Taylor folded her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting together. She stared at her hands for a long minute then released another heavy sigh and finally met his gaze. "When we were kids. I was such a cocky little shit, all those things I said to you—"
"Taylor—"
"And even a couple of months ago, when I first saw you again. And then—"
"Taylor—"
"I just don't understand how—"
Charles leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own, finally silencing her. She tensed under his kiss, but only for a second. Then she sighed into his mouth and leaned against him, her arms wrapping around his neck. And God, it would be so easy to lose himself in her kiss. Her touch. To lift her into his arms and carry her back to his room.
But not yet. They needed to talk. He needed to find out what was bothering her first, to find out what was behind her questions.
He gentled the kiss and eased away from her, then reached up and tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear. "So what's going on? Why all the worries?"
"I just don't understand why you want to be with me after I was so mean."
"Are you talking about when we were kids?"
"Yeah. Mostly. But recently, too. When you first started working for the Blades."
"Why are you so worried about what happened twelve years ago?"
"Because I was so mean. And cocky." She leaned back and stared down at her hands again. "I can't believe I was that awful—"
"Taylor, you weren't awful."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I was there, remember? We always got into it when were kids. But you never dished out more than you were handed. If you remember correctly, I wasn't exactly super nice to you, either."
"Yeah, but—"
"No buts about it. I was always teasing you, egging you on. But you never backed down. That's one of the things I liked about you."
"But—I was mean!"
Her face was screwed up into such a comical expression of dismay that Charles almost laughed. Not because it was funny—it wasn't. She was truly upset, convinced that she had been so awful to him all those years ago. But he remembered it differently, remembered how he'd been so jealous and intimidated. Remembered how he'd said his own share of mean things to her, teasing her, pushing her. Didn't she remember any of that?
He reached for her and pulled her closer, dropped his mouth on hers for a quick kiss. She narrowed her eyes, watching him with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty.
"You weren't mean."
"I was."
"Okay, then. You weren't the only one who was mean. Is that better?"
"No." She tried to pull away, gave up when he tightened his arm around her. "How can you even stand to be near me?"
"Are you honestly upset over something that happened twelve years ago? When we were nothing but stupid kids who didn't know any better?"
"It doesn't say much for who I am."
He ran a hand through her hair then cupped her cheek. "Taylor, we were kids. It has nothing to do with who we are now."
"But—"
"Fine. If it still upsets you that much, I'll let you make it up to me."
She tilted her head back, the first hint of a smile teasing her mouth. "Why do I get the feeling that isn't as magnanimous a gesture as you want me to believe?"
"Magnanimous. Wow. Pretty big word for a jock."
"Hey—"
He pressed a kiss against her mouth, this one a little longer. "I'll still let you make it up to me if you want. Because I'm selfless and noble like that."
Taylor finally smiled—a full smile, one that brightened her face and danced in her eyes. She leaned closer, her mouth a breath away from his own. "I think I can manage that."
"Yeah?" Heat rushed through him, firing his blood as her hands drifted across his chest, her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. He watched as her eyes darkened, as her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted on a shallow breath. He reached up and closed his hand around her wrist, stopping her while his mind was still able to form coherent thoughts.
"You have a game tomorrow. Don't you need me to take you home so you can get ready?"
Taylor's eyes met his, their amber depths alight with desire. She shook her head and leaned forward, then ran the tip of her tongue against his lower lip. "No. I want to stay here."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Charles may have growled, he couldn't be sure. And he didn't care, not when her mouth closed over his. Hot. Wet. Hungry. She reached between them, her fingers releasing the last few buttons of his shirt. She spread the material apart then ran her hands over his chest, each touch searing him. Branding him.
And God yes, he wanted nothing more than to be branded by this woman. Tonight. Tomorrow.
Forever.
He cupped her face between his palms and took control of the kiss, deepening it. Claiming her. She melted against him, giving herself to him even if she didn't realize it, not yet.
Charles pulled her across his lap then wrapped his arms around her and stood, carrying her back to his room. She slid down his body, her heated gaze almost shy as she stepped away and peeled her clothes from her body. They landed in a careless pile at the foot of the bed, quickly covered by his own. Then she was in his arms again and they were falling against the mattress, their bodies entwined, their hands searching with frantic need. Soft curves, toned muscle. Valleys and peaks. Charles couldn't stop touching her, would never be able to feed the hunger blazing through his veins.
He pulled away long enough to stretch across the bed and reach into the nightstand drawer. His fingers closed around a foil packet and he ripped it open, held his breath when Taylor took it from him. She rolled the condom down the hard length of his erection, her fingers trembling against the sensitive flesh. Then she fell to her back, pulling him on top of her, the same need he felt flashing in the depths of her warm eyes.
His mouth crashed against hers. Hungry, desperate. He couldn’t get enough of her, not even when he plunged into her tight heat.
Losing himself.
Finding himself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Crowds usually never bothered him. People yelling and pushing. The press of bodies as everyone moved about, trying to do their own thing. It was nothing more than a part of everyday life.
But this…this was something completely different. Something totally out of his comfort level.
Charles shifted on the overstuffed sofa and looked around the spacious room, trying to take everything in. It was sensory overload: the running, the carrying-on, the shouts and laughter. He blinked, trying to bring everything into focus, but it was too much. He didn't know where to focus, didn't know which conversation to concentrate on. Hell, at this point, he wasn't even sure if he could think.
When Taylor had invited him to Sunday dinner with her family, he had imagined a quiet gathering. Casual conversation around the dinner table, maybe. Or maybe sitting around the living room talking with the television on in the background, the sound muted or turned down so low it didn't interfere with conversation. He'd even expected a third-degree interrogation of sorts. But he had never expected this…this chaos.
Five kids, ranging in age from four to eleven, ran around the spacious room, making it feel smaller somehow. Four girls and one boy. Two sets of twins. He glanced over, frowning as he tried to remember their names. The older girls were Taylor's sisters. The younger girls and small boy were her cousins. That was all he managed to remember. And he couldn't tell the twins apart, no matter how many quirky memory tricks he tried. Did it matter? Probably not. But at least it gave him something to focus on besides the two men sitting adjacent to him, studying him with stony faces.
Sonny LeBlanc and JP Larocque. Taylor's father and her uncle. He'd met both men before, of course, almost two months ago when they had come to the rink for that one disastrous news piece. And he remembered them from when he was a kid, playing youth hockey with Ta
ylor. But this was different. He wasn't here to do any marketing or to discuss the Blades; he wasn't here to reminisce about old times.
He was here as Taylor's date.
Heat filled his face as the word swirled through his mind. Taylor's date. Her date. Or maybe he was more than just her date. You didn't bring casual dates to your parents' home for dinner. You didn't introduce casual dates to your family.
There was something almost comforting about that thought, once he got past the panic the idea created. Or maybe the panic was nothing more than survival instinct kicking in under the scrutiny of the two men next to him.
Charles tightened his hand around the bottle he'd been gripping for the last fifteen minutes. He wanted nothing more than to lift the bottle to his mouth and take a long swig of the beer, hoping it would steady his nerves—but he didn't dare. He didn't think it would make a good first impression if he upended the bottle and chugged it down. And it wouldn't look good if he ended up spilling it all down the front of his shirt, either. So he just sat there, his hand wrapped around the bottle so tightly that his fingers were starting to cramp.
This would be so much easier if Taylor was actually here but she wasn't. She had disappeared into the other room not long after they got here, right after making quick introductions and leaving him to the mercy of the wolves.
Abandoning him.
Maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Charles had no doubt that she was in the other room, talking with her mother and aunt—probably about him. Or maybe she was being interrogated, too. But at least her interrogation was being done without the background noise of screams and laughter coming from five kids.
Sonny LeBlanc shifted in the chair and leaned forward, pinning him with a steady gaze from steel gray eyes. "I noticed someone filming the game earlier. Who was it?"
"We, uh—" Charles stopped to take a deep breath and clear his throat. He couldn't stutter or riddle his answer with awkward pauses and hesitant uh's and um's.
Pretend this is nothing more than a press conference.
He cleared his throat again and started over. "We've started live streaming the games on social media, hoping to tap into the market that way. To build up some excitement. None of the networks have shown any interest in airing the games so we decided to take matters into our own hands."
"Has there been any success?"
Depends on how you define success.
But Charles didn't say that out loud. "Some. Today was the first game so I'm still waiting for the final numbers to come in."
Sonny leaned back in the chair, his gaze still focused on Charles. "Damn shame the Blades lost."
"Dad! This isn't a locker room!" One of the older girls—he wasn't sure which one—ran over to Sonny and held her hand out, palm up. Amusement flashed through Charles and he had to bite back a smile when the bigger man grumbled and reached into his front pocket. He pulled out some crumpled bills and placed one into the upturned palm. Charles looked closer, something like amazement shooting through him. Was the bigger man actually blushing? Yes, he was. Charles looked away, but not before the other man noticed him watching.
"I, uh, I have to pay them if they catch me swearing."
"Not that it helps any, eh?" JP laughed and clapped the older man on the shoulder. He turned toward Charles, humor flashing in his eyes. "This live streaming. It will help, you think?"
"That's certainly the hope, yes. Like I said, today was the first time. We'll continue doing it, even for the road games. The reach should continue to grow, especially when we combine it with a focused marketing for each demographic we're targeting."
Two blank faces stared back at him.
"I'm expanding our marketing reach now that I've got a budget to work with. Different age groups. Different neighborhoods. Men. Women. The young adult market. Things like that."
"Good. It would be a da—" Sonny stopped and glanced over at five expectant faces then cleared his throat. "It would be a shame if the Blades only played for one season."
"I don't intend to let that happen. The exhibition and autograph session yesterday was extremely well-received. My hope is that it opened the doors to an existing market that's more than ready for women's hockey. I'm working with the Banners' marketing department for more opportunities like that."
"That's good to know. If there's anything we can do to help, just let us know."
Charles nodded his thanks, some of his earlier discomfort fading—until Sonny leaned forward again, those gray eyes impaling him.
"How long have you been seeing my daughter?"
"Uh…um—" And just like that, Charles was transported back to the time when he was an awkward teenager. He shifted on the sofa, his gaze darting around the suddenly quiet room. It felt like seven sets of eyes were on him. Watching. Studying. Scrutinizing.
Probably because they were.
He shifted again and finally met Sonny's direct gaze. "Almost two months. Sir."
"Because she hasn't mentioned you at all. Didn't say anything about you until she called this morning to tell us she was bringing you to dinner after the game."
The words stung more than they should, for reasons that didn't make sense. Logically, he knew there had been no reason for Taylor to talk to her family about him. This thing they were doing—relationship, not thing—was still new. It hadn't even started in the way normal relationships did, with one or two dates, then a few more, then a few more after that. They had started with some friction, a little head-butting. And then things just sort of happened from there.
No, it didn't surprise him that Taylor hadn't mentioned him. Hell, he hadn't mentioned her to his family, either. The difference was, his family consisted solely of his mother, and he didn't talk to her as often as he should. Taylor's family, on the other hand, was much bigger and definitely a lot closer.
Yes, the words stung. But he thought that maybe that was the point. Thought that maybe Sonny was testing him somehow. Or pushing. Or trying to get a reaction.
He met Sonny's piercing gaze, ready to reply, hoping whatever words came out of his mouth would make sense and not make him sound like a blithering idiot. He was saved from answering when Taylor entered the room, amusement curling the corners of her mouth.
"I didn't say anything, Dad, because I knew you'd act like this. And I did kind of mention him. You remember." Taylor paused, her gaze catching his. Charles saw the laughter dancing in her eyes and knew what was coming. He wanted to jump up and stop her but it was too late—not that he'd be able to stop her anyway.
"No, Pumpkin, I don't remember."
"Sure you do." Her grin widened. "When I was doing all that complaining about Chuckie-the-fart."
Chapter Twenty-Three
"So am I the only one who thinks this is weird?"
"No, it's definitely fucking weird."
"Yeah, totally weird."
Taylor grabbed her gear bag from the luggage compartment of the bus then stepped back to join Sammie, Shannon, and Dani. All four of them stood on the cracked asphalt beside the bus, their gazes resting on the group of suits standing near the front.
The majority owner of the Blades, James Murphy. Two of the minor owners, or stakeholders, or whatever they were called, Mike Henderson and Owen Smith.
And Chuckie.
The four men had shown up with the rest of the team before the crack of dawn this morning, just before they were getting ready to head out for their road game in New York. It had come as a complete surprise to everyone—including Taylor. Chuckie hadn't said anything to her about going with them today. Judging from his appearance—tired, just a little worn around the edges—she wondered if maybe he had been called at the last minute. She had no way of knowing, and she hadn't been about to go up and ask him, not when he was sitting at the front of the bus with Mr. Murphy and the other two men.
"So why do you think they're here?"
"No idea." Shannon pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head, anchoring them in her thick blonde hair, and l
ooked over at Taylor. "Your hottie didn't say anything to you?"
"He's not my hottie. And no, he didn't."
"Hunh. Wonder why not. You should go ask him."
"I'm not going to go ask him." Taylor looked over at the men once more, her gaze locking with Chuckie's. He offered her a quick smile, one that looked tired and strained, then turned away when Mr. Murphy said something to him.
"You're not curious?"
"Of course, I'm curious. That doesn't mean I'm just going to stroll right up and ask him. They're busy. See?"
"They don't look busy to me. They look like they're just standing around, shooting the shit."
"You mean like we're doing?" Sammie readjusted the grip on her bag then started walking backward toward the arena. "Come on, let's get inside. I need to pee."
"Why didn't you use the bathroom on the bus?"
"Ewww. Gross. No way. Besides, I didn't need to go then."
They followed Sammie, falling in with the rest of the team as they made their way across the parking lot. Taylor noticed that everyone—including the coaches—kept throwing speculative glances at the four men.
Shannon caught up to Sammie, mimicking each step the shorter woman took: a hop, a skip, a little bounce. "The bathroom wasn't gross. I mean, it's practically new. You should have tried it out. You know, instead of dancing around like that."
"I'm not dancing." Sammie bounced from one foot to the other. "I just need to really pee."
"You want some water?"
"No!"
"You sure?" Shannon pulled a nearly-full bottle from her bag and shook it in front of Sammie. "Because there's nothing like a nice cold bottle of really wet water trickling down your throat and hitting your full bladder when you need to pee."
"Oh God, stop." Sammie turned and started to run, rushing to the double doors and nearly knocking Coach Reynolds off her feet.
Taylor bit back a laugh and elbowed Shannon in the side. "Why do you do that to her?"
"Seriously? Because she's fun to tease. Duh." Shannon looked over her shoulder, a speculative frown creasing her face. "So why do you think they're really here?"
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