Van’s hand grips my ass as he rocks us faster. His other hand squeezes my breast, pinching my nipple, and I throw my head back as the heat unfurls from the soles of my feet and floods my entire body, sparking my synapses and nerve endings all to life. “Van,” I moan.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.” He pants, as he picks up his pace and what started out as sweet gentle love-making becomes something more, something primal and aggressive, something beautiful and strange. It’s so surreal to be here with him like this, the man who saved my life, and who’s been saving me every second since. A man I’ve fallen hard for, though I know it’s too soon, too much, too fast. I can’t help it. It could just be the incredible sex, or the orgasm talking, but I’m addicted to him like a chain smoker craving her next cigarette. I keep breathing him in. I exhale, and just when I think I’ll be able to let him go, walk away and go back to my life in Tennessee, I find I need another hit.
I need to leave. I need to get away, but one look in his eyes and I come undone again. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I collapse against him, our bodies sweaty and spent. I tuck my head into the space beneath his neck and sigh as he traces his fingertips across my back, and I hope like hell I never have to leave.
A few hours later, we lie on the rug in front of the fireplace, naked from head to toe and wrapped up in one another. A blanket covers us both, and we doze in the pristine white light coming in through the huge floor-to-ceiling window. Snow patters against it, and I lie on Van’s chest and stare at the falling flakes as they stick to the glass before melting a moment later. I don’t want to move. Ever.
Van Ross is everything I never knew I wanted. Strong, funny, surprisingly sweet, and fantastic in bed. I never saw myself dressing in white—the very thought is insane, and likely the result of too many orgasms—but as I lie here, my body stretched out on top of his, my ear pressed against his chest and listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, I can see happily-ever-after. With my head full of impossible dreams, I drift into sleep as softly as the snow falls outside.
I’m woken a little later by what sounds like a slamming car door, and boots trudging up the stairs. Panic seizes me, and I shake his shoulder. “Oh my god, Van, wake up.”
“Eh?”
“There’s someone here.”
“Go back to sleep, babe.”
Just then, a woman’s voice filters in from the front door, and before I can do anything more than cast my gaze around for my clothes, Emmett and a blonde, elegant woman, most likely in her fifties, are bearing down on us. She covers her mouth. “Oh, my.”
Van shoots up into a sitting position, too fast. The blanket shifts, exposing me to the room and I grab a nearby cushion to cover my naked chest. Van doesn’t seem to notice my distress. He’s too busy rubbing his shoulder. “Ah!”
“Van, what the fuck, dude?” Emmett says.
“Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you had a guest.”
“And I didn’t know you were coming over until this afternoon, Mom,” Van says.
“It is the afternoon, darling.”
“Hi,” I say sheepishly. I cover myself with more of the small blanket.
“Hello,” Van’s mother says. Oh lord, she’s beaming. Van doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that we’re in a state of undress and simply rises to his feet, buck naked. He offers me a hand up and I take it, careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around all of my lady bits. He might be used to parading around a locker room as naked as the day he was born, but that’s not the Stella Hart way.
“Hi, I’m St—”
“Yes, I know who you are, dear.” The grin that she was so obviously fighting ekes across her face, and I want to die. How humiliating—being introduced to his mother in my birthday suit just a few hours after making love on every flat surface in his house. “I have every record you’ve ever made.”
“Oh, wow. That’s . . . um . . . thank you.”
“Been to every concert you’ve performed in the area, too. Emmett wasn’t the only fan in the family. I wasn’t aware Van was a fan, either. He usually doesn’t pay anything any mind, unless it’s hockey-related.”
“I see that.”
“Well, I suppose he’s a country music fan now, too.”
“Mom,” Van warns, but I smile. “Stella, this is my mum, Nora.”
“Van, be a dear and go and put some clothes on.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“We’ll just be in the kitchen. I’ll make lunch.”
“No!” Van and I say at the same time.
“It’s kind of a mess in there, Mom.”
“Oh, relax. It’s nothing your brother and I can’t handle.”
“Mom,” Emmett whines.
“Besides, I’m sure you two have worked up an appetite, and you can’t have country music royalty in your house and not feed her, Son. That’s just bad manners, and I raised you better than that.”
I smile awkwardly at Van’s mother before she leaves the room with Emmett dragging his heels behind her. I turn to Van and say in a whispered hiss, “You didn’t want to tell me your mother was coming?”
“I didn’t want you to freak out the way you are now.”
“Oh, because being completely naked is so much better?”
“You know you’re pretty cute when you’re mad, snuggle bunny.” Van smooths his hand over my cheek, and I beat him away.
“I am not cute. I’m a fierce lioness, and you are in big trouble, mister.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls me in for another kiss. I melt against him, and wrap my blanket around us both. His hands go under my ass, and he lifts me off the ground. I squeal, but he doesn’t set me down so I have no choice but to wrap my legs around him. The blanket falls away, and he goes streaking through the house with me wrapped around him like a spider monkey. He attempts to climb the stairs while his mother and brother pretend not to notice the shenanigans going on around them.
“Put me down,” I demand.
“Never,” he says, walking the long hall to his room, where he enters and shuts the door behind him with his foot. We collapse on the bed and he climbs on top of me, wedging himself between my thighs.
“Van, your mother is downstairs.”
“You should be quiet when you come then.”
“Van,” I say in protest, but his mouth is already on me, lashing my clit with his tongue and forcing me to lose my breath. I slide my hands into his hair and give myself over to the moment.
When we’re dressed and halfway presentable, I follow Van downstairs, hoping his mother didn’t hear any of the things her son and I were up to in his bedroom.
“Well, you best get your cute little hockey bum over here and give your mom a hug, Son. You too, Stella.”
“Oh, I . . .” I find myself engulfed in her arms whether I wanted to be or not. She holds on so tightly I can barely breathe, and yet the scent of her sweet perfume makes me miss my own mother so much that I find myself hanging on for longer than appropriate. When I pull away, there are unshed tears in my eyes. Van’s smile dims as he meets my gaze, but I turn away, heading for the fridge so I can give the room my back and make out as if I’m just grabbing a drink.
“Stella, would you be a dear and grab me the cheese from the fridge?”
“Ah, sure.” I clear my throat and fish the provolone out of the fridge, turning to hand it to her. Nora smiles. She doesn’t say anything about my watery eyes, and I’m thankful for it. “Can I, can I help you with lunch?”
“Oh sure. Why don’t you cut up those greens for me while Van goes and collects a nice white wine to have with it?”
“Mom,” he warns.
“Oh relax, would you? Stella understands that a mother has to interrogate any woman that comes into her son’s life, don’t you, dear?”
She does?
“Of course.” I say, a little too chipper. I get to work on chopping the asparagus and baby spinach while Nora makes light work of dicing several
fresh tomatoes.
“Busted. You’re in for it now, Stella.” Emmett chuckles. He doesn’t bother looking up at us from his paper on the table.
“Go easy,” Van says, kissing his mother’s cheek. “I like this one.”
My heart practically does summersaults inside my chest, but the second he’s gone, she turns and gives me a look that says I should prepare for what comes next, and the floaty feelings are gone. “So, Stella, why on earth did you run away to Banff?”
“Ah, I—”
“She crashed her car. I told you that already, Mom,” Emmett says, surprising me. When she arrived, Nora had said she didn’t know Van had a guest. Mamma Ross was a big, fat liar.
“It’s true. I crashed into a snow drift. Van and Emmett saved me.”
“I did all the heavy lifting,” Emmett says.
“Emmett, are you calling me fat?” I tease. He cracks up, slapping his knee, and I laugh too, but then I remember Van’s mother is staring at me. My smile quickly disappears.
“And why were you driving up the mountain?”
“She was running away,” Emmett says.
“Emmett, hush now. I’m asking Stella.”
“But I already told you all this,” he protests. Busted.
“It’s fine, Emmett. I owe everyone answers; there’s no better place to start.” I release a deep breath. “I was running from a stadium full of people, ma’am.”
“But those people are your fans?”
“Yes, they are. I don’t have a good excuse to give you. I know I let everyone down. I just . . . I needed a break. I couldn’t step up on that stage another night and pretend I was okay.”
“Oh,” Nora says, and scrapes the diced tomatoes into the sizzling pan. “Are you okay now, in my son’s house?”
“I think I’m starting to be.”
“Can you see yourself being okay here in the future?” I know she’s hinting at more, and I pray she won’t say it. Not now, not after the last twenty-four hours of bliss. Not when I can feel Van’s eyes on me, and I know he’s standing behind me. He doesn’t say anything though, and I decide to hell with moving too fast. My life is fast—so is his, for that matter, and there are things we need to discuss. I open my mouth, but before I can get a word out, he chimes in, “Mom.”
“Go on, Stella.”
“Mom!” Van says again, and Nora sighs and turns to face him.
“I’m just asking a question, Son. You don’t have to get your undies in a wad.”
“Leave Stella alone, eh?”
Nora pouts. “You boys spoil all my fun. I’m just looking out for everyone.”
“I’m a big boy—we both are. We don’t need you looking out for us, Mom. We got this shit.”
“Well, maybe when you have children of your own someday, you’ll understand.” Van’s mother turns to me, the huge knife in her hand pointed at my stomach as if it didn’t have the ability to give me a hysterectomy on the spot. “Do you want children, Stella?”
Oh, boy.
“Mom!”
Thankfully, lunch isn’t as dramatic as Nora’s interrogation, and in the end, I find I enjoy her company. She’s sweet. It becomes apparent both Van and Emmett got their sense of humor from her, and I don’t mind one bit that she’s curious about my relationship with her son and is ultimately just looking out for him. I’m glad he has someone like that in his life.
We have coffee in front of the fire in the den, and when the sky outside begins to darken, Nora and Emmett get up to leave. She hugs me tight at the door. “We’ll see you next Sunday?”
“Oh, I’m not su—”
“She’ll be there,” Van says as he wraps his arm around my waist.
“Oh gross, Van. Why do you have to ruin it? Mom, Van’s touching Stella.”
Nora chuckles. “I have a feeling they’re about to do a lot more than touching, Em.”
Emmett screws up his nose and makes a gagging sound. “Gross.”
“Come on. Let’s leave them be.”
“Mom, it’s fine. Em can stay.”
“And interfere with what might be your only chance to give me grandchildren before I die? No, no. I’m going to take him shopping tomorrow. You kids have some fun, okay?”
My eyes grow round as saucers, and I won’t lie, I feel a teensy bit faint. Van is completely unfazed with his mother’s words, and he claps Emmett on the shoulder. “See you later, bud.”
Em shirks off his brother’s hand. “Whatever. You owe me, man.”
“I know. Hey, how about I get you an autograph from Stella?”
“Bite me,” he says and trudges across the porch through the snow.
“Put your jacket on first. You’ll freeze your little bum off,” Nora calls, shaking her head. “That boy. You get some rest. No strenuous activities, eh?”
“Bye, Mom.” Van leans in to kiss her cheek. When the door closes behind her and the car engine starts, Van looks at me, and I know I’m in trouble.
“No.” I take several steps back toward the den, but he follows too closely for me to get away and catches me in his arms. “Didn’t you hear your mother? She said no strenuous—”
My words are stolen by his mouth covering mine, and I moan into the kiss. We don’t even make it to the couch, but instead wind up sprawled on the slate tiles of the entryway, and Nora was right. We do a lot more than touching.
Afterward, we lie in front of the fire as the evening bleeds away into a dark, snow-covered night. I lean up on my elbow and trace my fingertips across the tattoos on his broad chest.
“Sing me something, country.”
“Now?” I shake my head. “No. I’ll sound like crap.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I thought you hated country music.”
“I have a newfound appreciation for it.”
I laugh. “What do you want to hear?
“Anything. Something that screams Stella Hart. Not the one your record label promotes, but the real Stella.”
“I’m not sure there’s any such thing,” I whisper. I hesitate over my next words, but I decide he should know. “My real name isn’t Stella.”
He scrunches up his gorgeous features and makes a face as if he doesn’t believe me. “What?”
“It’s Emma Riddle, but Emma doesn’t sell records.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine how weird that must have been, to have to change your name like that.”
“You get used to it.” I shrug and give him a wistful smile. “There’s no biz like show biz, right? Emma is just a memory of a different life now.”
“Then sing me something Emma would.”
I close my eyes on the flashes of my mother holding me, telling me I could be anything I wanted to be. She’d sing songs by Loretta, Patsy, and Dolly. Sometimes she’d even sing Johnny Cash, but her favorite was always Miss Lynn. Sometimes when I asked her to, she’d sing something more modern. I’d always beg her to sing Brad Paisley’s “Whiskey Lullaby” because she sounded just like an angel when she did.
I open my eyes and stare down at him. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Sure, you can. Just sing.”
“Just sing,” I repeat, as if it were that easy. I hum the first few bars of the song, and when I sing the first line, Van closes his eyes and smiles. My voice cracks over the bridge, and I’m reminded of how out of practice I am. Like athletes, vocalists have to train every day. You’re born with a natural talent, but that only goes so far.
If Van notices my slip-up, he’s kind enough not to draw attention to it, and when I finish, he opens his eyes and leans up and kisses me, pulling me down on top of him. I continue to hum, and he drifts off again.
When there’s a knock on the door, I figure it’s just his mom and brother come back, so rather than wake the sleeping beast, I throw on my hoodie because I can’t find my pants, but it covers my lady parts and then some. I pad over to the front door.
I pull it wide, and I’m met with flashing bulbs. Hundreds of t
hem, all going off in my face as the paparazzi call my name. I’m frozen. I’m sure my hair has that freshly fucked look about it, and I’m dressed only in a hoodie. No bra. No makeup. Nothing.
I stare in mock horror as people shout my name, and then Van wraps his hand around my wrist and tugs me back inside. He’s wearing only a blanket wrapped around his waist as he steps onto the snowy porch and grabs the closest pap’s camera. He throws it to the ground and the lens shatters.
“Van!”
“Are you and Stella sleeping together?”
“Did you run out on your concert to shack up with Van Ross?”
“Stella, does Van live up to the rumors? And what do you have to say to the thousands of disappointed fans?”
“Get the fuck off my property!” Van roars.
“Van, how does it feel to pop the cherry of country’s sweetest virgin?”
My mouth drops open. Van grabs that pap’s parka and slams his fist into his face. The man crumples like a piece of paper. Van grabs the man’s camera and throws it at the side of the house.
“All of you, get the fuck off my property before I have you all arrested.”
I stumble back across the threshold. My limbs are shaking, and not just from the cold. Oh my god. I can’t stay here. I don’t know how they found out, but I can’t stay here now. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the mess, and then I race up the stairs and throw on some clothes.
“Stella,” Van yells. The front door slams and his footfalls thunder up the steps toward me. “Stella!”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“What? Punch a guy out for being an asshole?”
“Do you know what kind of ramifications this is going to have?”
“Yeah. Hockey player, here, remember?”
“It’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“Because I’m not a hockey player. I don’t go around punching paparazzo in the face.” My anger boils over, and I suddenly want to hit him. Instead, I hit him where I think it will hurt. “It’s different because I’m not like you. I don’t sleep around.”
Puck Love Page 15