“Honest? You’re only honest when you want something. You lie to me all the time.”
“When have I lied to you?”
“Your lawyer, for one,” she reminded him.
“That wasn’t really a lie, it was an omission.”
“It was a lie, and you lied to me again today.”
“When?”
“At the church. You told me Virgil had moved on, that he was over what happened seven years ago. But you know he isn’t.”
He leaned back on his heels and frowned at her. “What did he say?”
“That you wouldn’t choose me over your team. What did he mean?” she asked, and waited for him to enlighten her.
“The truth?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, he threatened to trade me to another hockey team if I get involved with you, but it doesn’t matter. Forget about Virgil. He’s just mad because I got a piece of what he wanted.”
Georgeanne leaned against the wall. “Me?”
“You.”
“That’s all I am to you?” She looked at him.
He blew out his breath and ran his fingers though the sides of his hair. “If you think I only came over here to get my rocks off, you’re wrong.”
She let her gaze travel to the bulge in his wool trousers, then back up to his face. “Am I?”
Anger stained his cheeks and he clenched his jaw. “Don’t take what I feel for you and turn it into something dirty. I want you, Georgeanne. All you have to do is walk in a room, and I want you. I want to kiss you, and touch you, and make love to you. My physical response is natural, and I won’t apologize for it.”
“And in the morning you’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone again.”
“That’s horseshit.”
“It’s happened twice.”
“Last time, you ran out on me.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who ran out which time. It will end the same. You won’t mean to hurt me, but you will.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel good, and if you were honest with me, like you wish me to be with you, you’d admit that you want me, too.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “I hate that word.”
“Sorry, but there’s too much between us to have it any other way.”
“Are you still trying to punish me for what happened seven years ago, or is it just an excuse?” He planted his hands on the wall next to her head. “What are you afraid of?”
“Not you.”
He cupped her chin in his palm. “Liar. You’re afraid Daddy isn’t going to love you.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. “That was cruel.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth.” His thumb slipped across her closed lips. He wrapped his free hand around her wrist. “You’re afraid to reach out and take what you want, but I’m not. I know what I want.” He slid her palm across his hard chest and down the buttons of his shirt. “Are you still trying to be a good girl so Daddy will notice you? Well, guess what, baby doll,” he whispered as he moved her hand to the front of his pants and pressed his thick erection into her palm. “I noticed.”
“Stop it,” she said, and lost control of her tears. She hated him. She loved him. She wanted him to stay as badly as she wanted him to go. He’d been crude and cruel, but he’d been right. She was terrified he’d touch her, and afraid he wouldn’t. She was afraid to take what she wanted, scared he’d make her miserable and unhappy. She was already miserable and unhappy. There was no way she could win. He was like a drug, an addiction, and she was hooked. “Don’t do this to me.”
John wiped a tear from her cheek and let go of her hand. “I want you, and I’m not afraid to play dirty.”
She had to cut herself off from John, quit cold turkey. Check herself into rehab. No more hot kisses or touches or hungry glances. She had to get tough. “You just want a piece of… of…”
John shook his head and smiled. “I don’t want just a piece. I want it all.”
Chapter Nineteen
John looked into Georgeanne’s eyes and chuckled silently. She was trying to be tough but couldn’t even bring herself to say the word “ass.” It was just one of the thing that fascinated him about her. “I want your heart, your mind, and your body.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. “I want all of you-forever,” he whispered, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her palms flattened against his chest as if she meant to push him away, but then she opened her soft mouth, and he felt a triumph so sweet it nearly sent him to his knees. He craved her body and soul, and he lifted her onto her toes and fed his hunger. Within seconds the kiss became a carnal feeding frenzy of mouths and tongues and hot, hot pleasure. John unzipped the back of her dress, then reached for the shoulders. He pulled down the dress, and the thin straps of her slip and bra, stripping her to her waist. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and he drew back to view her plump, naked breasts spilled toward him like his personal vision of heaven. He wrapped one arm around her waist and he lowered his face and placed a soft kiss on the very tip of her left breast. His tongue licked the puckered flesh and she moaned. She arched toward him, and he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Georgeanne struggled to free her arms, but he held her tight.
“John,” she moaned. “I want to touch you.”
He loosened his grasp and moved to suckle her right breast. He was ready. He’d been ready for months. The ache in his groin urged him to shove her against the wall, pull her dress up to her waist, and bury himself deep inside her hot, wet body. Now.
She freed her arms from the tangle of straps and pulled his shirttails from his pants. John straightened and looked into her drowsy eyes. Before he could give in to his urge and take her right there by her front door, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the rear of the house. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked as he moved down the hall. “I know there’s one here somewhere.”
“Last door on the left.”
John entered the room and stopped dead in his tracks. The bed had a floral quilt and a lace canopy. A half dozen or so frilly pillows were tossed against the headboard. Flowers were printed on the wallpaper and on the fabric of the chairs. A big floral wreath hung above one dresser, and two vases of flowers sat about the room. He’d just stepped into girly central.
Georgeanne walked past him, holding her dress to her breasts. “What’s wrong?”
He looked at her, standing there surrounded by flowers, attempting to shield herself with her hands, and failing miserably. “Nothing, except you’re still dressed.”
“So are you.”
He smiled and stepped out of his shoes. “Not for long.” Within seconds he’d stripped down to nothing, and when he returned his gaze to Georgeanne, he nearly exploded. She stood just beyond his reach, in nothing but a pair of skimpy panties and two stockings secured at her thighs with pink garters. His gaze moved from the enticing expanse of thigh just above the garters to her full hips. Her breasts were beautiful and round, her shoulders smooth, her face gorgeous. He reached for her and pulled her against him. She was hot and soft and everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. He meant to go slow. He wanted to make love to her, to prolong their pleasure. But he couldn’t. He felt like a kid running toward his favorite playground, unable to stop; the only thing holding him back was his own indecision over where to play first. He wanted her mouth, shoulder, and breasts. He wanted to kiss her belly, thighs, between her legs.
He pushed her onto the bed, then rolled with her on top. He kissed her mouth and slid his hands down her back to her behind. He wrapped his fist in her panties and yanked them down her legs. His erection pressed into her smooth stomach and he ground it against her. The tension in his groin pulled tighter, tighter, until he thought he might explode.
He wanted to wait. He wanted to make sure she was ready. He wanted to be a tender lover. He rolled her onto her back and forced her panties from her legs. He sat back on his heels and looked at her, naked excep
t for a pair of nylons and two garters. She raised her arms to him, and he knew he couldn’t wait. He covered her with his body, hips cradled between her smooth thighs, and he placed his palms on both sides of her face. “I love you, Georgeanne,” he whispered as he looked into her green eyes. “Tell me you love me.”
She moaned and slid her hands down his sides to his buttocks. “I love you, John. I’ve always loved you.”
He plunged deep inside her and realized immediately he’d forgotten a condom. For the first time in years, he felt enveloped in hot fluid flesh. Desperately he fought for control while the need for her clawed at his gut. He pulled back, thrust again, and they both shattered in a reeling climax.
It was three in the morning before John slipped from her bed and began to dress. Georgeanne secured the sheet around her breasts and sat up to watch him button his pants. He was leaving. She knew he didn’t have a choice. Neither of them wanted Lexie to know he’d spent the night. Still, her heart ached at his leaving. He’d told her he loved her. He’d told her many times. It was still a little hard to believe. Hard for her to trust the joy she felt deep inside.
He reached for his shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she blinked them back. She wanted to ask him if she would see him again the next evening, but she didn’t want to appear grasping and greedy.
“You probably won’t want to go to the arena early,” he said, referring to the hockey tickets he’d given her earlier. “Lexie will have a hard enough time sitting through the game, without getting there for the early stuff.” He sat on the edge of the bed and put on his socks and shoes. “Dress warm.” When he was finished, he stood and reached for her. He pulled her onto her knees and kissed her. “I love you, Georgeanne.”
She didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing him say those words to her. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll see you after the game,” he said, and dropped one last kiss on her lips. Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Virgil’s warning plaguing her brain and threatening to destroy her happiness.
John loved her. She loved him. Did he love her enough to give up his hockey team? How could she live with herself if he did?
* * *
Blue and green floodlights circled the ice like a swirling cauldron while a half-dozen scantily clad cheerleaders danced to ear-popping rock music pumped from the sound system at the Key Arena. Georgeanne could feel the heavy bass thud in her chest and wondered how Ernie was doing. She looked over the top of Lexie-who had her hands over her ears- to John’s grandfather. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the loud noise.
Ernie Maxwell looked almost the same as he had seven years ago, with his thin white crew cut and gravelly Burgess Meredith voice. The only real difference was that now his blue eyes looked out from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and he had a hearing aid in his left ear.
When Georgeanne and Lexie had first found their seats, she’d been surprised to see him waiting for them. She hadn’t known what to expect from John’s grandfather, but he’d quickly put her at ease.
“Hello, Georgeanne. You look even more beautiful than I remember,” he’d said as he’d helped her and Lexie out of their jackets.
“And you, Mr. Maxwell, are twice as handsome as I remember,” she’d declared through one of her most charming smiles.
He’d laughed. “I always did like a southern gal.”
Suddenly the music stopped and the arena lights were extinguished, except for the two enormous Chinooks logos illuminated at each end of the ice.
“Ladies and gentleman, the Seattle Chinooks,” a male voice boomed from the speakers on the huge video Scoreboard. The fans went crazy, and amidst the screams and cheers, the home team skated onto the ice. Their white jerseys appeared stark in the darkness. From her position several rows above the blue line, her gaze scanned the back of each jersey until she found the name Kowalsky printed in blue above the number eleven. Her heart fluttered with pride and love. That big man with the white helmet stuck low on his forehead belonged to her. It was so new and she was having a hard time believing he loved her. She hadn’t talked to him since he’d kissed her goodbye, and since then, she’d experienced horrible moments when she’d feared she’d dreamed the night before.
Even from a distance she could see that he wore pads on his shoulders and beneath the ribbed socks that covered his legs and disappeared beneath his shorts. He held a hockey stick in the big padded gloves on his hands. He looked as impenetrable as the name he’d been given, as solid as a wall.
The Chinooks sailed from goalpost to goalpost, then finally stopped in a straight line in the middle. The lights came up, and the Phoenix Coyotes were announced. But when they skated out onto the ice, they were greeted by an arena filled with booing Chinooks fans. Georgeanne felt so bad for the other team, if she hadn’t feared for her safety, she might have cheered.
Five players from each team stayed out on the ice and took their positions. John slid into the center face-off circle, put his stick on the ice, and waited.
“Kick some ass, boys,” Ernie yelled as soon as the puck was dropped and the battle began.
“Grandpa Ernie!” Lexie gasped. “You said a bad word.”
Ernie either didn’t hear or chose to ignore Lexie’s admonition.
“Are you cold?” Georgeanne asked Lexie over the noise of the crowd. They’d dressed for winter in white cotton turtlenecks, jeans, and wool-lined ankle boots.
Lexie kept her eyes glued to the ice and shook her head. She pointed to John, speeding down the ice toward them, his fierce gaze directed at an opposing team player who had the puck. He body-checked him so hard against the boards, the Plexiglas shook and rattled, and Georgeanne just knew they were going to break through the barrier and take out the crowd. She heard the heavy whoosh of air leaving both men’s lungs, and she was sure after such a pounding, the other man would have to be carried away. But he didn’t even fall down. The two men elbowed and hacked, and finally the puck sailed toward the Coyotes’ goal.
She watched John skate from one end to the other, grind someone into the ice, and steal the puck. The collisions were often brutal, like car collisions, and she thought of the night before and hoped he didn’t damage anything vital.
The crowd was wild, peppering the air with salty curses. Ernie preferred to direct the majority of his grievance toward the referees. “Open your damn eyes and pay attention to the game,” he hollered. Georgeanne had never heard so much swearing in such a condensed period of time, nor had she ever seen so much spitting in her life. Besides cursing and spitting, each team delivered pounding hits, skated fast, and hammered the goaltenders. By the end of the first period, neither had scored.
In the second period, John was given a penalty for tripping and ordered to the penalty box.
“You sons of bitches!” Ernie yelled at the officials. “Roenick fell over his own damn feet.”
“Grandpa Ernie!”
Georgeanne wasn’t about to argue with Ernie, but she’d seen John hook the blade of his stick in the other man’s skates and pull his feet out from underneath him. He’d made the whole maneuver look effortless, then he’d placed a gloved hand on his chest and looked so innocent, Georgeanne began to wonder if perhaps she’d imagined the other man sliding spread-eagle across the ice.
In the third period, Dmitri finally made a goal for the Chinooks, but ten minutes later, the Coyotes tied the score. Tension buzzed the air in the Key Arena, filling the fans and keeping them on the edges of their seats. Lexie jumped to her feet, too excited to sit. “Go, Daddy,” she hollered, as John fought for the puck, then barreled down ice. With his head down, he flew across the center line, then out of nowhere, a member of the Coyotes slammed into him. If Georgeanne hadn’t seen it herself, she wouldn’t have believed a man John’s size could cartwheel through the air. He landed on his back and lay there until the whistle was blown. Several trainers and the coach from the Chinooks bench ran out onto the ice. Lexie
started to cry, and Georgeanne held her breath, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Your daddy is okay. Look,” Ernie said, pointing to the ice, “he’s getting up.”
“But he’s hurt,” Lexie sobbed, watching John slowly skate, not toward the bench, but toward the tunnel the team exited through between periods.
“He’ll be fine.” Ernie put his arm around Lexie’s waist and pulled her to his side. “He’s ‘The Wall.’ ”
“Mommy,” Lexie wailed as tears streamed down her face, “go give Daddy a Band-Aid.”
Georgeanne didn’t think a Band-Aid was going to help. She wanted to cry, too, and kept her gaze glued to the tunnel, but John didn’t return. A few minutes later, the buzzer sounded and the game was over.
“Georgeanne Howard?”
“Yes?” She glanced up at a man standing behind her chair and rose to her feet.
“I’m Howie Jones, a trainer for the Chinooks. John Kowalsky asked me to come and find you.”
“How badly is he hurt?”
“I don’t really know. He wants me to take you to him.”
“My Lord!” She couldn’t imagine why he would ask to see her, unless maybe he’d been seriously injured.
“You better go,” Ernie said as he stood.
“What about Lexie?”
“I’ll take her home to John’s, and I’ll stay with her until you get there.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, thoughts spinning so fast in her head she couldn’t seem to grasp a single one.
“Of course. Now, go.”
“I’ll call and let you know what I find out.” She bent to kiss Lexie’s wet cheeks and grabbed her jacket.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have time to call.”
Georgeanne followed Howie between the portable stands and through the passage where she’d seen John disappear minutes before. They walked on thick, spongy rubber mats and passed men in security uniforms. She took a right and moved through a big room with a draped partition. Worry knotted her stomach. Something terrible must have happened to John.
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