I’ve been good, I’ve been the dutiful daughter and sister for too long. I deserve to indulge myself with a sports stud who is into me, really into me. Or at least seems to be. And with one night in sight, without expectations for a future, I don’t have to worry about feelings, an attachment, or being heartbroken. I’ve seen the dark side to being the girlfriend of an NHL hottie. I’m prepared for the worst.
I deserve one night with Nick. Because Nick wants me, and I’ve now come to terms with the fact that I want him. Bad. He’s temptation incarnate, a temptation I no longer want to resist.
My body reacts with longing and an urgency I can’t explain. That attraction. That chemistry. The anticipation I feel at seeing him again, at the endless possibilities of things to come. It’s all I can think about. Ever since our first date. Ever since our kisses. Ever since I’ve grown addicted to hearing his husky baritone each night. Ever since I can’t get enough of him. Ever since I decided I want more from him.
I can’t fight it. I won’t fight it. Instead, I embrace it. Because Nick has become the one thing that I won’t deny myself. At least not on this date. One night. That’s what I want. One night with him.
My cousin gasps, her eyes filled with awe. I’ve officially attained knockout status. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I’m beyond satisfied. I feel fierce, and I feel chic. I feel like I belong at a sports star’s wedding as another sports star’s date.
The game is over. I’m done playing around, and I’m ready to win. One night. Perhaps with some overtime.
Watch out, Nick. You won’t know what hit you.
Chapter 9
Nick
“Stop pacing. You’ve got this.” I reassure my best friend and anxious groom with some facts mixed with a tinge of humor. “Your bride isn’t going to bolt. You moved in together, you got engaged. Now you’re having a baby. If she hasn’t walked out on you by now, she never will. This ceremony is a formality.”
“You’re right. Why am I nervous?” Chris adjusts his stylish tie with his index finger like it’s choking him.
I clap him on the shoulders. “Because this is forever. It’s monumental. So monumental, that you don’t want to spill anything on the bride’s dress. Please tell me that you’re not serving the guests blue Slurpees.”
“That joke’s getting old.”
I laugh. “It made you relax. Which is good because you’re about to wear a hole through Marcus’s expensive carpet.”
The Nighthawks owner, Marcus Noble, is hosting the wedding and reception at his Hamptons beach home. Home…a more appropriate word would be mansion. Actually, mansions…plural. Marcus recently bought his neighbor’s estate. He is now the sole owner of two oceanfront structures that are about 13,000 square feet apiece, with a view of currently snow-covered dunes.
Chris and Serena’s nuptials will be held in Marcus’s Hawk House. Hawk as in Nighthawks. Marcus isn’t subtle. The home is picturesque, offering a large great room with a panoramic wall of windows and a breathtakingly unobstructed ocean view. This estate décor is classic, with white and cream travertine floors, and multiple floor-to-ceiling quartz fireplaces fit for royalty. The locale suits Chris and Serena to perfection. The great room, filled with lilies, will be host to the ceremony. An equally grand ballroom will host the cake-cutting and reception.
Shuttles will transport the guests to and from different bed and breakfasts in neighboring beach towns. The guest list consists of the bride’s family and friends, Chris’s teammates and their families, management and their families, and other close friends.
Those considered family and close friends will stay at Hawk House, while others will stay at the residence next door. I give credit to Serena and her wedding planner for sorting it all out. The bride and groom will enjoy their honeymoon at some private destination kept secret even from me.
Marcus has several bungalows on the grounds, if you can call them that. They’re mini homes, really, with all the necessities. I’m staying in one tonight. Serena managed to assign a room in Hawk House to Cami, which was sweet, though I hope Camille chooses to stay with me tonight. A part of me is trying to alleviate those high hopes.
Truth. I’m all for truth. And the truth is that Camille is like no one I’ve ever encountered. While I have the uncanny ability to read people, I can’t read her. Not anymore. It’s like she’s become immune to my ability to read her. For someone like me, who prides himself on knowing all risks and calculating all variables, this is enough to drive me insane.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought this was the powder room.” Camille is in the doorway wearing a nervous smile and looks drop-dead gorgeous in a merlot floor-length dress, her dark hair now shimmering with auburn highlights, the waves cascading over one shoulder.
I know very little about fashion, but this dress is familiar. I think I was there when Serena sketched it. At the time, she explained in tedious detail the cowl neck, showing a hint of cleavage but nothing distasteful, and a slit down the side perfect for a woman with legs for miles. This version is sleeveless, with thin straps. Camille takes my breath away. Or I’ve stopped breathing at the sight of her. I think it’s the latter. “Holy sh—”
“Hi, Cami.” Chris raises his voice to muffle my curse word. Holy shit. Not the most romantic thing to ever come from my lips.
“You’re not interrupting a thing.” I head toward Camille. “Just a nervous groom.”
Chris tugs at the tie around his neck. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s controlled chaos out there thanks to one determined wedding planner. Serena couldn’t escape, even if she tried.” Cami makes Chris laugh.
“Good to know. Thanks.”
She winks at him, then turns to me. “Hi.”
I’m awestruck, staring at Cami as her smile widens and her cheeks turn a brilliant pink. “You look gorgeous.”
“You look handsome yourself.”
Chris coughs.
“Both of you do.” She laughs. “I should let you get back to pacing, or perhaps a stiff drink. It’s your preference. But first…”
She approaches Chris. “Do you mind if I assist? I have lots of experience.” Adjusting his tie, she continues. “In a big Italian family, it’s been my job to assist nervous grooms, namely two older brothers who have gotten hitched. As for my brother-in-law, he’s all thumbs when it comes to ties on a regular day.”
“I’m not. I tie my own ties. It’s never been a problem. That’s why I chose this skinny thing, but it’s tripping me up today.”
“That’s what wedding days are meant to do. Until you see your bride walk down the aisle, and then all will be right with the universe.” She places her palms on Chris’s shoulders, squeezing hard. “Trust me. Like I said, I know from experience…always a bridesmaid and all. Though I did elope in college. Big mistake—my groom, not the concept of marriage. Anyway, it’s true that being a bridesmaid gets you an awful dress. At least in my experience. It’s a Benetti family tradition apparently.”
“Except yours?” Chris asks.
This is the first I’ve heard about Cami’s wedding. I knew she was divorced, and that it was a short-lived college marriage, but I didn’t know the particulars. I never wanted to pry, since it seemed like it was difficult for her to discuss. Now, she’s offering Chris a lot of personal info. To help calm him. I’m reading her again. This is to help Chris.
“Very perceptive, Mr. Cyclone.” Camille removes her hands from Chris’s shoulders. “No bridesmaids at my wedding. We did it Vegas style. There may have been a fake Elvis, but I will neither confirm nor deny that.”
Chris laughs. And just like that, with stories of Camille’s family and elopement to distract him, his anxiety ebbs.
“That’s better, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. Much better.” Chris’s voice has retu
rned to normal. No tension—no panic remains.
She glances over her shoulder at me and smiles before returning her attention to Chris. “A word to the wise. It wasn’t the tie. It was nerves. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. Serena adores you, Lucky’s fully clothed, and your best man is the best. He won’t allow you to crash and burn.”
“Never gonna happen under my watch.” I approach her from behind and splay my hand on her waist, above the soft silken fabric. I wonder what her body feels like beneath the sexy dress. “You’ve got this, dude.”
Talk about an amazing feat. It’s a wonder I was able to string so many words together when I’m so turned on.
“Walk me to the door?” Camille asks, and I’m on it. No need to ask me twice.
I watch as she shuts the door behind us, my nerve endings vibrating, my ears ringing. I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s all cliché. The way I feel at the sight of Camille, the need to know her, the desire to really know her…intimately, better than anyone else. This isn’t like me at all. I know it as we stand in the grand hallway. One of many in Marcus’s mansion.
Staff is bustling, and I lean against Cami, shielding her from the wedding planner from hell. “Why does anyone have a wedding planner? Seriously, I’d want the day to be…”
Shit. Am I seriously talking about weddings with her? I decide not to finish my sentence.
“Let me guess. Laid back?” Camille teases me.
“Yeah. This is anything but.” I lean into her, whispering in her ear. “Is that why you eloped?”
Cami shakes her head. “Vegas isn’t my style. It was…complicated. My ideal day would be casual, with sand and sun. Just us, maybe family. I think it depends on the guy.”
“Whatever guy let you get away is a dumbass.” I mean it, and Camille laughs. “Seriously. For many reasons, one of which being that you always look sexy, but now you look so sensual, so gorgeous, so…there aren’t enough words in the English language to explain just how badly I want you.”
Cami slides her fingertips beneath my jacket. “We should do something about that later.”
This is promising. “We could go to my place. I’ve got a bungalow with a great view.”
“Oh, I want to see your view.” Innuendo is hot and heavy. Licking her wine-colored lips, Cami surveys me. I’ve never been man candy before. Sure, women think I’m hot, but Chris has always been the most popular between us. I like being Camille’s man candy.
If she wants me out of this tux, I’m game. “Can we bail? I mean, we’ve got time, right?”
Looping her fingers around my belt, Camille tugs me closer against her. “Your best friend needs you, and you would never abandon him during his time of need.”
“True.” I sigh. It’s exaggerated. Of course I wouldn’t. Cami knows me. “Why do I feel like we’ve known each other far longer than our dating calendar would infer?”
Tugging me even closer, she confides in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve wondered the same thing. It comes down to our texts and late-night calls. We took time to get to know each other instead of immediately giving in to our primal desires.”
Why did I do that? “What was I thinking?”
“Of me. That didn’t go unnoticed.” She kisses me. A breathy, intimate, sultry, slow-burn sort of kiss. “You will be rewarded for that.”
Wiping her lipstick from my lips, Cami’s fingertips linger on my lower lip.
“I can’t wait.” I clear my throat, my blood pumping hard, reaching my cock in record time.
She grinds against me. Nothing profane, just a gentle reminder that she knows I’m erect for her. Camille’s got flirting down to a science, and I react to it. Painfully. “Neither can I. See you later, Nick.”
I watch her saunter down the hall, mesmerized by her tight ass and the way she glances at me one last time before rounding the corner. Fuck, I’m in trouble. It’s good trouble. Lusty trouble. But trouble nonetheless.
Though I take my time returning to Chris in an effort to compose myself, it fails to fool my friend, who clucks his tongue when I reenter the room. “You’ve got it bad for her,” Chris mutters.
Scratching my beard, which, in spite of my superstitions, I trimmed for this special occasion, I ponder his statement. I do. Hell, she’s probably the reason I trimmed my beard. To look good for her…to impress her. “It’s that obvious? I’m that obvious?”
“Only to anyone who sees the two of you together, and I must admit I like it. You have got it bad for someone, the way I have for Serena. Payback’s gonna be sweet! Just you wait until you have your own Slurpee moment. I won’t let you live it down.” Chris smacks me on the shoulder. I’m still staring at the closed door, wondering what the fuck do I do next.
“I’m hell on skates, right? I dominate the ice. I annihilate our opponents.” I pause, reflecting for a moment while Chris remains silent. It’s all the encouragement I need to admit the truth that’s causing my anxiety to rise.
“I feel like I’m speeding in the Indy 500 and about to crash and burn. I never feel this, not even on the ice—not like this.” I turn to my friend. “This is so much more than I was ready for, but it’s what I wanted. To find someone meaningful.”
Shit just got real with my admission. To the point where I can’t inhale, my breathing blocked by a large lump in my throat. Panic is seizing me as I struggle to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Why is it so difficult to breathe?
“Okay, okay. Stop.” Chris claps my upper arms. “It’s the start of something. What precisely that is remains anybody’s guess right now because it’s in the early stages. That’s the risk, right? You know about risks. You thrive on risks.”
“Sure, professionally. Not…” I grab my beard and tug at it. Ouch. I’m reminded that I trimmed it. “Shit, Chris. I wanted to meet someone like her. So why am I overcome with anxiety?”
“Because it feels natural, and she’s more than you thought possible.” Chris offers me a sympathetic grin. “I’ve been through it. Though in your case, you should be careful what you wish for, brother. You are speeding through the emotional equivalent of the Indy 500. Just remember, you’ve got this.”
“How can you be sure? Do you think she likes me?” Insecurity detected. Holy crap, I need my balls back. Stat!
“Did you see the way she looked at you, dude? She’s into you just as much as you’re into her. Where you take it—how far you take it—is up to the two of you. You’ve got to have courage.”
I scoff. “I have plenty of courage. Ask our opposing teams. Or have you forgotten?”
“This takes a different kind of courage. To open yourself up to rejection, to make yourself vulnerable.” A knock on the door interrupts us. It’s the dreaded wedding planner, telling us to get going. Everyone’s waiting on us.
Chris smiles. “Look at that. You took my mind off the wedding and I feel much better.”
“Glad someone does.” I feel dizzy and nauseous. Are these the symptoms of falling for someone? If so, I’m not sure I like it. Not at all.
“It’s worth it.” Chris’s tone is serious. More so than I’ve ever heard. “Take the leap and find out for yourself.”
We do the man-hug thing. Christ, we have gotten soft. “I’m happy for you, bro.” I am thrilled for Chris. The knowledge reminds me why I sought out someone to begin with. I want what he has. All of it. The woman of my dreams. The family. The future. The happiness that I can’t hide, even on the darkest of days. Chris found it, and I want the same thing with my own person. The one who fits with me.
Chris knows he and Serena will weather any storm. That’s what I want. The fact that I want it so much with Camille, after knowing her such a short time, is enough to keep me off-balance. Even as I follow my best friend to the large room with the huge indoor trellis accentuated with blooms I can’t pronounce. They’re in front of a bank of windows that
frame a breathtaking panoramic view of the sun shining over a seasonably cold ocean.
There we wait until Serena makes her grand entrance, accompanied by her brother and grandmother on either side as she saunters down the aisle in a body-hugging ivory-colored mermaid gown that accentuates her baby bump and a smile that lights up the room. When did I learn so much about fashion?
I turn to my best friend. The expression on his face is one of pure joy. It radiates from him, from both of them. Their love is enough to make me a believer. After all, he did fall hard for Serena and in record time. Though he repeatedly denied that it was insta-love—whatever the fuck that is—he did fall for her. Fast and hard. It worked out. Their vows are proof. My friend wrote his own vows, for Christ’s sake. He’s reciting them in front of all to see and hear. How much he loves Serena, and their unborn child. How much he needs them. How they make him a better man.
Serena’s brother and his husband hold hands, their smiles wide as her grandmother pats each of them on the thigh. Each of them wears a version of cream in solidarity for their expanding family. They are all marrying Chris, that’s what they say.
“That’s our girl,” Savannah Ellis, Serena’s grandmother and never one to mince words or remain silent, declares. Her remark causes laughter to erupt through the neat rows of people seated. Becca, Serena’s bridesmaid and best friend, whoops in her gold bridesmaid gown.
In spite of the laughter and happy shouts, Serena’s mom sniffles into a handkerchief in the front row. She—the woman who was once the iciest snob—is wearing a floral dress in a complete contrast to her past style. She has evolved because of Chris and Serena, and has accepted her children.
I’ve changed, too, since Serena and Chris got serious. My priorities have shifted. Scanning the crowd, I catch Camille grinning as Serena vows to love Chris always. That’s not a cynical expression Camille is wearing. No, it’s an I believe in happily-ever-after expression. It tells me that I have a chance. If I take the leap and show her who I really am.
Ice Hard Page 10