often had to bite her tongue, though not as much as if she’d been a therapist who counseled people on their lives instead of hockey players who needed to get their head in the game and who most of the time preferred that she give it to them straight instead of going easy (though some of them definitely did need easy, especially if they’d been on the snide—not scoring—for a while). But outside of her work, she tended to fly free and loose. Her mom was…herself and never met a tongue she liked to bite. Her dad was chill and laidback but didn’t have any qualms about being honest either—whether that was when her mom made something new for dinner (or he did because they took turns cooking, though his experiments often ended in the trash and then her parents ended up with takeout) or if he thought Hazel was dating someone he didn’t like.

  For the record, Trevor had been almost at the top of that list while they were dating and engaged and had moved to that absolute top spot after their engagement had broken off in the way it had.

  Which was the only reason she could think of later for why she told Oliver what she did.

  “Second,” she blurted, “I was trembling because the kiss was good. Really good, and it was so good that I wish we hadn’t done it because I can’t pursue this because you’re a client—”

  “I thought you were cutting me loose as a client.”

  “—and now,” she said, ignoring him and giving him the rest of it because that was her, and fuck if Hazel was going to be anything but herself, even with gorgeous Oliver James and his pale blue eyes and hair she wanted to grab tight while he rubbed one out on her was standing six inches from her, “I’m going to be thinking of that kiss every time I have to work with you—”

  “Wh
ich you just said was never, babe,” he pointed out.

  Annoyingly.

  “And,” she went on with more ignoring because she was on a roll, “I liked kissing you because your tongue has some serious fucking skill, and I can’t help but imagine what that might feel like stroking over my clit.”

  He stiffened. “Babe.”

  She inhaled, let it out slowly. “Right. It might have been a mistake to tell you that.”

  “Not a mistake.” His voice was a rasp, and then she dropped her gaze…to his pelvis. Okay, not his pelvis. That was her pretending she didn’t see what she saw. Which was lower.

  And harder.

  Oliver’s cock was hard and pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

  Lovingly cupped by his already tight jeans because even though he was less bulky than before his injury, his ass was still a hockey player’s ass, and that meant there wasn’t a whole lot of space in that denim. As thus, his erection was emphasized by that material, and…

  She wanted to touch.

  Clearing her throat, she shifted away from him. “I’ll put Noah down, check on Luc and Lexi.” She didn’t want to give up her shield—which probably said horrible things about her being willing to use a baby as a human shield so she didn’t touch Oliver’s lovingly cupped cock—but she’d corrupted Noah enough already.

  And it was really hard to earmuff with only one free hand.

  Plus, sometime during this dangerous conversation, Noah had gone out. Not just dozing. But out. Way out. So she’d put him into his crib and hoped that he slept long enough that his parents emerged from the other side of their naps semi-human again.

  “Babe?”

  It probably also said something bad about her that she shivered when Oliver called her babe in that slightly raspy voice. And that she stopped and turned back to face him without hesitation, without commenting on the endearment.

  Letting it go when she should be telling him to stop.

  Instead, all she said was, “Yeah?”

  “It wasn’t a mistake to tell me that.”

  Shivers and shudders and trembling.

  She had them the entire way to Noah’s room, while trying to put him down (super not conducive to keeping the infant asleep while she did so, though she managed), and while peeking into the master bedroom and then the den, finding Lexi and Luc, respectively, both still asleep, both snoring quietly, their faces slack, their bodies relaxed.

  She still had those shivers when she forced herself to walk back into the kitchen—both because she wasn’t a coward and because Oliver was in there and she couldn’t make herself walk out the front door.

  Expecting a confrontation or at least some conversation that would have necessitated earmuffs for Noah, had he been in her arms still, she was surprised to find two containers of udon set out on the table, utensils at their sides, Lexi’s candle lit and set in the middle of the table, soft music playing from…somewhere (his phone she realized on closer examination). The bag was gone, Lexi and Luc’s food hopefully stowed in the fridge, and Oliver was standing there studying her—

  While she studied the space.

  His face was unfathomable.

  Then he smiled, and it made her heart skip a beat.

  “Hungry?”

  She was.

  But it wasn’t for udon.

  Chapter Nine

  Oliver

  He sipped the broth, not hot like he would get at a restaurant since it had been sitting for a bit now, but still delicious, especially with the noodles and veggies.

  Seriously, one of his favorites ever since Lexi had turned him on to it.

  Hazel was similarly engaged in her food, after she’d stared at the kitchen with the candle, dimmed lights, and music playing like it was a rattlesnake and she was just about to step on it, fangs exposed, rattle shaking.

  Which had made him wonder if it was because she read into the effort for what it was.

  Because he had tried to bring a little romance, considering they weren’t in either one of their houses and they were alone, but he and Hazel’s boss and coworker were currently sleeping off their fatigue only rooms away.

  But it had also made him wonder if the lights and candle and music had surprised her in a way that wasn’t because he was trying for romance, but because no one had done it for her before.

  That was what he had read from her reaction, from the wide eyes and stuttered steps, from the way her face went soft, her eyes warmed.

  Had her asshole of an ex not given her any romance?

  They’d been engaged, for God’s sake.

  And this was one three-wick candle, a Spotify playlist, and a dimmer switch slid halfway down.

  “Babe?”

  “Hmm?” Her eyes stayed on her spoon, on the noodle she was carefully piling onto it using her chopsticks.

  “Was your ex a bigger asshole than I already suspect he was?”

  The noodle plopped into her bowl. “Um, what?”

  “I lit a candle and put a playlist on, Haze. I flicked a light switch. And you came in looking around like you’d never had that before.”

  She set down the spoon. “I—”

  “Don’t bullshit me.”

  A frown gathered on her features. “I don’t owe you an explanation of my life.”

  “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “But I want to hear all about it anyway.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “Pushy.”

  He shrugged.

  A sigh. Then, “You’re right,” she said very, very softly. “I haven’t had…that. Stupid, really. It’s small, but it was sweet, and it…surprised me, I guess, especially when you just invited me to eat and know that you can’t get anything out of it.”

  There was a lot to unpack there.

  Starting with him only doing something so he could get something in return.

  And ending with her not having had candles and music. What the fuck kind of man had her ex been?

  Considering that he’d left her after fucking around on her at his bachelor party, Oliver supposed he already knew, and it made him want to get the fucker’s name and address and then show him a little of what he used to give guys on the ice.

  But instead, he asked the question he thought was more important.

  Which was, “How do you know I can’t get anything out of it?”

  Her brows lifted. “Because we’re in Luc and Lexi’s house.”

  “If you think for a second any man wouldn’t take the opportunity to fuck you senseless, just because his boss was sleeping in the next room, that tells me you have no clue what your appeal is.” She gaped. He reached over and brushed his knuckles on her cheek. “But, you’re right, it’s not a first date thing.” Certainly, not with a woman like Hazel. “Though, I can’t commit to not stealing another kiss tonight because that is a first date thing,” he added, just because he wanted to see if she would get befuddled and what she would say.

  Or more befuddled, anyway, because she’d gotten that adorable frown between her eyes, rosy pink cheeks, and parted lips when he had talked about fucking her senseless.

  “Another kiss?”

  “You said you liked it, baby.”

  She shook herself, and fuck, if he didn’t like her, didn’t like the way she made him feel. Like a man. Whole and untarnished with none of the past drawing him down. Like he could look forward and build a future and…

  Just be.

  A beat of hesitation. Then she lifted her chin and said, “I did.”

  “Well then.” He reached across the table and handed her the spoon. “Eat up, and we’ll see how the future goes.”

  After they’d finished their udon, Noah had woken up, not because he was hungry but because he needed to be in someone’s arms to sleep.

  So, they were standing on the back patio taking turns holding the munchkin and talking about nothing.

  Different from the conversations they’d had in her office.

  She was relaxed and open and a lot of
fun.

  They discussed the usual pop culture stuff, movies and TV shows, and what streaming service they couldn’t live without, but then she surprised him and asked, “When did you get into computers?”

  She hadn’t mentioned him fixing her laptop the previous week, and he’d thought that since she’d been trying to kick that headache and hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent herself, that she might have forgotten all about it.

  But now she was walking Noah back and forth, bouncing him and trying to settle his little, colicky soul and waiting for Oliver to answer.

  “I like taking things apart and putting them back together.” His lips twitched.

  “What’s that for?” Hazel drifted closer, touched the corner of his mouth. “You’re smiling.”

  “I was thinking about Teresa. She and Alex bought me a computer one Christmas because I had begged and begged for it. They thought I was too young—God, I had to have been thirteen, fourteen? And we had a family desktop. But I wanted my own, and I was going to get it. So, I started saving money and doing extra chores, determined to buy it myself.” His heart squeezed. “And then I opened my present on Christmas morning, and they’d gotten me my own computer.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  It had been.

  “They told me to use my money to buy all the cool things a teenager was desperate for—the light-up cooling fan, the keyboard that had built-in LEDs, the mouse that was red and black and had fancy buttons.” Fuck, he’d been so proud of his keyboard. “So, I did, but I also had enough money left over to buy some books on computers. Which also meant that I was curious about the inner components and took apart the computer.” Hazel gasped. “Teresa nearly lost her shit.”

  “Did you put it back together?”

  “What do you think?”

  A pause then her pretty brown eyes drifted to his, studying him closely. “I think yes.”

  He grinned, pushed off the rail, snagged Noah (because it seemed like Hazel couldn’t help herself from coming close when he did that), and returned to the railing because his thigh was aching. His evil genius plan worked because Hazel trailed him, leaning next to him, her hand smoothing up and down Noah’s tummy.

  Which meant that she was pressed into his side.