Centered (Gold Hockey Book 9)

by Elise Faber

  More.

  She bit her bottom lip.

  He groaned softly.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Promise you won’t flip me onto my ass again?”

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  Liam laughed, and the sound of his slightly rasping chuckle, the warmth in his eyes, the way his body bent slightly, coming close enough to hers that she could smell the spicy, masculine scent of him made Mia’s head spin.

  “I guess I’ll have to take my chances.” He brushed his knuckles on the outside of her arm. “When you bite your lip like that, I want it to be my teeth doing the biting.”

  Her breath shuddered out. “Why?”

  His thumb traced lightly over the corner of her mouth. “I think you already know the answer to that question.” Hot breath coated her lips when he shifted closer. “You have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen, did you know that?”

  Pulse pounding, she managed to say, “How could I possibly know that?”

  He smiled at the tart rejoinder. “Come on and break the rules with me,” he said, stepping back and holding out his hand. “Just this once.”

  Mia hesitated, studying the face of this man who’d wreaked so much havoc in so little time. “Once,” she said and returned to where she’d knocked the piece of cardboard he’d given her to the concrete, bent to snag it. His smile widened, and again it hit her in the solar plexus with all the force of a punch. “Th-that’s it,” she added, straightening her spine and breathing through the impact. “Just one time.”

  She’d only ever used the technique in sparring—the breathing through impact, pushing air through her lungs.

  But . . . she supposed this was a type of sparring as well.

  Which probably shouldn’t have made her feel better, even though it did anyway. Grinning, she tucked the cardboard under her arm, bypassed Liam’s hand, and slithered her way between the metal horseshoe that topped the slides and the gate that was in place because the park was technically closed.

  “Like the way you move, J.B.,” came the husky male voice.

  “You going to talk?” she asked, even though the compliment secretly pleased her. “Or are you going to actually come over here and slide?”

  “Big words for a woman who wasn’t going to break the rules a minute ago,” he teased.

  “Less talk and more action from the man who’s apparently ready to break all of them,” she countered, and got a flash of his sexy grin again . . . then a nice ass—ha—view of a very nice ass. Which made her remember something she’d overhead Brayden’s stepmom, Angie, say. Unfortunately for Mia, she also murmured those remembered words out loud, “Hockey players have the best asses.”

  “What was that?” Liam was halfway through the horseshoe and gate, and her words made him tilt forward dangerously, almost lose his grip.

  She grabbed his arm. “Careful.”

  “What did you say?” he asked again.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to be uttered aloud—not ever again. In fact, Mia figured she was going to take it to her grave, bury it in the coffin with her.

  “Nothing,” she muttered.

  “Mia.”

  “I said nothing,” she repeated.

  Playful gray eyes, less storm cloud, more tendrils of ocean fog teasing at the ends of her hair.

  “I like your ass, too,” he whispered huskily.

  God, she wanted to kiss this man, to grab hold of his ears and tug his head down and just kiss him until she forgot to breathe.

  But she also wanted . . . fluff.

  To play. To forget. To do something that didn’t necessarily fit in with the rules she’d used to structure her life.

  Why?

  She wasn’t prepared to consider that last one too closely.

  So, just as Liam slipped through the gap, she plunked the cardboard down, parked her ass down onto it, and pushed off. “Last one down buys lunch!” she called, flying down the concrete, not wholly understanding where the words came from, but knowing that this man unlocked something inside her. Mischief or hell, maybe it was just as simple as yearning to have some fun for a change.

  Either way, she was tearing down the slide, her ponytail whipping behind her, the morning air a cool kiss on her lips, her nose, her cheeks.

  She was almost to the bottom when she sensed him coming up behind her.

  Too fast.

  Because she was slowing down.

  Instinctively, she leaned forward, trying to gain speed, but physics and gravity were against her.

  Liam was heavier, and his weight combined with them carried him farther.

  She continued to slow as he slid by her, his feet finding the ground, and he was standing by the time she made it to the bottom. Her legs flew off the end, but before she could rise, he was there, toes of his shoes pressed to hers. He put out a hand. She didn’t need the help, but took it anyway, let him tug her up, allowed her body to press against his.

  “You owe me lunch,” he breathed, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers.

  He ran the back of his knuckles lightly over her cheek, and she shivered, heat spearing through her, filling her with such want and need that she half-expected to be reduced to ash.

  Instead, she looked down to find she wasn’t.

  Instead, she looked down to see his hand resting on her hip.

  And . . . God how she liked seeing it there, wanted it on her breasts, slipping between her thighs, and—

  “What just went through your mind?” he asked, turning his hand over, cupping her cheek, the rough pads of his callouses against her skin making her shiver.

  Mia didn’t answer.

  Instead, she gave in.

  Seven

  Liam

  He was contemplating if Mia would let him stroke his hand down to her neck, to touch the glossy black of her hair, to run the strands over his fingers and see if they were as silky soft as he’d been dreaming about.

  Then . . . she kissed him.

  Electricity.

  The contact exploded across his nerve endings, and Liam moved, one arm banding around her waist, pulling her tighter against him, using his tongue to part her lips, to slip inside her mouth and to taste her more completely.

  She tasted of mint and sugar. Logic would reason it was the mocha that sweetened her mouth, but he knew it was just Mia. That she was soft and sweet and pure on the inside, even though it was hidden beneath cool steel on the surface.

  Her hands tightened in his hair, tongue darting forward to dance with his.

  And Liam lost himself.

  There was no learning her. There was just . . . knowing this woman, somehow instinctively understanding what she liked, as though his mouth had been made to kiss hers.

  She moaned when he drew her closer, melted when he nipped her bottom lip, gasped when he tore his mouth away and trailed it along her jaw, her throat.

  He let her tug his head back up, pull him toward her for another kiss.

  Fire.

  The touch of her lips had it exploding within him, holding her tight, kissing her with an intensity that had no business being present on a first date.

  That was the thought drawing him back to himself.

  Or enough to gentle his hold, his touch, anyway. Enough to remember that though this woman was steel on the outside, she was fragile inside. She needed soft and coaxing. She needed that fluff. She—

  Needed air.

  Mia tore her mouth away, resting her forehead on his shoulder, the hot puffs of her breath seeping through the cotton of his hoodie, his T-shirt, imprinting themselves onto his skim. He wanted to feel her mouth on his bare skin, to taste her everywhere, to—

  Patience.

  Gently, he cupped the back of her head, brushing his hand through her ponytail in long, slow caresses, waiting until both their breathing calmed, for him to be able to suck in enough air to speak.

  “I think after a kiss like that, I owe you lunch.”

  She froze,
went stiff as a board in his arms, and Liam cursed mentally. Fuck. He shouldn’t have—

  Then her shoulders shuddered in his hold, a soft giggle reaching his ears.

  “I think so, too,” she said.

  As he was reeling from the sound, loving the wave it coiled inside him, warming him from the inside out, Mia twisted from his embrace, bent to retrieve her cardboard. “Let’s go again!”

  She ran with cat-like grace up the incline, was slithering between the gate and the bar by the time he got into motion.

  Was flying down the concrete as he made his way up.

  He stuck his hand out for a high five, was surprised and pleased when she reached over and their palms smacked together as she slid past. He managed to snag her waist as she ran up for another turn, to steal a laughing peck before she escaped, and then they were both sliding down again. Then cajoled another kiss out of her before they headed back up to go another time.

  And then they repeated the process again. A slide. A bone-melting kiss. Rinse. Repeat. Again. And again. And—

  “Hey!” came a male voice. “You can’t be here—”

  They’d just landed at the bottom of the slide, cardboard floating to the ground behind them, both their chests heaving from the twin exertions of running up the incline, of them making out at the bottom for several long minutes. Mia’s lips, reddened and slightly swollen, were a teasing temptation that continued to draw him in.

  But the sound of the man yelling from the top of the slides made them both jump.

  And it made panic crowd into her expression.

  “The park is closed—”

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, going pale when he’d much rather see the pink staining her cheeks, from the cool air, from the sliding, from his kisses.

  He didn’t give her any time to continuing panicking, to keep going pale.

  He just snagged her hand and tugged her forward.

  She didn’t struggle, just ran alongside him, keeping pace with him easily, even though he worked out daily and had a team of trainers to make sure his body was in top shape.

  “Oh my God,” she said when he’d stopped them several blocks away, pulling them down a quiet street.

  The man didn’t seem to have pursued them, but Liam had liked her clinging to him way too much to immediately let her go when he’d realized they were safely out of the park. Even now, her back pressed to the brick wall behind her, his body flush against hers, she didn’t shy away. Instead, she clutched at his shoulders, breathing fast but not so much that she couldn’t talk.

  “I’m a criminal,” she said. “Oh my God. I’m a criminal—”

  He bent his head and kissed her, expecting those fingers to push him away, but the moment his lips touched hers, they gripped tighter, pulled him closer.

  “I kind of like you, J.B.,” he said, nuzzling into her throat when they broke apart for air. “You’re funny.”

  Quiet.

  A long stretch of quiet.

  “Are you going to tell me the meaning of that nickname?”

  Not on her life. “Nope.”

  She sighed. “You’re a bad influence.”

  “You had fun.” He flicked out his tongue, tasted the salt on her skin, felt her rapid pulse. “Admit it.”

  Recalcitrant silence.

  He nipped the spot where her neck met her shoulder. She jumped, one hand sliding up, weaving into his hair.

  “Stubborn.” A kiss. “Sexy.” Another. “Rule-breaker.”

  Those fingers tightened enough to make him wince. Then just as quickly relaxed. “I’m not . . . buying lunch.”

  Liam froze then burst out laughing, pushing off her, snagging her hand again.

  As they walked down the street, back in the direction of her studio, he checked his phone. “It’s just ten now,” he said, “a little early for lunch.”

  “I worked hard doing all those slides,” she said. “I’m hungry. If you’re not . . .”

  “I’m always hungry,” he told her, which was true, but also in this situation, mostly about wanting more time with her. He wasn’t ready to go back to his condo alone.

  “Good.” One shoulder lifted then fell in a casual shrug. “Then I guess you’re buying me brunch.” She tugged him forward. “Come on,” she said. “There’s a place nearby that I’ve always wanted to try.”

  The restaurant was a tiny hole-in-the-wall breakfast joint just around the corner from the karate studio and looked like it had been there a hundred years.

  Or maybe just seventy, as it had a decidedly 1950s look.

  “You’ve never eaten here?” he asked, somewhat surprised. “It’s so close to your place.”

  “The way I grew up—” She shook her head. “I don’t eat out a lot.”

  He was more interested in the first sentence and why she’d cut herself off than the second, but before he could press her for more information, the hostess came over and led them to their booth.

  Then the waiter was there almost before their asses hit the pleather, efficiently taking their drink orders.

  She ordered coffee. Black.

  He ordered orange juice and got a raised brow. “It’s not technically sweet,” he said, once the server had gone.

  “It’s still full of sugar.”

  “A man has needs.”

  Her eyes met his, and his cock twitched at the heat in those chocolate depths. But then Mia’s gaze was on the menu, a studious V between her brows, and he forced himself to pick out what he wanted so that he didn’t interrupt her perusal.

  Plenty of time for an interrogation after they ordered.

  “What can I get for you folks?” the waiter, a young college-aged male asked, depositing their drinks and pulling out a pad of paper.

  “Mia?” Liam said, “you want to go first?”

  She smiled at him. “No. I want to see what you order.”

  “You gonna make fun of me?”

  “Probably.”

  He chuckled, shrugged, and glanced up at the kid. “Orange creamsicle pancakes, please, and a side of bacon, crispy.”

  Her brows went up, almost to her hairline, then she turned to the waiter and said, “An egg white omelet, please, with peppers, mushrooms, and onions.”

  “Do you want cheese in that?”

  “Hmm.” She was quiet for a moment. “Sure, why not? How about Monterey Jack, if you have it?”

  “Got it.” The waiter made a note. “Whole wheat toast?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  “Of course.

  Liam thanked the server again, who then walked away, leaving them alone. “Was ordering cheese in your omelet your idea of really going for it?” he asked, lips twitching.

  A pink flush spread over her face, even as she leveled a glare in his direction. “You have no room to talk, Sweet Cheeks.”

  “Sweet Cheeks?” he said, aghast, though inside he liked this verbal sparring. “A man has one vice.”

  One black brow came up. “Why don’t I think it’s just one vice?”

  “I love sugar, okay?” he muttered, not about to admit to anything.

  “What else are you obsessed with?” she pressed.

  “Tit for tat, here, J.B.,” he countered. “You want to know. You have to be prepared to answer all the questions.”

  Concern drifted into the corners of her eyes, and Liam knew that he wasn’t going to press her about what she’d almost said earlier regarding the way she grew up. This was date one, and they’d gone from her laying him out onto the mat for touching her, all the way to stolen kisses that had his cock hardening just in remembrance of her lips on his.

  He could afford to be patient, to keep things light, to gain her trust.

  To help her have some fun.

  Because even though they’d just met, he knew this woman was beyond deserving of it, and he also had the distinct thought that she’d had far too little of it in her life.

  “Want a sample question?” he asked before she could panic too much. Before
he lost her beneath those shields of steel again.

  She made a face.

  “That’s not a no,” he said, reaching across and running his finger down her nose. “Okay, so here goes. This is a biggie. A hugely important, make or break, it’s all over if you answer incorrectly—”

  “Um—”

  “—question,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “Chunky or smooth peanut butter?”

  Those lickable lips had parted, no doubt readying another protest, but his question had them freezing in place, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten the bottom one. Then his words processed, and she shook her head. “You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”

  “Hey,” he protested. “This is life or death stuff.”

  A roll of her eyes. “Smooth peanut butter. Obviously.”

  He lifted his hand, palm out. “Damn right. Okay, your turn.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Tell me the truth. Do you break your diet and eat sugar on non-Cheat Days?”

  “Honestly?” he asked.

  “That’s a requirement.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “It was hard as hell those first few weeks, and I’ll admit I do go a bit crazy with it when I’m allowed. But I’m not going to fuck up my career because I want a cookie.”

  She shifted in the booth and her leg brushed his, sending sparks flying. “That’s good.”

  “Why did you ask?”

  A shrug. “You don’t seem like much of a rule follower is all.”

  “My family would be surprised to hear that,” he told her. “I’m the youngest, but I was left to my own devices for a lot of my childhood. I always do better in environments with clear expectations and rules.”

  “Just not signs?”

  He reached across the table, snagged her hand. “Most of that was because I really love the way you look when you’re outraged.”

  She gasped and snatched her fingers free.

  Liam captured them, lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a fleeting kiss to her knuckles. “See?” he said. “Just like that.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “As long as you like impossible and are willing to put up with it.”