by Skye Jordan
She made a sound in her throat. Her lids dipped. She licked her lips.
“You like that idea,” he said, “don’t you?” And wasn’t that the biggest fucking surprise and the hottest rush?
Her gaze darted away. “I…I don’t know. I can’t think…”
“Then imagine”—he told her, pushing harder, half hoping she shoved him off and walked away, half hoping she told him to take her right then—“because I talk as dirty as I fight, and I fuck as hard as I play.”
She breathed a moan, and her eyelids slid closed.
But it was the feel of her body softening, of the way she started moving with him, not against him, that finally blocked his ability to think.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, relishing that moment of surrender. “So…fucking…sweet. Feel it?” he whispered. “Feel how good it is? Imagine how much better it could be. Naked. Skin on skin.”
She made the slightest shake of her head. “I…wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
He lifted a hand to her jaw and tilted her head back until she opened her eyes to his. “Yes. You would. You’re already doing it.” He let his gaze slide to her mouth. “Fuck, I want to taste you.”
“Grant…” she said in that voice that made him want to rip her clothes off. “I’m not… I can’t…”
“Stop talking yourself out of it and just fucking kiss me already.”
But Grant couldn’t wait anymore. He slid his hand from her jaw, around the back of her neck, and pulled her in. Too rough. Too harsh. Too fast. The way he did everything in life.
Faith gasped, and Grant took the moment to dive in. He kissed her hard. Kept her lips open with the pressure so he could stroke his tongue into her hot mouth and taste her, the way he’d wanted to taste her since she’d met his eyes at the bar with that sassy smirk.
A mewl rose from her throat and fueled Grant’s fire. He pushed his hand into her hair and closed his fingers to keep her there, keep her mouth open so he could taste her and taste her and taste her. Knowing the second he let go, she’d scamper away and never come near him again.
Part of him wanted that. More than he realized until now. Because she tasted like heat and chocolate. Her mouth was sweet and soft and plump. And suddenly, her mouth wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted his mouth on skin. Wanted skin on skin. Wanted his mouth on her pussy, fucking her the way he was tasting her.
And then she kissed him back. She leaned into him, her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails scraped his skin and her tongue… God, the tentative way she tasted him back made Grant insane. He growled, tipped his head and demanded more.
A murmur broke into his fantasy. Someone calling Faith’s name. Only it wasn’t him—his mouth was way too busy to talk.
Faith moaned and turned her head, breaking the kiss. She reached out and slapped at the lock on the door, then exhaled and pressed her face against Grant’s neck.
He opened the hand in her hair and cradled her head, feeling the silkiness of the strands for the first time.
“Faith?” The male voice, clear and much closer now, jolted Grant back to reality. He lifted his head and looked toward the door.
The handle turned, and Faith tried to pull away like a guilty kid. But Grant held on while the knob jerked back and forth, and the door remained closed.
“What’s up, Joe?” Faith said.
“You okay?”
The what’s-going-on tone in his voice made Grant dart a look at Faith. She met Grant’s gaze.
And smiled. A small, secretive, embarrassed little smile that knocked Grant’s heart on its ass.
“Yeah,” she said, lifting her fingers to her mouth where her lips were reddened and puffy from Grant’s kiss. A sight that only made him hungrier. “You know, just one of those days.”
“Oh.” Pause. “Okay.” Pause. “Do you want me to have the Makita rep come back after the holidays?”
She stiffened and turned her attention to the door. When Grant didn’t let her go, she closed her eyes. “No.” She winced. “Can you have him wait? I just need a minute.”
“Of course. No problem.”
They stood there a long moment, their bodies pressed together, until all auditory signs of Joe were gone. Then she lifted her gaze to Grant. And now guilt filled the pretty blue irises. “I’m sorry.”
He knew instantly she was talking about more than the interruption. And his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“This isn’t…” she started. “I’m not… I mean, I can’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Shit.”
Shit was right. He hadn’t been this turned on, this fast, in for-freaking-ever.
Reality was such a fucking bitch.
“Faith?” Joe called from somewhere in the store.
She exhaled heavily, turned her head, and bit out, “What?”
The uncharacteristic snap in her voice was Grant’s signal to put an end to this. He loosened his hold and eased back.
“Sorry, honey,” Joe said, “but the register is wigging out again. Only you can get it to behave.”
“Okay.” Faith closed her eyes, crossed her newly freed arms, and rubbed her forehead. “I’ll be right out.”
She looked at Grant with apology pouring from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“I get it,” he cut her off, trying to pretend the rejection didn’t matter. Because they both knew it wasn’t the store keeping her from jumping into the deep end with him. “Life’s demanding.”
She dropped her hand and looked between the door and Grant again before she walked out, leaving the door open.
Disappointment pierced Grant’s gut. A kind of disappointment that rivaled losing the Cup. Which was absolutely asinine.
He ran a hand over his hair, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Fuck.”
6
Faith walked the store from back to front, making sure all the aisles were clear, then continued to the door, key in hand. Another long, busy day down on the sales floor. Now came her after-hours work. Pricing, stocking, paying bills, placing orders. Then it started all over again in the morning.
But what kept running through her mind? Grant didn’t come in today.
She refocused on work, approaching the front door. “I feel like an exhausted hamster.”
Sliding her key into the lock, Faith clicked the dead bolt closed. Then she shut her eyes, dropped her forehead against the glass, and sighed.
Her cell rang. Without lifting her head, she pulled it from her back pocket and looked at the screen.
Taylor.
She answered with an upbeat “Hey.”
“You sound tired. Rough day?”
“Wow, and I even tried to sound chipper.”
“Then never mind—”
“Never mind what?”
“I was going to ask if you could get Caleb from practice. One of my interviews pushed our Skype meeting back an hour. But I’ll just tell her—”
“It’s fine. I can get him. Kinda late, isn’t it?”
“He said the high school practice ran long. They had to wait for the rink. Sounded like Grant worked the high school boys hard today.”
“I talk as dirty as I fight, and I fuck as hard as I play.”
Just remembering Grant’s words sent a shiver through her body. And, like striking a match, her sex burned. She hadn’t slept at all last night, tortured with guilt over leading him on, shame that she didn’t have the courage to step out of her safe little box, and loneliness when she realized that she could have had a warm, sexy man beside her all night.
“Speaking of Grant, what’s new with your Hockey Hottie?”
Faith rolled her eyes. “He’s not mine, and nothing’s new. He didn’t even come in today. I told you he’d bail when he figured out I wouldn’t jump in bed with him.”
“His loss. I have to say, I’m disappointed. After seeing how well he handled that high school team and all those notorious troublemakers, I had higher expectations for him.”
Faith didn’t blame the guy. It was no fun to want someone and not be wanted back—she’d learned that with Dillon. No fun to physically want someone and go without—she’d learned that last night.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll take Caleb through the Dairy Queen drive-through on the way home.”
“Are you sure? You should probably just fall into bed.”
Fall into bed—alone. Again.
Faith laughed, but she felt hollow. “Like that’s going to happen. I have lots of work still ahead of me. I’ll grab dinner while I’m there.”
“Please tell me it’s going to be something other than ice cream.”
“No promises.”
Taylor groaned, but said, “Thanks, I owe you.”
“Good. Let’s get started on this video thing.” Anything to distract herself from Grant.
Taylor sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”
Faith knew then that her hopes for that particular revenue stream was going to have to be put on hold. Taylor had her hands full with her business and Caleb. “Don’t worry about that now. I’ll drop Caleb home in half an hour.”
She disconnected, grabbed the keys to her father’s ancient Ford F-150 from the cash register and bundled up to head outside. In the storage-shed-slash-garage out back, Faith climbed into the cab and turned the key.
The old motor chugged, chugged, chugged, and died. She hadn’t used this thing in over a week, and every time she did, she always said a prayer that it would start for her. “Come on, baby. Caleb’s waiting.”
On the third try, the engine revved, and Faith breathed easier. The drive to the outdoor arena was short, and she could see the lights glowing in the darkness long before she approached. But when she turned into the parking lot, she found it empty—except for one black Range Rover.
Her stomach lifted, twisted, then fell.
She parked a couple of spots away from Grant’s SUV and looked past the lot to the rink, where only two figures remained on the ice. Grant and Caleb. In fact, they were the only two people anywhere. The rink was deserted except for the two of them.
Faith shut down the engine but stayed in the truck, watching the two skate. She cracked the window to catch their voices carrying on the quiet night, and Grant’s low timbre filled her gut with longing.
She tapped out a text message to Taylor. Did you set this up?
On the ice, an orange traffic cone sat at one end in front of the goal. Grant picked up two more cones and spaced them out in the middle of the ice, then added another at the opposite end, mirroring the first. Caleb collected a pile of hockey sticks in his arms and skated them out to Grant, where he laid them perpendicular to the length of the rink. It looked like a mini obstacle course. Caleb skated to the opposite end of the rink, while Grant placed a hockey stick across the two cones in the center all while talking to Caleb. Faith couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Caleb was rapt and kept nodding his head. And Grant used his hands and body to explain whatever he was talking about. Then he nodded, Caleb imitated him, and Grant patted Caleb’s helmet, a hockey-approved show of affection.
Emotion welled in her chest, making it feel tight.
Grant was a good guy. If he was like his brothers, he would have been out at the bar every night, not fixing up his parents’ guesthouse. He would have been sleeping around with any number of willing single women in town, not dogging her just to be rejected. And he certainly didn’t have to be spending extra time on the ice tonight for Caleb.
Her phone buzzed with Taylor’s response. What do you mean? Are you getting paranoid?
Faith laughed and typed, Did you buy extra training for Caleb?
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d call you, but I have the woman on Skype.
Faith smiled. Never mind.
On the ice, Grant took a hockey stick from Caleb and started through the course in super slow-motion while talking to the boy where he skated alongside, watching and nodding. Grant circled the first cone and glided toward the pair he’d placed at the center of the ice. He picked up speed, and for a moment, Faith thought he was going to jump the stick lying atop the two cones. What terrified her was having Caleb attempt that jump.
Faith reached for the handle, but before she even got the door open, Grant dropped to the ice on his belly instead, sliding underneath the stick and between the cones like he was stealing home base. Caleb was beside himself with laughter but kept watching as Grant picked himself up, skated toward the ladder of sticks he’d placed in front of the other cone, and ran over them, tapping down the tip of his skate blade between each pair of sticks. At the end of the ladder, he skated toward the final cone and stopped sideways, spraying ice over the neon cone.
“Got it?” she heard Grant ask.
She didn’t hear Caleb’s reply, but he nodded. And Grant started back at the top, skating through the course a little faster, talking it all the way through. And Faith found herself just as rapt as Caleb, loving Grant’s fluidity, his agility, his athleticism.
At the end, he sprayed the cone again. And Caleb laughed.
“Do it again,” Caleb said. “This time full speed. Like you’d do it in your practice.”
Faith grinned, rested her elbow on the window ledge, and leaned her head against her fist.
Grant complied with Caleb’s request, but he built up some speed first, rotating his right shoulder a couple of times before he headed for the first cone. The intensity of the approach made Faith’s breath catch. Then he was flying through the moves, and before she had time to process his skill, he was done, spraying the cone with ice until the neon orange was invisible.
Caleb laughed and clapped gloved hands. Grant gestured to the opposite cone. “Your turn.”
Faith watched as Caleb took the course again and again under Grant’s watchful eye. She watched as Caleb faltered and fell. Kicked the cones out of place and sent the hockey sticks flying. And each time, Grant patiently replaced all the props and encouraged him to go again. Once, when Caleb hit the ice hard enough for Faith to wince, Grant skated to him, braced himself on his knees and talked to Caleb but didn’t help him up. Faith knew that was to show support but also to teach Caleb he had to get up on his own.
And the first time Caleb made it through the drill successfully, no displaced equipment, a nice heavy spray on the cone, her heart all but burst with excitement for him. The kid who struggled endlessly with anything athletic had finally mastered a drill. He and Grant shared a high five before Caleb went back to the top of the ice and continued running the exercise, just because he wanted to.
Faith pushed from the truck and started toward the rink. When the truck’s door closed, Grant looked over.
“Hey.” His tone held a little what-are-you-doing-here, and his smile seemed a little tight.
Faith didn’t blame him, but it did take a little thrill out of her excitement. “Hey. Taylor asked me to pick up Caleb.”
Caleb sprayed the cone, then yelled, “Wah-hoo! Aunt Faith, did you see that?”
“I’ve seen it all fifty-seven times,” she told him. “I’ve been watching.”
“If I do it again, can you video it for Mom?”
Grant glided toward Faith as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “You bet.”
Caleb made his way across the rink, giving Faith time with Grant. “It’s really sweet of you to take time with him. He—”
“Struggles,” Grant said. “I know. He just needs some one-on-one. He picks up the moves fast when he’s focused.”
“He’s a really smart kid.”
“That’s good.” Grant grinned and rested his hip on the railing, looking out into the rink. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’ve got to be pretty sharp in hockey. Everything moves so fast. If you don’t think faster…” He shrugged.
Beside him, Faith pressed her hands to the worn wood and leaned forward to see the whole rink. “I missed seeing you today.”
“I finished grouting the shower tile,” he said. “An
d then I found mold under the sink.”
She groaned. “Oh no.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Just means I get to come in tomorrow.”
She took a deep breath and pushed through her nerves to say, “I’m really sorry about yesterday.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I—”
“Aunt Faith?” Caleb yelled. “Are you ready?”
Grant called, “Take a practice run.”
Faith laughed.
“I’ve already taken fifty-seven practice runs, according to Aunt Faith.”
“Take fifty-eight,” Grant told him. Then he grinned at Faith. “He’s a really good sport. Half the high school team would have dropped like flies by now. He has a future in high school hockey if his tenacity holds.”
“That news will thrill his mom.”
Grant nodded. “I’m sorry about yesterday too. I pushed too hard. I forget not everyone is as intense as I am.” He held her gaze, but the passion from the day before was absent, and Faith discovered she missed it. “But I’m not sorry about what happened. I wanted to kiss you from the first day.”
“I’m re-ady,” Caleb sang, skating restless circles. “When-ever you are…”
Faith laughed, and the uncomfortable tension she’d been feeling since Grant walked out of the store yesterday finally ebbed a little. She lifted her phone toward the rink. “Okay.”
She tapped
“Oh,” he said, laughing. “Sorry.”
She shoved his shoulder. “Are not.”
He caught her wrist, and held it. Their eyes met, and there was no freaking way she could deny the pull between them. But Grant didn’t push it. He loosened his grip and slid his hand over hers, then yelled at Caleb, “Clean up, kid.”
Without one word of protest, Caleb started picking up cones and sticks, dragging them to the bench and tucking them away in equipment bags.