She and Niklas had come too far for her to doubt his feelings, but feelings weren’t enough to make a relationship work. And if their relationship ended, where would she be?
Right now, Caroline could probably still make it on her own. But if she followed him to Sweden or took a job she didn’t want, just to stay in Detroit, she’d be back where she started with Brad.
No. She’d be in a worse position than she was with Brad. Splitting up with Niklas would be far, far worse in ways that had nothing to do with money.
The waitress started toward them again, but Caroline met the woman’s eyes and shook her head. She didn’t want to sit through an hour of this. She turned back to Brad and took a long, steadying breath before she spoke.
“You’re trying to hurt me, Brad, and it’s working,” she said, “but the fact that you’d say things like you have here and at my parents’ is one of the reasons we’re not together. And we won’t be.”
Brad’s expression lost some of its sharpness. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“I’m sorry,” said Brad softly. “I just can’t believe we’re really over.”
How could you not know? she wanted to snap back. Caroline had moved all of her belongings into her parents’ basement before she left—hadn’t she made her break from him clear? But there was no use saying the words. Brad would have an answer for that, too.
He looked repentant, but Caroline couldn’t help but be cynical. How much of his reaction was still a calculated play on her emotions? She gazed at him across the table, looking for clues. Did Brad even understand this part of himself? Caroline doubted he did. In fact, she had probably always given him more credit than he was due.
She glanced over at the door, focusing on her escape.
Brad frowned and reached into his work bag. He pulled out three small jewelry boxes and lined them up in the center of their table. Silently, she stuffed them into her purse, trying not to let the relief show on her face. She could leave now.
“Brad, we were over when I left,” she said.
“Caroline, don’t—”
Real emotion seemed to war with calculations, but in the end, Caroline knew how this would go.
“Let it go here, Brad,” she said softly. “Goodbye.”
She stood up, and he didn’t pursue her. She walked out of the café and didn’t look back.
CAROLINE SETTLED INTO the soft seat of the car and let out her breath. She put her hands on the steering wheel to stop them from shaking. Brad knew exactly how to get to her. He had probably even planned some of his lines ahead of time in the mirror, the way she had seen him prepare for trial.
Now she wished she had parked further away. Instead, she found herself sitting outside the café, still in sight of Brad. She commanded herself to turn on the car. The sound of the motor kicked her brain into gear. She executed a near-perfect three-point turn and drove away.
But she didn’t head home, not yet. She turned onto the highway towards downtown Detroit as the flood of thoughts she hadn’t been ready to acknowledge back in the café took hold of her. Caroline wasn’t fully aware of the direction she was headed until she arrived at Joe Louis Arena. She parked the car next to Niklas’s, turned off the engine, and leaned back on the seat’s headrest. Brad’s words wouldn’t leave her alone.
If you like to be roughed up a little, you should have said so.
The thought made her cringe in a way Brad hadn’t understood. Brad was referring to the hints of domestic abuse that had appeared in the news, hints she knew weren’t based on facts—not about Niklas, at least. But the comment had struck a deeper nerve. It had brought her into Detroit, to the parking lot of Joe Louis Arena.
She sat in the quiet car, hands still gripping the steering wheel. What was she looking for here?
Niklas’s rough reputation hadn’t scared her off, not really, even at the beginning. The photo of Niklas and the abused woman had made her sick to her stomach, but she had let him into her apartment that very same night. What was wrong with her? True, she hadn’t actually believed what she had seen in the news. When they had met on an early morning in Vasaparken, his impulse had been to protect her, not to harm her. Still, the fact that his reputation had made the insinuations believable in the media should have been enough for her to run in the other direction.
But she hadn’t.
Even the night he had shattered the glass against the wall, she had stayed. More than stayed. She had knelt down and unbuttoned his pants not so long after. The memory wrung an uneasy mixture of arousal and wariness—wariness of her own desires.
Caroline closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, letting her hands drop from the steering wheel. She was here for a glimpse of Niklas in his rawer form. If she could get past the guard at the door, that is.
She stepped out of the car and walked across the parking lot to the entrance. Practice had begun over an hour ago, so the stairs up to the arena were deserted. She hadn’t really thought through how she’d get in, but the same security guard from the last time opened the door, gave her a once-over and let her in.
“No photos,” he grunted, and she nodded.
She walked through the deserted halls of the arena. Grunts, whistles and the scrapes of skates on ice echoed through each opening to the rink, but she continued around the hall. This time, she was going to sit behind the players’ benches.
She peeked in a few tunnels until she came out in the right spot: A place where she could watch Niklas without him seeing her. Like her last visit, there were only a few spectators scattered around the seats. No one seemed to notice when she slipped into a chair only a few rows down from the entrance.
Red and white jerseys rushed to one side of the ice. The white players positioned themselves in a wide semi-circle around the red goal, passing the puck back and forth as the red players swarmed in between. Caroline spotted “Almquist” on the back of a red jersey as Niklas dove after the puck and shoved a white jersey against the boards. Both players took an extra beat to skate away from the check. Were they supposed to play that rough in practice?
Caroline glanced at the scoreboard above the ice, counting the minutes of the third period down. The players must be tired by now, though neither team showed any signs of letting up.
Niklas sprinted after the puck to the other side of the ice. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, and his mouth drew back into a sneer she recognized. Caroline’s heart thudded in her chest as she felt an uneasy mix of desire and excitement run through her.
The white jerseys gained control of the puck again, and Niklas raced to meet an oncoming player. Caroline held her breath as Niklas skated full-speed at the puck, the entire force of his body heading straight for the white jersey in front of him.
That moment of intimidation was enough—the white jersey slowed. Niklas got to the puck first and circled around the player, his blades scraping the ice hard. Caroline’s breath hitched as he plowed through another player on his way toward the goal.
A clatter from behind startled her. Long, jean-clad legs climbed over the row of seats next to her. She looked up into the eyes of Bauer. Caroline bit her lip, trying to clear her face of the dark excitement from watching Niklas play. But she saw in Bauer’s eyes that she was a little too late.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, sitting down next to her. “You enjoying the show?”
His voice was lazy and inviting, and he leaned back in his chair. Bauer was certainly as big as Niklas, but while Niklas intentionally toned down his presence around her, Bauer seemed to be doing just the opposite. He was sitting so close and looking so intently at her that she had to fight the urge to run away. He was no threat. At least not here in the arena.
Caroline shrugged at his question.
“I actually haven’t watched too much hockey before.”
He raised his eyebrows and leaned in a little.
“Could have fooled me with the way you’re watching the rin
k. Or maybe there are other things you like about watching the game.”
His tone was unmistakably sexual. That kind of woman. But she didn’t react.
Back in Stockholm, when Niklas had told her the story of what had happened between him and Bauer, she had never imagined she would have to face this man a few months later. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking it: This man hit a woman. Probably more than one. What kind of person stepped across this line—and then let someone else take the blame for it? Nothing in his manner suggested that he would. She didn’t know what to expect. What did a man who hit women look like? She wouldn’t have guessed this about him, and the thought made her shiver again. She trusted Niklas wouldn’t, but… no, she wouldn’t let her mind go there.
She kept her face impassive and stared at him, waiting for his next move.
“You’re Niklas’s girl. I’m Steven,” he said, holding out a large hand for her to shake.
She hesitated before she took his hand. His palm closed over hers in a way that felt far too intimate.
He’s not a danger.
“I know who you are,” she said. “Niklas told me about you.”
Bauer snorted. “All good things, I’m sure.”
“Why aren’t you out on the ice today?”
“Resting my ankle,” he said. “Just came to watch. I’m waiting to see how long Almquist is planning to stick around.”
Caroline shrugged again.
“You’ll have to ask him,” she said, not letting her gaze waver.
“That’s interesting,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up into a little smirk. “I got the feeling you pulled some of those strings. Why else would he be back?”
Caroline’s eyes widened, too surprised to hide her reaction.
“Almquist never brings a girl anywhere with him,” he continued, “and you must be giving him something he wants to get him back here on the ice.”
Bauer’s gaze dipped down in crude appraisal, and he smiled. Caroline glared back at him.
“Is that what you came over to say?”
Bauer looked at her mildly. She was struck by how unaffected he seemed to be by her hostility.
“Just trying to understand how this will play out,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Caroline.”
“Caroline,” he repeated softly. “Nice talking with you. I’m sure your lover-boy will want to know all the details about our conversation.”
He nodded toward the rink. Caroline followed his gaze back down until she found Niklas. The scrimmage had ended, and the players stood in a huddle in the middle of the rink. But Niklas’s head was turned away from the coach. He was staring straight up at her. Even from this distance, she could see his dark frown.
Chapter 12
CAROLINE STEPPED INTO the hot shower and let the sting of the heat push away her thoughts. It worked for a moment, but they all came back too soon.
Both Brad and Bauer had poked at a raw point in her relationship with Niklas. Was she turned on by the power and force he displayed on the ice? Her gut reaction to watching Niklas play today was sobering. She was drawn to his rougher side, his physical drive.
Caroline closed her eyes and dipped her head under the spray, letting it drown her senses. The enormous showerhead rained down all around her. She was back in his house now, where just the two of them existed. The heat took over, pushing the tension out of her body.
Minutes later, she emerged from the water to grab the shampoo and let out a yelp. Niklas was standing on the other side of the shower door, watching her.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I—I just thought you’d be a while,” she said, her heart still thumping hard. “You know, shower, talk to the team, that kind of thing.”
Niklas shook his head.
“I didn’t do any of that today,” he said. “Not after I saw you in the stands.”
His voice was the kind of low growl that came out in more intimate moments, but the steam on the shower door blurred the expression on his face. She slid open the door and met the harsh blue of Niklas’s eyes. She sucked in a breath, and her hands dropped from the handle.
Tense muscles bulged at the shoulder seams of his t-shirt. One of his hands was balled into a fist, and the other was on the full erection that strained at his jeans. Her breath quickened, and her nipples tingled in the cool bathroom air. His gaze wandered down her length, awakening her body as he paused along the way. He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved his hand down his pants, his eyes firmly fixed on her. He was still fully clothed, but the sight of him, powerfully turned on and stroking himself, was as erotic as anything she had seen.
“Do you want to come in?”
Her voice caught in her throat, somewhere between a breath and a moan.
Niklas closed his eyes and let out a quiet groan.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, his gaze back on her, darker than before. “I’m hard as hell just watching you like this.”
“Come in, Niklas.”
A rumbling breath escaped from his mouth, and his hand moved faster. “I’m so turned on right now, and I don’t… I don’t want to scare you.”
Her heart thudded harder, more turned on than scared.
“I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” she whispered, her voice barely there.
He didn’t need any further invitation. His hand left his pants, and he yanked his shirt over his head, muscles exposed and ready. The scent of him filled the steamy air, a concoction of sweat and desire. My God, she wanted this man. His skin glistened with steam and sweat. She wanted to step forward and taste the salty flavor of him, but she waited.
He shed the rest of his clothes, still watching her with hungry eyes. She took in the mess of his hair, the bulge of his shoulders, the tense muscles of his stomach and his thick, throbbing erection. His eyes were wild with desire and something darker, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to probe.
Niklas closed his eyes again and rested his hands on the edge of the sink. His chest rose and fell in long, steadying breaths. He didn’t look at her when he spoke.
“I saw you with Bauer up in the stands. When it comes to you, I don’t know how far I’d go to protect you, to protect us,” he said, “and I don’t want to find out.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Niklas had struggled with the aggression that sports encouraged back in Stockholm, but she had felt more like a spectator at the time. Still, even then, just getting knocked out of the tournament was enough to bring out a side of Niklas that had scared her, a side she never wanted to see again. Caroline had watched how all of his pent-up frustrations could turn into something else. The past months had pushed that memory far into the distance, but she knew Niklas had never let it go.
She shivered. Was she scared? No. She didn’t know what to do with the part of her that wanted this rougher side of Niklas.
Caroline gazed at him. His eyes were narrowed with lust, and his muscles tightened with each breath. If she was going to confront this side of herself, now was the time. She held out her hand.
“Come in the shower, Niklas,” she whispered.
The sharp rasp of his breath sent a wave of heat through her body. In two, long strides, he pressed up against her, holding her against his hard length. Her lips met the hard planes of his chest. She tasted his skin, salty and hot with desire.
He slowly walked her back into the spray of the shower, and the hot water ran along the seams of their bodies. His large hands clamped around her arms, holding her body against his. He breathed secret words she couldn’t understand into the base of her neck. His teeth scraped along her skin, and he rocked into her.
“Fuck, you’re so sexy. Do you feel how much I want you right now?”
She tried to move closer, but his hands held her firmly in place. Instead, he turned her around until his chest pressed against her back. He adjusted himself, and his erec
tion moved along her core. Her heart pounded harder. This was the position she knew he craved when he was in this mood, the one that turned him on more than any other, provoked him. In the time they had been together, he had tried to temper this urge, afraid of where it would lead. And every time he resisted it, Caroline wanted it even more.
He moved her wet hair to one side and tasted her neck.
“This way,” he whispered. “This time I want you this way. Hard.”
His ragged breaths sent a shiver through her. Gently, he bent her forward, placing her hands on the ledge in front of them for support. His hands slid over her back and sides, his erection stroking along her core. She shifted to press against him harder, and his breath came out in a hiss. One of his hands left her back, and he positioned himself at her entry, teasing her.
“You own me, Caroline. I want to own you, too.”
Before she had time to make sense of these words, he entered her in one, hard thrust, and their cries echoed through the room. He stilled, stroking her back, as her body adjusted to his size. His voice rumbled from his chest as he spoke.
“Only you, Caroline. You’re mine.”
His hands wrapped around her hips and held on hard as he drove into her again. Swedish words tumbled out of his mouth, and Caroline heard her name mixed in with them. She wanted everything she knew he could give her, harder, faster.
“Niklas,” she moaned, moving her hips against the powerful grip of his hands.
“Again,” he panted. “Beg me for more.”
“Please, Niklas.”
His next words were ragged and indecipherable. He drew back and thrust in again in long, powerful strokes. Pleasure reached through her body, each stroke a momentary relief before the desire built further inside. Her legs shook, and her hands slipped from the ledge as her body registered the onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overtake her. Niklas’s voice broke through the haze.
“On your knees, Caroline,” he gasped “Please.”
The last word held a note of desperation. He released her, and she knelt down on the smooth, warm tiles of the shower floor. Niklas knelt down behind her. He widened her knees, exposing her, teasing her with his hand. His powerful thighs brushed against hers and she could feel him ready behind her. He leaned forward and brought her hair away from her face, caressing the back of her neck. With a low moan, he entered her again.
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