But that didn't stop her from stepping toward him, moving closer until she stood an inch away. Emotion swirled in the brown-gold of his eyes, but she had no idea what the emotion was.
Part of her didn't want to know.
The air thickened around them, becoming heavier, almost oppressive. Alyssa took a deep breath and wondered why she felt frozen to the spot. She wanted to move, needed to move.
But did she want to move away from him? Or move closer? Some deep-seated survival instinct told her to move away, warned her that moving closer would push her over some unseen emotional line. And she knew, without a doubt, that if she crossed that invisible line, there would be no turning back, that she would forever be hopelessly lost.
But it was too late. It had been too late even before now.
She was drawn in by the look in Randy's eyes, by the searing heat and unknown swirl of emotions. He raised his hand, slowly, as if any movement might scare her. But she didn't move, and his hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her lower lip.
"I'm sorry." He repeated the words, his voice so soft it was less than a whisper. Then he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers, the touch feather light, cautious.
The kiss hurled Alyssa over the edge.
She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck as his tongue plunged into her mouth. She pressed her body against his, trying to get closer, needing to get closer. His arms closed around her, his hands molding the curves of her bottom, pressing her against the hardness of his erection. She wanted him—needed him—now. All of him.
She dragged her hands across his shoulders and down his sides, feeling hard muscle twitch beneath her touch, feeling flesh heat under her hands. Her fingers snagged the waistband of his shorts and dragged them down, down past his hips until his erection sprung free between them. She wrapped her hand around his hard length and stroked him. His breathing grew harsh and he groaned, the sound lost in the frenzied mating of their tongues.
Alyssa dragged her mouth from his, dropping kisses along his jaw, his throat, down to his chest and lower. She dropped to her knees and pushed his shorts down to his ankles. He kicked them free of his feet as she ran her hands up his strong calves, his steely thighs. She looked up at him through half-lowered lids, saw the heat flare in his eyes just before she closed her mouth around him.
His hips bucked and his hands fisted in her hair, holding her more tightly against him as she sucked and licked. She ran her hands along the inside of his thighs, lightly scraping her short nails across the sensitive skin. Randy's harsh breathing echoed around them, filling her with a sense of power, primal and exciting.
She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, licking the bead of moisture before closing her mouth more fully around his hard length. His hands tightened in her hair as he pumped himself into her mouth. He stopped suddenly, holding himself still, then pulled away with a low growl as he reached down for her.
"I need you." His mouth crushed hers, his tongue delving into the recesses of her mouth as his hands tore at her clothing, tossing each piece into a careless pile until nothing separated them and they stood together, skin against skin.
"I need you, Alyssa. Now." His hands tightened around her waist and he lifted her, his cock teasing her damp opening. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed herself closer, waiting to feel the heaviness of his erection fill her. He pushed against her then stopped with a low growl.
"Fuck. Condom." He shifted and lifted her in his arms, moving so swiftly that she grabbed his shoulders, afraid he'd drop her. The world spun, tilting and dipping as he carried her upstairs to his room and gently placed her in the middle of the bed. His mouth closed over hers once more, the kiss long and searing before he moved away and reached into the nightstand. His movements were rushed, jerky, as he tore open the wrapper and quickly sheathed himself.
Then he was on top of her, settling between her legs with a comforting weight as he drove into her. Alyssa's breath tore from her lungs and her head dropped back as sensation swamped her. He drove into her again, hard, fast. Demanding. Possessing.
"I need you, Alyssa. God, I'm sorry, so sorry."
She shook her head and pressed her fingers against his mouth, silencing him. Her hips thrust upward, meeting each frantic drive. Heat rushed through her, tightening, swirling, driving everything else away except the feeling of Randy, deep inside her.
He drove into her, again and again, each thrust harder, faster, deeper. She wrapped her legs high around his waist and dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding on as she crashed head-first over the edge. She called his name, felt his mouth on hers, felt his arms tighten around her as he shuddered his own release.
And she imagined him crashing over the ledge with her, his hold protective, reassuring, as they fell together.
Chapter Twenty-Two
What the fuck was he doing?
Randy stared at the slowly turning blades of the ceiling fan, searching for answers he was afraid to find. Shadows stretched across the room, cloaking them in artificial twilight. He ran a hand across his face, feeling the rasp of stubble scratch his palm. He should get up. Grab something to eat, get dressed, go out. Something.
He turned to the side and propped his head in his hand, watching the gentle rise and fall of Alyssa's chest. Her lashes formed dark crescents under her closed eyes, but he knew there were shadows there, too. Shadows of worry, of doubt, of concern.
What the fuck was he doing?
He had no business being with her. It didn't matter how he felt, how she made him feel. With her, everything else seemed to fade into the background. But that didn't change things. He was an ass, and he had completely fucked up everything.
So why had he allowed her into his condo? Why had he touched her? No, not just touched. He had used her. Hard. And not just once. It was like he couldn't get enough of her, like he was addicted, and he didn't know why.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, catching the faintest hint of her essence. Something soft, warm, spicy. Uniquely Alyssa. And he knew he was a liar. He knew damn well why he was with her, why he was addicted to her.
With her, he was someone different. With her, he could be himself and not worry about anything else. She brought him a peace of mind, a quiet reassurance that maybe he wasn't as screwed up as he sometimes worried.
Which was more than enough to convince him that he really had fucked up. He was hard-headed and temperamental, two traits that had finally caught up with him. The fact that he had nearly gotten his sister arrested was proof of that. Never mind the fact that he had pretty much ruined his own career. But it was nothing less than what he deserved, nothing more than his recklessness catching up to him.
So what the exact fuck was he doing? He didn't deserve to have Alyssa in his bed, or anywhere else for that matter.
But he didn't want her to leave.
He looked over his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the nightstand, frowning at the niggling sense of wrongness. He squeezed his eyes shut then reopened them, looking at the clock once more, wondering if he was seeing things.
"Shit." He muttered the word then rolled back over, knowing he had to wake Alyssa. Only he didn't, because she was already awake, resting on her side and watching him with those clear whiskey-colored eyes. The corners of her full mouth tilted into a small smile when his eyes met hers.
"Hey." Her voice was soft with sleep, warm and comforting.
"Hey." He tried to smile but didn't think the attempt was successful. He was watched her for a few seconds, fighting the urge to run his hand along the smooth curve of her bare shoulder. "I think you're late for work."
Something flashed in her eyes, gone before he could decipher it. But she didn't get up, didn't turn her head to see the clock. Her only move was to reach out with her hand and place it gently against his chest. The touch was delicate, her fingers were warm and gentle.
"I'm not working tonight."
It
took him a few seconds to process the words, and then he wasn't quite sure how to respond. She had taken off work? Why? He knew for a fact that she had worked every night without a break, so focused on making a success of the restaurant that everything else had been secondary.
So why was tonight different?
Randy pushed away the small burst of excitement, telling himself not to read anything into it. He was sure there was a good reason she wasn't working tonight. Just like he was damn sure that reason wasn't him.
"Oh. I, uh, I guess you have somewhere you need to be, then." He inwardly winced as soon as the words left his mouth. For someone who was so convinced he had completely fucked up, he wasn't doing a very good job of feigning indifference.
"You're right, I do."
He swallowed back his disappointment, calling himself an ass. But Alyssa just smiled and moved closer, trailing her hand down his chest and lower.
"I took off work so I could come here."
Warmth flooded his chest and he told himself to stop hoping, to not read anything into it. She had come here to talk to him, nothing else. She had come here because Val was worried about him. It didn't matter that they were in bed now, it had just happened. Randy couldn't allow himself to read anything into it.
But Alyssa leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, seeking, giving. Hope, and something else, flooded through him at her touch. His arms closed around her and he pulled her on top of him, wondering if maybe he had been wrong.
Maybe he hadn't completely fucked things up like he thought.
**
Randy raced across the ice, his legs stretching, burning. He leaned forward, sweeping the blade of the stick left and right, making one final surge before digging the puck from the other player. Randy swung his stick behind him, sending the puck flying away from the net and back toward center ice. He sucked in air and hurried back to the bench, diving over it as the line changed.
The crowd roared around them, filling the arena. Randy paid them little attention, his gaze moving over to the coach as he reached for a water bottle. Sonny's eyes met his, flat and expressionless, before moving back to the ice.
"Shit." Randy muttered under his breath then shot a stream of water into his mouth, swishing it around for a few seconds before spitting it out. He dropped to the bench, his stick held loosely between his legs, and watched the final seconds of the period tick away.
The horn sounded, loud and long, signaling the end of the second period. Randy looked up at the jumbo screen suspended at center ice, reading the score. Tied, 2 to 2.
Not good enough. Not when he should have been the one to stop the other team's last shot.
Randy stood and moved toward the locker room with the other players, ignoring the jeers and cheers from the crowd as they passed into the hallway. Dammit, what the hell was wrong with him? His game was off tonight, choppy and inconsistent, and he didn't know why.
He told himself it had nothing to do with the call from his agent this afternoon. Not a damn thing. No, being told his agent was shopping around for a trade, looking for another team to take him either now or at the end of the year had no effect on his play whatsoever.
Which was a complete lie, of course. Randy threw off his gloves and pulled off his helmet, placing the gear on the bench before sitting down. Sounds of grunts and soft swearing were broken only by the sounds of assorted gear being removed and hitting the floor. That would change in a few minutes, as soon as Sonny and the rest of the coaching team made it back to the locker room.
Randy knew what was coming: a loud, drawn-out dressing down, followed by Sonny's version of a pep talk, a reverse-psychology rant meant to get them fired up for the third period.
Sonny lived up to expectations, delivering a loud rant peppered with colorful language. Randy only listened with one ear, his mind preoccupied with the afternoon's conversation.
He went through the motions, shouting with the others, gathering his gear and shrugging back into it, reaching in for the final cheer. But his mind was still elsewhere, his thoughts scattered and disjointed as everyone lined up to head back out to the ice.
"Michaels. Get your ass over here." Sonny's loud voice boomed in the nearly empty corridor. Randy groaned and stumbled to a halt, then closed the distance to the coach, his gait awkward in the skates. Sonny's steely eyes were flat, the scar that slashed across his face pale.
"What's this I hear you're not happy with us, Michaels?"
Randy shook his head, not sure quite what to say, afraid that maybe his agent hadn't quite told him everything. Fuck. Was there already a plan to trade him? "Coach?"
"You like playing for the Banners, Michaels?"
"Yes, Coach." How could Sonny even ask him that? This was his town, where he grew up, where he belonged. His first four years playing hockey had been with another team, and he had fought, hard, to get back here. He didn't want to leave now. Bile rumbled in his gut at the thought of leaving.
"Then prove it. I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but I want to see the player I used to know back out on that ice. I don't give a flying fuck what rumors are going around. You're one of my best defensemen. Show me you still got it. Show me you want to stay here." Sonny's voice never changed inflection, remaining quiet and level during the long speech. But his scar flared red, a clear indication of his anger and emotion. His gray eyes remained steady on Randy's for a few long seconds before he nodded, the movement quick and precise, then he walked away.
Randy stared after him, his breathing not quite steady, the beat of his heart heavy in his chest. Did he still have it? Damn straight he did. Now he just had to prove it.
And prove it he would.
His hand flexed around the stick, hard and sure, as determination surged through him. Bullshit. He wasn't going anywhere, he didn't give a rat's ass what his agent said. This was his home, his team. Now it was time to fight, to prove to his agent and to team management that he wasn't a liability.
Randy took one last deep breath and headed out to the ice, fire racing through him. He may have fucked up the last few months, but no longer. If he had to prove himself again, he would.
But he was done feeling sorry for himself, done with just letting things happen. It was time to take charge, and he'd be damned if he let anything get in his way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"When was the last time you saw Randy?"
Alyssa groaned and wondered how long she could pretend she didn't hear the question. She kept her eye on the grill, focusing on the cooking meat, the spatula held loosely in her right hand.
"Don't pretend you didn't hear me. I know you better than that." Val's voice was suddenly right behind her and Alyssa jumped, startled. When had her friend become so quiet? Usually she could hear Val approach.
"I heard you. I'm just choosing to ignore you."
Val moved to the side and leaned against the counter, her arms crossed in front of her, her long hair gathered into a tight pony tail secured at her neck. Even from the corner of her eye, Alyssa could see the stubborn tilt of her chin and the steady gaze of her stare. Val was in a mood, had been for the last week. Alyssa just didn't know what kind of mood, and part of her was afraid to find out.
It didn't help that they were the only two in the kitchen. It was too early for staff to be here yet, which was perfect for Alyssa because it gave her a chance to work on ideas for new dishes for the winter months. Too bad it also gave Val a chance to talk to her without anyone bothering them.
Alyssa moved to the stove to check the water, then tossed in a handful of pasta before grabbing a fresh head of broccoli. She moved to the counter and quickly cut it, her hands moving with a natural rhythm born from practice. She grabbed a few handfuls and tossed them into the steamer, then moved back to the grill and flipped the chicken.
"What are you making?"
"An alfredo dish, nothing special."
"Hm." Val moved closer and inspected the thick sauce, then reached for a spoon to ta
ke a taste. Her brows lowered in thought, then she nodded, a small smile on her face. "I like the sauce. Has a little zing to it."
"I added some sundried tomato and a little dried pasilla. It isn't too spicy, is it?"
"Nope. Just right." Val tossed the spoon into the sink then came back to the counter and resumed her leaning stance, her eyes steady as she watched Alyssa. "So, when's the last time you saw Randy?"
Alyssa sighed, knowing her friend wouldn't give up until she got an answer. She flipped the chicken onto a plate and moved to the counter before grabbing another knife. Too bad the sight of the large, sharp blade didn't intimidate Val.
"About a month ago." Alyssa's jaw clenched with the answer, and she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Grinding her back teeth to nubs wasn't going to help anything.
"When you went to talk to him for me?"
When I foolishly slept with him. Again. Alyssa took another deep breath. "Yup, that would be when."
"Has he called you at all?"
"No. But he's been busy." At least that's what Alyssa kept telling herself. And she knew it was partly true. Hockey season was underway, and she knew the schedule was crazy—because she had been trying to keep up with it, trying to at least see some of the highlights on the late news, or read or watch the game recaps online. But still, as far as excuses went, it was pretty lame.
She tried telling herself she had nobody to blame but herself. What had she expected? That another night in his arms, in his bed, would change things? They had sex. Great sex. But six months of great sex did not a relationship make.
Silly of her to think otherwise. Foolish of her to have believed Val when she said that Randy liked her. Alyssa was sure he did. Just not enough for a relationship. She had nobody to blame but herself for falling for him, not when she knew this would happen.
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