Game On Box Set: Time OutHer Man AdvantageFace-OffBody Check

by Jill Shalvis

  And his momentary lack of confidence vanished like a puck disappearing into his opponent’s net. Slam. Gone.

  He stepped back over to the bed and slipped a hand to her knee. And then higher. She huffed out a helpless sigh and let her thighs part for him. He took his time, teasing his way up, higher, slipping the silk up her thighs so she would feel the cool air on her skin. Her panties weren’t more than a scrap of silk and lace, but it was kind of a turn-on being buck naked while she was still fully dressed.

  He played his fingers over the silk, and found it warm and damp with her arousal. She arched up against him, making a tiny sound in the back of her throat. He said in a conversational tone—as cool as he could manage under the circumstances, “Do you mind if I take these off?”

  A tiny, helpless moan slipped out of her mouth. The corners of his mouth kicked up, but that was the only indication he gave that he’d heard her.

  He looked down at her and her eyes were alive with anticipation. They were going to be so good together. Sometimes you just knew.

  He wanted to take his time but need was stoking him. He hooked his thumbs under the little strings at the side of her panties and eased them down.

  He slowly stroked his way up her inner thigh. Her skin was so soft and velvety. There was a tiny mole on her inner thigh that he had to stop and kiss.

  “I don’t want to mess up this pretty dress,” he said to her. “Do you think we could take if off?”

  She nodded. No words at all, simply a nod. He liked the idea that he’d robbed her of words.

  She sat up and together they peeled the black dress over her head. To his shock he discovered there was no bra under there. Wow.

  Her breasts were small and perfect. He loved the muscles of her, taut under her soft skin. The glint of the heavy silver pendant against her delicate body, more flashes of silver at her ears and wrist. He ran a hand down from her shoulder over her breasts, her belly, to her hip.

  “You are perfect,” he told her.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Shush.” Because she was, to him she was absolutely perfect and he wasn’t taking any arguments.

  He settled down beside her, “Now, where was I?”

  * * *

  IN ANSWER, BECKY OPENED her legs wider, shocked at her own forward behavior. Usually she let the guy lead, but somehow, with Taylor she enjoyed their back-and-forth bossiness. It worked on the ice and she had a feeling it was going to work really well in the bedroom.

  Besides, she was throbbing with anticipation to feel his fingers play over her. She could see his hands as she’d watched them so many times, sturdy, capable hands that could stick-handle a puck down the ice and into the net but could also touch her with such sensitivity. He seemed to hover over her neediest place, and then, when she expected him to stroke her, he ran his fingers through her curls as though checking for tangles. He stroked and patted, and then, when he delved deeper to where she was slick and needy, her hot button already quivering, it was a shock to find him touching her there, stroking her, stoking her.

  Desperate. Had she ever been so desperate for a man in her life? It was as though every minute they’d spent together had been foreplay for this moment. She was so ready she thought she’d fly apart the second he touched her.

  She wanted to hold on and enjoy every exquisite moment as he stroked her, obviously taking pleasure in her growing excitement, encouraging her with soft words until she shattered against him.

  Her urgency slaked, she wanted more, she wanted all of him. But she didn’t have to tell him that. He was already reaching for his nightstand drawer.

  A rip and a rustle and then they were kissing, more hungrily than before. His skin was warm against hers. His heart beat a crazy rhythm. Unable to wait another second, she climbed over and straddled him. He was a big man, but she was lithe and fit and her body had never felt so athletic, so perfectly tuned for action, as it did at this moment.

  He felt warm and very, very hard when she grasped him in hand. He made a tiny sound, a man at the end of his rope, a feeling she knew well. Her body was stretched over him, eager and wet and so very hungry.

  As she positioned him at the entrance to her body, their gazes locked. She saw the glow of his eyes in a face that was surprisingly serious. He’d always seemed to her like a carefree, everything’s-for-fun-and-why-bother-getting-stressed kind of guy. But as she’d come to know him through practice she realized she’d misjudged him. He worked as hard as she did, was equally intent and focused when they trained. It was only when the work was done that he let his crazy fun side out.

  But this wasn’t the crazy fun guy. This was a man letting her see into his depths. She tried to be as brave and held his gaze with her own as she lowered herself slowly onto him.

  “Take it easy, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Would he hurt her? Maybe. She realized it was a chance she was taking, but he wasn’t hurting her physically. Not at all.

  Oh, she realized it had been a while and he was a big man. The stretch was amazing. Delicious. He seemed to go on and on, filling her completely. When they were locked, hip to hip, she took a moment to savor the deep connection, kissing him as though she’d never stop and then need took over. She moved on him, slowly at first as she accustomed herself to him, then faster as instinct and desire stronger than anything she’d ever known gripped her.

  Her silver necklace, an expensive designer piece she’d bought herself after her medal win, danced between them. For a crazy moment she imagined this as a medal performance and knew they were going for gold.

  His hands were all over her, squeezing her breasts, tracing the lines of her belly, grabbing her hips. Her thighs gripped as she rode him in a frenzied rush. They kissed deep and hard and with little finesse. He grabbed her hips at last when the thrusting grew so wild he had to hold on to keep up. She heard panting and knew it was hers.

  He muttered words of encouragement, some incoherent as passion built.

  Then their words were lost as they kissed deeply and hungrily, the bed bouncing in an age-old rhythm, as they launched each other over the edge of the world.

  “Oh,” she managed. And she slumped over him, damp and spent.

  She felt his mouth kissing her shoulder, his hands stroking slowly down her back. For a long time they stayed like that, bodies still connected, hearts thumping while they caught their breath.

  She felt the way she did when she was launched high in the air and knew that every part of her was in perfect harmony. As though she could fly.

  6

  “NO ONE CAN KNOW about this.”

  Taylor blinked open sleepy eyes, still heavy from last night’s pleasures.

  Never at his best in the morning, he ran his tongue over his teeth. Blinked a few times. Said, “Huh?”

  Becky looked adorable in the morning. Tousled, her face pinker on one side where she’d slept on it, a little redness on the upper slope of her breast making him feel bad that he’d given her whisker burn.

  She followed the direction of his gaze then yanked the navy cotton sheet up to hide her breasts from his gaze, which seemed kind of cruel. “I said, no one can know about this,” she repeated.

  Where was the passionate, incredible woman of last night? He heard the same ice-princess tone that she’d treated him to the first day they’d met.

  But underneath that, he also heard urgency and appeal in her voice and wondered what the big deal was.

  It’s not that he was planning to take out an ad in the Vancouver Sun or plaster their exploits online. And he wasn’t the kind of guy who boasted in bars.

  He reached over and put his hand over hers where it clutched the sheet. “Not the first thought I had when I woke up.” He watched the pink bloom deeper under her fair skin. He leaned closer, put his lips to the soft place under her jaw where a pulse beat. “Want to know what my first thought was?”

  A tiny purring noise emanated from her throat. She’d s
urprised and delighted him in the night. Not that he’d been sure what to expect. She was so tense and angry a lot of the time, and yet, once they’d started dancing last night and begun treating each other like actual human beings, like two people, both young, healthy and open to whatever, she’d relaxed. More than relaxed—she’d warmed to him with a speed that was both flattering and that made him wonder what her regular life was like.

  Her lips began to curve even though her gaze remained fixed on the tangled bedding. “What?”

  He watched her, feeling an answering tug at his own lips. “I was thinking,” he said, tracing a finger across the top of the sheet where it crossed her breasts, “I was thinking about how I’d like to repeat everything we did last night.”

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his and he saw sexual heat flare, then her gaze dropped again. He loved that she seemed a little shy this morning. Not at all like the open, giving woman she’d been in the darkness.

  “I don’t have the energy,” she said.

  He’d reached the crease where breast connected with underarm, so he tracked down, following the plump slope, dragging the sheet down with his hand. She resisted only the tiniest bit and then with a sigh let go so the sheet fell to her waist. “I bet you do.”

  Her body was a perfect combination of athlete and woman, both muscular and curvy.

  He leaned forward, licked across her nipple making her sigh. “I love every square inch of you,” he whispered, licking again. “No. Make that every curved inch of you.”

  She giggled and then as though she’d lost a fight with herself, relaxed against him. “Don’t you have to be somewhere? Practice or something?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Not for a few hours.”

  “All right then. Let’s fool around.”

  “That sounds so seductive to me,” she said, sounding wistful rather than turned on.

  “I do my best.”

  “No, I mean the concept of fooling around. I hardly ever do. My schedule is packed, my diet is controlled, some days I feel more like a machine than a person.”

  This wasn’t anything he hadn’t already noticed, and he suspected his personal mission in life was going to be to help this woman relax. “When you are in my bed, you are all woman.”

  She giggled again. “I think you are very bad for me.”

  “I disagree.” Then he pulled the nipple all the way into his mouth and they were both too busy to talk any more.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE WOKE FOR the second time, Becky stretched, feeling the delicious pull of muscles that didn’t get used all that often. And her body was so toned that there weren’t many muscles in that category, sadly only her intimate ones.

  She looked over at Taylor who was sleeping with his mouth partly open and a shaft of light arrowing across his chin where she could see the stubble forming.

  The sheet was tangled around one ankle, and one hairy leg stuck out.

  While he was asleep, she indulged her urge to explore. His body was both mystery and delight to her. Who’d have thought this big hairy jock would have such a delicate touch or that he would be so intuitively sensitive to her needs?

  It wasn’t that any of her previous lovers had been awful, but that Taylor was in an entirely different category. She thought that he genuinely loved women and his pleasure in her body and her mysteries and her responses only fueled her own pleasure.

  Somehow, his utter lack of any inhibition lifted her own and she was able to be bold, to take chances. Normally, she saved all her boldness and risk-taking for the ice. In the past she’d let the man in her life take the lead sexually. But with Taylor she was almost forced to tell him what she liked, what she wanted, since he asked so many questions. Naturally, that opened the door for her to ask him. Once he’d even taken her hand and shown her exactly how he liked to be touched. It was one of the most erotic experiences of her admittedly limited sex life.

  She traced her fingers softly through the springy hair on his chest, tracked the ridges on his belly. There was a bump on one arm—from an earlier break she assumed.

  His hands were so big compared with hers, she stroked her fingers over his, then she eased the sheet down over his waist so she could really see the part that had pleasured her so last night. She discovered it was moving. Thickening and lengthening before her eyes. She glanced up swiftly to find Taylor regarding her with lazy, but nevertheless carnal amusement. “You taking advantage of me while I was sleeping?”

  She grinned up at him. “Actually, I was exploring.”

  “Yeah? See anything you like?”

  She liked all of it. But she didn’t want to feed an ego that already seemed overfed. “I was counting your scars.”

  He snorted. “Take all day.”

  “How did you get that?” she asked, running her fingers over the bump on his arm.

  “Coming off an outdoor rink too fast. I was about ten.” He rubbed his fingers over where hers had been. “Pissed me off because it meant I missed the rest of the season.”

  “This one?” She traced her finger over a jagged scar on his calf.

  “Skate. Happened in junior high.”

  He rolled her over, pinned her, as though suddenly tired of the game, or of her nosy perusal of his body using the excuse of scar-counting. “How ’bout you? Bet you don’t have any scars, being a figure skater.”

  Even though she knew perfectly well he was being deliberately provoking so she’d let him explore her body in exactly the way she’d explored his, she decided to rise to the bait. “Oh,” she spluttered, “I’ve got scars, buster.”

  “Yeah? Let’s see ’em.”

  She pretended to hesitate. “One’s in a very embarrassing place.”

  Speculation fueled his gaze. “You don’t say?” He scratched his chin, letting his gaze wander lazily over her body. “Not your breasts. I made a pretty thorough inspection.”

  “Not my breasts.”

  His hand started to slip over her breasts, lower to her belly. “Could I discover it by feel?”

  In spite of the fact that she’d had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than she’d had in years, her body purred to life again.

  His lips followed the path of his fingers and she let herself enjoy the sensations spreading over her skin.

  “Here?” he murmured against her belly, running his tongue over the faint line.

  She chuckled, feeling her skin vibrate against his lips. “That was appendicitis. Not very exciting, though it did get me out of a geography test in high school.”

  “But not the embarrassing scar.”

  “Nope.”

  The exploration continued, and he was a very thorough explorer. Between them they catalogued cuts, breaks, pulled tendons and the assorted damage athletes do to their bodies.

  “Aha,” he said at last. “So faint I almost missed it.” He had her flipped on her stomach and was tracing a finger over the middle slope of her buttocks where a faint scar remained.

  “What happened?”

  “I was seven. In one of my first competitions.” She smiled at the memory. “I was wearing this pink and purple costume with sequins that my mom made me. My hair was in ringlets, of course, and there were matching pink and purple ribbons in my hair. Everything was going great, and we had a final warm-up before the comp, and Keili Munro tripped, right into me, so we both fell, and then Russell Cartright skated into my butt.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “More embarrassing, honestly.” She shrugged. “And I sure was upset that I couldn’t compete. But I had to go get stitches.” She glanced back at him. “You get used to pain.”

  He nodded. Rolled on his elbow and asked, “Do you ache every day?”

  “Yeah, mostly. Especially when I’m training hard. My joints and tendons take a beating, I’ve had tendonitis in my Achilles, more sprains than I can count. It’s part of the process. You?”

  He seemed a little uncomfortable answering, as though wishing he’d never bro
ught up the subject. Finally, he said, “Yeah. But you get used to it.”

  “It’s part of the price of fame,” she said with a twist of her mouth. “And speaking of fame, no one can know about this.”

  “Are we back to that?” He yawned widely. “What are you so scared of?”

  “I’m not scared. It’s…complicated.”

  “You know, I always think when people say things are complicated it’s because they don’t want to make tough choices.”

  A huge sigh escaped from her mouth. She regarded him for a long moment. “You are smarter than you look.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  He was so adorable she had to lean over and kiss him. As she did so she laid her hand on his chest and could feel his heart thump reassuringly beneath her palm. Because it felt so good, she left it there.

  Maybe he was right and she was conflicted. But a person who’d devoted their entire life to one goal didn’t start straying from the path because of a gorgeous face and body.

  Did they?

  “I have certain expectations,” she began slowly, not sure how to phrase what she needed to say.

  “Uh-huh,” he encouraged her after she’d stayed silent for a while.

  “One of them is that my…dating life is carefully controlled. I have a certain image.”

  “Sure. You’re Canada’s Skating Sweetheart. I know that. Everybody knows that.” He shrugged. “It’s like any nickname, though, right? It only rules your life if you let it.”

  “Not exactly. I have a kind of PR machine. Sometimes things sort of get set up for me.”

  “What kind of things are we talking here?”

  “Dates. Men.”

  “You date for public relations? You’re kidding me.”

  She shook her head. “Not kidding.”

  “You give everything to your sport. I’m only now getting an idea of how many hours a day you put in. You eat a strict diet, you do public appearances. Don’t you want one thing in your life that’s for you? Nobody else but you?”

  “Of course I do. But it’s not that easy.”