by Jennie Marts
“Let’s see—in Mexico? Definitely frozen mudslides.”
“Excellent choice.” He licked his lips, and she almost came undone.
She needed to get a handle on this. Quit imagining him half-naked on the beach. Her mouth practically watered at the thought of his muscled body lying in a lounge chair next to her. And he’d said he’d be reading a book. A man reading a book was off-the-charts sexy in her mind.
“A day at the beach sounds great,” she said. “Then what?”
“Okay, after a day spent lounging on the beach, I think we need a night out. Dinner and dancing. I imagine we’re staying at a resort with all of that on site, so where am I taking you for dinner? Italian? Mexican? A steak? What’s your favorite?”
“Pizza is my most favorite food,” she answered, with no hesitation. “Doesn’t matter if it’s thin crust, thick, pan—as long as it’s got melted and gooey cheese on top—I love it.”
He chuckled. “All right, a girl that loves pizza and her steaks rare. I like it. I would have to agree. I’ll eat any kind of pizza. Anything except mushrooms. I hate mushrooms.”
Hated mushrooms? Good. Suddenly she liked him a little better.
“Any kind of Italian food is my favorite,” he said. “Bowls of pasta covered in sauce and cheese melted on everything. Sounds perfect.”
By the looks of his muscles, he could handle the carb load of a giant bowl of pasta.
“So, we have a big meal of pasta and chicken parmesan then go dancing. How about karaoke? Will this vacation involve bad singing?” she asked.
A laugh escaped his lips. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very good singer. In fact, I used to sing with my brother in his band. And I even play a little guitar.”
Oh, holy hotness. Did he say he played guitar? Cute, muscles, and in a band? Could this guy even be real? “You’ll have to handle the karaoke then, because I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. So no singing for me.”
“Ah, everybody can sing. Maybe everyone shouldn’t record an album, but everybody can sing.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “So, after a day spent half-naked on the beach, a delicious meal covered in melted cheese, a night of dancing—where I’m sure you’re wearing an amazing backless dress—what happens next? It’s your turn. Tell me what happens after we go dancing.”
He asked the question with a naughty smirk. Almost as if he were daring her to take their virtual date to the next level.
She grinned back. “That’s easy.”
Leaning forward, his shoulder barely touched hers, and his voice was low and husky. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “We get a pizza, take it down to the beach, and watch the waves roll in while we talk all night.”
He laughed, a warm, hearty laugh, then squeezed her hand. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’d been thinking.”
The plane hit a hard pocket of turbulence, bumping and rocking, and his laughter died on his lips. He gripped her hand. “Shit.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I just hate this stuff.”
“I get it.” He looked so scared, she wanted to give him a hug, which would be a little awkward in the airplane seats. For now, it was enough to hold his hand. “Let’s try something new. Vacation was fun, but let’s get serious now.”
He grinned, his expression not serious at all. “Okay, I’m ready.”
She intentionally lowered her voice to a more serious tone. “Tell me your most embarrassing moment on a date.”
He laughed. “Oh—I see how it is. You’re really getting deep.” He stroked his chin, brushing the dark bristles of his day-old beard.
Dang. What was so flippin’ sexy about a scruff of dark beard on a guy’s face? It didn’t make sense, but she knew she liked it.
“So, this was a few years ago, back in college. I’d met this girl in my English Lit class and asked her out on a date. I really wanted to impress her, so I thought I’d dress up a little, throw on a little of the ‘good stuff’ aftershave.”
She settled into her seat, leaning toward him to listen to his story. He must have put on a little of the “good stuff” today as well, because he smelled amazing. All woodsy, with a hint of musk.
“Unfortunately, I must have had a growth spurt since arriving at college, because when I went to try on my favorite khakis, they seemed to have shrunk, just a little too short and a little too snug in the waist. But I’d already told her I was taking her to a nice restaurant, and I didn’t have time to do anything else, so I sucked it up and wore the pants, not thinking it would matter that much. That was my downfall—not thinking.
“I took her to this nice place. It was crowded, though, and our table was in the center of the room. Right as I sat down in the chair, I heard a rip and felt my pants give. I knew that I’d split them and would most likely have to stay seated in that chair for the rest of my life. No way was I getting up and walking out of that restaurant.”
She laughed, imagining the embarrassed college kid. “Oh, no. What did you do?”
He laughed along with her. “Oh man, I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t think straight. I could barely talk to her, couldn’t focus on what she was saying, and I sure couldn’t eat. All I could think about was how I was going to have to eventually get up and leave that restaurant with my pants split up the back. And to make matters worse—now, remember I was a college kid and didn’t make laundry a huge priority—I’d been at the bottom of my drawer with slim pickin’s and had put on a pair of boxers covered in green shamrocks.”
A laugh burst from her. “Oh, shoot. Doesn’t sound like they were very lucky for you that night.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. There was no getting lucky for me that night, in any sense of the word. The girl thought I was an absolute idiot because I couldn’t hold a normal conversation. And when we finally did leave the restaurant, I was rushing so much to get out of there, I tripped on my own feet, and bumped into a waiter carrying a tray of food. The tray slipped, spilling all the food and splattering my traitorous pants with spaghetti sauce and meatballs. Luckily, my date had gotten out of the way, but it was awful. She claimed to suddenly not feel so well and asked if I could just take her home. And that, not surprisingly, was my last date with her. I threw the pants in the trash when I got home.”
He let out a sigh, his shoulders more relaxed. “Now I always make sure my pants fit before I go out on a date.”
How many dates did he go out on? He was so ridiculously cute, and charming, she imagined women were beating down his door to go on dates with him, split pants or no pants at all. The thought of him wearing only a pair of boxers covered in four-leaf clovers had her wishing she might be the one to get lucky. But maybe he was already getting lucky. Maybe he went on tons of dates. Or worse, had a girlfriend.
Don’t ask him. Keep your mouth shut. She traced the lace on the armrest between them. “So, do you go out on a lot of dates? Or are you dating someone special?” Urrgg. Someone special? Really? She made it sound like the 1950s. She may as well have asked if he was currently going steady.
“Nope, no one special,” he said, a grin covering his face. “In fact, our virtual vacation date on the beach was the first date I’ve been on in months. I’ve been pretty focused on work lately.”
A happy thrill ran through her. “Me too.” She held up her hand. “But hey, no talking about work.” She peered out the window at the snow flurries. “I’ve got a new question. Since Christmas is almost here, let’s talk about favorite holiday traditions. At my house, we always get to open one present on Christmas Eve, and it’s always new pajamas. I think my mom wanted us to look nice in the pictures Christmas morning. But it’s a tradition now, and my mom has so much fun finding pajamas for us. And I love getting new jammies every year.”
He nodded. “I like that. It’s cool.” He narrowed his eyes, a naughty gleam sparking in them. “I’m imagining you in some Christmas pajamas right now. Skimpy, a little red velvet, a little lace, maybe a Santa hat.”
She laughed and bumped his shoulder wit
h hers. Although the thought of her in his imagined pajamas and him in no pajamas had Christmas fantasies running wild in her head. “Good try. But more like head-to-toe cozy flannel. And fuzzy slippers.”
He shrugged. “I like my Christmas nightie idea better. And now I know what to ask for from Santa for Christmas this year.”
She liked the comfortable way he flirted with her. It heated her skin, made her thoughts go to places that involved bare skin and soft touches, but also made her laugh. He had an easy charm, playful—like he enjoyed making her feel good by teasing and flirting with her.
“That’s enough talk about my nightwear. What’s one of your favorite holiday traditions that your family does?”
“My mom loves holiday traditions, and she made decorating the tree together a big deal every year. I’ve got a lot of brothers, but my mom had a job for all of us. I was in charge of helping Dad put the lights on the tree. We had this big box with all of the ornaments in it, and every ornament on our tree had a story behind it. It was handmade by one of Mom’s friends, or we’d picked it up on a family vacation, or it had been given to one of us to mark a special occasion or from someone in the family. My mom would hand us an ornament, but we had to say where it came from before we could put it on the tree.”
“Ahh, I love that idea. It sounds so sweet.”
“Yeah, it sounds sweet, but remember that part about a bunch of rowdy boys. Half the time we couldn’t remember where it came from or we did remember, but it was too much fun teasing our mom by acting like we forgot. It was always crazy, us kids laughing, and my mom getting all mad.”
She was starting to see where his comfortable teasing nature came from.
“But eventually we get all the ornaments on the tree, and Mom always gets to put the angel on top. Then we turn out all the lights in the living room, except for the ones on the tree, and we have a Christmas picnic and eat supper in front of the tree. We all razz our mom about it, but it’s pretty cool.”
“That sounds like a great tradition. I’ll bet your mom is really sweet.”
He grinned. “My mom is the best. She put up with so much crap from my brothers and me. She’s got the best sense of humor and just makes everything more fun. I’d do anything for my mom.” A sad look crossed his face, as if he had somehow disappointed her or hadn’t lived up to her expectation.
What was that about? Before she could ask, another bout of turbulence rocked the plane. He gripped her arm, squeezing it as his face paled.
She had to admit, she hated the turbulence, too. But more for the queasy feeling it caused in her stomach. With him, she could tell it was more than that. It was outright fear.
She needed a new tack. Something different to take his mind off the rough flight.
Hating to do it, she pulled her hand from his and reached for her purse under the seat. Pulling out a pack of gum, she offered him a piece. “It helps prevent your ears from popping.” She also grabbed a pair of earbuds then set her bag back under the seat.
“Let’s try some music. You pick a playlist you like.” After calling up her music on her phone, she handed it to him to scroll through. Music choices were so personal and could reveal a lot about someone. Having him look through her playlists was surprisingly intimate, like she was letting him have a glimpse into her personality, or a peek into her sock drawer.
“This one.” He pointed to the list of “Feel Good Tunes.”
“Good choice.” She unraveled the headphones, plugged them into the jack on her phone, and handed him one earbud. Leaning in toward each other, they each put an earbud into their ear.
The sweet, haunting melody of Lana Del Rey filled her ear, and she shivered.
He noticed. Reaching across her, he grabbed the blanket that she’d tucked into the side of her seat. His arm brushed her stomach as he pulled the blanket free, and her heart raced in her chest.
Shaking out the fold, he spread the blanket across both of them and tipped his head toward hers. “I like this song.”
Even in the dim light, she could see the sincerity in his eyes.
What was happening? It felt surreal. Like they were plucked out of a moment in time. A moment where chemistry flew, and their attraction zapped like sparks in the air.
The dark cabin, the intimate space, the other passengers asleep around them—all combined to give the illusion that they were alone. That the two of them—in this moment—were the only two people that existed. That she was alive, sizzling with energy, waiting for this one instant, waiting a million years, for this moment—when they would meet.
His head bent forward, his forehead almost touching hers. Her forearm burned from the pressure of his hand resting lightly on it. She felt connected to him, emotionally, through their shared experience, but also physically, as they were tethered together by the headphone cord.
She swallowed, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “I like this song, too.”
He reached up, the back of his fingers gently brushing her cheek. “I like you.” Leaning in, a fraction closer, his lips so close to hers—she caught her breath—closer still. All she had to do was push him away. Or pull back.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because she wanted this. Wanted him.
It didn’t make sense. It was probably a stupid, impulsive decision. But she desired him. Beyond reason. Beyond control.
He tipped a little closer, his lips a mere whisper from hers. She sat motionless, frozen. Waiting. Hoping. Dying—for him to kiss her.
The song in her ear hit a low, sweet chord, the melody lingering on a phrase, the singer’s voice holding one long, stirring note. The note ended, and the singer let out a breathy sigh—the sound soft and sensual.
And he kissed her.
Light. A soft whisper against her lips.
Every nerve in her body shot to life, heat pulsing through her core. Her lips parted, barely, just enough to release her own sigh, and he took her mouth. Took it in an onslaught of passion and desire.
Her chest arched slightly toward him, but otherwise their bodies remained still, all of their focus on their lips and that one spectacular kiss.
She felt the kiss through every molecule in her body, all the way to her toes. Her hand gripped the armrest, as if it were anchoring her to the seat, as if she had to hold on, or she’d float into the atmosphere on the breathtaking power of that kiss.
His lips were soft and tasted like the sweet spearmint flavor of his gum. The scent of his aftershave surrounded her like a cloak—filled her senses with traces of him—and she wanted to sink into the essence of him.
Shimmers of pleasure shot through her, and she kissed him back with a fierce and hungry need. Where had that come from? She wanted to melt into his lips and wrap her legs around his waist at the same time.
His hand slid up her neck, his fingers weaving into her hair as he cupped the back of her neck. Flames of heat filled her as he kissed her again, his tongue slipping between her lips, as he tasted her.
Her hand slid up and clutched his arm—his ridiculously hard, muscled arm—and all she could do was hold on. Hold on and try not to shatter into a million pieces as he consumed her, body and soul.
They suddenly hit a hard patch of turbulence, and the plane dipped a fraction, filling the air with a feeling of panic. They broke apart, breathing hard as the passengers around them woke up, startled by the sudden drop. They hadn’t really been alone. They’d been surrounded by people. People that now sat forward, rustling in their seats, and murmuring about the rough ride.
The captain’s voice crackled through the intercom assuring the passengers that everything was all right, that they were passing through a storm but were approaching their final descent, and to please keep their seatbelts fastened.
Addison fell back against her seat, the earbud pulling loose from her ear, and the absence of the music was like a splash of cold water on her face. What the hell had she been doing? Kissing a perfect stranger on a plane?
She rubbed her
kiss-bruised lips and snuck a glance at her seat mate. He looked as startled as she felt, as if he were just waking up from a dream. Then his eye caught hers, and his face broke into a grin. A sweet, heartbreakingly gorgeous grin.
Okay, maybe not a perfect stranger. Maybe not a stranger at all. And maybe he was kind of perfect.
Another rumble of the plane, and he sat back against his seat, pulling his seatbelt tighter across his lap. He picked up her hand and held it tightly against his leg.
Chapter Two
Bane Bannister sat in a hard chair across from his new boss. Or who might be his new boss, he wasn’t sure.
He hadn’t planned to have a new boss at all. But he also hadn’t planned to break that guy’s nose in the last game. And he definitely hadn’t planned to have his coach trade him off the team.
He’d played hockey for the Colorado Summit for the past five years. He loved the team, loved that he got to play for his home state, and, best of all, loved that he got to play on the same team as his little brother, Owen.
He and his brother had a reputation for fighting, the Summit fans dubbing the duo the Bannister Brawlers. He kind of liked it.
But the Brawlers seemed to have had a string of bad games, getting more than their share of penalties and causing too many game delays. The coach had warned them they needed to ease up a little on the fighting. Unfortunately, nobody told the other team.
They were down in the last game, and things had gotten heated between his brother and another player on the opposing team. Bane should have let it go. Should have backed off. But it was his little brother. He couldn’t stand by and let that asshole whale on him.
The fight hadn’t really been as bad as the coach made it out to be. Broken noses just tend to bleed a lot. But the blood on the ice and covering his knuckles didn’t help his case when the coach came down on him.
He knew his coach would ream him, but he hadn’t been prepared for him to trade him. And certainly not to St. Louis, one of Colorado’s biggest rivals. But it was better him than Owen.