Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  He wanted her.

  Only he couldn’t have her, not the way he wanted. Shannon wasn’t a one-night stand, even if he had been considering just that not too long ago. But the more he was around her…

  He liked her, dammit. Which meant his former plans had to be scratched. Which meant he had to put all thoughts of her long legs wrapped around him and sturdy curves pressed against him completely out of his mind.

  Yeah, sure. Easier said than done.

  Shannon shifted in front of him, curling her arms in front of her and huddling deeper in her coat to fight off the chill of the night air. “Is there a reason we’re stopped in the middle of the sidewalk?”

  Was there a reason? Caleb gave himself a mental shake. A reason. Yes, there had been a reason. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her there was no reason for her to be embarrassed. He just needed to stop looking at her mouth and thinking—

  He cleared his throat and finally met her gaze. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You said that already.”

  “And I’m repeating it because it’s the truth. The guy was an ass. You pretty much put him in his place.”

  “Yeah. Uh-huh. And made you sound like some sex god in the process.”

  Caleb choked back his laughter and wondered if she had any idea how close her words were to his own thoughts. Not about the sex god part—although yeah, that certainly wouldn’t hurt his reputation—but the sex part.

  Definitely the sex part.

  Only no, she didn’t have a clue. Not about what he was thinking. Not about what she did to him. Not even about how she looked, standing there in her worn denim jeans that hugged every inch of those long legs, her head tilted back and her mouth slightly parted as she watched him with wide brown eyes.

  “I hope you know this is all your fault.”

  He frowned, wondering if he had missed something while his mind was somewhere it shouldn’t be. “What’s my fault?”

  “Everything. But especially this afternoon. If you hadn’t run your mouth during that interview last night, none of this would have happened.”

  “It was taken out of context.”

  Shannon’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Out of context? Oh, please. You were smooth about it but you’re not going to stand there and tell me you didn’t mean every single word you said. You really don’t think we can beat you.”

  “Could you? Maybe. But it’s not a fair game. We’ve been playing a hell of a lot longer. We’ve got more experience—”

  “I’ve been playing for seventeen years. How about you?”

  “I—” Caleb frowned when he realized he’d only been playing two years longer. He shook his head, brushing her question away. “That doesn’t matter. We’ve been together longer as a team. We have more game experience, more practice time, more ice time. It only makes sense to think we’d win against a brand-new team. We have the advantage.”

  “Yeah, okay. If you say so. It’s still your fault. You should have just kept quiet. If you hadn’t let that guy goad you, we wouldn’t have had that awful press conference today and I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself.”

  “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”

  “Yeah, I did.” She uncrossed her arms and poked him in the chest with her finger. “But you were the one responsible for the other night. You and that stupid kiss—”

  “Stupid?”

  “Yeah. Stupid. You just had to show off—”

  Caleb didn’t stop to think, just reached out and pulled her closer and claimed her mouth with his own. It was stupid. A bad idea. A really bad idea.

  But he didn’t care, not when her mouth opened beneath his with a soft gasp. Not when her hands rested on his shoulders as she stepped even closer, fitting her body against his. Hard and soft and warm.

  Caleb cupped the back of her head with one hand and deepened the kiss, swallowing her soft moan. Or maybe the noise had come from him, the sound born from both desire and surprise. It didn’t matter, not when she pressed against him and kissed him back.

  And this…this was so much better than he’d imagined. A hundred times better than that open-mouthed kiss he’d given her the other night in front of eighteen thousand screaming fans. A million times better than that lame ass closed-mouth peck in the parking lot of the diner.

  This…this was hot and wet. This was what he wanted, what he’d hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Carnal desire and need and excitement all rolled into one powerful punch strong enough to bring him to his knees. And when her hips pressed against the length of his erection…yeah, fuck. His knees damn near buckled right then and there.

  He broke the kiss with a silent growl, his breath leaving in a strangled gasp when she looked up at him with eyes glazed with desire. Then she blinked, her tongue darting out and sweeping across the swell of her bottom lip, and he damn near groaned again.

  “I thought we were getting pizza.”

  Pizza? How could she think about pizza right now?

  Caleb cleared his throat and tried to step back, damn near knocked himself out when his head smacked against the brick wall.

  “Pizza. Yeah. Sure.” He rubbed the back of his head, watching the playful smile that curled the edges of her mouth. “We, uh, we could get it to go. I don’t live too far from here—”

  “I told you, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” And shit. Damn. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, hadn’t meant to give her a reason to haul off and slug him or verbally slay him.

  To his surprise, she didn’t do either of those things. And she didn’t give him a withering look or storm off, either. She just stood there, her head tilted to the side as she watched him.

  And watched him some more.

  A slow smile spread across her face and danced in her eyes, one that filled him with both excitement and terror. Maybe he had counted himself lucky too soon, maybe now was when she would haul off and throttle him.

  Except she didn’t. Instead, she reached down and grabbed his hand, tugging until he had no choice but to follow her.

  “I actually think getting take-out is a great idea.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You don’t like losing, do you?”

  Caleb raised one brow and pinned her with a disbelieving expression that silently asked if she was crazy. “Does anyone like losing?”

  Shannon shrugged, a smile teasing her mouth. “Probably not, no. But some people handle it better than others.”

  She shifted on the sofa, stretching her long legs and crossing them at the ankles before placing her feet back on the coffee table—right next to his. Caleb stared at their feet, both covered in matching white socks. His were large, almost clumsy looking next to her smaller ones. He’d never been into feet, had never even paid that much attention before tonight—until seeing Shannon’s resting so comfortably next to his. He wondered if her toes were crooked like his from being jammed into skates for most of his life, or if any of them had been broken like his. Were her toenails painted at all? Maybe a delicate color, like a pale pink. No, Shannon wouldn’t pick something pale. If her nails were painted, they’d be something bright and colorful and—

  What the hell was he doing, sitting here thinking about whether or not the woman next to him painted her toenails? He needed his fucking head examined. Not just for that, but for this whole night.

  Because this was not what he had planned. Not even close.

  Not that seduction had been on the schedule, not really, but there had always been a tiny hope in the back of his mind. Especially after that kiss. Yeah, definitely after that kiss.

  He sure as hell hadn’t planned on bringing her back to his place and playing video games. But that’s exactly what they’d been doing for the last hour: eating pizza and playing video games.

  And she was kicking his ass while doing it, too.

  She uncrossed her ankles and nudged his foot with her own. “Come on, one more. I’ll even let you win t
his time.”

  Caleb tossed the controller onto the table and shook his head. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Aw, look. You’re pouting.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yeah, you are. Admit it.”

  “I’m not pouting.”

  She playfully elbowed him in the side. “You are. It’s kind of cute, in a weird, immature way.”

  Caleb turned his head to the side, his gaze dropping to her mouth before darting back to her laughing eyes. “Did you just call me cute?”

  Shannon rolled her eyes and looked away, but not before he noticed the flare of interest in their depths. “Oh please, don’t go getting all excited. I also called you immature.”

  “But cute. You definitely said cute.”

  “I didn’t mean it. Lord knows, your ego doesn’t need more feeding. Just forget I said anything.”

  “That’s not feeding my ego. No more than it would be feeding your ego if I said I thought you were cute.”

  Shannon snorted, the sound just a little too loud to be called delicate. Caleb watched the color bloom on her cheeks, noticed how she looked away and fidgeted just the tiniest bit. No, she wasn’t fidgeting—she was easing away from him but trying to be subtle about it. And she didn’t ask him to repeat the compliment or even try to fish for more, like most other women he knew. In fact, she looked uncomfortable, like she wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

  Caleb lowered his legs from the table and shifted sideways on the leather sofa so he was facing her. He draped his arm along the back, let his hand drift down to her shoulder. She stiffened but didn’t move away. She also wouldn’t look at him.

  “You don’t like compliments, do you?” It was a statement, even if he did phrase it as a question. She lowered her gaze to the twisting hands in her lap and shrugged before forcing a laugh.

  “Don’t be an idiot. Everyone likes compliments.”

  “Then why are you blushing and trying to scoot away from me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Liar.” He didn’t say anything else, just sat there and waited for her reaction. She held herself still for a long minute as the silence stretched around them, broken only by the low music coming from the paused video game. Caleb sighed and leaned over for the remote, hitting the button that would turn the entire entertainment center off. Now the room was completely silent, the stillness heavy and absolute.

  He mentally cursed himself for turning the thing off. At least before, there had been that annoying background music instead of this uncomfortable silence. He shifted positions again, his hand once more brushing against her shoulder. Shannon stiffened and for a second, he expected her to jump to her feet and storm out. Instead, she turned and faced him, her eyes narrowed as she watched him.

  “What game are you playing, Caleb?” There was nothing light or playful in the clipped words, or in her expression. This was a different side of Shannon, one he’d never seen before. Quiet. Serious. Untrusting.

  Wary.

  He dropped his hand and moved away, his gaze never leaving hers. “Why are you so convinced I’m playing a game?”

  “Because I’m not your type. And don’t lie and say I am because we both know it’s not true.”

  “You keep saying that. So tell me: what’s my type?”

  Shannon rolled her eyes then looked around the large living room, like she was searching for an answer. She finally sighed and waved one hand, the motion taking in the leather furniture and glass and chrome accents, the large wall of windows and sliding door that led to the balcony, the twinkling lights reflected on the harbor just beyond.

  “Not me, that’s for sure. I mean, look at this place. We’re not in the same league. Hell, we’re not even in the same fucking zip code.”

  Frustration bloomed in his chest, some of it slipping into his voice when he spoke. “Why the hell do you keep saying that?”

  “Because it’s true. I mean, look at you. You’re…you. And me—I live in a studio above my brother’s garage. I’m the one with the lethal strike of a cobra. Even Chuckie said so.”

  Caleb started to laugh and choked it back at the last second, nearly strangling with the effort. “A striking cobra, huh?”

  “It’s not funny!”

  “It’s a little funny—oomph.” He grabbed his side where Shannon had elbowed him then moved back just a little, out of range.

  “It’s not. And that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Okay, you lost me. Hell, this whole conversation has lost me. What are even talking about?”

  She waved her hand between them. “This. You. Me. And…and whatever it is you’re doing. I’m not your type. Not even close.”

  “How do you know what my type even is?”

  “I don’t know but I’m pretty sure it’s not someone who’s just one of the guys—which is what I am.”

  “What the hell ever gave you that idea? Trust me, you are definitely not just one of the guys.”

  “Really?” Disbelief was clearly etched on her face. “How many dates do you bring home for pizza and video games?”

  “I—well, none. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “I rest my case.” She placed her hands on the edge of the sofa, started levering herself up. Caleb grabbed her, the motion throwing her off balance. She toppled back to the sofa and landed in his lap. He released her, just long enough to give her a chance to move if she wanted.

  She didn’t move.

  Caleb breathed a quick sigh of relief then wrapped one arm behind her, his touch light, his grip loose. “Why do you have such a hard time believing that maybe I just like you? That maybe I’m comfortable enough with you to bring you back here and let you kick my ass in video games?”

  Shannon snorted. “Let me? Oh, please. We both know I kicked your ass because I’m better than you.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Now stop avoiding my question.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yeah, you are. Now, why are you so convinced I’m playing games? Why can’t you believe that maybe I actually like you and want to spend time with you?”

  “Why?” Shannon shifted, not enough to move off his lap, but enough to put just a little distance between them. “Because most men tuck their tails between their legs and run off because I intimidate them.”

  “I’m not most men.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re a player.”

  Caleb bit back another sigh then reached up and ran his free hand through the long strands of her hair. Soft, satiny-smooth. Entirely too tempting. He tucked the hair behind her ear and reluctantly dropped his hand before capturing her gaze with his own. “You need to stop listening to Taylor.”

  “Are you saying you’re not?”

  “Am I a saint? No. Never said I was. But that doesn’t mean I’m playing you.”

  “We haven’t even been out on a date.”

  “Wrong. We’ve been out on four.”

  “Four?” Her brows shot up, then quickly narrowed. “Where the hell did you come up with that number?”

  He counted off on his fingers. “The Maypole. The diner. The hockey game. Tonight.”

  “None of those count.”

  “The hell they don’t.”

  “They don’t. They’re not even real dates.”

  “You’re so full of it! They certainly are real dates.”

  “I say they’re not, so they don’t count.”

  Caleb chuckled—not at her words, but at the small pout that played around her mouth and the hint of laughter that danced in her eyes. He reached up, swiped her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, felt her lean a little closer to him. “Then what counts as a real date?”

  She propped one hand on his shoulder and placed the other in the center of his chest. She shifted on his lap and he swallowed a groan at the feel of her tight ass wiggling against the hard length of his erection. How could she feel that and not think he was interested?

  He almost asked her but
she started talking, silencing him.

  “A real date is when you get dressed up and go out. You know: dinner. The movies. Something like that.”

  “We can do that.” The words came out in a ragged whisper, hoarse and almost desperate. He cleared his throat and repeated them.

  “We could, yeah.” Shannon leaned even closer, so close he could feel the weight of her breasts brush against his chest. So close he could feel the heat of her breath against his mouth. He swallowed back a groan and tilted his head up, wanting to capture her mouth with his own, wanting to taste her. She pulled back just the tiniest bit, a smile teasing her lips.

  “Or we could go to a wedding together. That would count, too.”

  “Wedding?” The word was strangled, filled with feigned horror. “What wedding?”

  “Sammie Reigler, one of my teammates. She’s getting married in two weeks, and I need a date.”

  “Weddings are—” He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. A wedding? Holy shit, that was the last place he wanted to take a date. Weddings made women get crazy-stupid ideas. Weddings gave him hives. “I’m allergic to weddings.”

  Shannon leaned back then shifted so she was straddling his lap. He groaned, swallowing back both frustration and laughter when he noticed the teasing expression in her eyes. “Then take some Benadryl.”

  “Real funny. Haha. I can’t make it. I’m sure we have a game that day.”

  “You don’t, I already checked.”

  “How about we go to Vegas instead? Or maybe a quick trip to the Bahamas? That would count as a date, right?”

  “Nope. It has to be the wedding.”

  She wiggled against him again, eliciting another groan from him. He grabbed her hips and held her in place, rocked his own hips against her then nearly swore. Stupid. So fucking stupid. The only thing that move accomplished was making him more frustrated. At least he wasn’t the only one—he saw the way her lids fluttered, noticed the way her chest rose and fell on a quick breath as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

  He leaned up, caught her lower lip with his mouth and sucked, ever so lightly. “And, uh, what happens if I take you to this wedding?”