by Anna Sugden
Times were certainly changing.
“I’ll sort this out for you and get a wash on.”
Ike turned to see Tracy hefting his duffel bag onto her shoulder. Damn it. He wasn’t a total invalid. “I can manage that,” he said through gritted teeth.
She smiled politely, ignoring his outstretched arm. “It’s the housekeeper’s responsibility to look after your things. Let me do my job.”
Tracy was right. He’d made such a big deal about her helping him, he shouldn’t give her grief when she did just that. “Knock yourself out.”
As she continued up the stairs carrying his bag, Ike turned and strode back into the kitchen. Why didn’t his mom’s fussing bother him as much?
He didn’t want to examine that too closely.
Still, just once, it would be great if he didn’t have to apologize to Tracy for acting like a jackass. Ike dropped onto a chair.
The problem was that the sight of Tracy at his front door this afternoon had speared him in the gut, winding him as effectively as the butt-end of a stick. How many nights, returning from a game or a road trip, had he imagined her welcoming him home? How many times had he swallowed his disappointment at the sight of his dark, empty house? The realization that she was only there because she had to be—because it was her job—not to mention the humiliation of being bested by a two-inch piece of metal and a door handle, and his happiness at being home had taken a nosedive.
“Get over it.” Ike’s words echoed around the kitchen.
Just because Tracy was here, in his house, just as he’d dreamed, didn’t mean there was a chance for them. Just because her presence—her little homey touches, the hint of her perfume lingering in the air—had already made the place feel warmer, didn’t mean things would turn out any better than last time. His feelings about having a fling hadn’t changed. Sure, it would be amazing while it lasted, but if Tracy couldn’t commit to him, at least as much as she committed to her business, then he wasn’t interested.
One thing to come out of all those endless, boring days in the hospital was that Ike had started thinking seriously about what came after hockey. Sure, he probably had a good few years left before he hung up his skates, but what if he didn’t? Another injury could sideline him permanently. And it didn’t even need to be a playing injury. Guys had seriously hurt themselves getting out of a golf cart or even eating pancakes, for crying out loud.
Seeing Jake and then Tru so happy had made Ike long for his own family. After what had happened with Tracy, he’d put thoughts of settling down on the back burner. Now he knew it was crazy to wait until he retired. Once his arm had healed and he was back playing, Ike planned to turn his attention to finding the right woman. One who had the same priorities he did.
Tracy was only going to be in his life for a few days—a week, tops. Once his housekeeper started, things between him and Tracy would go back to the way they’d been before. And he’d be focusing on his healing arm and getting his body back into shape.
In the meantime, there had to be something he could do, other than sit on his ass while she waited on him hand and foot. Ike headed out into the hall, then upstairs.
Tracy was in his bathroom, sorting his dirty laundry. Ike leaned against the door frame, appreciating the way her brisk movements emphasized the way her black jeans fit her curvy butt and great legs. Maybe watching her work for him had some benefits after all.
“Do you have any preference for whether I wash darks or lights first?” she asked.
“Nope.” He shrugged.
“There are more darks, so I’ll do them.”
A pair of black boxer shorts with Sexy Devil written in red across the front dropped to the floor. Before he could move, she’d bent down and picked them up. His groin tightened.
Man, he had it bad, if Tracy doing laundry turned him on.
As she walked past him into the bedroom, he stepped aside deliberately so they wouldn’t touch.
“I think I’ve put your clean clothes away where they belong, but tell me if I haven’t.” Her calm voice told him she wasn’t having the same problems dealing with his proximity.
He swore silently. “I’m sure it’s okay.”
He spotted a stack of clothing on the bed. “What’s this?” He took an Ice Cats sweatshirt from the pile and noticed that one of the sleeves had been cut off.
“I got some tops from the team and doctored them. I figured they’d be easier for you to put on. There’s also some sweatpants, so you don’t have to struggle with buttons or zips.”
He was touched by her thoughtfulness. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me.” He grimaced. “And all I’ve done to show my appreciation is complain. For the umpteenth time, I’m...”
Tracy held up her hand. “Don’t apologize again. Honestly, it’s not necessary.”
Ike frowned, confused. “It isn’t?”
“It’s not like I haven’t dealt with cantankerous clients before.”
Being classed as just another one of her clients stung. “It’s still wrong for me to take out my frustrations on you.”
“Yet you keep doing it,” she said lightly. “Look, it’ll be easier all around if we both accept that you’re going to be difficult and I won’t hit you over the head with a frying pan each time you are. It’ll be a long week otherwise.”
* * *
IKE LET OUT a surprised laugh. “Okay. Works for me. Though I’ll try to be less of a pain in the ass.”
Tracy’s lips twitched. “Don’t strain yourself.”
“Some people think I’m charming.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t think charming is the word the nurses would use.”
He followed her downstairs to the laundry room. “They were sad to see me go today.”
“They probably threw a party when you left.” She tossed the clothes into the washer.
“I wasn’t that bad. After that first day, anyway.”
“You keep believing that, if it makes you feel better.” She programmed the wash before heading toward the kitchen.
He felt like a faithful puppy following after her. “I’m just as glad to be home. I swear if I’d stayed any longer, the smell of disinfectant and institutional cooking would have been permanently ingrained in my skin.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That smell does my head in, too. Speaking of which, I should heat up your dinner. You must be starving.”
His stomach rumbled at the thought of home cooking. He grinned. “You could say.”
“Sounds like I’d better make you an appetizer while the cottage pie is heating.” She turned on the oven to preheat.
“Thanks, but I can wait for dinner.” He opened the cutlery drawer. “While you do that, I’ll set the table.”
“There’s no need. That’s my—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “It’s your job. But I feel uncomfortable having you wait on me. At least let me do this.”
She waved a hand in the direction of the table. “Go ahead.”
As he reached for the knives and forks, he asked, “Are you joining me?”
The invitation seemed to surprise her, almost as much it did him. Though it wasn’t clear whether it was a good surprise or a bad one.
“Oh. Well, I hadn’t intended to. I was going to serve this and leave you in peace.”
“I’ve had enough of peace and my own company for the past week.” Besides, now that he’d asked, he wanted her to stay. Then he remembered it was Friday night. She probably had somewhere else to be. Crap. “I didn’t think. You must have plans.”
“Nothing important.”
He perked up, then cursed himself for more puppylike behavior. He tried to act as though it didn’t bother him either way. “You have to eat, and there’s more than enough for both of us. It’ll save you making a meal whe
n you get home.”
She put the cottage pie in the oven, then kept staring at the glass-fronted door for several moments, as if it held whatever answers she was looking for.
Finally, she said carefully, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. A housekeeper shouldn’t share the table with her boss.”
“But you’re not really my housekeeper and there’s no way I’d ever call myself your boss. Not if I expect to keep my manhood intact.”
Tracy looked up at him and smiled. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
Ike did a mental fist-pump. “Score one for Mr. Charming.”
“You’re in negative figures, Mr. Grumpy. It’ll take more than one measly score to erase that tally.”
“Hey, every little bit helps.” He set two places at the table, then added wineglasses. “I know you’re driving, but one glass with dinner won’t hurt.”
“Are you allowed to drink with the meds you’re taking?”
“Yeah. I’m not on the hard stuff anymore. I only need to take painkillers when it aches and I’m trying not to do that because it makes me dopey.”
She passed him a bottle of red wine. “I’m not rising to that comment, even though you handed it to me on a silver platter.”
“You know what I mean.”
“A small glass would be nice. Thank you.” The sparkle in her eyes belied her prim tone.
He held up the bottle. “I won’t even complain about how hard it is to use a corkscrew one-handed.”
“Actually, it’s a screw top.”
“So it is.” He trapped the bottle between his bandaged arm and his body and removed the cap with a flourish. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“All part of the service.”
He ignored the twinge in his chest at the reminder he was just a job, and poured the wine. “Thank you for your fine service.”
She clinked her glass against his. “And here’s to your speedy recovery.”
As she lifted her glass to her lips, her gaze met his. The amber glow he saw in the dark brown depths caught him unawares. He hadn’t seen that much warmth in her eyes since they’d split. Was she finally softening toward him?
He let his guard down just a little, so she could see that he had definitely softened toward her. The amber glow heated up and his body’s reply was anything but soft.
He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Was pleased...hell, thrilled...that she didn’t seem to want to, either.
Slowly, his gaze drifted lower. To her mouth.
His pulse jumped. He could practically taste her. He wanted to taste her.
Her lips parted slightly, inviting him closer.
He leaned toward her, his eyes firmly on the luscious prize awaiting him.
The dinging alert for a text message shattered the moment.
Tracy blinked, then stepped back and put her glass on the counter.
Ike cursed silently when she pulled out her phone to check the message. “I’m sorry, I have to deal with this.”
Her flushed cheeks as she stepped out into the hall told him she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. “No problem.”
He wanted to puff out his chest and strut around the kitchen like a proud rooster. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table and drank some wine as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He groaned. That part was obvious. More important was what the hell he was going to do about it.
Ike had never been one to charge in without a plan. He was patient and methodical. He’d only acted impulsively once in his life—the first time he’d kissed Tracy. Here in this kitchen. If he was honest, that whole experience with Tracy had been out of character. And look how that had ended up.
Yeah, but it was one heck of a ride.
One almost-kiss and damned if he didn’t want to do the same thing again.
He stopped himself. He was nuts to even think about it. That almost-kiss had been interrupted by business and where was Tracy now? That was all the reminder he needed that he was setting himself up to lose. Besides, hadn’t he decided less than half an hour ago that a fling was out of the question? That he wanted commitment and marriage—the whole nine yards.
Why can’t you have both? Not at the same time, obviously. But there was no reason he had to be a monk while he was waiting for a more suitable woman to come along. What harm could there be in a little no-strings fun with Tracy?
Get real. He was kidding himself if he believed he was a no-strings kind of guy where she was concerned.
Ike was no closer to working out what to do when Tracy came back into the kitchen.
“Au revoir, Lise.” She ended the call. “Sorry about that.” She headed over to the oven and checked the cottage pie. “Coming along nicely. Would you like peas or salad with dinner?”
“Peas would be great.”
As she puttered about the kitchen, Ike watched carefully for any sign that she was even slightly affected by his presence. Nada.
He couldn’t have imagined it—the heat, the invitation. It hadn’t been wishful thinking.
It hadn’t.
Yet she was behaving like nothing had happened... Almost happened.
By the time she served up dinner, Ike was frustrated and antsy. He wanted to prove she wasn’t immune to him.
“This should hit the spot.” Tracy leaned past him to put his plate on the table.
Her arm brushed his shoulder, sending a zing through his body. Her hair brushed against his cheek, amplifying that zing and directing it straight to his groin. Above the rich aroma of the steaming cottage pie, her light scent teased his nose.
His stomach rumbled again, but it wasn’t the food that he was really hungry for.
“Ah, the hell with it,” he muttered, before reaching up to cradle her neck and gently pull her mouth toward his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OH, NO! IKE’S going to kiss me!
Thank God! Ike’s going to kiss me!
Then Ike’s lips touched Tracy’s and the internal conflict stopped.
Kissing Ike was like slipping into her favorite Louboutins—a perfect fit, heavenly comfortable and sexy as hell. Just as her confidence was boosted when she wore her black suede Ron Rons, so it blossomed now as his mouth played with hers.
She reveled in the feel of his firm lips melding with hers. His taste—delicious and dark with a hint of danger—was even more intoxicating than she’d remembered. It was also as familiar as coming home. Their tongues danced in perfect harmony, as if they’d been partners only moments ago instead of several years.
The angle of their bodies, of Ike seated while she leaned over him, became awkward. She wanted to press closer, to feel his arms around her, his hard body against hers, from shoulder to ankle and every inch in between.
Ike must have had the same thought, because without breaking the kiss, he surged upward out of his chair, pulling her to him. The weight of his bandaged arm against her back anchored her against him.
As if she needed anything to keep her there. Tracy lifted up onto her toes, winding her arms around his neck and threading her fingers through his hair.
His good hand stroked her back, then slipped under the hem of her sweater. He groaned when he encountered the silky barrier of her camisole. Tracy hardly had time to draw breath before his fingers bunched the fabric and tugged it free of her jeans.
She sighed against his mouth as the warmth of his hand caressed the arch of her spine and the curve of her hips. Her heart seemed to stutter when his fingers curled into her jeans, gripping tightly, as if he’d never let go.
The rocking beat of “Don’t Stop Believin’” surrounded them.
Her phone. Not now. Not again. The first interruption had been bad enough.
Ike swore against her lips, echo
ing her thoughts. Then he deepened the kiss. His tongue challenged hers and the ringtone was drowned out by the sound of the blood thundering in her ears.
The music stopped, the sudden silence more jarring than when it had started. The thought that the call might have been important fluttered briefly through her brain, but she batted it away. She didn’t care. She didn’t want this moment, this kiss, to end. The beep announcing a voice mail message was like permission to continue.
So she did.
Ike’s hand journeyed northward. His fingers slid up to the band of her bra and undid the clasp.
Tracy knew what his next destination would be and she wanted it desperately. Her nipples were already hard, but the thought of his touch made them tighten almost painfully.
Her phone rang again. The tune that had always been an inspirational anthem for her suddenly sounded like a death knell, taking her out of the moment as effectively as the proverbial bucket of cold water.
The caller wasn’t giving up. That meant an emergency, either business or personal. It also meant Tracy couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Leave it,” Ike muttered against her mouth.
She wanted to. Really, she did. Because if she didn’t, the connection between them would be lost. The spell would be broken and the magic gone.
“I can’t.” She dragged her lips away from his and stepped back, out of his arms.
She straightened her clothes and refastened her bra. The loss of his heat made her shiver and she rubbed her arms to take away the chill.
Ike turned away, running his hand through his dark hair. From his raspy breathing and the jagged rise and fall of his shoulders, she could tell he was struggling to get himself under control, too.
The music stopped and the kitchen was silent once again.
“I should see what fire I need to put out,” she said as she pulled out her phone.
Ike waved a hand dismissively, then dropped into his chair and stared at the still-steaming dinner on his plate. From his stony expression, food was the last thing on his mind.
Tracy walked out into the hallway. Once she was hidden from Ike’s view, she took several steadying breaths before checking her messages. Lise Chabal had called from Paris, panicking about the family’s move. She’d worked herself into a state and was demanding Tracy phone immediately, even though it was after midnight in France.