by Elise Faber
Another brush of those knuckles. “I think I can tempt it out of you.”
“You could try.”
Laughter, warm and heady, filled the night air as he tugged her up an incline. “I think I might know a way to succeed.”
He was probably right. Hell, he was right. Ethan most definitely could find a way to tug the information out of her mind.
“Rain check,” she murmured.
A husky chuckle. “Deal, sweetheart.”
“Tell me about your parents?”
He nodded, shifting her closer, and Dani found herself resting her head on his chest. She was far too short for it to rest on his shoulder, but it felt nice to be nestled in the crook between arm and side, for the sound of his steady pulse to fill her eardrum, his voice rumbling through his body, vibrating against her as he answered her question.
“Mom’s so fucking smart that sometimes I feel like I only understand half of what she’s saying, especially when she’s talking about something with regards to her work,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that she was coming to recognize.
Because she’d felt it directed at her.
“What does she do?”
“Russian literature and its intersection with early eighteenth-century American works.”
Dani paused. “I only understood half of that.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Join the club.”
“And your dad?”
“He’s also a professor. His specialty is higher mathematics. Think calculus but on steroids.” A laugh. “I understand even less of his work. It has more letters and symbols than numbers.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It is.” He smoothed back her hair. “And they ended up with a son who is an athlete. Two of the great brains of their time, and you’ve got me.”
There was an interesting note in his tone, but it wasn’t remarkable in a good way. Instead, it bristled along her skin, making her feel as though she’d been yanked backward through a hedge. It spoke to the insecurity inside her, called like to like, and . . . she fucking hated it.
She spun into him, halting him in his tracks, bringing their bodies flush against one another. They’d reached the top of the slope, and her eyes needed a moment to adjust, to see what was in his eyes.
More bristling.
“What’s that?” she asked, waving a hand at his face.
“What’s what?” he countered.
“That tone. That expression.” She cupped his cheeks, made easier since she was at the top of the incline and he was a foot behind her, the angle aligning their faces. “Do you think for one second that your parents aren’t proud of you? That you haven’t done something fucking incredible?”
He turned his head, kissed her palm. “I just shoot a puck at a net and get in an occasional fight on the ice. It’s nothing as important as the work they’re doing,” he said. “Nor even as important as yours. I’m a cog that can be replaced. An athlete with a shelf life, and that’s just fact. They’re discovering knowledge, helping others gain it. You’re aiding in the running of this big machine, helping dozens, if not more people be successful and have jobs and make a living.” He peeled her hands off, wove their fingers together. “Without me, they’d be fine. Without you, without others, they’d be lost.”
There was a lot to unpack there.
Starting with the fact that she’d never quite been able to articulate anything close to what he’d just said, even though she had felt the same way too many fucking times over the course of her life.
But it was funny.
She’d found herself growing a lot over the last days, identifying the painful memories, understanding their hold on her, finding the courage to begin taking baby steps forward. And now hearing that same note of pain in Ethan’s voice was like leaping backward, falling into a dark hole, hating that someone could feel that way about themselves.
And if she hated that he could feel that way, how had she lived for so freaking long feeling the same?
It was . . . enlightening.
Frustrating.
Infuriating.
Illuminating.
“You are a wonderful, smart, talented, lovely man. You are more than a cog in a machine. You’re . . . Ethan, and I feel so lucky to know you.”
His lips parted, a shuddering breath slipping out and coating her skin. “Dani,” he murmured, his tone almost pained.
“You see,” she whispered. “I was accosted outside my office by a man, who dropped my treasured tablets on the ground, and then again by him outside the library where he stole my books. And again in a hall where he stole my bags of rocks”—his mouth curved—“and that man, well . . . he’s pretty fucking amazing. He gave me the courage to peek at the memories I’d locked down, to release them and their hold on me. It was terrifying, letting go of that safety net.” She squeezed his hands. “But I found it wasn’t so scary when I understood that he’d be patiently waiting to catch me.”
Another of those breaths, stuttering and staccato, a big chest practically vibrating against her.
Then his hands wove into her hair, and he kissed her.
The man had a fucking glorious mouth, soft and plump, ringed by the short bristles of his beard. Rough and smooth, no caution in the way he held her, how he plundered her lips.
But eventually, they had to breathe, so she pulled back, reveling in the way he held her face in his calloused hands. “I told you that you could do anything that you put your mind to.”
“I’m starting to believe that.”
His forehead rested against hers for a heartbeat.
Then he took her hands again and tugged her forward. “Come on then. Our first date awaits.”
He spun her around, tugged her around the edge of the building . . .
And quite simply, she fell in love.
A small, round table sat near an opening in a plain white railing, the gap showing a staircase leading down to a gorgeous stone amphitheater. “It’s Red Rocks,” she whispered, as he led her to the table. “I’ve always wanted to come here for a concert.”
He tugged out her chair. “We’ll have to come back for one.”
When he pushed it in, lights turned on, shining up along the burnished rust-colored stone walls, soft music filling the space. It swept up those stairs like a thunderstorm, a low rumble that bounced along the rock, quivered through her abdomen, filling her with the gentle melody of one of her favorite pop songs.
“How did you know?” she whispered.
“I’ve seen you perk up when it comes on during warm-up.”
“How?” she asked again.
She shouldn’t even have been there, had been sneaking out because she was desperate to catch a glimpse of him while he’d skated. Instead, she should have been prepping for the game, not mooning over him.
He sat down across from her, took her hand. “How could I not?” A squeeze. “How could I not notice you?”
Dani melted into a puddle of goo.
Either that or she fell a little bit more in love with him.
Then he lifted the silver cover on the plate between them, and there was no doubt, she’d plummeted into love with this man.
Chapter Eighteen
Ethan
The Lyft deposited them outside the hotel lobby, and he felt a kind of peace he’d not experienced before as they walked inside and headed for the elevators.
He would have liked it better had they been going up to a room they shared, but for now, he rode the elevator to her floor, walked her to her door, and stole several more kisses.
She threaded her fingers into his belt loops, tugged him close. “Come inside.”
Ah, a statement that could be taken so many ways.
Alas, they were still riding First Date vibes, so he said goodnight.
Then went down to his room, jerked off, and fell headlong into sleep.
The knock on his door in the morning was unwelcome, but he stumbled to the peephole, stared through it
. . . and suddenly, it was a lot more welcome.
He pulled open the wooden panel. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, knowing his voice was raspy.
Her eyes went wide, and Ethan watched her throat work as she swallowed. “I—”
“You okay?”
Her gaze slid down, a heated, tangible thing that had him remembering he was only wearing boxer briefs. When her stare stayed down, he allowed his own gaze to drop, saw that he was sporting some intense morning wood, even more than normal considering the need for this woman that was a fire coursing through his veins.
“I—I’m—”
Warm hands on his chest.
Warm hands shoving him—not gently. He was so surprised, he stumbled back several paces, and then the door was slamming closed, and Dani was launching herself into his arms.
And her mouth was on his.
Flames bursting to life, coating his skin, burning him to ash.
A warm, curvy woman against him, her hands stroking every inch of him as she continued shoving him, forcing him to retreat . . . until the backs of his legs hit the bed.
He tumbled onto the mattress, his hands coming around her hips, drawing her over him, her thighs straddling his. “Ethan?” she murmured.
Her hands were on his skin, on his naked skin. Her pussy hot and damp even through his underwear and the black leggings she wore.
“Yeah?” he replied gruffly.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m not okay.”
She drifted closer. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m trying to remember that we’ve only gone on one date,” he said.
“And?” she asked, when he didn’t say anything else.
“And I’m trying to remember that, so I don’t strip you naked, flip us over, and get my mouth between those fucking gorgeous thighs of yours.”
Her breath shuddered out. Then she inhaled sharply. “Ethan?” she asked again on the next exhale.
“Yeah?” he said again.
“Do you really want to do that?”
He moved, an abrupt action that he seemingly had no control over, snagging her hand, tugging it down until it rested against the hard jut of his erection currently tenting the front of his underwear. “I’m fucking desperate to do that,” he said, groaning when her fingers convulsed. “But I also know that we’re just starting to get to know each other and—”
His words faltered.
Because she reared back and yanked her shirt over her head. Then reached behind her, unhooked her bra . . .
And let it fall to the floor.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Y-yes”—he choked—“please?”
“Yes, I want you to take me, to strip me.” A beat, her lips turning up. “Well, the rest of me, and—”
Words failed him, but luckily action didn’t. He flipped them, slanted his mouth across hers, cutting her off, knowing that if she uttered another sexy request, he was very likely to come in his boxer briefs. Aware that if she kept talking, he was going to lose control and forget he didn’t have a fucking condom. Because she was topless and her breast were . . . fucking incredible, so much more glorious than he’d imagined—and he’d imagined a whole hell of a lot.
It would be so easy for him to lose his underwear, to yank off her leggings, and then he could be plunging home and—
Her lips found his, and they rolled on the mattress, his body pressing into hers, hers pressing into his, until eventually he managed to flip her again, to sink his body over hers, and even with their bottoms between them, it was the best fucking sensation of his life.
He trailed his hand along her side, and she threw her head back, the lines of her throat taut, the tendons in sharp relief, the slope calling to his mouth, and he heeded that call, dragging his lips along her skin, inhaling the scent of strawberries, tasting that sweetness on his tongue.
She moaned, gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly when he reached the part where her neck met the slender curve of her collarbone.
Pausing, he spoke against the delicate divot. “You like that?”
Her eyes slid down, met his, and he expected her to shy away, to pull back, to do . . . something that wasn’t wrapping her legs around his waist, her hips undulating against him, her words and gaze steady when she murmured, “Yes, Ethan. I like that.” Her hand drifted up, cupped his jaw. “I—I—” She faltered for just a moment, and then he watched determination firm the gentle lines of her face. “I like you.”
His cock was hard, aching, but what he felt for this woman was more than just desire and need.
Or perhaps, it was need in a different way.
To just be with her. To understand all the little idiosyncrasies that made Dani Dani.
So much tenderness and curiosity and affection, and while he knew her in many ways already—he knew she was a woman a man kept, knew she was someone who he’d cut out his heart for—he also wanted to know all the little things about her. What made her laugh, what made her sad. The places she wanted to travel. The books that made her cry and long for more. He wanted to glean every tiny detail because she was utterly fascinating. And as much as he couldn’t wait until he knew all those parts of her, he was also looking forward to the journey, to the slow, incremental learning.
Which probably couldn’t happen if she was topless in his hotel bed, but . . .
She was topless. Beneath him. With only leggings and some underwear between them.
And she wanted his mouth on her.
So he’d know her that way before the rest of it.
“I like you, too,” he murmured. “Probably more than I should.” Given how short a time she’d been allowing him in to see the real Dani.
Her lips tipped up. “I don’t think you’re supposed to admit that to the woman you’re on top of.”
He bent, nipped at her bottom lip. “It’s better than liking you less than I should.”
Amusement had been glittering in her eyes, that mouth curved, but his words made her pause, just for a brief moment, the delight flattening out, turning the warmth in those irises cool, unfeeling.
Then she smiled again, wider this time, but it was missing all the warmth, all the delight from before.
“What is it?” he asked, knowing this was one of those things that time hadn’t yet granted him the opportunity to learn.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers gripping his hair. “Kiss me.”
An order.
One he obliged, slanting his mouth across hers, absorbing the wonder of this woman and how she tasted, how she felt, how she made everything inside him realign in a completely different way. But even as he kissed her, he shifted them to the side, tugging her so she was cradled against his chest when they broke apart for air. He couldn’t stop himself from running his hand up and down her spine, bit back a groan when she slipped her palm between them, trailing warm fingers along his abdomen.
“Why’d you stop?” she murmured.
“What did I say?” he asked. “That hurt you?”
“Nothing.” She smiled again, pressed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, until his lungs were straining for air, until his cock was aching, his fingers trembling, desire hazing his vision, turning the edges red. Until he was wondering why in the fuck he was pushing this, why he wasn’t just getting back to the tumbling and kissing and licking every single inch of her part.
But . . . he needed to know why she’d gotten sad.
Because he didn’t want to be the one who hurt her. Not ever.
“Dani,” he whispered, tearing his lips from hears.
She sighed, closed her eyes. “Please, Ethan.”
That please almost broke him. It was just . . . he had to do the right thing here, had to be himself, and he wasn’t the type of guy who pretended to not know the truth, who dismissed it just because he had a boner, and it would be easier not to talk about it.
Did he want her? Fuck yes.
Did he want her pain between them when he had her? No.
He didn’t want that coloring their interactions, her pleasure, their time together in each other’s arms.
She meant more than a quick fuck.
She meant everything.
It was as simple as that.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
Her chin dropped to her chest. “Why can’t you just take advantage of the half-naked woman in your arms?”
He stroked a hand over her hair, told her the truth. “Because I don’t want to take advantage of you. Ever.” Fingers under her chin, drawing it up so that her gaze was on his. “And I want to know you. Even the sad pieces. The hurt and broken. Give them to me. Let me help you put them back together.”
Lips parting, a shaking sigh coating his skin. She shifted closer, her mouth a hairsbreadth from his. “You’re not taking advantage of me.”
He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not.” But there it was again, the falter. The hint of pain.
“Yet,” he said gently, cupping her cheek. “That’s the part you’re not saying, isn’t it? I haven’t hurt you yet.”
She went still and then sighed again, caution edging into her expression. “Should I remind you that I’m still half-naked and waiting for you to do the whole kissing every inch of me part?”
“I want to,” he said. Fuck, he wanted to.
“But . . .” she whispered after he didn’t say anything else.
“But . . .”
He needed her to tell him every detail of her past? Fuck, that made him an even bigger asshole than spending the last minutes ignoring the lusciousness of her curves and the blatant invitation in her words, her eyes. She’d already shared so much, and besides that, she didn’t owe him an explanation of her past, not even because she’d offered up her body, allowed him close, had gone on a date with him, had told him what had happened in high school.
The truth was that she didn’t owe him anything. Period.
And frankly, he hadn’t earned enough of her trust to expect anything.
He had to believe that they would get there, that he’d unlock her inner core with patience and perseverance. She’d already given him so much in the short time they’d been together. “But, nothing,” he said gently. “I’ll be here, ears available for when you’re ready to tell me.”