“I know you’re pretty up on the hockey world, but how much do you know about Tacker’s background?” he asks.
It’s true, I know my hockey. When Lance got drafted, I was so incredibly happy and proud I immersed myself in it. I knew not only the deep stats on his team, but also on the Vipers’ biggest rivals. I was aware of a dangerous amount about many of the other teams, including the league’s leading players. Obviously, I was a Vipers fan first and foremost because of Lance, but wherever Dax played, that was my second favorite team. As such, I knew about Tacker’s history since he was their best player.
“Little over a year ago, he was in a plane crash. He was piloting, and there was a mechanical issue. The plane crashed, and his fiancée was killed. He was injured and missed the rest of last year’s hockey season. Didn’t get protection in the expansion draft by the Mustangs, and the Vengeance picked him up. He’s been having a wonderful season so far this year. Seems to be playing at his peak.”
Dax’s eyebrows rise, and he smiles in appreciation of my knowledge. “Not bad but also not that surprising. You do love this game.”
“Lance gave me that.”
“Yeah,” he agrees softly as he swirls amber liquid in his glass. He raises it to his mouth, takes a large swallow, and empties it. Shifting to lean on the edge of the couch, he pours another glass from the decanter I’d left opened on the coffee table. “What you don’t know is Tacker hasn’t been doing well emotionally. He’s been shut off from the rest of the team. He’s hard to engage off the ice. He’ll show moments where you think—okay, this guy is going to be okay—then he pulls away again.”
“Sounds like he’s depressed,” I offer.
Dax nods. “I’m sure of it. And you saw that fight he got in at the end of November?”
“Against the L.A. Demons. Kneed Lars Nilsson in the head. He got suspended for—I can’t remember how many games.”
“Ten,” Dax says, then takes another long swallow of the liquor. I take a larger sip to match him, enjoying the burn and the way he’s talking to me. Like I’m a confidant he needs to unload on. If drinking bourbon is the way to do it, so be it. It gives me back a little of what I lost with my brother.
“At any rate, it’s like he’s been a ticking time bomb,” Dax murmurs, choosing to stay perched on the edge of the couch. “I’ve been afraid something bad was going to happen. I pulled into the player’s lot tonight just a few minutes after he drove his truck into the barrier.”
“How badly was he hurt?” I ask.
“He was conscious with a few cuts and scrapes to his head. I think his arm or wrist was hurt, but past that… we just don’t know. His refusing to see us wasn’t all that surprising. He’s such a loner.”
We’re silent for a moment. To fill the void, I kick my glass back and finish my drink. Dax doesn’t say a word as I scoot to the edge of the couch to pour another.
“So is he… suicidal?” I ask hesitantly, then angle my body to face Dax. Between the last two drinks we poured for ourselves, we’d managed to both move closer to the center of the couch, but there’s still a good foot separating us. I’d think nothing of it normally because Dax is like my brother.
Except a lot of the time, my feelings about him aren’t sisterly.
“I don’t know,” Dax admits before taking another long pull. I take a sip as well. “I mean… yeah, he drove his truck into that barricade, but I’ve just never gotten that vibe from him. I mean… maybe. Fuck… I don’t know.”
And with that, he finishes his second drink. I tip my glass back. While I had not poured as much into my second, it still takes me two swallows to down it.
Dax lifts the bottle, giving me a questioning look. With a nod, I hold my glass out.
When we both have fresh drinks, Dax settles into the couch and I do the same, tucking my legs under me. I change the subject because Tacker’s not going anywhere. Besides, there are no answers to the million questions right now.
“How are you liking the rest of the team? It seems you’re all gelling really well on the ice.”
Dax smiles, his eyes lighting up. And then he starts to talk.
I get to hear about his closest buddies here. Bishop became recently engaged to Brooke—who is Coach Perron’s daughter—after pulling off a fake engagement because Coach had caught them in a compromising position. Playboy Erik falling for a woman named Blue he’d had an “encounter” with five years prior but didn’t remember. Now that he’s fallen hard for Blue, Dax predicts that even though they aren’t engaged, they’ll get married before Bishop and Brooke.
Most interesting is what’s been going on with the Vengeance star goalie, Legend Bay. Apparently, he came home about six weeks ago and found a newborn baby on his front porch, along with a note from the baby’s mother. I actually know Legend as he played one season with the Vipers, and I’m having a tough time seeing him as a father. According to Dax, though, he’s taken to fatherhood and is over the moon about his new baby daughter Charlie.
We have another drink while he tells me all about Legend’s crazy story.
“So has Legend heard anything more from the birth mother?” I ask.
He nods. “She’s popped up a few times, demanding to see Charlie. But Legend is going to make her go through the proper channels. I think he’s open to visitation, but no way is he going to give up custody now.”
“That’s so sweet. It sounds like he’s found a really good woman along the way,” I murmur. Dax also filled me in about Legend’s neighbor, Pepper, who he seems to have fallen for. I look at my glass, frowning when I see it’s empty. “Look at that. I’m dry.”
Dax chuckles before finishing his drink. “Another?”
“Sure, why not?” I say, even though I’m well on my way to getting drunk. Right now, I’m highly buzzed and feeling good. Pretty sure Dax is, too, as evidenced by the goofy grin on his face as he pours us another drink.
We hold our glasses up and clank them a little too hard, causing some of my alcohol to slosh out. Giggling, I say, “Oops.”
“My bad,” he replies with a laugh.
After we both take a drink, I can’t help but tease him. “All the Vengeance boys are falling. Bishop, Erik, then Legend. And—”
“And here I am a married man now,” Dax says with a grin, holding his glass up to me. “To my wife.”
I snicker and tap my glass against his again, this time with care so I don’t waste any precious liquid. We each take another sip. I’m beyond the liquor warming my belly. Now it just goes down super smooth.
A thought strikes me. “How awkward was our wedding yesterday?”
Laughing, Dax shakes his head. “Poor Anita. I don’t think she knew what to do with us.”
That cracks me up, and I start giggling. “She was sort of clueless.”
“Poor woman,” he adds in between laughs. “I bet she’s never had a couple as unenthusiastic as us when it came to getting married.”
“You totally shocked her with that grandma kiss you gave me,” I say with a snort.
“I know,” he agrees. “She totally called us out, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“She was like, ‘Oh hell no… you kiss that girl again and you make it good’.”
“That woman completely egged us on.”
I have to hold onto my glass with both hands I’m laughing so hard now. Dax is as equally as cracked up, but he pauses to take another sip of his drink. He swallows, letting loose a low chuckle. “It was a good kiss, though. Right?”
My laughter dies as my face flushes at the memory of that kiss. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss I’d ever had in my entire life. I can’t figure out if it’s because I just don’t have much experience, or because I’m insanely attracted to Dax. Perhaps it’s because I’ve known him my whole life, and I love him.
In a sisterly way, I mean.
“Shit… it was a bad kiss, wasn’t it?” Dax blurts out, apparently not happy with how long I’m taking to answer.
Blushing furiously, I
hold a hand up. “No. It was good.”
His eyes light up, the expression on his face turning sly. “Yeah? Just how good?”
“Good,” is all I’m willing to admit, despite my face still feeling incredibly warm because I’m afraid he sees through my vague words.
“Admit it,” he teases, scooting closer on the couch. He takes my drink from my hand, then sets them both on the table.” It was fantastic, wasn’t it?”
I sniff with an air of aloofness, my head now swimming with the fact we’re actually talking about the kiss that so thoroughly rocked my world. “I’ll do no such thing.”
“You will,” he promises, and the ominous tone causes a shiver to run up my spine.
“I won’t,” I maintain, lifting my chin in the air.
Dax lurches toward me. Before I know it, I’m flat on my back on the couch. He’s on top of me, straddling me, his fingers at my ribs, tickling me mercilessly.
“Admit it,” he says as he laughs and tickles the hell out of me.
Laughing, I squirm and claw at his hands, shrieking, “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
And then, he’s not tickling me. He pins my hands against the leather cushions above my head. My chest is rising and falling, and Dax’s smile is starting to fade.
We stare at each other for a long moment before he finally says, “If you won’t admit it, maybe your memory needs jogged.”
My lips part, a slight gasp of surprise and longing escaping. When he hears it, he knows what it means.
Bending closer, he kisses me.
CHAPTER 7
Dax
I am not buzzed enough to even blame this on the consumption of alcohol, fatigue from the game, or worry over Tacker. In my conscience, I know this is so very fucking wrong. Yet, rather than retreat, I squeeze onto her wrists and deepen the kiss.
If Regan would just lie still, try to turn her head away, or even attempt to tug out of my grip, I’d consider stopping.
But she doesn’t.
When my tongue touches hers, she moans, and it’s not a shy or hesitant sound. It’s a fucking invitation, and there’s just enough alcohol in my system I won’t deny her.
I drop my body on hers, settling right in against the vee of her legs, and there’s no hiding my erection. She wiggles under me—rubs and grinds against my cock—and fuck…that just went from zero to sixty in nothing flat. It’s enough that doubt takes hold, and I break the kiss to look at her.
“Don’t stop, Dax,” she orders breathlessly. “You just grab whatever misguided sense of moral duty that’s flitting around that head of yours and get rid of it.”
As if to make sure I don’t misconstrue what she’s saying, she lifts her hips to press herself to me. Groaning, I lower my face—not to kiss her again, but to press my forehead against hers. Trying to clear my head, I squeeze my eyes shut. I can feel Regan trembling under me, our chests rising and falling because we’re both restless with lust, need, and alcohol.
“Lance would kill me right now if he were here,” I murmur so she knows exactly what my hesitation is. “You’re his little sister. He’d want me to protect you.”
I’m stunned when Regan pulls free of my grasp, puts her hands to my chest, and shoves to get me off her. When I roll toward the back of the couch, she slides out from under me. My dick is aching in protest at the loss of her heat. More than that, I feel a hollow pain in the center of my chest.
Regan rolls off the couch, staring at me with hard eyes. “Lance isn’t here, and I have to believe that wherever he is, he’s in a place where he wouldn’t judge. Now, I know this marriage is fake and I went along with it because you’re right… it’s the best way to save my life right now. But I’m not going to pretend there isn’t an attraction between us. You can look at me like a little sister if you want—can war with your conscience until the cows come home for all I care—but I’ve learned one thing in the last few years. Life is too short to pass up opportunities, and I’m not going to feel guilty for being attracted to you. So if you want to take advantage of the situation that has presented itself tonight—granted, due to alcohol that’s loosened some inhibitions—then I suggest you kiss me again. If not, I suggest a cold shower.”
I push off the couch slowly, my lips curving up in an almost predatory smile. “Quite a little speech you just gave there, Mrs. Monahan.”
Regan flushes, perhaps at the blunt reminder that no matter the complicated circumstances, she’s my wife. Under the eyes of the law, it’s totally appropriate for us to have sex. But what really got me—what has me now stalking toward her around the coffee table—was her saying wherever Lance is, he wouldn’t judge. As close as I was to Lance, Regan was closer and knew her brother far better than I ever could. I do believe that, just for tonight, I’m going to believe her.
Just for tonight.
Come tomorrow, there’s going to be a lot of blame on alcohol, but I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, I want her too much to listen to my conscience anymore.
Lengthening my strides, I reach her in two steps. Hands to her face, I slam my mouth onto hers. The minute her arms wind around my neck, my hands go to her ass and I lift her. It’s an intimate, commanding move, and Regan responds by locking her legs tightly around my waist.
I kiss her fervently as I walk to the door off the main living area that houses the master suite. It’s not fully closed so I just push on through and barrel right toward my bed. I manage to crawl up it still holding her, then settle her right underneath me. My mouth moves from hers, across her cheek, and then down her neck. Regan’s delicate fingers slide through my hair. When my hips settle down on hers, she lifts her legs and uses her thighs to hold me tight.
Dragging my mouth over her collarbone to the base of her throat, I start to work at the buttons of her blouse, exposing more and more flesh the farther south I move.
When my lips skate over a lump not far under her collarbone, my eyes spring open. I lift my head so I can see and a round protrusion pushing against her skin alarms me. “What is that, Regan?”
Her own eyes spring open, then she glances at her chest. When she laughs, I feel a slight relief.
“That’s my port-o-cath,” she says. Taking my hand in hers, she presses my fingertips against it. “It’s how I get my Salvistis infusion.”
“Oh,” I say in fascination as I touch it gently. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“So they just stick a needle right in there?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow.”
I run my finger over it again, then dip my head to brush my lips over it. The skin is just as soft there as everywhere else, but with a little bit of hardness. It’s like Regan herself—soft and strong.
But enough of that. I draw my lips down farther, moving past the port in her chest that receives her lifesaving medication. Regan squirms and writhes, murmuring my name like a prayer.
I keep my eyes open, watching carefully, not wanting to miss an inch of her skin. The swell of her breasts, the lace edge of her bra. Things I’ve seen a million times before but never like this.
Never like Regan.
Front catch easily unclasps, and I nudge the edges of her bra aside with my nose. When her fingers tighten in my hair, I drag my tongue up the inside of her breast, across the top, and flick her nipple.
“Dax,” Regan cries, and I suck on her gently.
She bucks under me, so fucking responsive, and my entire body vibrates with the need to be in her.
But come on, Dax. She’s Lance’s goddamn little sister.
Baby sister.
Sister to you.
This is fucked up and gross and not meant to be in a million years.
I lift my head slightly, her nipple popping free of my mouth, and I let my conscience break through the passion. Blinking my eyes several times, I still hesitate. While I understand clearly what I was just trying to tell myself, this does not feel gross or wrong in the slightest.
<
br /> But I should stop. I know I should.
Regan’s fingers slide through my hair, come to the top of my head, and then give me a push. A significant push with one lonely word uttered along with it. “Lower.”
“Christ,” I mutter, my dick now so hard I’m afraid it’s going to rip through my zipper. The thought of me going lower, dragging my mouth over her stomach, my tongue through her sex…
I rear upward, a surge of lust locking me into an unbreakable mission to make Regan come. Scuttling backward, I start deftly undoing the button and zipper of her jeans. I vaguely notice Regan coming to her elbows to watch me jerk the clothing from the lower part of her body. Thank fuck she doesn’t have shoes on because it will be a hell of a lot easier to get her naked.
It’s a mistake to actually glance up at Regan. Her breasts are jutted forward, the cups of her bra having spilled completely open. Her shirt still hooked on her shoulders, cheeks flushed, and eyes sparkling as she watches me intently. I have her panties and jeans an inch or so below her hips, the promised land just about to be revealed to me. The expression on her face is almost daring.
Do it, do it, do it, her eyes seem to tell me.
I fucking do it. Sliding everything off her long legs, baring it all to my hungry eyes, I step from the bed to the floor. I take Regan’s ankles, turn her slightly, and spread her legs wide before I take a good, long look at the beauty in between.
I glance to her face, which is now nothing but wide eyes and teeth nibbling into her lower lip in anticipation. Dropping to my knees, I slide my hands beneath her ass and pull her right into my mouth.
Regan yells my name as my tongue drives right into her, her hips bucking up. I move an arm to cover her belly, pressing her into the mattress, and get to work on eating her pussy like I’ve never eaten a meal in my life.
I feel her fingers in my hair, clutching and gripping. Her hips rotate, trying to get more from me, so I growl, “Hold still.”
Of course, she doesn’t listen, so I maneuver my arms to pin her in place. I use my tongue against her clit, licking and grating against it quickly to drive her up as fast as possible. I want her to come now, and I want it to tear her apart.
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