by Elise Faber
And Brit.
He felt his lips curve. A trifecta of women making his life better. He’d better not let that thought slip out.
Brit would give him no end of crap just for having had it.
Still, as he sat next to her, reveling in her scent, in the way her body had relaxed and gradually softened against his, Stefan thought he might get a kick out of telling her.
Just to see those brown eyes spark at him.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he murmured into her ear as Blane related a funny story about a Gold defensemen losing—with the help of the team—his jock, not wearing it to practice, and then unsurprisingly—and with an accidentally misdirected shot by his D partner—getting hit right in the unprotected area.
He’d only heard it about a hundred times since it had happened.
Sometimes hockey players were more like children than well . . . children.
“It’s nice to get out.”
Brit turned her face up to his, a slight frown pulling her brows together. “Why would you have a problem getting out?” She cocked her head, and her tone was light, but her eyes held a note of seriousness that he couldn’t ignore. “Do you have a secret love child? A wife?”
Brit didn’t know it, but the explanation was simple. He didn’t go out because his mom was sick, and he was on the road enough that he didn’t like leaving her when he was in town.
“Just a dozen or so,” he joked, instead of telling her what was really going on. “You don’t know it, but I’m making a run to star on the show Sister Wives.”
She snorted. “You’re an idiot, just so you know. And also, how do you even know about that show?”
“My mom,” he said. “She’s all I’ve got, and we spend a lot of time together.” He hesitated before telling her part of the truth. “Actually, she’s living with me for a while. It’s nice.”
Brit stared at him, and he waited for it. For her to make fun of him because his mom was living with him, to make a comment about him being a mama’s boy or the like.
She didn’t.
Instead, she just smiled and said, “That’s really nice for you both.” Then she settled back against him and joined the conversation again, adding her side to a childhood story Dan was sharing about some mishap while skiing.
Easy acceptance. How strange.
How wonderful.
They stayed at the restaurant way past closing, the four of them each having such a good time that apparently no one wanted to leave.
There was a lot of teasing and laughter, and when Stefan finally peeled himself out of Blane’s SUV and got into his own car, he realized he couldn’t remember a time when he’d had more fun.
Sharing it with Brit, with her dash of cuteness and gentle smiles, made it simply the best night of his life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Brit
For once, Brit didn’t pull herself out of bed before the sun was up. Her brother had left for the airport a couple of hours before, bussing a kiss on her cheek before telling her he’d see her soon.
There would be no early morning run, no stairs. The Gold had a player’s meeting and light practice the following day before they left on their extended road-trip. But, for now, she was going to be lazy in bed.
So the knock at the door was completely unwelcomed.
With a groan, she slid out from between the sheets and walked over to peer through the peephole.
Then wanted to bang her head on the door.
She’d forgotten to put on the Do Not Disturb sign. The knock came again, along with the sound of a keycard being pushed into the lock. Brit glanced down, made sure she was decent, and threw back the deadbolt.
“Hi,” she told the surprised maid. “Sorry. I don’t need cleaning service today.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Ms. Plantain. I didn’t realize you were in today.”
“It’s my fault,” she told the woman. “I should have put the sign on.”
“Do you need fresh towels?”
What she needed was to crawl her butt back into bed and turn on some crappy morning television show, to veg like a mofo, so that by the time she emerged, all of this guilt she was feeling over deceiving Stefan would have disappeared.
Instead of saying any of that, Brit shook her head. “No, thanks.” She reached down and hung the sign on the outer doorknob.
Thirty seconds later, she was in bed and watching a celebrity answer interview questions about his latest film release.
Part of her admired the suave way with which he deflected the less-than-flattering inquiries about an anger scandal in the not-so-distant-past, but the rest of her was disheartened.
This was what it would be like with Stefan, a relationship that was all veneer and a smooth finish, but zero substance underneath.
Truth hit her like a slap shot to the gut.
The reason she was so torn up about this fake relationship was because it was the first time in her life she’d spent time with a man who could be more.
So much more.
The door to the next room slammed shut, echoing through the walls of Brit’s suite, and she sighed.
Gold management had offered her a new contract a few days before.
And she’d signed it.
But whether they’d presented it because of her game play or solely because of the stuff with Stefan, she didn’t know. The contract itself didn’t have the biggest payday or the longest terms—just two years—but her agent had managed to eliminate the two-way part of her clause, so she’d be staying in the NHL for at least that long.
Which was more than Brit could have expected, and though she wasn’t stupid enough to believe the agreement with Stefan didn’t factor in, she was relieved to be in one place for a while.
Unless, of course, management traded her.
And that was a lovely thought for so early in the morning.
Signing the revised contract also meant the Gold were no longer paying her for her lodgings. She’d been planning on keeping the room at the hotel until the team got back from their nine-game road-trip, but with the morning free, maybe she should begin looking for an apartment.
The vacuum turned on next-door, making the decision for her.
Le sigh.
She shoved out of bed and took a shower where she spent a fair amount of time shaving her legs and underarms before washing and conditioning her hair.
Just because she was a professional athlete didn’t mean she couldn’t feel like a woman.
After de-Wookie-fying herself, she toweled off and dressed. Then instead of slapping her hair into its normal ponytail, Brit dried it carefully. She even put on mascara and blush.
Being in an ice rink for most of the year wasn’t exactly conducive for a nice summer glow.
Her fingers hesitated over the lip-gloss before setting the tube aside. She couldn’t abide the sticky slimy stuff. No matter that it made her lips look “lush enough to kiss”—which was an exact quote from the sales person who’d convinced her to buy it.
Brit had worn the damn stuff once—and it had worked as promised—but the tacky residue it left on cups, not to mention her teeth, hadn’t been sexy.
Her blond hair framed her face in even layers. It shined, even in the fluorescent lighting and was the single physical thing where she took the most pride.
Obviously she was in shape, but her shoulders were broad, her thighs muscular, her breasts barely existed.
Whoever said that more than a handful was wasted hadn’t met her.
Stefan would be lucky to get a finger-full.
Brit caught that thought and shoved it away then scowled at her reflection.
“Seriously,” she muttered. “No more thinking yourself in circles.”
But it was hard.
She had never felt this way before. Even as a teenager she’d been more focused on hockey than boys, and the few crushes she’d had later hadn’t gone anywhere . . . even mor
e so after the hazing.
At this point, she wasn’t exactly over what had happened, but she had come to terms with the fact that it didn’t define her.
She wasn’t delusional, didn’t think she was magically better, especially because having someone at her back still made her uncomfortable as hell.
But she’d push past it.
Just like she pushed past everything else that had stood in her way.
She was living her dream. Everything she had hoped for was finally within her grasp.
So maybe—just maybe—she could grab on to some dreams in the other parts of her life as well.
And maybe Stefan could be part of that dream.
She walked out of the bathroom, picked up her phone, and called the real estate agent Stefan had recommended to set up an appointment in an hour.
Then Brit sucked in a breath, bolstered her courage, and called him to come with her.
As she spoke to him, his sleep-drenched voice like roughened velvet against her skin, she wasn’t thinking about the fake relationship. Wasn’t calculating the next move that would get them media attention, wasn’t worried about management.
This moment was about her.
For one damned moment, it could be about her. About what she wanted.
Which was Stefan.
For however long she could have him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Too small,” Stefan said as he glanced around the unit’s single bedroom. A queen bed took up almost all of the available space, but there was a small walk-in closet that was plenty big enough to store her collection of jeans, t-shirts, workout gear, and odd pair of game day slacks and button-downs.
Brit was wearing one of her a nice t-shirts today, meaning it was new and lacking in stains and holes. Between that and the makeup and her blown-out hair, she’d surprised Stefan.
His eyes had gone wide when they’d met up in the hotel’s lobby, and his hand had come up, as though he wanted to touch the strands.
Brit had wanted that too, had wanted his fingers tangled there, pressed against her scalp as he took her mouth in a searing kiss—
It had not really been the time.
But with the bed right there in front of her and the real estate agent having stepped out to take a call, Brit was once again reminded of how tempting Stefan was.
Really, really tempting.
“You okay?” he asked, walking out of the closet and stopping in front of her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, see the slight scruff of his stubble.
Hear the grumble of his stomach.
Her lips twitched. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I monopolized your morning. I’ll buy you lunch.”
He gave her a mournful look. “I’m withering away. I’ll be skin and bones soon.”
“Ha.” She snorted, but couldn’t—didn’t want to resist reaching out and stroking the firm muscles of his chest.
They were granite beneath her palms. If granite was scorching hot . . . and lickable.
She brought her other hand up, squeezed his pecs.
What had she been thinking about handfuls earlier? Because this was a really nice one.
Stefan sucked in a breath and stepped closer. Her teeth found her lip, bit firmly, attempted to find control, when all she really wanted to do was ask him to take off his shirt or, better yet, to slip her hands under the soft cotton and take matters into her own hands.
She’d slid them down the rock-hard planes of his abdomen to do just that when he spoke.
“Brit?” The question was soft, husky, and laced with enough desire that her thighs trembled.
“I like spending time with you, remember?” she said, staring up at him as her fingers trailed along the hot, hot skin just under the hem of his shirt.
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know. Me too.” But he took her hands in his and carefully pulled them from his skin.
She stuck out a lip. “I thought we were going to explore this thing between us.”
His smile grew. “We are.”
“Then—” She tried to free herself.
He held firm.
“—why won’t you let me—”
The door to the apartment opened and the agent, Lisa, called to them. “What do you think?”
“Because we’re not alone,” he murmured, the light blue of his eyes darkened with what she hoped was desire and not annoyance. Her eyes darted down, saw the erection straining against the front of his jeans.
Oh yeah, desire. For damn sure.
Not that she was in any better shape.
If he’d touched her, stroked those fingers down and between her thighs, he’d have found her soaked—
“Just give us a moment to finish our discussion,” Stefan called.
“Sure thing!” Lisa called back.
They listened to the agent’s heels clack across the floor, until the noise stopped in what Brit thought was the kitchen.
“You,” Stefan said, squeezing her fingers, “are dangerous as hell.”
She smiled.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Humor tempered the desire eating at her. Slightly. “I’ll still take it as one.”
Sex goddess wasn’t a role she typically undertook. Hell, normally she was a little shy in the bedroom. But Stefan brought out another side of her . . . and she liked it.
In fact, the attraction between them was so crazy, so huge, it might have been frightening had he not been right there with her. She knew she wasn’t alone.
She laughed.
Who would have thought?
Stefan’s brows pulled together. “Now you’re playing with me? Teasing?” A flash of temper, which sent a little shiver down her spine, crossed Stefan’s face.
“Isn’t that kind of the point of foreplay?” she asked.
His mouth dropped open in shock and his breath hitched.
A little bubble of hope expanded in her chest, competing with the tangle of desire and guilt, pushing them both to the side until all she felt was happiness because she was in this man’s presence. Stretching up on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss was short and hot. But just as Stefan put his arms around her to pull her even closer, she stepped back.
“You’re sexy,” she told him.
“Brit—”
For some reason, spending time with Stefan gave her confidence in her own skin, made her feel gorgeous, wanted. Competent.
She had no clue why.
Or if it was him at all.
Maybe he’d unlocked something. Or maybe she was finally growing into her own.
Whatever it was, Brit decided she liked it. She headed for the door only to stop a couple of inches from the threshold and glance back at him over her shoulder.
“I want you,” she said.
In bed and out of it . . . and then right back in it.
Stefan muttered a curse that made even her ears—and she’d long thought herself beyond the effect of swear words—turn pink.
He prowled toward her, and Brit found that somehow her feet had become glued to the ground. Still watching him over her shoulder, she couldn’t move.
Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to move.
“Turnabout is fair play,” he said. “You know that, right?” His hand came up to her nape and squeezed. His chest pressed against her back, hard and unforgiving.
A slight pang of nervousness unfurled in her abdomen, but before she’d even had a chance to register the sensation, Stefan whipped her around and slammed his lips down onto hers.
Anxiety withered. Desire roared.
A heartbeat later, he was gone, pushing through the door, a whispered “Oh, there will be foreplay” trailing in his wake.
Brit stood there, her fingers pressed against her swollen lips, heat raging in her skin, her nerves zinging like the needy bitches they were, and tried to figure out how Stef
an had turned the tables on her so easily.
Then she decided she didn’t really care.
Because if he kissed her like that . . . as if the world would end without one more stroke of her tongue, as though her mouth was the sweetest temptation he’d ever experienced then he could turn the tables any damn time he wanted.
Lisa’s voice chimed in from the kitchen and jump-started her into motion.
Brit smoothed her hair from where Stefan’s fingers had mussed it, sucked in a breath, and stepped from the bedroom.
As she walked, she forced herself to focus on the apartment. Built-ins lined one wall, and the kitchen was tiny but held stainless appliances, white countertops, and cabinets. Gauzy shades covered the wall of windows.
It was small.
But it was perfect. Airy and cozy and just a couple of blocks from the Gold’s arena.
The single bathroom wasn’t luxurious, but it would do, especially paired with the decent-size living space, and cute kitchen. She loved it.
Of course she had to consider that it would be tight when Dan came to stay. But he was used to sleeping in all sorts of crazy places. He could sleep on the floor or a blow-up mattress.
Or she’d get a sleeper sofa. There was room enough.
“What do you think, Brit?” Lisa asked.
“I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Stefan
He hated flying.
Seriously hated it.
So much so that if there were a boat, a bus—hell, a covered wagon to get him to the away games, he would have signed up in a heartbeat.
But, of course, he hadn’t.
Not only did the team’s insurance require them to travel only on approved vehicles, he was the captain.
His place was with the team.
Brit laughed a couple rows up from where he was seated, liquid warmth and lightning wrapped in one. It fired his nerves, made every cell perk up in rigid attention.
Blane said something that made her laugh again, and a sharp slice of jealousy cut him deep. He wanted to be the one who made Brit happy, wanted to sit next to her, absorb her smiles, her sweetness.
But it wasn’t Stefan’s place to monopolize her time, and if she didn’t want to sit with him, didn’t want to give unspoken confirmation that the rumors circling in the media, being whispered in the locker room were true . . .