by Amy Olle
“And Bryce Lovejoy? What does he have to do with this?
“It was a difficult time….” Her throat constricted.
For a year or more after that night, she’d spent her days in a fog. She was having two to three panic attacks a day, and whenever she wasn’t in class, she stayed holed up in her bedroom in the apartment she rented with a couple other girls.
“I assume he was there at the time, maybe he played on the hockey team, but I don’t remember him.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “And your rapists? They’re in prison?”
“Not anymore. One served two years, and the others were released sometime before that.”
He made a sound, like a curse, but didn’t speak.
“One’s married and lives on the East Coast somewhere. The others are out west.”
Outside, the wind picked up and sent snowflakes swirling through the black sky.
Her throat ached with the effort to swallow back tears. What they did to her, it’d been one of those turning points in her life. There was everything up to that moment, and then everything after, and there was no way to reconcile the two halves of herself. She couldn’t go back to being the person she was before, but neither was she able to move forward, becoming someone else. She was just… broken.
The leather groaned beneath him when he sat forward. “Haven, I want to touch you. Would that be okay?”
“I’m not fragile, Jack.”
“No, you’re not.” He held out his hand, palm up. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
She placed her hand inside his.
“What about your dad?” His warm grip closed around her hand. “Was he there with you?”
“Oh… well, he’d just bought the team and was pretty busy here with everything.”
Some sharp emotion sliced across her features, but he ducked his head before she could read it. Pulling her hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips to the heart of her palm.
The kiss sent a jolt up her arm to spread warmth through her cold body.
“If you want me to go, I will.” His fingertips danced over her pulse point. “But I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I want to be with you.”
Her pulse skittered. “You do?”
“I really do.”
“You mean…?”
Heat chased some of the shadows from his eyes. “Since I’ve met you, there hasn’t been a time when I didn’t want you, but that’s not what I’m after right now. Right now, I just want to be with you, in whatever way you’re comfortable.”
Her heart stuttered at his words. She scooted to the edge of her seat and took his hand in both of hers. Her fingers brushed over his roughened skin, touching a small cut and the blackened mark beneath the tip of one fingernail.
“Jack, I want to be with you, too.”
His hand squeezed hers.
“But what if someone finds out?”
His eyes filled with unbearable tenderness. “I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me is you.” He brushed a strand of her hair off her forehead and his fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “I want to give you pleasure, Haven. I want to comfort you.”
The words touched her like the slow lick of his tongue. “I want that, too.”
He stood and helped her to her feet. “But I need a promise from you first.”
Wariness stole over her. “What’s that?”
“If you change your mind, or have any doubts at all about anything, just say the word and I’ll go. All you have to do is say ‘no’ and I won’t ask again.”
She tilted her face up to him. “I won’t say no, Jack.”
Chapter Eighteen
Haven took his hand in hers and led him down the hall to the bedroom. She didn’t touch the light switch, leaving the door open so the light from the hallway could reach them. Then she moved to the nightstand and used the remote control to lower the shade over the glass wall.
He came to stand behind her. Not touching, but close enough that his heat singed. She turned to him, but he didn’t reach for her.
Uncertainty crept up her spine.
The shaking started in her hands, and she fumbled with the hem of his T-shirt. Jack lifted his arms and drew the shirt over his head. Her fingers rushed over his sculpted torso and traced the lines of the tattoo on his right arm. She raised up on her tiptoes to lick the black ink on the side of his neck.
His entire body vibrated with barely restrained control.
Why wouldn’t he touch her?
Icy fear wrenched her heart. “Put your hands on me, Jack.”
“Where?” The word shot from him. “Show me.”
She took his hand in hers and, lifting it to her face, pressed her cheek against his palm. The pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip.
She guided him to sit on the bed. Standing before him, she worked the buttons of her blouse and the sheer fabric fell away. Her chest at his eye level, she unhooked the clasp of her bra and pulled the scrap of material away from her body.
She heard the sound of his throat working when he swallowed. Still, he hesitated to touch her, so she wriggled her skirt down over her hips. Then she reclaimed his hand and placed his palm over her breastbone.
With his fingertips, he outlined the tips of her breasts and then traced the heavy curve. A gasp of pleasure caught in her throat.
His mouth replaced his fingers, taking a slow, leisurely path over her breasts. He pressed his lips to her shoulder where the straps of her bra left indentations on her skin.
His hands moved to either side of her face as he continued dropping kisses everywhere. Light, lingering kisses at her temple. The corner beneath her eye. The tip of her nose. Her mouth. The thousand-and-one sensitive spots on her neck. Her collarbone, over the old wound.
With a gentle nudge, he eased her onto the bed. Dark moss green eyes watched her face as he discarded his jean and boxers and then moved over her.
His mouth forged a path down her body, kissing her ribcage, over her belly, on her inner thigh, and the inside of her ankle. He lingered over her, nibbling and tasting, lifting and turning her until she was sure he’d not missed any part of her body, no matter how intimate.
Scars of betrayal were melted away by his gentle, soothing touch. In his body, she found absolution.
His deep voice rumbled near her ear. “Do you have any condoms?”
She shook her head. He was clean, she knew, because they’d given her the results of the medical exam the team doctors had conducted before clearing him to play.
“I’ve been on the pill for years,” whispered near his ear. “And I’ve always been careful. Except for that night… at that party….”
Jack’s gasp, the sound like a broken sob, stopped her rambling.
Then he slipped inside her and she squirmed at the impossible thickness of him. His mouth moved along the side of her neck while he murmured for her to relax, and to please, let him in.
With slow, gentle force, he began to pump his hips. Every slide and stroke sent a shock of pleasure tingling through her belly and thighs.
She’d never existed in a place of such pure sensation. She thought nothing, sought nothing. Aware only of her need, and the craving.
He pulled back and looked down into her face. “Haven, look at me.”
She opened her eyes to find she floated in a green-gold dream.
His fingertips danced over her cheeks. “I can’t tell how you’re doing. What are you thinking?”
Thoughts. She should have some.
The tension coiled within her, so exquisite and taut that tears sprang to her eyes.
She loved the way it felt to lie in his arms with him wedged inside her. But she didn’t tell him that, because she never used the word “love” when she was with a man.
So she shook her head. “Don’t stop, Jack. Please. Never stop.”
Her heart lighter than she would’ve ever believed possible, Haven arrived at the arena the next morning before most
of the staff.
With a home game on the schedule that night, she prepared for a long day. Instead, she seemed to float through the hours, and as it neared five o’clock, she realized it hadn’t occurred to her, not once, to freak out about the night before. The intense intimacy between her and Jack hadn’t triggered the clawing claustrophobia. No hives marred her skin.
What would be the point of running from him? After the previous night, he’d be a part of her forever anyway, residing in her heart as surely as a tattoo branded the skin.
When her stomach started to growl, she stopped work for the day and packed up to head to the penthouse for a quick dinner before coming back to the arena for the game later. She stepped from the ground-level elevator and turned in the direction of the south entrance. In the hall as she passed through the players’ area, she happened upon Jack talking with Coach outside one of the team meeting rooms.
She slowed her steps, and when Jack caught sight of her over Coach’s shoulder, a hot heat flared in his eyes.
Soon, Coach moved away and down the hall, and she timed her approach so that he’d rounded the corner when she reached Jack’s side.
“Hey.” She inhaled his incredible scent.
“Hey.” His gaze fastened on her mouth and then slipped lower, to the top button of her blouse.
Liquid warmth spread low in her belly.
He drew closer but didn’t touch her. His almost-touch was excruciating.
“I’m headed out. Are you?” She couldn’t quell the hopeful ring in her voice.
He gave his head a small shake. “Team meeting.”
At the wrench of disappointment, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Maybe you could stop by later?”
He pulled her into a nook and pressed his body against hers so that they touched all the way from hips to feet. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Her fingertips traced over the black ink on his neck peeking out from his collar.
His mouth crashed down over hers and she clutched at his suit coat.
He drove her deeper into the alcove even as his hands gripped fistfuls of her skirt, hauling the hem higher until cool air rushed over her naked flesh.
She gasped when he tugged her panties down, then moaned when his fingers brushed her core. Her body opened eagerly for him, wet with anticipation.
Her core clenched, and the desperate hunger took over. “Jack, please.”
For the first time in her life, she wanted something more than her freedom.
With one hand, she gripped him through his pants. He glanced over his shoulder and drew down his zipper.
His proud erection bobbed free. Gripping her buttocks, he lifted her and her bare bottom pressed into the cool cinderblock wall.
She tilted her hips so that his hard length rubbed the heart of her wet heat.
The head of his cock nudged up against her swollen slit and when he slid home, a growl vibrated in the back of his throat.
He’d only just begun to pump his hips when a noise sounded from the hall. He froze with his erection inside her, stretching her.
She wriggled beneath him. “Hurry, Jack.”
His hips started to move. Still fully dressed, she felt his flesh only where their bodies joined. Each thrust sent a ripple of sensation spiraling through her. With the ecstasy, her head dropped back against the wall.
He filled her vision and conquered her senses. With shaking hands, he cupped the sides of her face and kissed her while he pumped into her with long, smooth strokes. The kiss turned tender, reverent.
She kissed him with everything she had. Everything he’d awakened in her since that wedding. Everything she’d been trying to dampen, to smother, over the past lonely years.
With each delicious slide of his hardness, the waves of sensation intensified, the pressure and pleasure so exquisite she never wanted it to end.
He thrust up into her once, twice, three times and then held while his body shuddered. Soft whimpers fell from her lips as she bucked and shimmied against him, chasing the fading ripples.
He dropped a soft kiss to the heated skin of her forehead. “I have to go.”
Dazedly, she unwrapped her legs from around his waist.
“You okay?”
She nodded and tugged her panties and skirt back into place.
He pulled away, but at the last minute he spun back and, in a flash of sudden movement, pinned her against the wall once more. His mouth covered hers and he shoved his hands through her hair to cradle her head in his firm grip. His soft tongue took a long, lingering nibble of her bottom lip.
“I’ll come to you tonight.” The honeyed warmth in his tone tasted sweet on her lips when he kissed her one more time.
Then he was gone.
Chapter Nineteen
Haven arrived in the owner’s box before the arena seats had started to fill. At the bar, she poured a diet pop and dumped a bag of chips into a bowl. When she heard someone at the door, she bounded forward to greet Mel and Harlon.
Except her friends weren’t on the other side of the door when she flung it open.
Instead, Wyatt hovered in the hall. He held his tablet in both hands in front of him, like a shield.
“Oh hey, Wyatt. C’mon in.”
He hesitated while his gaze scanned the interior of the suite, and then he took a tentative step inside.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
A queasy sort of uneasiness clung to him while his throat worked, as though he searched to find difficult words.
Haven groaned. “Oh no. You’re here to tell me I have to go to the post-game press conference, aren’t you?”
A reluctant smile touched his face. “No. Something else has come up.”
“Oh, all right.” She flopped down in a leather chair. “Hit me.”
He stared down at the tablet cradled in his hands for a long time, though the screen remained dark.
When he lifted his head, her stomach dropped.
“The Gazette sent over a story they plan to post later tonight. They’ve asked us for comment.”
Dread slithered through her veins. “What’s the story? Is it about my dad?”
His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “Not this time.”
Her heart wedged in her throat. Had they found out about her and Jack already?
She swallowed with difficulty and pointed to the tablet. “Can I see it?”
Wyatt hesitated, but then the tablet winked on and he handed her the device. She started to read, but the meaning of the words on the screen lumbered to her brain.
Trade of All-Star Bryce Lovejoy Raises Questions of Motive
She skimmed past the summary of the deal that sent Bryce to Ottawa, but the next words jumped out at her like angry beasts.
In many ways, a familiar story. A college party, alcohol consumption, scholarship athletes, a girl. An incident. Accusations and allegations and, in this particular case, several convictions. But over ten years later, this story takes a dissimilar path to all those other stories.
The reporter had done his research, down to the details of her assault and trial.
Then he went on to ponder whether Haven’s decision to trade Bryce had more to do with this “unpleasant” history than it did anything else. Had she traded the Renegades’ star forward away from the franchise where he’d spent the majority of his playing career as some form of retribution on him for the crimes of his former teammates? Did the fact that the trade rendered Bryce ineligible to participate in the upcoming All-Star game, potentially robbing him of the $90,000 bonus awarded to players on the winning team, lend support to this notion?
The writer concluded with “The optics appear suspicious and could prompt the players’ union to investigate the matter. If they conclude Lovejoy suffered an economic loss as a result of the trade, they may have grounds for filing a grievance.”
She stared wordlessly out over the arena. The f
ans had begun filling the seats, and a buzz of excitement started to hum throughout the building.
“We’ll deny it, of course,” Wyatt said. “All of it.”
Haven set aside the device. “Well, some of it’s true.”
Behind his glasses, his warm brown eyes squeezed shut. He eased himself down into the chair beside her. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She pushed the words past her constricted throat.
A cheer went up when the Renegades’ players shot from the tunnel and spilled out over the ice.
“I’m not carrying out a vendetta against Bryce.” She hated the tremor in her voice. “I traded him because he hasn’t produced in years and because I’m looking for something, anything, to get this team going in the right direction.”
“Then that’s what we’ll say.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll talk to Legal and we’ll get a statement written up.”
The game flew by while Haven’s nerves coiled tighter and tighter around the threat of the Gazette’s news story. She tried keeping up the conversation with Mel and Harlon, but every chance she got, she pulled out her phone and checked the newspaper’s website. Dread snaked through her each time she waited for the page to refresh.
With ten minutes remaining in regulation, the story posted.
Thirty minutes later, when the Renegades won the game, she didn’t feel like celebrating. She gathered her belongings and, outside the arena, hailed a cab.
She was gone before the players emerged from the locker room.
Later, Jack called her cell phone, but she didn’t pick up. While his call went to voice mail, she headed down the hall to take a shower. After, she dressed in leggings and a Renegades jersey. As she pulled the jersey over her head, she heard a knock at the penthouse door.
A ripple of dread disturbed her. She was afraid to see his face, though she didn’t know why. It was unlikely that he’d already seen the story.