by Elise Faber
“You never need to apologize for letting me hold you,” he said, cupping her cheek, thumb drifting up and wiping away some moisture she had missed. “Snot or otherwise.”
Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Dani shook her head. “I didn’t mean to lose it. I—”
“Dani.”
She was already forming the next reply in her mind, started to pull herself out of his arms. “I just. It’s been a lot and I—”
His hand on her waist tightened, holding her against him. The one on her cheek stayed gentle. “Dani.”
“And I—”
“Dani,” he said. “I’m telling you this in the nicest possible way.” A beat as she watched laughter trickle into his expression, his mouth softening, so fucking tempting that she wanted to rise on tiptoe and close the distance between their lips. “But please, just shut the fuck up.”
Outrage down her spine.
A gasp of indignation on her tongue.
But he didn’t stop talking, just continued to hold her stare as he said, “I love you.” That thumb swept forward, traced over her bottom lip. “You’ve held my heart in your palm from the moment I first saw you stroke an iPad, from the second you laughed and let those amber eyes meet mine.”
She wrinkled her nose. “They’re just boring brown.”
“Lies.” He shook his head, hand sliding up, thumb now lightly drifting across the bottoms of her lashes. It tickled, but she didn’t back away. “You have tones of mahogany and amber in there, tiny streaks of gold and russet. I swear,” he said, tone going a little husky, “every single time that you let me see them, I find a different shade in them.”
Her pulse skipped around in her veins, as though someone had somehow dumped Pop Rocks into them. “I like your eyes, too,” she whispered.
He smiled, that lovely turn up of his lips Dani felt in the depths of her soul—sticky cotton candy on her fingertips, sweetness tingling on her tongue, warmth in her belly . . . desire pooling between her thighs.
“Dani?” he asked again, and God, she loved the way he said her name.
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” A millisecond later, his mouth was on hers, his palm tilting her head back so their lips were perfectly aligned, his hand on her hip drawing her a little closer, until she could feel his shin guards pressing against her legs, the thick protective hockey pants he wore firm against her pelvis and stomach, his chest hard where it met hers, his muscles gloriously clad in just that thin, black material. Her nipples tightened, her womb clenching in her abdomen, her pussy growing damp.
His tongue flicked against her mouth, deftly parting her lips to drift inside her mouth, to tangle with hers.
She rose on tiptoe, drifting closer, her tongue and lips not shy but joining in the glorious dance with him. The world fell away. She forgot about his gear, about the cool air of the ice drifting down the tunnel—she was plenty warm in his arms anyway. She forgot all about the publicness of their position.
And she wouldn’t care anyway.
Because the team was part of their love story.
And anyway, Ethan was the only thing she could process.
His body, hard. His touch, gentle. His ability to melt the very marrow of her bones, vast.
His kiss, marking the beginning of their happy ending.
His hand slipped from her cheek to skate along her jaw, to drift up into her hair, fingers tangling in the curls, and he kept his mouth on hers, kissing her until she was a bundled ball of nerves, desperate for more.
He nipped her bottom lip, kissed her deeper, hauled her closer.
She moaned, nipped him back, and murmured, “I love you.”
He froze and for one instant, the kiss got somehow even hotter. Their bodies coming even closer together, her hands gripping his shoulders, his drifting down to cup her ass, but then as things were just getting really good . . .
He pulled back.
With a wince.
Horror and embarrassment flooded through her. Oh God, she’d . . . done something. Hurt him somehow. Shit. He’d taken a puck to the ribs during the game.
She must have hit it.
She jumped back, flinching when his fingers caught on her hair for a heartbeat. “I’m so sorry,” she said, fumbling with the words, her hands wringing in front of her as she stood in that cool tunnel.
Ethan took her hands. “You’re sorry for giving me the hottest kiss of my life? For returning my love? For making me the happiest I’ve ever been?”
Well, put it that way.
She was sucked into the thunderstorm of his eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I love you, you ridiculous woman.” He straightened, a slow breath slipping out of his lips. “But what could possibly make you think I was hurting?”
“I saw you wince.”
Now a smile teased the edges of his mouth. “I don’t suppose you noticed that I’m still half-dressed.”
Dani blinked at the humor of his tone. “Um, yes, I did notice that.”
“Well”—hint of pink tinged his cheeks—“there’s not really a delicate way to say this except to confide in you that an erection in a cup isn’t exactly conducive to comfort . . . or blood flow.”
Formal words that took her a moment to process.
Then when they did . . . her mouth dropped open, and her gaze . . . well, it dropped south, arrowing in on the region covered by hockey pants and the aforementioned cup. “You’re hard right now?”
He groaned, put a finger under her chin, tilting it back up. “Not helping, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ve got to go back into that locker room, and I can’t be swinging my hard dick around.”
“But I like seeing you swing it around. I especially liked it when you—”
“Not cool, Dani,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her mouth, though his eyes sparked with humor. “I’m trying to not have a boner, and you’re not helping my problem.”
“I like your—”
“You’re a menace,” he growled.
A blip of pride wove through her.
No one had ever called her that before. “I love you.”
“God.” His breath whispered against her mouth. “I love it when you smile like that.”
“Like what?”
“Heat on the edges, sweet in the center.” He groaned again. “One more, and then I promise I’ll shower before I take you back to the hotel room and show you how good I can swing my cock around.”
“We’re hopping on the plane after this.”
“Fuck.” A pause, dancing storm cloud eyes on hers. “Mile high club?”
She burst out laughing. “I can barely fit into the bathroom, let alone both of us.”
A grin, a brush of his thumb. “I think we can do anything we put our minds to.”
She nipped that thumb. “Even loving a stubborn, shy woman?”
“Especially loving a shy, stubborn, wonderful woman,” he said. “Now, give me my one more.”
Before she could agree to that sentiment—and for the record, she would have wholeheartedly agreed—but before she could tell him yes, before she could just flat out kiss him again, his lips were on hers, his tongue in her mouth. Both hands went to her ass, lifting her against him, narrowing the distance so he didn’t have to bend so far, their height difference dramatic with him in his skates.
And . . . then she stopped thinking about the movements and height difference and slipped back into strictly feeling, soaking into the sensations his kisses evoked. The prickles of his beard on her skin, the slight tickle of it brushing along the underside of her nose. Desire licking along the underside of her skin, burning along the edges of her nerves.
“Fuck,” he gasped, breaking away so quickly that she wobbled on her feet, might very well have toppled over if not for him catching her shoulders and righting her.
“Yes,” she murmured.
He smiled. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, we can try for the Mile High Club.”
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Ethan burst out laughing, bending at the waist, coaxing laughter out of her until her cheeks hurt.
Until that happy ending was a living, breathing thing within her.
He tugged one of her unruly curls, smiled that special smile just for her. “You just try and get rid of me.”
Her breath caught, and she almost launched herself right back into his arms, the temptation to taste him, to hold on to this lovely, buoyant, confident feeling so strong that she didn’t want to chance not feeling it again.
But then Brit came around the corner, Fanny at her shoulder, and both women took in Dani’s closeness to Ethan, his hand still on her shoulder, both of them flushed, their lips kiss swollen. In an instant, Brit grinned and clapped her hands together. Fanny smiled, nodding approvingly.
And knowing this was going to be fodder for the gossip train—and not giving a damn—she found herself turning toward Ethan, tugging his head down, and kissing him with every bit of joy and love she felt.
Then she pulled away, loving the red staining his cheeks, the dazed look in his eyes. His fingers were tight on her hips, his lips glistening from their kiss. She nudged him back, stepped away. “I’ll see you on the plane.”
And then she walked past Brit, knowing she was wearing a cat-ate-the-canary grin, and not giving a damn.
“He’s mine,” she announced, patting the goalie’s shoulder. “My bearded, sexy man.”
“Hear, hear,” Brit said.
There was no reason to deny it, not when it was in her heart, her soul, not when there weren’t any secrets with the team, with her family.
Her love for Ethan was forever.
Epilogue
Part One
Ethan, Six Months Later
He was being stared down by three gorgeous women with amber and russet eyes.
“What makes you think that you could possibly be good enough for my Dani?”
“I’m not,” he admitted, picking up his glass of water and wishing that when he’d met Dani’s mom and sisters, it hadn’t been on a night when he needed to stick with the diet plan.
Because fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a beer.
“Mama, stop,” Dani said, sweeping into the room with a big platter of food. She set it on the coffee table then came over to perch on the arm of Ethan’s chair. “I love Ethan, and he loves me, so stop doing the whole scary parent thing.”
He covered her knee. “I don’t think she’s doing the scary parent thing. I think she embodies the whole parent thing.”
Dani sighed.
Belle, her mother, smiled. Barely, just the corners of her lips turning up. “You’ll do, Ethan. I think you’ll just do.” He relaxed marginally, and the smile flattened. “For now.”
Dani sighed again. “Loni, can you please talk some sense into Mom?”
“Nope.” She reached for the platter of cheese and bread and started scarfing both down in rapid succession. “Mom gets to be Scary Mom for all first boyfriend interactions.” Loni glanced at him, winked. “But don’t worry, she calms down after a while.”
Toni was in the midst of filling another plate, though she passed it to her mother, then did the same for Dani and Ethan.
It contained all sorts of things he couldn’t eat, but he smiled his thanks anyway.
“For the record, my mother never calms down,” Toni said, once she’d made up her own plate.
Dani sighed for a third time.
He chuckled.
She swatted him. “Don’t encourage them.”
Setting their plates on the table, he tugged her off the arm of the chair, brought her close. “They remind me of you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “So, I’ll always encourage them.” A beat. “And you.” Grabbing her plate again, he held it for her. “Now eat,” he ordered.
“Ethan.”
He lifted the plate. “Food.”
“I’m not.”
“Food.”
“I’m—”
“Will you just eat the fucking piece of cheese?” Loni burst out.
“Language!” Belle scolded.
But Ethan didn’t give a shit about language. He’d gotten fed up with the orders and the plate and the cheese. He swapped their positions, dropped her into the chair, and knelt at her feet, tossing the aforementioned cheese onto the table.
That was when she finally noticed it, her eyes going wide, her mouth parting on a gasp. “Is that—?”
That being the diamond ring Toni had done him a solid by hiding.
“Dani,” he murmured. “I love you”—he glanced behind him—“and your family—”
“You haven’t met my dad yet—”
“He has, baby,” Belle said. “He’s met all of us. And Daddy approves.”
Dani sucked in a breath, her eyes wide.
“I—” He froze, all the pretty words he’d had planned in his brain drifting off into nothing, leaving him with a fuzzy tongue and a desperation to hear this woman say yes. “I love you—”
“You said that already,” Loni grumbled.
“Shh!” Toni whisper yelled.
Dani lifted a brow. “You seriously volunteered to include them in this?”
“They’re your family,” he said. “Our family, and I want us to—want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“I have you,” she murmured. “Which means I already have it.”
Fuck, he loved her.
“Dani Eastbrooke, will you—”
“Yes, she will!” Loni burst in. “Now kiss her already so we can have more cheese.”
“Loni Eastbrook, you will be the death of me,” Belle began.
“God, seriously, I wonder if you were adopted,” Toni muttered. “You’re ruining a perfectly happy and romantic—”
Ethan tuned them out. “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”
She slipped out of the chair, knelt with him. “You sure you want to be part of that mess?” A nod over his shoulder, where the voices were rising in volume.
“I can’t wait to be part of that mess.”
Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Then, yes, baby. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Then with a conversation—no, an argument about the proper merits of really good cheese happening in the background, the voices increasing in volume, he slid the ring on her fourth finger.
And then he kissed her to the sound of a debate over ranch vs. blue cheese.
A glimpse of his happy ending.
And a damned perfect one at that.
Epilogue
Part Two
Fanny
She glanced down at the text from Dani, the picture of the gleaming diamond ring on her finger, and smiled.
Yeah, Dani was one of the good ones, and she deserved the good that Ethan brought into her life.
She typed out an enthusiastic response then set her cell on the counter and blinked rapidly. She’d had that once. The diamond ring, the loving fiancé, the wonderful, joyous hope of a future.
But it had all been taken away.
As she’d tried on wedding dresses.
“Fate can be a real bitch sometimes,” she muttered, going to the cabinet and retrieving a glass—a big glass—because she was most definitely happy for her friend, because she wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted everyone else to be miserable just because her happy ending hadn’t worked out.
Shit happened.
Unfortunately, a heap of that shit of life had landed on her shoulders.
She opened the fridge, pulled out the stopper on her bottle of wine, and then poured a generous splash into her glass.
And then remembering the diamond ring that had once sat on her own finger, she poured another long splash.
“Come on, Fan,” she murmured. “You’re going to change into pajamas, put on a face mask, and watch the Saw franchise until you forget all about failed romances and remember that you have a very fulfilling life.”
She paused, considered that.
Then nodded once,
proud of her very sound plan.
Bringing her wine with her, since it was the first step of necessary oblivion, she made her way upstairs and into her bedroom, slipping into pajamas even though it was barely five in the evening.
“Plan, Douglas,” she muttered. “Stick with the plan.”
Right.
Wine. Check. Pajamas. Check. Mask. Next on the agenda.
She reached for the very expensive jar, washed her face, smeared on the cream, and then she belted on her robe, grabbed her glass, and headed back downstairs, plugging a food order into her cell for the fattiest, greasiest carb load she could find.
In forty-five minutes, she was going to be at a great place.
Nearing a heart attack.
But all the happier for it.
“Movie,” she whispered, cueing it up as she popped some popcorn—because if she was going for greasy and fatty, she needed that, too.
Pretty soon, she was on the couch, the slasher flick rolling, buttery fingers gripping her wine and feeling so much better for it. There was no thought of unhappy endings, no heartbreak and pain.
Just actors on a screen playing a part.
And a nice buzz floating through her brain.
She wouldn’t think about the past, about Brandon—
The doorbell rang, just in the nick of time.
She paused the movie before jumping up and hurrying down the hall, her memories chasing her like the hounds of hell. The food was early, thankfully, would take her mind further off everything that had happened.
Flicking the lock, she turned the handle, pulled open the door, expecting to see a delivery person with a bag in hand.
Instead, she saw . . .
She blinked.
Impossible.
The wine had gone to her head, because he could not be on her porch. She was hallucinating. The alcohol content of the pinot noir was higher than she’d expected. This was food, that was all—
“Brandon?” she whispered.
The figment of her imagination stepped forward, the shadows disappearing from his face.