by Lynda Aicher
“No. She didn’t. Aunt Bea shoved me on the ice and told me to work it out there. Stop thinking and find something of my own.” Flashes of that time raced through his mind. “Beatrice Masters LeBeau. She was only ten years younger than Granddad, but she never acted old. Marriage took her away from the ranch, and commitments kept her in Dallas after her husband died. Something I’m thankful for now.”
She laid a hand on his arm. Another grounding touch. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”
His smile reached deep inside him to soothe the ache that still held at the loss of her. “She was.” He cleared his throat. “She passed six months after she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Right after I’d turned eighteen and started college.” And that had been the kickoff to his wild years. “The only thing that’d kept me from bottoming out was the memory of her last firm words. ‘Don’t be stupid and screw up.’”
Sam’s low chuckle had his smile spreading. “I think I would’ve loved her.”
Yeah. She probably would’ve.
He turned to his side, kissing her forehead when his love rose so strong he feared it would burst from him. She’d warmed to him, softened and opened up, but he didn’t think she was ready to hear his words of love.
She studied him for a moment. “So you’re a sort of cowboy.”
“Sort of,” he agreed. “I might not do it often, but I can ride a horse and lasso a steer with the best of them.”
“Now that I’d love to see.”
Her grin filled her face, and he could picture bringing her to the ranch, introducing her to his granddad and extended family. His mom. She’d probably fit in better than he did. Regrets blended with dreams, and he dared to wonder if they were possible.
He pressed a kiss to her lips. They were soft and inviting, too tempting, and he forced himself to pull back before he got lost in her. “Your turn. Tell me about your family.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not much to tell.”
“Is that you conceding the bet?”
“Damn it.” The curse was soft, and he settled in to listen. There was no way she’d give up that easily. “You probably already looked up everything on the internet.”
“So did you, and I told you anyway.” Her scowl confirmed his guess. “There are lots of things that aren’t in your stats. So what don’t I know?”
“I had braces when I was twelve.” She flashed her straight teeth at him. “I hated them.”
He flashed his teeth back. “I have two root canals thanks to hockey.”
“The badge of a hockey player.”
“You know it.” He nudged her shoulder. “Now tell me about your family and growing up.”
She flopped onto her back and clasped her hands over her ribs. “There’s not much to tell. It was a pretty typical childhood by most Minnesotans’ standards. Spent half of it on the ice or training to be better on the ice. You know Dad was a coach and Mom was at home.” She sucked in a breath, eyes glued to the ceiling.
He slipped a finger under her chin and turned her head until she met his gaze. “You’re not telling me something. Did your mom have a say in how much you played, or did your dad decide that?”
“I wanted to play,” she admitted after a pause. “I love the game. The challenge, the…you know. My mom has always been…sickly is the best word. Nothing serious, but she spent a lot of time in bed or on meds or at the doctor. Still does. The rink was my second home.”
The idea of spending so much time with his father doing something they both loved gave him a pang of envy. He had vague memories of it, before his dad had died. His mom had been too lost in her own sorrow to worry much about Dylan afterward. “How was it having your dad as a coach?”
“He’s an excellent coach,” she said without pause. “He taught me most of what I know. He’s the one who showed me how to be strong against the boys, how to play smart and keep trying. I owe him a lot.”
That was the most rehearsed spiel he’d heard in a long time. He had one of his own whenever an interviewer asked him about his childhood. A canned answer that made for a great sound bite and was mostly bullshit.
“How about telling me the real answer?”
He held her stare, her blue eyes empty until a smile slowly lifted half her mouth. “I guess I’d better practice my delivery.”
“It might’ve fooled anyone who didn’t know you better.” He was beginning to think that was just about everyone. “How was he as a dad?”
“Fine,” she said, voice low. “I never wanted for anything or doubted his love. My mom’s either. They’ve always supported me.”
“But…” There was a mighty big one of those dangling at the end of her sentence.
She tucked her chin in, eyes closing with her long exhalation. “I spent years believing my dad would’ve had all his dreams come true if I’d only been born a boy.”
It took a moment for Dylan to process what she meant. “Wait a minute. Are you saying he wishes you were a boy instead of a girl?” He might’ve been a painful reminder of his father, but not once had he ever thought his mom had wanted a completely different model.
“I thought so. Until recently.” The admission was mumbled out on a soft breath that left him dumbfounded. “Turns out I might’ve been wrong. Or at least misunderstood him.”
He cupped her chin and forced it up. She had to see exactly how he felt about that statement. “If any man is stupid enough to wish a woman as beautiful, generous and smart as you was a boy, then they don’t deserve you. I don’t care if that man is your father, I’ll let him know exactly how I feel if I ever meet him.”
The pain was so clear in her eyes. The vulnerability too. This was obviously a hurt that carved out a significant portion of who she was. It explained so much about her stubborn drive to excel and her resentment over the end of her hockey playing career. Like his mother’s alcoholism and neglect, the early injuries were often the hardest to heal.
“He’s really not a bad guy,” she said quietly. She rolled back to her side and reached out to cup Dylan’s jaw, fingers rubbing over the stubble to send tiny shivers down his neck. “Like I said, I know he loves me. I just wish I could give him that stunning pro career that would show him how much I appreciated all that he gave me.”
“But you have a stunning pro career.”
“Had.” Her smile was weighted with sadness. “It’s over now.”
“There’s the next international competition.”
“True. But that’s it for a woman my age. And then it’s likely someone younger and better will be ripe to take my spot.” She shrugged, her hand dropping away to leave his jaw cold. “Plus, I don’t want to take that experience away from whoever that is.”
He’d honestly never thought about it like that. His dreams were just beginning, and hers were already over. At least where playing was concerned. His injury was a setback that had him grinding his teeth to get back on the ice, and here she was, perfectly healthy at her skating prime and nowhere to play. No wonder she was pissed at the injustice.
And there was nothing he could do about it. Except comfort her. Be there for her. Give her something else to think about. That urge to protect her returned so strongly it reconfirmed how deep he was with her.
He closed the distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “How noble of you.”
“It’s true,” she whispered.
There were multiple replies he could’ve made. Arguments about her running from the sport or finding a different path to what she loved. He didn’t make them though. Right then he let it all go to do the one thing he had to do.
Her lips were honey against his. Sweet, soft and what he couldn’t get enough of. He threaded his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head, but didn’t deepen the kiss. The light touches and nips fed into him. They were gentle with the care it took for him to go easy.
The urge to savor every moment kept him from deepening the kiss. That and the aching reminder through his pelvis that h
e couldn’t be rough. Her scent filled his nostrils, flooding his senses. No fancy perfumes, just the simple freshness of her shampoo and her.
He eased back an inch, not letting her go. “I want you so much.” He didn’t wait for a reply before dipping back in to taste her again. She opened to his increased pressure, and the lingering spice of pizza blended with the sweetness of her drink as he swept his tongue over hers.
The kiss went on and on, a long prelude to the coming event that wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was so very different for them and exactly what he wanted. This easy exchange slowly heated his blood and filled his dick without the edge of desperation that had driven them before.
She was the one to pull back this time. Her eyes fluttered open, searched his. Questions filled them, ones he couldn’t answer when he didn’t know them himself. She wet her lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
There were so many ways she could do that—already had. Most of them weren’t physical. “The feeling’s mutual.”
She ran her palm down his arm to his side where she stopped. “I could though, if we do this.”
The double meaning snaked in to constrict around his heart. He only had to think of his mom to know how deeply she’d been unintentionally hurt by someone she’d loved. But they’d had this discussion before and based on Sam’s past record, chances were high she would hurt him again. He still couldn’t turn back.
“Not if we’re careful.” The rasp in his voice lent an added layer of intimacy to the conversation that went with the secondary meaning behind every word. “I’ll let you know if it hurts.” Her continued hesitation had him adding, “I promise.”
There was another pause, their breaths mingling in the minimal distance between them. She was impossible to read, that had always been true. It was part of the intrigue that’d kept him coming back. Her hand ghosted down his side until her nails scratched a path along the edge of the elastic band on his briefs. He inhaled, abdomen contracting, the muscle staying tight when her nails skimmed back and forth over the space directly above his straining erection.
The light in her eyes morphed into mischief and he almost cheered. His pulse jumped and he tilted his hips forward, hoping she continued. “Still teasing?” The frog in his throat croaked out each word to reveal his need. He didn’t care. His rock-hard dick straining against his cotton briefs already gave that secret away.
“No,” she said, drifting closer. “I’m done teasing.”
She closed her mouth over his before he could groan his approval. Her fingers edged beneath his underwear, and he didn’t care what she did to him. Didn’t give a shit about anything but her. Getting her naked, feeling her skin against his, finding her heat and losing himself in her.
In truth, he’d probably been lost since that first night in the bar. It was good though. Anything that made his heart beat this fast and his skin come alive wherever she touched had to be good.
Had to be worth something more than a quick fuck. He could get those anytime. Tonight he would get so much more from Samantha.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The hard, silky length of Dylan beneath her palm sent a tremble through Sam. She pushed into his kiss to take more. The man had a way of switching from tender to funny that kept her off balance and enthralled almost against her will.
She squeezed his erection, stroked it then slowed to run her thumb over the head. The drive to jump him, take him, show him exactly what she wanted was curbed by the knowledge that she couldn’t.
Not this time.
It unnerved her more than any of their previous encounters, which she could somehow write off as great sex. This went beyond that.
Thinking about it would have her sprinting from the room. So she focused on the softness of his skin, the swirl of his tongue around hers, the musky scent of his deodorant and undertones of sweat. The simmering fire within her threatened to run wild, yet she held it in check. For once, she savored the smolder that slowly caught. Spread.
There were no words between them as she removed her clothes and then carefully discarded his boxer briefs. His erection lay thick and firm on his lower abdomen and she licked her lips, remembering exactly how it’d felt filling her mouth.
“You have something good on your mind,” he rumbled.
She dragged her gaze up to his, letting her lids droop, a raspy laugh bubbling out. There were so many good things on her mind. All of them about him. How open he’d been with her. His past and all he’d lost so young.
She ran her palms up his legs, the hairs running soft under her palms over the hard muscles. The power within them enthralled while also enticing her. She knew exactly how he could use them to drive into her. But not tonight.
She stopped at his hip. The now faint bruising down the side of his leg and over his pelvis gave her pause. There were three small scars where they’d inserted the tools. He might be moving pretty good, but he was still injured.
“We can’t do this,” she whispered, more to herself than him.
“Oh, yes, we can.” He dragged her up so she was half sprawled across his chest before she could protest. He cupped her face, intent and more determined than she’d ever seen him. “We are not stopping. You can ride me all gentle like and it’ll be fine.” His drawl came back, low, rolling and seductive. Different from the overdone one, this accent had woven in and out of his speech the more relaxed he’d become with her. “Doc said it’s okay.”
Her doubt lingered, but he stopped her protest with another kiss. This one more urgent, the edge of his need communicated with his demanding grip on her hair and deep thrusts of his tongue.
His free hand found her nipples, pinching both into tight nubs that sent tingling jolts to her sex. It was impossible to deny him when she wanted it too. Had been waiting for exactly this.
He slid his fingers between her legs to stroke and tease her. They slicked over her clit before plunging into her. Her gasp was swallowed by his eager mouth then her sigh turned into a moan. She tore her lips from his to suck in a gulp of air.
“See?” he said against her ear. “We can’t stop.”
“We should,” she mumbled back, lost in the heat where he suckled her earlobe and the consistent circling rub applied to the sensitive bunch of nerves between her legs.
“This is what I want.”
If she was being responsible, she’d insist they stop. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”
He traced the outside of her ear, his fingers filling her again. “I already promised that.”
The hedonistic pleasure of taking what she shouldn’t, along with the building need to do exactly as he’d said, had her surrendering. With a strangled cry, she rolled away from his touch to yank open the nightstand drawer. She grabbed a condom and rolled back, ripping it open as she did.
She’d take care of him. Go easy and careful.
His erection was warm in her grip, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to slick her tongue around the head. The bitter tang of his precome coated her taste buds with memories that had her sucking harder in search of more.
“Christ, Samantha.”
He tugged on her hair to pull her away, but she ignored him in order to run her teeth in a teasing glide just below the rim. His deep inhale sent a rush of power through her. She wanted to do this to him. To drive him crazy with lust.
His breathing quickened with every plunge and sucking return she made. The harsh notes were another aphrodisiac. Like the musky scent so close to her nose and the little bursts of flavor that slid down her throat.
A hard smack to her exposed bottom jerked her up and off her focus. She gaped at him as the sting intensified and spread across her butt cheek. “What the hell?” Her instant flash of shock and anger diminished under his heated gaze.
“You weren’t listening to me.”
“You said something?” Had he?
His low chuckle rumbled through his chest in a sexy tone of disbelief. He cupped her nape to pull her into a kiss that said
more than words ever could. He fumbled the forgotten condom out of her hand and rolled it on himself. She’d wanted to do that, but he was obviously done waiting for her.
It only took a little nudge for her to take his hint and shift so she was straddling him. Her uncertainty returned, then the head of his dick stroked through her sex, guided by his hand. God, it was heavenly. Tempting and torturous as he rolled it around her entrance and over the sensitive nub in front. Need clenched her channel and pulsed outward from her core to flood her with heat.
His lids were heavy with desire, the copper a thin ring around his dilated pupils. His beard scruff had her imagining how it would feel against her most sensitive area. Would it be another tease, or would it scratch and hurt?
Her random thoughts died when he finally guided himself into her. She moaned with the overwhelming sensation as his thick member filled her. A hand to her hip directed her down, her thighs bearing her weight. She braced her hands on his chest to hold herself steady a hair over his hips.
“You feel perfect,” she whispered.
His face reflected that sentiment. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, he held her gaze through her slow rise and fall on him. It was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Not wild or frantic or desperate like she always preferred. Demanded usually.
This was the exact opposite. It was love, even if they hadn’t voiced it.
And it heated her more than any other experience. The controlled movement let her savor the slick fullness as it smoothed over her inner walls. Easy and long, breathless with an intensity that shook her.
She paused with the tip of him just inside, swiveled her hips and watched his eyes roll back. His grip tightened on her sides when she repeated the motion. She loved seeing his reaction, knowing she was giving him that pleasure. This wasn’t about besting the other or coming out on top.
It was about giving.
She wanted to give him pleasure. Wanted to see his expression as he lost control and came.