He nodded. “It was. And I would still like that. But we want things all the time that we don’t get. I wanted my first marriage to work. I wanted my grandfather to live to see me play professional hockey. I wanted Jonteau to not be who she turned out to be. I wanted to sell that monster house the day I put it on the market. Should I continue? You want things. They don’t happen. Life goes on.”
“We don’t love each other.” Do we? Is it possible that we could? Is it possible that he moved to the guest house because that’s where we had been together? Is it too much to ask?
Lars shook his head. “What is love? It was easy to say to Julia, but it came to nothing. It was easy to say to Jonteau, but it was easy for her to leave. To be honest, it was easy to watch her leave. So, I don’t know. But I do know I want you. I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you.” He looked her up and down and let his eyes come to rest on her breasts. “And you want me, too.”
She started to tell him he was being ridiculous, that what he was proposing was crazy. But an image flashed before her—Lars sitting on the side of her hospital bed holding the baby, who would be certain to have blond hair and blue eyes. He would be a good father. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
And she wouldn’t be alone.
Plus, there were other things to consider.
She wouldn’t be trying to build a career and deal with the issue of having an illegitimate child. The publicity—and there would be plenty—might even help her.
Pickens might still fire Lars, but if they presented the marriage a done deal, he was less likely to.
And there were those nights in bed. No one else had ever done it for her, and she had no reason to think anyone else ever would. She hated the thought of life without Lars in her bed.
Lars leaned forward and placed his hands on her abdomen. “And I want this baby. It’s my only chance.”
“The baby will be your baby whether we’re married or not. I wouldn’t make that difficult for you.”
He shook his head. His touch turned from paternal to seductive as he slid his hands from her stomach to her rib cage. “I want to be in the house every night when he goes to sleep and when he wakes up.” He covered her breasts with his hands and she shivered. “And in between, I want you in my bed.” He moved his hands to her waist and urged her toward him until she was sitting astride him.
“You do want me in your bed.” And it was true. His penis immediately went hard against her stomach. “Your T-shirt is appropriate.”
“What?” He looked confused.
“Hard Rock.” She moved against him.
He laughed. “I’m always ready for you.” He pulled her closer in and shifted until she was notched against him in exactly the right place. She let out a ragged breath. “And you’re always ready for me. Don’t deny it.”
“I don’t.”
He brought her head to the curve of his neck. “Kiss me here.” He tasted like coconut and salt. “I want you to kiss me there every day—the day our baby is born, the day he skates for the first time, starts school, goes to college, gets married. I want you to kiss me there the day he gives us a grandchild.”
“It could be a girl.” God help her, she was giving into this. It was so easy. He had mapped out a whole life in just a few words, and it was the life she wanted.
“So we are going to do this. You are going to marry me.” There was no question in his voice.
“Yes,” she said against his neck. “I guess that’s what we’re going to do.”
He raised her face and looked into her eyes. “I have early skate tomorrow and a game tomorrow night. We can tell Pickens and Mary Lou after the game and let Mary Lou put something together before I leave on Monday—if I’m still allowed to leave with the team on Monday.”
“No.” That was not going to happen.
“No?” he asked.
“No. If we’re going to do this, we do it tomorrow after you skate. There’s no waiting period in Tennessee. We tell no one until it’s a done deal. Trust me; it’s for the best that way.”
He looked skeptical. “I’m not sure.”
“I am. I know my parents. I can handle them.” That might not be altogether true, but it was true enough.
He nodded. “All right. I will do what you ask. In exchange, there’s something I want from you. I never want to wake up again and wonder where you’ve gone.”
She found some sweetness in that. “I can do that.”
“What do you want from me?”
She raised her pelvis, reached into his shorts, and stroked his erection. “Right now, this is what I want from you.”
His eyes glazed over. “That, I can arrange.” And he scooped her up and carried her to bed.
Later, when neither of them had anything left and she was wearing his Hard Rock T-shirt, he said, “What made you tell me yes?”
Of all the things she could have said, she answered without thinking. “You never questioned my word when I told you the baby was yours.”
“And you never asked if I had been lying about having low sperm count.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that he would lie. This might end up a mess, but it seemed they trusted each other—at least insofar as the baby was concerned. That was something.
Chapter Seventeen
Thor walked into the practice rink locker room wearing the clothes he had worn last night. He’d overslept, so he’d just picked them up from the floor instead of finding clean ones. It was either fresh clothes or brushed teeth.
A baby—a child. His stomach turned over. The whole thing was still surreal. He didn’t feel good about sneaking off from Pickens and Mary Lou to marry Tradd at the courthouse, but that was how she wanted it—and it mattered how she wanted things.
Damn. Packi was leaning on his stall with his arms folded over his chest.
“You look happy this morning,” Packi said.
Did he? He supposed he did. He felt happy. Who wouldn’t after finding out you were going to get that thing you thought you’d never have? And it wasn’t just the baby. It was a life of not being alone. It was Tradd.
But Packi didn’t know all that. Maybe.
Thor pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his compression top. “What’s not to be happy about? It’s game day. We’re going to the playoffs.”
“That right?” Packi raised an eyebrow.
Thor pulled on his shirt. “Has something happened that I don’t know about? Has tonight’s game been canceled? Have we been thrown out of the playoffs?”
“No. Not yet anyway.” So Packi did know this was not The Sound’s year.
There was a cup and a wrapped sandwich sitting on the top shelf of his stall. Thor picked up the sandwich. “I told you I was not the kind who needed a Gatorade and a sandwich put in my hand. I take care of myself.”
“Yeah?” Packi said. “Did you take care of yourself this morning? Besides, that’s not Gatorade. It’s orange juice.”
Thor didn’t answer. There was no need. He suspected Packi knew he hadn’t eaten, but how? How did he seem to know everything? He unwrapped the sandwich to find ham, cucumber, tomato, and cheese between two slices of buttered dark bread.
“Thank you, Packi. I haven’t had a breakfast this close to what I grew up on since the last time my mother visited.”
“I know it’s supposed to be open-faced,” Packi said, “but it travels better with two slices of bread.”
He took a bite. “More bread is better on game day.” Thor sat down in his stall and polished off the food and juice.
Packi picked up a spotless skate and began to polish it. “What can I do for you this morning?”
Thor was about to tell him nothing, when he realized he did need something.
“Do you mind picking up my dry cleaning?” He felt a little chagrined asking Packi to do this menial errand, but it was either that or get married in what he’d been wearing or sports shorts. Tradd had a breakfast meeting, and he was supposed to meet h
er at the courthouse as soon as he was finished here. “I wouldn’t ask except I’m really jammed up. I didn’t plan very well today.”
“I’ll be happy to.”
“And there’s something else.”
“What’s that?” Packi asked.
“Do you know where there is a good jewelry store nearby?” He’d bought Julia’s ring at a mall in New Jersey. Jonteau had picked out hers in Paris. Or had it been Rome?
Pack frowned slightly. “A jewelry store? I might.”
Thor removed his credit card from his wallet and handed it to him. “Could you go there and buy me a ring? I need it by the end of morning skate.”
“What sort of ring do you want?” Packi might as well have been asking what kind of ice cream he liked.
“A big one.” Thor dropped his jeans and began to peel on his compression pants.
“As in a big size or a big stone?”
“Stone. Do you remember Jonteau’s ring?”
Packi laughed a little under his breath. “Hard to forget. I haven’t seen a ring like that since Emile got engaged to Amy. They call Amy’s the hazard light, you know.”
“Perfect,” Thor said. “I want something better than that.”
“It would be easy to get something better. Bigger might be hard.”
Thor reached for his shoulder pads. “I’m sure you’re up to the task. If you see one that you think is too big and costs too much, look for a bigger, more expensive one.” He might not ever be able to settle things with Pickens, but no one was going to be able to say that Tradd had a cheap ring.
A shadow passed over Packi’s face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I thought you were messing with me.”
“Have you ever known me to mess with anyone in my life?”
Packi cocked his head to the side but said nothing.
“So can you get me a ring?”
Packi shook his head side to side, but Thor got the sense it was more a gesture of befuddlement and refusal. “Just to be clear, this is an engagement ring?”
“Yes.” Though it would be a nanosecond engagement.
“I admit, I didn’t expect it this soon.”
“You expected it?” After all, Thor hadn’t known himself.
Packi shrugged. “It would seem this might be something you would want to pick out yourself.”
“I have no time.”
“You have to have this ring as soon as you’re done with morning skate?”
Thor nodded, reaching for his practice jersey. “I do.” And that wasn’t the last time he would be saying that today.
“This is a mistake,” Packi said.
“Not as big a mistake as not having a ring.” Tradd wasn’t the shallow brat he’d thought she was—or maybe she had been. But not having a ring would be a mistake. She was and always would be high maintenance. Besides, she deserved it. She was the mother of his child.
Packi studied him intensely. “Judging from the smile on your face, maybe it isn’t such a bad mistake, but it’s going to be a hard road.”
“I’ve traveled hard roads. Besides, you don’t even know who I need the ring for.”
“I have a good idea.”
He probably did. “Are you going to do it for me?”
Packi nodded. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m just trying to help you do what you think you should. And apparently you think you should—immediately. Anything else?”
Was there? Yes. How could he have forgotten that? “I also need a wedding band.” Then he had a better idea. “Two, in fact—to go on either side of the engagement ring. I want diamonds—big ones—all the way around.”
“And you need those bands today? Right after morning skate?”
Thor nodded. “That’s right.”
Packi walked away, shaking his head. “Worse and worse. What size?”
Thor froze as he reached for his elbow pads. Size? “The usual.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Packi said. “There are a few other things you’re going to need, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thanks,” Thor said. “I really do appreciate it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tradd climbed the steps of the Davidson County Courthouse. She was late.
Or maybe she wasn’t. It was hard to define late when the appointed time was “after morning skate,” but she felt late. After her breakfast meeting with Martel, she’d gone to Saks because she thought she ought to at least have something new—if nothing borrowed or blue—but the traffic had been bad. Her stomach was in a knot, not because she was getting married, but because she was afraid she might not be.
What if Thor changed his mind? Any sane man would. After all, he had things to lose—his career and his dream of meeting that twenty-year mark—and not much to gain. He could be a father without being a husband. She understood that he wanted to be there full time, but was that really worth it?
She, on the other hand, had nothing to lose except a lot of questions and some potential scandal.
Besides, she wanted to be married to him. It was that simple. She was in no mood to consider whether she loved him or if he loved her—or, if he didn’t, would he ever. She didn’t know, but she did know that she wanted to marry him today, watch him play hockey tonight, and go home with him after.
That was all she had time to worry about today, except whether he was coming.
When she entered the lobby, the cool air washed over her and she felt relief from the heat—but not nearly the relief she felt when she saw Thor standing by the wall. He had a small bouquet of pink roses.
That was a good sign, unless they were kiss-off flowers.
He wore a buff-colored linen suit, white shirt, and tan tie. It was a very European look. But then, he was. You didn’t go to Harpeth Academy without learning what was European and what was not. He hadn’t seen her yet, but he was looking around.
That was a good sign too, unless he was looking for her to give her the kiss-off flowers.
Then he saw her and his expression shifted to something that would be good for any woman’s ego. He moved toward her.
“I have these for you.” He handed her the bouquet and she waited for him to say, “Goodbye and good luck, it’s not you, it’s me, don’t let the door hit you in the back.” But he didn’t.
“You got me flowers. How did you choose pink?” Even she hadn’t known her dress would be pink until she had the Saks saleswoman cut the tags off of it in the fitting room.
He shook his head. “I didn’t get you flowers. I didn’t even think of it. Packi got them. I guess he communed with ghosts to find out the right color.”
That was a little disappointing but not devastating. It wasn’t as if he’d had time to get one of those groom’s checklists out of a bridal magazine. “You told Packi.”
He nodded. “I needed some help. I did think of this.” He pulled a ring box out of his pocket. “I will be honest. I didn’t choose it. I sent Packi. If you don’t like it, we can get another.”
And he opened the box. Wow. It was fabulous, and she didn’t care that he hadn’t thought of the flowers anymore. He’d thought of a ring and had gotten one the best way he could—and that was more than good enough.
Then a little shame washed over her. “I didn’t get you a ring—didn’t even think about it.” She’d been all about new trappings for herself.
“Doesn’t matter.” He took her hand and slipped the ring on. There was some weight there. “It’s a lot of trouble to take it on and off when I’m skating, and there is the worry of losing it. I’d rather wait until the season is over to get one.”
Their eyes met. Or until he gets fired. They were both thinking it, but neither said it.
She looked around. “I don’t know where to go. I’ve never done this before.”
“I know.” Thor took her arm. “Packi called ahead and paved the way. We won’t have to stand in line, and there is a judge waiting for us.”
“You don’t care that
you don’t have the white dress and the party?” Thor asked Tradd. They had the license and were headed to the judge’s chambers.
“I’m the one who insisted on today.” She sniffed her flowers. He wished he’d thought of them, but he’d do better in the future. She’d seemed happy enough about the ring.
“You look lovely.” It was true and he felt proud to be seen with her. She couldn’t have been more beautiful if she’d had the white dress and veil. Her dress was pale pink, and until he’d put that diamond ring on her finger, her only jewelry had been a string of pearls and little matching earrings. Classy. The dress was made of some kind of smooth material—probably silk. She was a silk kind of woman, the kind who could walk in those sky-high heels with complete ease. Unlike some who wore six-inch heels but ended up kicking them off and going barefoot, Tradd wasn’t the kind of woman who would wear shoes she couldn’t handle.
She was admiring her ring now, but she looked up and smiled. “You look lovely, too. I wouldn’t have expected you to get so dressed up for a shotgun wedding.”
What? “Shotgun wedding? I do not know what that is.”
She shook her head. “It’s just an old saying for a wedding when the bride is pregnant, implying that her father would bring his shotgun to force the groom to marry his daughter.”
“Ah. I see. But no shotguns are necessary.” Because no one had to force him to marry her. Would he have married any woman—at least any woman he was willing to sleep with—for the sake of his child? He couldn’t answer that, but he was glad it was Tradd.
“That’s good to hear,” she said. “I prefer a gunless wedding.”
“And here we are, I think.” He checked the text message Packi had sent him with the location of the judge’s chambers. “Judge Markham.”
The judge was friendly enough but reserved, and so was the short ceremony. But they made promises—promises he meant and promises he meant to keep. Unlike his first wedding, there were no songs, prayers, or tears—but there was one unforgettable moment.
When it was time to put the wedding band on her finger, he slipped the engagement ring off.
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