I shrug, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. There’s not one in the garage or around the perimeter and it wouldn’t be in the basement, but I’ll check as soon as we get back.
“We need to make sure we have water and candles and batteries,” she says, the pinch between her eyebrows deepening into a sexy librarian look. Another gust of wind whips around, but this time it’s sustained and the pups bark and whimper.
She picks up Curly and I’m mesmerized by her cooing words of comfort almost as much as the way her skirt tightens across her perfect ass. The sky darkens as if time has sped up, bringing nightfall in a few minutes instead of hours.
“We better get back before the rain soaks you,” I say. Because if it does, I’ll be able to see right through that white blouse and my dick will encourage me to seduce her before she has a chance to seduce me.
She gives me a look like she can read my mind, but she says nothing. Instead of putting Curly down, she holds her while we run back to the house with the crazy wind and dark clouds threatening. She’s hampered by the heels, so I take it slow and keep her within arm’s length until we reach the front door. I let her crash inside first, huffing and puffing as if she’s crossed the finish line of a triathlon.
“You’re out of shape, Pink. We’ll have to see about working you out—”
“Don’t even think whatever you have in mind.” She goes for the couch and falls onto it with Curly and it takes everything in me not to sit right next to her, close enough to nuzzle the delicate shell of her ear and the pale white skin of her neck under the mess of silky blond hair. I watch her petting Curly, showering real affection and attention on the lucky little pup.
Then the lights flicker and Pink gently tosses the puppy onto a cushion and jumps to her feet, real panic in her wide eyes. She runs past me into the bedroom and my heart picks up. I’m a die-hard optimist and right now even the idea of Pink in the bedroom in a panic and without me is enticing. A second later, she screams as if someone’s died. “The Internet is down!”
The lights go out before I have a chance to shout back the amused taunt on the tip of my tongue. The pups bark and whimper, mostly whimpering, as they crowd around my legs. My eyes adjust enough to the semidarkness of the early evening when it should still be bright, to see Pink making her way back to me in the living room. Dejection looms on her face as I meet her eyes.
“It’ll be fine. It’s temporary.” I have no cause to say the words except for my need to console her.
“I’ll look for a flashlight,” she says, pulling her shit together. In spite of the dim light, she moves efficiently, with confidence, toward the kitchen, opening drawers. I sit on the ottoman near the pups’ bed, cajoling them into calm, scratching and petting them.
“Or candles,” I call to her. “Candles would be nice.” I look at the fireplace and a smile takes hold from the inside out. A nice cozy fire, candlelight, and a stormy night would be the perfect setting for a seduction. Everything I need to instigate her to make the move.
“Shit,” she says. “These flashlights don’t work. We need new batteries.”
Using our cell phone flashlights, we search for candles. I find a couple of small ones. But they won’t be enough. Fuck, now I’ve used the last of my cell phone’s power.
“We need provisions,” she says. “I’ll go into town and—”
“No way. I’ll go.”
“Why? Because you’re a big macho man—”
“Exactly.”
She rolls her eyes, standing with her hands on her hips, back to her true form. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How about if we both go.” I’m not really asking, because I suddenly don’t want to leave her behind. I want her with me. The irrational imperative feels like some kind of immovable iron wall of need that can’t be defied. It’s like some primitive survival instinct in me’s been kicked up with the storm, surfacing in the form of protect the girl or perish. “We’ll take the pups too.”
I sound normal, but I feel far from it. Raw instincts having nothing to do with seduction drive me, tangling with my rational brain in a losing battle. Fuck this shit.
She stares me down then lets out a huff as if she’s giving in, as if she has a choice. “Fine.”
At the supermarket, we join half the town in stocking up on necessities. We clearly should have come earlier because many of the shelves are empty. But we only need to worry about two days. Tops. Then we’re gone. A lurch of disappointment zings me.
Finally in the checkout line with our chips and cookies, ice, bread and cheese and salami, we get to the cashier. Pink engages her in conversation.
“Your husband looks familiar.”
Pink snorts and says, “He’s not my husband. Not even close.”
I don’t like it. I stand closer to her, a reminder that I’m her protector if not her husband or even her boyfriend. I don’t know if she gets it yet. That I’ve taken responsibility for her as if she’s in danger. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me because likely the only danger to her is from me. I roll my shoulders and take a breath, trying to ease up on my internal battle whipped up by the storm.
“You look familiar,” The checkout lady says again.
“Maybe you’ve seen him in a used car commercial,” Pink says.
She’s mocking me, but I like that she answers for me. Am I sick or what? I lean in, far closer than I know she’d like, and get a noseful of deliciousness. I want to nibble her earlobe, but instead I whisper, “You watch my commercials.”
Her shiver and the eruption of gooseflesh along her neck set my dick straight up into begging posture. That’s more like it. Now we’re back on familiar ground, the kind of instincts I know all about, that make perfect sense. She tries shifting away from me, ignores me in favor of carrying on small talk with the cashier. But the genie’s out of this bottle and I can’t wait to get back to the cold, dark house. Her shivering response says she’s into me and it won’t take much to get her to go for the gusto.
“So this is the worst of the storm, right?” she says to the cashier, who sports a pink name tag saying NELLIE. Nellie flicks her gaze at me intermittently and I give her a reassuring smile back.
“Oh no. Haven’t you been watching the weather reports?” Nellie’s face goes all surprised and she practically clucks her admonishment. “The storm’s been upgraded to hurricane level—it has all the meteorologists in an excited tizzy because it hardly ever happens—and it’s coming close. They’re not sure how close.”
“A hurricane?” Pink’s voice turns all soprano and hovers close to dog whistle. My arms go around her. She’s stiff, but I hold her steady. Fuck. My caveman protector instincts are back in spades.
“It’s okay, babe. We can handle it. It’s only wind and rain for a night.”
“Oh no.” Nellie shakes her head, frowning. “It’s a big one, covers a lot of ground. It won’t get past us for thirty-six to seventy-two hours. Depending.” She looks between us while my brain recalculates. My mind slips deep into reptile survival mode and fight-or-flight decision-making. Looking over the checkout display, I reach out and grab a handful of batteries, making sure I get at least one package of each size.
“We’ll take these.” I drop the batteries onto the conveyer belt and Nellie gives me a nod of approval.
“Are you kidding?” Pink says. “A few batteries? That’s your idea of a solution?” She takes out her phone and powers it up.
“I thought your battery was dead?”
“I saved my last five percent for an emergency. And this is it.” She taps the phone a few times and frowns. Nellie bags our stuff and I gather it all up in one hand, keeping my other firmly planted on the small of Pink’s back.
For some reason, I think it’s important to maintain contact. Not sure if it’s because I need it or because she needs it. Maybe it’s that I need it because she needs it. I need to reassure her, be there for her. Allie Pinkerton may be serious and all business and all kinds of competent o
n the surface, but I sense a crack in her foundation and there’s no way I’ll let her come tumbling down without being there to catch her.
Why? Who the hell knows. I’m no one’s idea of hero material. But I am developing some kind of thing for this girl—check that—woman.
We walk out of the store with me steering her because her eyes are glued to the phone. The wind has picked up even more and it’s loud. But not loud enough to block out the pups’ frantic yapping. These are not playful barks. I crowd around Pink to block the violent weather.
“We’re stuck here,” Pink says, shoving her phone back into her bag and looking up at me.
I open the back of the Land Rover, prepared to catch Moe, Larry, and Curly before they can escape, but they hold steady and calm down as I reach in and pet each of them. Pink reaches in and takes Curly in her arms and kisses her on the head. I’m jealous and warmed to the core by the gesture.
“Stuck?” I say, her words registering, but not making sense.
“On the island. Airport is shut down until further notice. Same with the ferries. We just missed the last one. Our only hope would be a private boat, but—”
“We’re not going anywhere,” I say. The decision to stay and fight has been made. “We can handle this. It’s a little weather. No prob.”
“Of course we can handle it. We have our provisions.” She waves a hand at the bags I put on the ground while I ruffle the fur on Moe and Larry to calm them.
“It’s just that . . .”
“You don’t want to be stuck here with me?”
She makes a face like that too and goes on. “We’re staying right on the ocean. You heard the lady. There will be waves. Big ones.”
“We can move to high ground if we need to.” I close the back and heft the bags off the ground. Opening the back seat passenger door, I put the bags inside. Pink takes her seat in front, still holding Curly in her arms, and I’m not sure who’s comforting who.
“With the dogs?” she says. Legit concern creases her brow.
“You bet. Besides, the house is a good ten feet above the waterline. I estimate we’d need fifty-foot waves to reach the foundation.”
“You estimate? What are you, an amateur meteorologist?”
“No. Let’s just say I have an interest in bodies of water and staying above them.” I force a grin and start the car.
“Bridges,” she says. I’m pleased as hell with her observation.
Out of the blue, rain pelts the windshield in big fat drops, some of those drops hitting hard like hail. The pups whimper.
“Shit,” she says.
I turn the windshield wipers on full speed and the hail comes down heavier now so I can’t hear her when she says something. Shaking my head, I put on the high beams, pull out of the lot, and into the street. Luckily there’s no traffic as I inch the car forward, concentrating on seeing through the blur and fury of rain and hail and wind.
The white-knuckle drive takes twenty minutes when it should have taken five. I glance at Pink now and then to see her nuzzling the pup, her eyes wide. We finally pull into the driveway and I press the remote to open the garage door.
“Fuck,” I say aloud. “No power.”
She looks at me. “It’s all right. Good job driving.” She reaches a hand over and touches my arm. “Thank you.”
Embers everywhere inside me combust at once, sparking the banked desire I’ve been dancing around with since last weekend. I want this woman. For what, I’m not sure, but I know she’s not one-night-stand material. She’s made that perfectly clear.
So what’s left? Go easy, Cav. Don’t get yourself into trouble over a hot nice girl in a storm. Just because we’re alone and trapped for the weekend. We have one or two nights before we get off the island. If it goes longer than that I’m fucked because preseason starts Tuesday and I need to be in Boston by Monday night and on the ice first thing Tuesday morning.
“Oh my God, this is my worst nightmare,” she says.
“Which part? Being trapped with me or—”
She flaps her hand around dismissing my concern. It shouldn’t give me and my dick a jolt of thrill, but it does.
“It’s not you—for once. I have so much work to do and I can’t contact anyone to let them know. I can’t believe we’re stuck here. With no Internet and no power.” She glares at me as if I’m the one who pulled the plug.
“Hey, I thought you said it’s not about me?” I know I should hold in my amusement at her distress, because really, I’m just as fucked as she is, but it’s too much damn fun seeing her all undone.
“Don’t you dare laugh.” She says more loudly than the noise of the rain and hail warrants. Then swats my arm for good measure. Of course I laugh. But I fully intend to fix things.
“Look, tomorrow we’ll find a place to charge our phones or get one of those portable phone chargers from a drug store,” I say. “It’ll be fine babe.”
“Don’t call me that.” She opens the car door as I turn into the drive, before we’re stopped. Once we get the pups and provisions inside, I watch her create order, putting things away, everything in its place, while I take care of drying the pups.
Then she surprises me when she turns to me and says, “You’re right. Maybe the power will be restored by morning and we won’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll only have lost a day of work.” She scowls. “I can handle that. I’ll pull an all-nighter tomorrow.”
Not if I can help it. I’m smart enough to keep that thought to myself. At least she’s moderately settled down. I watch her, looking around, at odds without her work.
“Forget how to relax?” I ask. She pulls her scowl together meaner and cuter than ever and aims it at me as if she could actually shoot lasers from her eyes. Not those eyes. There’s too much vulnerability just beneath the superficial gruff she tries to protect herself with.
“Tell you what, I’ll make a fire. That’ll help get you in the mood.”
“It’ll be good for light and heat,” she shoots back. “Good idea.”
On an exploratory mission, I step outside to check on using the grill. Steak for dinner is out the window. Not that the grill isn’t working but the rain and wind make it impossible to use it. I wouldn’t mind standing out here, but the meat would be drenched before I could turn it.
“Umbrellas are fucking useless in this wind,” I say. Coming back inside with the mangled umbrella, I take off the soaking wet jacket I found in the closet—the only one that I could squeeze into.
She snorts. “No kidding.”
I laugh at her taunt.
We eat sandwiches in front of the fire. Hers are peanut butter and mine are salami. We sit on the floor with the dogs around us. I have her exactly where I’ve wanted her—in a position to seduce me.
So why am I more worried about her feeling safe than sexy?
Chapter 4
Pink
I wish he wasn’t being so nice and reasonable and calming. Fuck if I don’t need all that right now. The way the firelight flicks across his playboy features tweaks me right between my legs like he’s a violinist bowing my strings. If watching him and his fucking eyelashes and his rippling muscles and that dark stubble gets me wet, imagine if—no, do not imagine him touching me or those lips of his on mine, or on me anywhere. Do. Not.
Searching for something safe to talk about as I take a sip of pinot noir to wash down my peanut butter and lust, I strike on it.
“What’s with you and bridge doodles?” I say. Relaxing a fraction, I can’t wait to hear the explanation for this. It should help throw a bucket of water on my oversexed libido.
“I’ve always wanted to build bridges. And dams.”
“Why?” I laugh-snort, then take another quick sip of my wine.
With his usual sexy smirk and a negligent shrug, he says, “The dream started when we took a family vacation to visit the Hoover Dam and the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“So you gave up the dream for hockey?” A spark of intrigue tightens my
chest, having nothing to do with my over-sexed libido and maybe posing a more serious risk. Stop it. Stop it now. I compress my lips as if the act is some kind of defense against the onslaught of whatever the hell emotion fills me. Or maybe it’s the wine. It better be the fucking wine or I may be in trouble.
“Not exactly. I still may do it,” he says and for a second I’ve forgotten what the hell he’s talking about. I take a deep breath to clear my foggy brain. It has to be the wine.
“Bridges and dams,” I say. That’s what we’re talking about. Tilting my wine glass all the way up, I sip the last of the too-tempting drink and let it roll around in my mouth in spite of my smarter self, who’s warning me to slow down.
He gives me a calculating look and adds. “Secret?”
He wants to share a secret and I nod automatically, well past my ability to resist the tantalizing prospect in spite of how it smacks of intimacy, the exact kind of thing I need to avoid with him. Or any man. Right? For the sake of my career and the quest for a million bucks. I figuratively pinch myself with the reminder as I swallow my wine.
“I was a civil engineering major at Cornell,” he says.
I almost choke as I cough.
“Are you shitting me? Cornell? University? Fucking engineering?” My disbelief may be permanent.
“No shitting. You didn’t know I went to Cornell? Top-notch hockey program.” He takes a nonchalant sip of his drink while I sputter my way to recovering my usual aplomb.
“I’m sorry, but I may need to see a copy of your diploma before I believe you. And even then I may need to have it authenticated.”
He laughs. “I should be insulted.”
He doesn’t look the least bit insulted as he downs the last of his whiskey or scotch or some such shit. It’s all poison as far as I’m concerned. Like him. He’s a devilish temptation, the way he eyes me over the rim of his glass, swirling the golden liquid. The darkening of his pupils and drooping eyelids make my mouth go dry and my pussy crying wet. Damn, damn, damn. I clear my throat.
He Has MVP: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Boston Brawlers Hockey Romance) Page 3