by Jennie Marts
He didn’t seem like that much of a partier, either. He’d fallen asleep after one shot of whiskey on the plane, and after that, she’d only seen him drink Diet Coke. That didn’t seem like much of a drinker to her. Maybe the media just portrayed him that way, and she’d bought in to their hype.
But he had lied to her. And that one hurt.
He’d lied about who he was. Okay, maybe not lied, but omitted.
And she’d also seen the quick flash of his temper when she’d said that Trent had been too aggressive with her.
Who was she kidding? This was Bane Bannister, one half of the Brawling Bannisters. Which meant he liked to fight, liked to push people’s buttons, and liked to stir up trouble.
But was that just his game persona? She hadn’t seen any of that in his off-ice personality. In fact, he’d been nothing but easygoing and sweet. The waitress had spilled his soft drink at lunch, and he’d been forgiving and charming, coaxing a smile from the waitress and leaving her a generous tip.
She couldn’t figure him out. Had he really not known that she was Steve Cavanaugh’s daughter? Or was this an intricate plan to get into the good graces of her father? Somehow, that didn’t feel right. That didn’t feel like the Bane, or the Ben, that she knew.
But did she really know him? Could you really know someone after only spending a few hours with them? After sharing a few stories and a toe-curling kiss? Her body heated at the memory of that kiss. At the recollection of the feel of his lips against hers.
She squirmed in her seat. Geez. What is the matter with me?
You’d think she’d never kissed a man before.
Actually, she’d never a kissed a man like that before. A kiss that went all the way through her, heating her body, and sending electrical tingles through all of her nerve endings.
She needed to stop. To get this under control. Think about the facts.
The simplest fact was that Bane was indeed a hockey player, which went against the most basic—and only—element of The Rule. Besides that, he was a hockey player on her dad’s team. Or he might be, if the trade went through. And if the trade didn’t happen, then he’d be on the next plane back to Colorado.
Besides, she’d heard her dad’s warning to Bane. No women.
So, he wouldn’t want to start anything with her anyway.
She was sure that she wasn’t that important to him. Not important enough to risk messing up hockey. She was just something he’d used to pass the time on an airplane.
Sure, he’d still been flirty and sweet at lunch, but she had to accept that this thing couldn’t really go anywhere. He had to focus on his career and getting this trade.
Which only reinforced The Rule—because when it came to hockey players, the game always came first. No matter what.
She stiffened her resolve. This was it. She’d finish helping him with the tux, then they were through. There was no point in starting something that would only end badly.
See, this was easy. Just follow The Rule.
No dating hockey players. No dating Bane.
She heard a door open and peeked into the dressing room area. The tailor must have finished his measurements, because she caught a glimpse of him as he headed into the back room beyond the dressing rooms.
“Pssst.” Bane poked his head out of the dressing room door. “Addison.”
She leaned forward. “What?”
“Come here. I need your help. Remember that embarrassing story I told you on the plane?”
Oh no. Surely he hadn’t split his pants. And if he did, what did he think she could do about it?
She stood but hesitated to enter the back area. It was the men’s dressing rooms. But no one else was in the store, so she knew the likelihood of her bothering another customer was pretty slim.
She tiptoed across the carpet to Bane’s dressing room door. He reached out his arm—his bare arm—Lord have mercy, he wasn’t wearing a shirt—and pulled her into the dressing room.
He had on his khakis but his feet were bare, and his chest was ripped with muscles. She noticed these things in the split second it took for him to shut the dressing room door and press her up against it.
Before she had time to react, he kissed her.
Not a soft, gentle kiss like the first one on the plane—but a hard, deep, passion-filled kiss. A kiss that had her head spinning and her body reacting—arching her chest into him as her fingers gripped his muscled shoulders. Her body heated and ached with want and need.
Her lips parted and his tongue slid inside—tasting her—his mouth making that soft, rumbling, sexy sound against hers. That sound that told her he was aroused and wanted her. That her kissing him back was causing the same heat and ache in him. Other parts of his body told her he was aroused too as he pressed against her, pinning her between his body and the door.
His body was hard and muscled and so freaking perfect. She clutched his back as he ran his hands along her sides, sliding over her curves, stroking and caressing.
She couldn’t think—couldn’t reason out what a bad idea this was—she could only feel. Feel his lips as they trailed a line of fiery kisses down her throat. Feel the solid strength of him as she ran her hands over his back and shoulders.
“Wait.” She pulled back, gasping for breath. “What are we doing? What if someone comes in?” What if someone comes in? Was that really her first concern?
How about What the hell was she doing making out in the dressing room with a guy she barely knew, who was also a hockey player? That seemed like the more pressing concern.
And what about The freaking Rule? Hadn’t she just convinced herself to stick to it and let him go?
The way she was gripping his broad shoulders did not seem to indicate she was letting him go—in any sense of the words.
He continued to ravage her neck, speaking between kisses. “No one better come in. I just gave the tailor a hundred dollars to keep everyone out of here for the next thirty minutes.”
Did he say a hundred dollars? And thirty minutes? Thirty minutes of his body pressed against hers.
“What? You did? Why?” She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t think. His lips felt so damn delicious against her neck.
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about that kiss on the plane.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “You’re all I’ve thought about all frickin’ day. I’ve thought about kissing you, touching you, that snug little skirt, and filling my hands with your curves. I like you, Addison. You’re smart and sweet and you make me laugh. And you’re sexy as hell. I want you. I want to touch you. To feel you against me. I know it seems sudden. And a little crazy. But it also feels so damn right.”
She blinked, her mind trying to catch up with everything he’d said. She did mean something to him. He liked her. And this sure felt like he wanted to start something with her.
This was sudden. And more than a little crazy. But so was the time they spent on the plane. So was kissing him.
This felt wrong and right at the same time. They were in a dressing room of a high-end men’s clothing store, for goodness’ sake.
And besides that—there was The Rule. No dating hockey players.
Although this wouldn’t really be considered a date. So maybe it didn’t count.
His hand inched up her bare leg, sliding closer to the hem of her skirt, and her whole body sizzled with heat and want. She wanted him, too. Wanted to feel his big hands on her body. Wanted to feel his mouth crushed against hers.
Logic and reason ceased to exist. Impulse and primal need took over. She wanted this man. Needed him.
Screw The Rule.
She dug her fingers into his dark hair and pulled his mouth down on hers, kissing him with fire and pure lust.
His hands slid up her body, caressing her waist, her stomach, cupping her breasts. His fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons of her blouse, but he managed to unbutton each one and peel her shirt open. Her back arched as his head dipped down, k
issing the tops of her breasts as he pulled the shirt from her arms and dropped it to the floor.
His fingers slid under the straps of her black lacy bra and skimmed the straps down her arms. Her nipples tightened and puckered with need as he reached behind her and undid the clasp, freeing her breasts as her bra also dropped to the floor.
Clasping her hand, he raised it above her head, pinning her against the wall. Flames of desire shot through her as his other hand cupped her bare breast, squeezing and caressing as he sucked her taut nipple into his mouth.
Squirming against him, she let out a soft moan as he skimmed his lips across her skin, circling her other nipple with his tongue before sucking it between his lips.
He let go of her hand, his fingers skimming down the underside of her arm, tracing a line down the side of her body and over her hips.
Finding the hem of her skirt, he pulled it up, raising the fabric to her waist. His large hands roamed over her butt, and she wished she’d worn sexier underwear than the plain black bikinis. His thumb slid under the elastic band and his hand cupped her cheek, fondling its rounded curve.
This was now more than a little crazy. She was still wearing her heels, back against the door of the dressing room, topless, with her skirt pushed up against her waist. She’d never done anything like this before. Never dreamed of ever doing anything like this.
Yet it was the most impulsive, sexiest, hottest thing she could imagine. She had never felt so wanton and sexy. And she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted more. More of him. More of this.
Her head tilted back against the door, and she wrapped her leg around his.
She held back a moan as his hand slid under her ass—finding the perfect spot—his fingers stroking and rubbing—drawing her to the edge. The edge of desire and need. Then she was falling. Over the edge as the feelings spiraled through her, to her very core, her body trembling with release.
Pressing against the door, she clutched his broad shoulders, letting the feelings wash over her, as she buried her face in his neck. Spent, her body sagged against him, her breath coming in hard gasps.
He held her against him, pulling her skirt down as he softly kissed her shoulder, her neck, her lips.
She clung to him, still in the moment, but could feel reality sneaking in along the fringes of her conscious.
Had it been thirty minutes? She didn’t know. Time stood still as he kissed her, softer now but still with heat and passion. She pulled back and looked up at from under her lashes.
He grinned. “You okay?”
All she could do was nod, a quick bob of her head, as she tried to catch her breath.
“You sure?” He stepped back, leaving her feeling exposed, and she crossed her arms over her bare chest.
“I can’t believe I did that.” She felt dazed, like she was coming out of a dream. A hot-as-hell dream of her and an insanely gorgeous, muscled man making out against a dressing room door.
He reached down, picked up her bra and shirt, and held them out to her.
She quickly pulled them on and straightened her skirt. She glanced up, and caught him watching her.
“You are sexy as hell.” He chuckled, low and a little naughty, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t believe that just happened. I have never done anything like that before. But you made me so crazy, I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to touch you so damn bad.”
“I can’t believe this happened either. I’ve never done anything even close to this. I thought kissing you on the plane was kind of risqué, but nothing compares to what we just did.”
He grinned. “Wanna do it again?”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, not right now. I think we need to get out of this dressing room, before someone else needs to try something on. Or the tailor comes back and demands another hundred dollars.”
“Best hundred dollars I’ve ever spent.” He laughed then kissed her once more, soft and tender. “But you’re right. Let’s get out of here. All of a sudden, I’m starving. Let’s go find something to eat.”
She peered out the dressing room door. Seeing no one, she smoothed down her skirt and hurried from the room. She gave Bane a wave. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”
Heat flamed in her cheeks as she slid into the car seat and shut the door. Holy crud. What had she just done?
In the heat of the moment, it seemed wild and reckless, and amazing. But now it just seemed wild and reckless.
She prayed she could count on the discretion of the store’s employee. Her dad shopped at that store, and she didn’t know how well a hundred-dollar bill would stand up to the loyalty to Steve Cavanaugh.
As she waited for Bane to pay and arrange to have his tux sent over to his hotel, she relived the scene in the dressing room in her mind.
Tendrils of heat curled through her body as she thought about the feel of his hands, his lips. As exciting as it was, she couldn’t believe that she’d just been half-naked and had been pleasured against the back of a dressing room door.
Totally out of character for her—she couldn’t believe she’d done that.
And she couldn’t wait to do it again.
Chapter Three
Bane pulled up to the address Addison had given him for the coach’s house. “House” was putting it mildly. It was closer to a mansion, with white pillars, and a huge circular driveway. Was this where Addison had grown up?
A valet attendant approached his car and he grabbed the bottle of wine from the front seat, then handed over the keys of the rental. Smoothing down the front of his tux, he crossed the driveway and checked his watch. Six fifty-five. Five minutes early.
Hopefully being early to the party tonight would help to combat the coach’s earlier impression of him. Bane was normally very punctual. It was his brother who ran late everywhere he went.
The driveway was full of cars, and he joined the throng of people entering the house. He recognized some players, got a few high fives, and a few angry looks. So maybe not everyone on the team would be excited to have him on board, especially if he or his brother had been in a fight with them recently.
But he hoped most would be glad to have his skills on the ice and appreciate him as a defenseman.
He caught the eye of the coach, who crossed the room to shake his hand, checking his watch in the process. “I see you made it on time.”
Bane had a feeling he had just earned a check mark in the plus column and that the coach had a running tally in his head of all of his players. “Thank you, sir.” He handed the coach the wine. “A gesture of my appreciation for inviting me to the party on late notice.”
The coach took the wine, raising an appreciative eyebrow. Score another check mark on the plus side. “Very nice. Thank you.”
Bane nodded. “My mother would have had my head if I didn’t bring a gift.”
Speaking of mothers, a beautiful older woman in a black dress approached them, her hand outstretched. “You must be Bane. I’m Claire Cavanaugh, Steve’s wife.” She smiled, and he could see where Addison got her grace and beauty.
He took her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you. We’re glad to have you here this evening. Steve tells me you may be joining the team.”
He nodded and smiled. “I’ve got to win over your husband first.”
She offered him another beautiful smile, accompanied by a conspiratory wink. “I think the Blueshirts could use a little of the Bannister Brawler spirit.”
Coach Cavanaugh smiled down at his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sometimes she forgets I’m the actual coach.”
Bane liked them. He liked their easiness with each other and the way they so obviously cared for each other. Claire was gracious and kind, and he instantly liked her. He could see a lot of Addison in her mom. And the coach seemed tough but fair. Maybe St. Louis wouldn’t be so bad.
Claire reste
d a hand on his arm. “Please make yourself at home, Bane. There’s plenty of food and drink. Enjoy and help yourself.”
The coach gave him a quick warning before walking off with his wife to greet another guest. “Don’t help yourself to too much drink. Remember what I said in our meeting this morning.”
Oh, he hadn’t forgotten. No booze. No parties. No fighting. No women.
A caterer walked by with a tray full of champagne and he grabbed a glass and took a swig.
He’d already shattered one of the rules today. Might as well go for broke.
Speaking of breaking the rules—where was Addison? He hadn’t seen her yet but hadn’t stopped thinking about her all day. What the hell had happened today in that dressing room?
He’d only wanted to steal a kiss. To get her alone for a few minutes and feel her against him. He’d never planned or expected it to go as far as it did. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about her. The way her body pressed against him, the way her lips felt on his neck, the sexy sounds she made when he was getting it right.
Dang. Those little sounds almost did him in. She was so damn sexy. And he had it so damn bad.
He liked every single thing about this girl. Well, everything except that she was the coach’s daughter. The coach who had told him to lay off women. Bane had a feeling that Coach Cavanaugh would not consider making out with his daughter an exception to that rule.
But somehow the coach’s warning hadn’t affected him. Which was not good. Not good at all.
His own coach at the Summit was pretty pissed at him, and Bane wasn’t sure if he would take him back. He needed Coach Cavanaugh to support this trade to the Blueshirts. Or he might be out of the league altogether.
He couldn’t let that happen. He loved hockey—lived for the game. His career was literally riding on his ability to control himself, and the final decision of Steve Cavanaugh.
He set the half-full glass of champagne down. He didn’t need to drink at all. He’d rather the coach see him with a soda in his hand. He could easily let drinking alcohol go.