Simply Irresistible

by Rachel Gibson

  “I thought you were going to practice around here,” he reminded her.

  That’s what she’d told him, and he’d believed her. “Oh, I did,” she lied.

  “Then come on.” He motioned with his head.

  “I need to practice a little more. Y’all go on without me.”

  Lexie raised her gaze from her feet. “Look, Mommy, I’m good now.”

  “Yes, I see that.” As soon as they wheeled past, Georgeanne resumed her people watching once more. She hoped when John and Lexie returned next time, they would have grown tired of skating and the three of them could retire their Rollerblades and get serious in the gift shops lining Broadway.

  But her hopes were dashed when Lexie boldly rolled past as if she’d been born with wheels on her feet.

  “Don’t go too far now,” John called after Lexie, and took a seat by Georgeanne on the stone bench. “She’s pretty good for a kid her age,” he said, then he smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

  “She has always picked things up quickly. She walked a week before she turned nine months old.”

  He looked down at his feet. “I think I did, too.”

  “Really? I worried that she’d become bowlegged from walking so early, but there was no way, short of hog-tying, that I could stop her. Besides, Mae said all that bowlegged stuff is an old wives’ tale anyway.”

  They were silent for a moment while both of them watched their daughter. She fell onto her behind, picked herself up, and was off again.

  “Wow, that’s a first,” she said, surprised that Lexie didn’t skate toward her with big fat tears in her eyes.

  “What?”

  “She isn’t howling and demanding Band-Aids.”

  “She told me she was going to be a big girl today.”

  “Hmm.” Georgeanne’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. Perhaps Mae was right. Perhaps Lexie was more drama queen than Georgeanne realized.

  John nudged her bare arm with his elbow. “You ready?”

  “For what?” she asked, although she had a real bad feeling she knew the answer.

  “To skate.”

  She uncrossed her legs and turned toward him on the bench. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, her knee brushed his. “John, I’ll be real honest with you. I hate skating.”

  “Then why did you pick it?”

  “Because of this bench. I thought I could just sit here and watch.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Come on.”

  Her gaze traveled from his open palm and up his arm. She looked into his face and shook her head.

  He responded by making chicken sounds.

  “That’s so juvenile.” Georgeanne rolled her eyes. “You can coat me with secret herbs and spices and serve me in a bucket, but I’m not skating.”

  John laughed and creases appeared in the corners of his blue eyes. “Since I promised to be on my best behavior, I won’t comment on how I’d like to see you served.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come on, Georgie, I’ll help you.”

  “I need more help than you can provide.”

  “Five minutes. In five minutes you’ll be skating like a pro.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You can’t just sit here, Georgie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’ll get bored.” Then he shrugged and said, “And because Lexie will worry about you.”

  “Lexie won’t worry about me.”

  “Sure she will. She told me she didn’t want you to sit here all by yourself.”

  He was lying. Like any six-year-old, Lexie was basically self-centered and took her mother for granted. “After five minutes you’ll leave and let me hold down the bench?” she asked, compromising so he’d leave her alone.

  “I promise, and I promise that I won’t let you fall either.”

  Georgeanne sighed with resignation, placing one hand in his palm and the other on the stone wall. “I’m not very athletic,” she warned him as she carefully stood.

  “Well, your other talents make up for it.”

  She was about to ask him what he meant, but he moved behind her and placed his strong hands on her hips.

  “Outside of a good pair of skates,” he said close to her left ear, “the most important thing is balance.”

  Georgeanne felt his breath on the side of her neck and became so flustered her skin tingled. “Where do I put my hands?” she asked.

  He took so long to answer she didn’t think he was going to. Then just when she opened her mouth to repeat her question, he said, “Wherever you want.”

  She balled her fingers into fists and held them down at her sides.

  “You need to relax,” he said as they slowly rolled down the Prom. “You’re like a totem pole on wheels.”

  “I can’t help it.” Her back collided with his chest, and his hands tightened on her hips.

  “Sure you can. First off, you need to bend your knees a little bit and balance your weight over your feet. Then push out with your right foot.”

  “Isn’t the five minutes up yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll fall.”

  “I won’t let you fall.”

  Georgeanne took one quick glance down the Promenade, spotted Lexie a short distance away, then looked down at her skates. “Are you sure?” she asked one last time.

  “Of course. I do this for a living. Remember?”

  “Okay.” Carefully she bent her knees slightly.

  “Good. Now give a little push,” he instructed, but when she did, her feet began to slide out from under her. John wrapped one forearm around her middle and his other hand grabbed her and kept her from falling. She found herself pressed tightly against his chest, her breath frozen in her lungs. She wondered if he knew what he’d grabbed.

  There wasn’t a doubt that John knew. If he’d been blind, he would have known he’d grabbed one of Georgeanne’s big, soft breasts. In a split second his battered control shattered completely. Up until now, he’d done reasonably well at governing his body’s reaction to her. Now, for the first time since he’d seen her standing on his deck yesterday morning, his control completely deserted him.

  “Are you all right?” he managed, and carefully slid his hand from her breast.

  “Yes.”

  He’d told himself that being around Georgeanne would not pose a problem. That he could handle having her stay with him for five days. He’d been wrong. He should have left her sitting on the bench. “I didn’t mean to grab you by your… your, ahh…” Her behind was pressed into his groin, and for one unguarded moment, lust rolled through him like a ball of fire. He lowered his face to the side of her head. Holy shit, he thought, wondering if the side of her neck would taste as good as it looked. John closed his eyes and indulged a fantasy. He inhaled the scent of her hair.

  “I think the five minutes are up now.”

  Sanity returned and he moved his hands to her waist and put several inches between them. He tried to ignore the desire twisting his gut. He told himself that getting sexually involved with Georgeanne was not a good idea. Too bad his body wasn’t listening.

  Since he’d seen her on the beach yesterday in that little halter top and shorts, he’d had to remind himself several times to ignore her long legs and deep cleavage. Even though he’d never thought he would have to, he’d had to remind himself of who she was and what she’d done. But after last night, it didn’t seem to matter any longer.

  Last night he’d seen behind the beautiful face and the centerfold body. He’d seen the pain she’d tried to hide with her laughter and smiles. She’d told him of table settings and silver patterns and dyslexia and of growing up thinking she was retarded and feeling lost. She’d said it all as if it didn’t matter. But it did. To her and to him.

  Last night he’d looked past the gorgeous eyes and the big breasts, and he’d seen a woman who deserved his respect. She was the mother of his child. She was also the star of his wild fantasies and erotic dreams.
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  “I’ll help you back to the bench,” he said, and moved them toward the stone wall. He told himself to think of her as his best friend’s little sister, but thinking of her as his best friend’s little sister didn’t work. He decided to think of her as his sister, but a few hours later, after hitting gift shops and arcades, he gave up thinking of her as anyone’s sister. It just didn’t work.

  Instead, he concentrated on his daughter. Lexie and her constant chatter provided the distraction he needed. She was like a little bucket of cold water, and all of her questions gave him the respite he needed from his thoughts of Georgeanne draped across his bed.

  When he looked into Lexie’s eyes, he saw her excitement and innocence, and he was amazed that he’d helped create such a perfect little person. When he picked her up and put her on his shoulders, or held her hand, his heart thumped hard in his chest. And when she laughed, he knew that everything was worth it. Having her with him was well worth the hell of wanting her mother.

  During the ride back to his house, he kept himself distracted with the sound of Lexie’s little voice raised in fervent song. He patiently listened to the same silly jokes she’d told him two weeks ago, and when they got back home, she repaid him by jumping in the bathtub. He’d listened to her singing, laughed at the jokes, and his little distraction deserted him for a tub full of water and a Skipper doll.

  John grabbed a copy of The Hockey News and sat down at the dining room table. His eyes scanned Mike Brophy’s column, but he didn’t give it his full attention. Georgeanne stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables. Her hair was down and her feet were bare. He turned to a three-page article featuring Mario Lemieux. He liked Mario. He respected him, but at the moment he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the chop-chop-chop of Georgeanne’s knife.

  Finally he gave up and raised his gaze from the picture of Lemieux getting drilled into the nickel seats. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, laid down the knife, then turned. “I thought I’d make us a nice salad to go with our lobster tails.”

  He closed the magazine and stood. “I don’t want a nice salad.”

  “Oh, then what do you want?”

  He looked from her green eyes to her mouth. Something real dirty, he thought. She’d put some pink glossy stuff on her lips and outlined them in a darker shade. He dropped his gaze to her throat, her breasts, and then down to her feet. John had never considered feet sexy. He’d never really thought of them much, but the thin gold ring she wore around her third toe did things to his insides. She reminded him of a harem girl.

  “John?”

  He walked toward her and looked back up into her face. A harem girl with tilty green eyes and a voluptuous mouth asking him what he wanted. After the day in his houseboat, he knew better than to kiss her.

  “What do you want?”

  To hell with it, he thought as he stopped directly in front of her. Just one kiss. He could stop. He’d stopped before, and with Lexie a room away in the tub playing with her Barbies, things couldn’t go too far. Georgeanne wasn’t his buddy’s sister, or his sister, or Sister Mary Theresa either.

  John slid his knuckles along her jaw. “I’ll show you what I want,” he said, and watched her eyes widen as he slowly lowered his head. His mouth brushed against hers, giving her time to pull away. “I want this.”

  Her lips parted on a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered closed. She was soft and sweet and her lipstick tasted like cherries. He wanted her. He wanted to burn. Plowing his fingers into the side of her hair, he tilted her head and dove into a soul-deep kiss. The kiss was reckless and wild. He fed off her mouth, off her desire and his. He felt her hands on him, on his shoulder, his neck, and the back of his head, holding him to her as she lightly sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth. His craving for her churned deep in the pit of his stomach. He ached for more and reached for the bow holding her blouse closed. He yanked and pulled the material wide across her chest, then he drew back, away from her moist, hot mouth. Her beautiful eyes were going all sleepy with passion and her lips were wet and puffy from their kiss. He slid his gaze down her throat to her breasts. Her blouse lay open, the white lacing crisscrossing her deep cleavage. He knew he was dangerously close to the point of no return. Close, but not quite there yet. He had a little more maneuvering room before he was over the edge.

  He cupped her big breasts in his palms and lowered his face to her cleavage. Her skin was warm and smelled powdery, and he felt her swift intake of breath as he kissed the scalloped border of her satin bra. He sucked air into his lungs and closed his eyes, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. Hot, sweaty things. Things he remembered doing to her before. He slid the tip of his tongue across her soft flesh and promised himself that he’d stop when he came up for air.

  “John, we have to stop now,” she gasped, but she didn’t move away, nor did she move her hands from the sides of his head.

  He knew she was right; even if it weren’t for their child in the next room, continuing any further was asinine. And while in his lifetime John had occasionally been an ass, he’d never been a stupid ass. Not for the past several years anyway.

  He kissed the slope of her right breast, then with his body aching to continue, urging him to push her to the floor and give her nine inches of good wood, he drew back. When he gazed into her face, he came very close to giving in to his physical hunger. She looked a little stunned, but mostly she looked like a woman who wanted to spend the rest of the evening naked.

  “Cryin‘ all night,” she whispered, and reached for the edges of her blouse, pulling them together.

  With that honey-sweet accent spilling from her mouth, she reminded him of the girl he’d picked up seven years ago. He was reminded of how she’d looked wrapped up in his sheets. “I guess you like me more than a bad hair day,” he said.

  She looked down and tied the bow. “I have to check on Lexie,” she said, and practically ran from the kitchen.

  He watched her go. His skin felt tight, and he was hard enough to pound nails. Sexual frustration clawed at his gut and he figured he had three choices. He could hunt her down and wrestle her out of her clothes, he could take care of it himself, or he could work out his frustration in the weight room. He chose the third and healthiest option.

  It took him thirty minutes on the treadmill before he’d cleared his head of her, the taste of her skin and the feel of her breasts in his palms. He did another thirty minutes on the stationary bike, then stopped to work on his strength training.

  At the age of thirty-five, John figured he only had a couple more years before he retired from hockey. He wanted to make those remaining years his best, and he had to work harder than ever.

  By hockey standards, he was old. He was a veteran, which meant he had to play better than he had at twenty-five or face speculation that he was too old and too slow for the game. Sportswriters and front-office management wondered about all veterans. They wondered about Gretzky, Messier, and Hull. And they wondered about Kowalsky, too. If he had a bad night, if his hits were too soft, if his shots too wide, sports-writers would openly question if he was worth his big contract. They hadn’t wondered when he’d been in his twenties, but they did now.

  Perhaps some of the things they said about him were true. Maybe he was a few seconds slower, but he more than made up for it in pure physical strength. He’d understood years ago that if he wanted to survive, he would have to adapt and adjust. He still played a fairly physical game, but he played smarter now, using his other skills as well.

  He’d survived last season with only minor injuries. Now, with only a few weeks before training camp, he was in the best physical condition of his life. He was healthy and fit and ready to shake out the rink rust.

  He was ready for the Stanley Cup.

  John worked on his legs until his muscles burned, then he did two hundred fifty stomach crunches and jumped in the shower. He changed into a pair of j
eans and a white T-shirt before returning upstairs.

  When he walked out onto the deck, he found Georgeanne and Lexie sitting together on the same chaise, watching the tide. Neither John nor Georgeanne spoke as he lit the grill, both obviously willing to let Lexie fill the strained silence. During dinner, Georgeanne hardly looked in his direction, and afterward, she jumped up to do the dishes. Since she seemed so eager to get away from him, he let her.

  “Do you gots any games, John?” Lexie asked, holding her chin in her hands. Her hair had been braided down the back, and she wore a little purple nightgown. “Like Candy Land or somethin‘?”

  “No.”

  “Cards?”

  “I might.”

  “Do you want to play slapjack?”

  Slapjack sounded like a good diversion. “Sure.” He stood and went in search of a deck of cards, but he couldn’t find any. “I guess I don’t have any cards,” he told a disappointed Lexie.

  “Oh. Do you want to play Barbies then?”

  He’d rather sever his left nut.

  “Lexie,” Georgeanne said from the doorway of the kitchen where she stood drying her hands with a towel. “I don’t think John wants to play Barbies.”

  “Please,” Lexie begged him. “I’ll let you pick out the best clothes.”

  He looked into her little face with her big blue eyes and pink cheeks and he heard himself say, “Okay, but I get to be Ken.”

  Lexie jumped off her chair and ran from the room. “Don’t got no Ken ‘cause his legs broke off,” she said over her shoulder.

  He glanced at Georgeanne, who stood there with a pitying look in her eyes while shaking her head. At least she wasn’t avoiding him anymore.

  “Are you going to play?” he asked, figuring that with Georgeanne playing, too, he could quit after a short while.

  She laughed silently and walked toward the couch. “No way. You get first pick of all the good clothes.”

  “You can have first pick,” he promised.

  “Sorry, big boy.” She picked up a magazine and sat down. “You’re on your own.”

  Lexie came back into the room loaded down with toys, and John had a bad feeling he was stuck for a while.