by Elise Faber
Except, did he?
He and his mom had been on their own for a long time, Brit knew that.
And he hasn’t asked her for help.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t ask for help because no one had ever been there for him, because he and his mom had always needed to do it on their own.
So she shouldered her bag and walked inside. She was staring at the directory, trying to form a brilliant plan of attack when the elevator dinged, and Stefan walked out. His reaction was almost comical—feet skittering to a stop and eyes widening, his mouth opening and closing his mouth a few times.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, just strode across the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “What about the team?”
“I needed to be here more,” she said and had never felt a stronger truth.
He straightened with a jolt. “Brit,” he began, “that’s incredible, but you can’t—”
She tsked and dropped her arms, even though the same thoughts had crossed her own mind only a few minutes before. She’d just realized something incredible.
Stefan was important. More important than so many other things.
Maybe even more important than hockey.
“I talked with Bernard,” she said, tucking away that thought to ponder later. “It’s fine.”
“I—”
“Where were you going?” she said, interrupting what was probably going to be an argument for her to get on the next damn plane and get back to the team. “I’ll go so you can stay with your mom.”
Stefan was quiet for a beat. Then he smiled, and the impact of it was a nuke to her senses.
Damn, she liked him. Hell, that was a lie.
She loved him. Good God. She loved him.
Which was a notion that pretty much rocked her to the core and rendered her deaf, dumb, and stupid.
Thankfully, Stefan was still talking and she had a minute to get her crap together.
“My mom kicked me out,” he said. “I was going home to sleep for the night.”
Oh. Well, that made her cross-country flight seem awfully pointless.
“Come with me.”
Her eyes shot up. “Wh-what?”
“Come home with me,” he said. “Let me hold you, to know that, without a doubt, one of the two most important women in my life is safe and whole.”
Every bit of air in Brit’s lungs whooshed out of her on a rapid exhale. “I’m important?”
He touched her cheek, eyes shining brightly. “Yes, sweetheart, you are.”
Her heart clenched because some part of her had understood that, but to hear him say the words, especially with the guilt tearing her up inside . . .
It made her want to grasp every damn second she could possibly spend with him and hang on as tight as she could.
To savor. To remember. Because when she told him the truth—
“So? Will you come?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
Stefan didn’t reply with words, but something in his expression released. Relaxed and opened. He nodded, scooped up her bag, and led her to his car.
She followed without reluctance.
He was an incredible man, and Brit was determined to do something good, something right by him.
So that if this thing between them went down in flames and carved out a chunk of her heart, crushed it into oblivion, it could at least be said that she’d tried to do something solely for Stefan and his well-being.
In the meantime, she was going to wring out and hold tight to every happy moment she could.
Especially if that meant another moment in Stefan’s arms.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The drive to Stefan’s house was short and mostly silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but Brit had experienced more relaxed car rides.
They talked about his mom for the first few minutes. She was staying one more night in the hospital as a precaution but would probably be released by the following afternoon.
“I called the home-care agency we’ve been using, and a nurse is going to stay with her twenty-four hours a day for a while.” He slanted a glance toward her as the car slid to a halt at a red light. “Mom’s not thrilled, but she’s also decided not to argue.”
Brit figured it would be hard having help around all the time, especially for someone who appreciated her independence, but it was clear Diane couldn’t be left alone.
“Maybe you can eventually arrange it so they just stay when the team is on a road trip?” she asked.
Blue eyes warmed before they returned to the road.
The sensation enveloped her, comforted way more than they should have as an independent woman herself.
But she was hopeless when it came to him, grasping up every crumb of approval, of desire, and caring.
What was it about Stefan that made her crawl? She wasn’t broken any longer, wasn’t a desperate person. But with him—
Perhaps it was because he’d do the same for me.
They were experiencing this crazy rollercoaster of a desire together and Brit thought that if it had been her mother who’d taken ill, Stefan wouldn’t have hesitated to drop everything too.
It was at the very center of this draw between them. A deep-seated . . . trust.
Fuck. Except nothing was based on trust. Her heart stuttered before she shoved the sensation away. Regardless of management forcing her hand with Stefan, they hadn’t poisoned every piece of what was between them.
They couldn’t force her to feel, dammit.
And she felt so, so much.
So much it threatened to well up and swallow her whole, threatened to make her run the other direction and distance herself from the potential of future hurts. The potential they might not be able to overcome an obstacle Stefan didn’t even know existed.
But an inner voice reminded her he was in this too, that he seemed to feel as deeply as her, and that was enough for her anxiety to lessen, for her emotions to settle back down.
It was easier to be vulnerable when she wasn’t alone.
Stefan’s fingers found hers in that moment, lacing their hands together and giving hers a gentle squeeze.
“That’s a good idea,” he said, about the in-home nurse. “My mom would probably agree to that.”
There were lines of strain around his mouth and eyes—fatigue, stress—and Brit’s emotions revved again. But this time they weren’t centered on her. They were focused on Stefan and how she so desperately wanted to take away his pain and worry.
“Probably?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “You seem to have a knack for hanging out with women who give you a hard time.”
His gaze didn’t leave the road, but the side of his mouth she could see turned up. “Pushovers are no fun.”
Her laughter filled the car. “So, I’m seeing the man cave. I expect posters of swimsuit models and a boatload of black leather.”
He snorted. “Then you’re going to be surprised.”
“Naked posters?” she asked, affecting a scandalized expression. “No, you probably keep the naughty stuff where your mom can’t find it. Oh! I just realized!”
“What?” His question was amused.
“I’m dating a man who lives at home with his mother.” She shook her head in mock-reproof. “I really need to make better life choices.”
Stefan’s eyes shot to hers, his smile soft, his expression warm.
“You’re both ridiculously cute and completely transparent. But I appreciate the moment of lightness. And”—his smile transformed, went a little wicked—“don’t think I didn’t see those magazines with shirtless male celebrities in your hotel room.”
“That is a completely different situation.”
“Oh? How so?”
Well, shit. “It’s . . .”
“I’ll save you,” he said, tur
ning into the driveway of a neatly kept bungalow.
It was a bit modern for her taste, with a flat roof and wide windows, but there was no doubt it was well cared for.
“Naked men and naked women are not all that different and also . . . we’re here.”
They got out of the car—Stefan snagging her duffle from her before she could toss it over her shoulder—and walked up the driveway.
“You don’t park in the garage?”
He had what she thought of as the typical athlete’s car, a sleek Mercedes with a big engine, butter-soft leather seats, and enough gadgets to make her dizzy.
It put her crappy, little Toyota to shame.
“My mom parks in the garage.”
If she hadn’t already fallen for him, that matter-of-fact statement would have done it.
“Come on,” he said, and she trailed him up the two steps to the small porch. Someone had left on an exterior light, and Brit could just make out a set of chairs and a small table on one side of the structure.
What would it be like to sit outside on a lazy Sunday morning and drink coffee, do the Sudoku?
The Sudoku?
It was strange it hadn’t hit her before that moment, maybe not exactly surprising, considering everything else that had led to her and Stefan’s relationship and the whirlwind of emotions since.
But Brit had been so wrapped up in the guilt and then in her reaction to him—the flaming desire—that she hadn’t really digested the fact that she liked Stefan.
No. That she’d fallen in love with him.
So deeply that her daydreams had shifted. Instead of fantasizing about playing in front of a crowded arena, of hoisting a silver cup, she was thinking about lazy mornings in Domestica.
Part of her said those feelings were okay, a normal course of human nature and that she could afford to focus on something besides hockey.
The bigger piece was panicked.
She couldn’t afford to let off the gas now, couldn’t risk losing her dream. Not now. Not so close to completion.
Plenty of people had relationships as professional athletes. It was a job, after all.
But this wasn’t just a relationship. This was a tangled mess of deceit and intense sexual attraction.
And somewhere along the way her heart had gotten involved.
Shit.
Shit!
She should leave, fly back to the team, and—
Slightly roughened hands cupped her cheeks.
Brit started to pull away, needing the distance. But Stefan didn’t let her.
Those fingers slid into her hair, threaded through the blond locks, and pulled her against his chest.
“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment, “for being here.”
The panic began to ebb, the racing beat of her heart slowing, matching the steady pace of his.
A moment later, he’d shut the front door to the house and snagged her hand. “You need to get back to the team.”
Brit let him tug her down the porch steps and back toward the car before his words processed. That was what she wanted.
Right?
Except what was she going to do now? Fly back across the country, back up for a game when she would be too exhausted to perform well. Knock down the kid called up for a chance at an NHL game.
She’d been that kid too many times, didn’t want to take that opportunity away. Not even if she had to pay dearly for it later.
“No,” she said. “I’m here—”
“I promised myself . . .” Stefan said, towing her forward. “ . . .that I wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do anything to screw up your dreams. It’s amazing you came . . . so damned amazing . . . but I can’t let you take the chance.”
His words—his actions—calmed her.
She reached up to slide her arms around his neck and kissed him.
She poured all she had into that kiss. Every fear, every feeling, every bit of the blazing heat that boiled just beneath the surface anytime she was near him.
No more panic attacks. What she had with Stefan was important, valuable, and she was going to grab onto it.
Maybe it would be her happy ending. Maybe it would bring nothing more than a broken heart.
But at least she would know.
Looking back, she would know that she had explored the potential of what might be.
Only when her brain screamed for oxygen did she drop her arms. Grasping his hand, she picked up her duffle from where he’d dropped it to the ground then walked back to the front door.
“It’s enough,” she said, “that you were willing—” She broke off, shook her head. “The promise is enough. Later, we can argue, but for now, let’s eat and recover.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Stefan
Vulnerable.
Stefan was feeling remarkably vulnerable with Brit in his home, which made him a total baby. But if there was ever a day for a free pass . . .
Even now, the fear still gripped him, still made his insides feel like shards of ice.
The flight home had been interminable, the longest of his life. Every worry, every shoulda-woulda-coulda cycling in his mind like Sisyphus and his perpetual boulder pushing.
Finally making it to the hospital and finding his mother exhausted but coherent had made his eyes burn in relief.
He’d stayed with her until she’d kicked him out for some real rest, not wanting to go even then, but knowing that arguing with her not only didn’t do any good, but also only tired her further.
Stefan glanced over at the sound of Brit coming into the kitchen. They’d slapped together some PB&Js and scarfed them down before she’d gone off to change for bed.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded, and he couldn’t get over how young she looked with her hair pulled back, her skin slightly pink and makeup free. The first word that came to mind was angelic.
The second was his.
A woman who would soon be in his bed.
Except . . . that wasn’t what this was about. Brit had come back to help him, to show support, and, fact was, they weren’t ready for that step yet.
No matter the wood he was sporting at just the thought of her in his bed, naked between his sheets. He bit back a curse—
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” His house had only three bedrooms: his, his mother’s, and a third that had been converted into his office.
Brit frowned, walked across the room, and glared up at him. “Do you want to sleep on the couch?”
Fuck no. He didn’t. “It’s fine.”
“Uh. No,” she said, “it’s not fine. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t want to take advant—”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, stop playing the staid and moral hero of the romance novel that is our lives. If I didn’t want to be in your arms tonight, I would have let you put me on a plane back to the team.” She hesitated and a hint of indecision slid across her face. “But if you’d rather have your space . . .”
This woman was seriously going to be the death of him.
She’d always drawn him in. He’d always thought her beautiful. But it was so much more than just attraction. It was fire. Kindness. A good heart and a spine of steel. A dash of innocent.
So, hell yes, he wanted to have her in his arms. Stefan wanted that and so much more.
He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, to lick and suck and bite, to taste her . . . everywhere.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want space.”
With a single step, he pulled her against his chest and slanted his mouth across hers, suckling her bottom lip before sweeping his tongue into her mouth and plundering it with a kiss that expressed how he felt very much the opposite.
Space? No.
He wanted nothing between them. Not now. Not ever.
After releasing her mouth and pressing a line of kisses across her jaw, down her throat, he tucked an arm around her wa
ist and led Brit to his bed.
Where they stared at each other awkwardly.
Her gaze flicked to the bed, and she bit her lip. Paired with her cloud-patterned fleece pajamas, she looked sweet enough to lick.
“What side do you—”
In a swift move, he closed the space between them and swept her into his arms.
She squealed, a shockingly feminine sound that made him smile, and began to protest. Except he’d already pulled back the bedspread and tossed her atop the sheets.
His shoes were off a moment later, followed by his pants and socks. Barely a heartbeat passed before she was back in his arms.
“Wait,” she murmured before squirming from his embrace and sliding off her pajama bottoms. “These are too hot to sleep in.”
His brain short-circuited.
If before he’d merely been turned on, now he was starving for her. Seeing her ass barely contained by pale pink silk, witnessing a peekaboo of flesh as her tank top rose an inch, feeling the soft skin of her thighs against his shredded Stefan’s control to the finest filament.
She’d accused him of being a hero earlier, but with her in his arms, lithe muscles and delicate curves pressed against him, he was feeling decidedly wicked.
As if she heard every thought in his mind—or probably more likely felt the raging boner tenting his boxers—Brit rotated to face him and stroked a hand gently across his jaw.
“Tomorrow, hotshot,” she said. “Tomorrow you can prove to me that you know how to use that . . . rifle?” Her mouth turned up before she yawned. “I’m looking for a suitably dirty euphemism, but I’m just too tired.”
Her head snuggled against his chest, blond hair that smelled of roses and apples catching on the stubble of his jaw.
If he had been the only one tired, Stefan probably would have pressed on.
But Brit had called upon his every protective instinct from the very beginning. She was tired, and even if he hadn’t been bone-wearingly exhausted, he would have still done the same thing . . .
Wrap her in his arms, tug her close, and hold her as she slept.
He dreamt of a blond angel who made him feel so, so much.
****
It was amazing, he thought, when he woke hours later, that there was never any question of where he was, of who was in his bed.