Her lips parted.
Then I reached around her and grabbed a banana from the fruit basket. “I’ll see you later, Princess.” Then I pressed a kiss to her forehead because I had to. Those tiny touches were what kept me from losing my fucking mind around her.
“Bye, Cannon,” she whispered.
As I grabbed my gear bag from the mudroom, I turned, popping my head back into the kitchen, where she still stood, stirring sugar into her coffee. “By the way, I picked you up a little something at the store.” I motioned toward the fruit basket and headed toward the door.
“Oh my God. Cannon! Is this a freaking pomegranate!” she shouted at me.
“Well, I mean, you did call me Hades the other night,” I teased, my hand on the doorknob.
“Ugh!” She moaned loudly. “You swore you wouldn’t hold my drunken words against me!”
I couldn’t help it, I turned around and leaned into the kitchen again. “Yeah. Well. I guess I lied.” I grinned. “Now seriously, you have to change before I get back. You’re killing me in that.”
Her smile spread slowly as she gripped the hem of her slip, then pulled the damn thing completely off, leaving her in only a pair of white panties. “There, now it’s off.”
I looked my fill, taking in her high breasts, narrow waist, and the curve of her hips. “You know, people think I’m the devil in this relationship, but compared to you, I have a fucking halo over my head.”
“Want to see just how bad I can be?”
Yes.
“Nope. Gotta go. Enjoy your baking!” I fucking ran out of there before she learned exactly how reckless with her body I could be.
Three hours later, I sat on the bench in front of my locker, freshly showered, and tying my shoes.
“I think you might be even faster than last year,” Connell grumbled as he sat across from me. “I was kind of hoping I’d catch you.”
I lifted an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I’d been running and skating my ass off since I married Persephone, channeling that sexual frustration in any way that might help relieve the pressure. Nothing worked in that department, but I’d never been in better shape.
“Cannon,” Sterling asked from the corner of the locker room as he pinned something to the bulletin board. “Settle an argument for me.”
“What?” I finished tying my other shoe and sat up.
“You see, I think I’m your best man, but Briggs over there thinks he is.” He motioned to the new defenseman we’d just gotten on trade from Calgary. Rumor was the guy fucked the wrong woman and ended up losing his jersey, but their loss was our gain. Briggs had puck-handling skills that even I envied.
Briggs shook his head, rolling his eyes at Sterling.
“Logan is my best man.” I nodded to where Ward sat at my right.
“What? I was there. I drove you to the chapel!” Sterling’s jaw dropped. “Where is the love?”
“Right, and if Logan had been there…” I cut myself off before I finished that sentence. Logan wouldn’t have taken me to the chapel. He would have handcuffed me to a fucking radiator before he would have let me marry Persephone while we were both delirious.
Logan shot me a look that said he’d followed my line of thinking. “Right, and if I’d been there, I would have gotten way better camera footage.” He grinned at Sterling.
“So it’s official? You guys are making this thing real?” Axel asked from where he stood next to Lukas.
“Yep. Fancy ass venue and everything,” I answered.
Logan was the only person who knew the why of it. Well, and Delaney of course. He’d learned his lessons about keeping secrets from his woman. That had been a promise I’d given Persephone. To the rest of the world, especially her mother, this looked legit.
Problem was, it was starting to feel legit.
“Good! I’m happy for you!” Our captain gave me the nod of approval.
“Have to admit, you’re pretty cute together,” Lukas agreed.
“Cute?” I challenged.
“Well, it seemed better than total-opposites-who-are-hot-for-each-other, so I went with it.” He shrugged.
“You should have seen the douchebag crowd she used to run with,” Sawyer interjected. “That woman is way better off with you than turning into a Charleston Stepford Wife.”
“She still runs with that crowd, so let’s keep the douchebag comments to a minimum,” Logan reminded him.
That was true. She still had her lunches. Still met up with her friends to shop every few weeks. Still sat on the board for two of her mother’s charities, which included meetings with the same people who had been at our engagement party. She might be stepping into my life, but she still had a foot firmly planted in hers.
Good. That was good, right? It would be easier for her when this all went to shit. Her snotty ass friends would forgive her indiscretion, and she’d fall right back in where she belonged, in that untouchable sphere of manners and money…and Michael.
My stomach twisted at the thought of him ever touching her. At anyone touching her.
Coach broke up the conversation, walking into the locker room with a clipboard. “Okay, Reapers. We’re about a week out from preseason training, which means these little meetups won’t just be for fun, they’ll be for your salary.” He crossed the locker room toward the bulletin board. “You’ll see the schedule right—who the fuck put this here?” He unpinned whatever Sterling had stuck there. “Seriously. Cannon, you know we’re all happy for you and Miss VanDoren—”
“Mrs. Price,” Sterling corrected him with a shit-eating grin.
“Right. Whatever. But do you really need to pin your wedding invitation to the goddamned board? It’s not like you don’t already have the front page of the society section.”
My eyes narrowed on Sterling. “Really?”
“Just wanted to show off that I got mine first. See, that’s why I should be the best man.” He raised his arms, palms out.
“You got yours first because you showed up at my house last night and begged Persephone for one,” I snapped.
“Still. Got mine first. Suck it, Ward.” He shot Logan a look and sat back down.
Coach chucked the invite at him. “Right. If you’re all done gossiping like girls, maybe you’d like to see the schedule.”
“Best man, huh?” Logan asked as we walked to the parking lot ten minutes later.
“I probably should have asked you first.”
“You never have to ask. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” I hit the unlock button on my car, my eyes scanning to see if my father had somehow sneaked his way into the player’s lot. He was probably long gone by now, but it never failed to shake me for a few weeks after he’d randomly show up and ask for money.
“You doing okay with this thing?” Logan asked as I tossed my bag into the back of the Hummer. “The fake marriage thing,” he clarified in a whisper.
“I know what you meant.” I shut the hatch and turned to my best friend. “Honestly? I’m torn between keeping my distance from her and just living in the moment.” It was the closest I’d ever gotten to admitting how badly I wanted her.
He watched me carefully, then sighed. “Shit. If this ends—”
“When this ends,” I corrected.
“Fine. When this ends, it’s going to fuck you up. It’s going to fuck you both up.”
“Well aware. That’s why keeping my distance is the smart move.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“You falling for her?”
That ache was back in my chest, demanding to be acknowledged. “It doesn’t matter what I do or do not feel for Persephone. This is doomed for every obvious reason. I can’t stand her fucking friends. They look down on her for marrying me. Her father hates me. Her mother is dying. She’s the purest, kindest woman I’ve ever known, and she deserves someone way better than I am.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “Right. I mean, why settle for the most driven, tenacious, protective asshole I know when y
ou can run right back to the simpering, weak little banker who got everything from his daddy and doesn’t know his Sartre from his Nietzsche?” He rolled his eyes in mock indignation.
“You’re not helping.” My jaw clenched.
“You’re not seeing what’s right in front of you,” he countered.
The leash on my temper slipped a few inches. “In what fucking world do things like this,” I gestured to my torso, “work out when it comes to a woman like her? I’m the guy you fuck for fun, not the guy you marry.”
Which was what she wanted. Sure, she said she wanted me, but how the hell could she want someone as scarred and fucked up as I was when she could have her literal pick of any man on the planet?
“She didn’t ask you for the annulment. She asked you to marry her for real,” he reminded me.
“To make her mom happy!”
“Or maybe to make herself happy!” he hissed. “Jesus, she bought you at that auction. She watches you when you’re not looking, and it’s been going on for almost two years. That woman is so far gone for you that she might as well tattoo that ring on her finger. If you want to run away from this because you’re scared, I get it. I do. It’s fucking terrifying to give yourself over to someone completely. To give a woman the power to destroy you. But you’re fooling yourself if you don’t see that she already has that fucking power in those hands of hers. I’ve seen it every time you’ve put yourself in front of her against a threat, and every time you have to rip your eyes away from her.”
“What the fuck are you trying to say?” I ripped my hand over my still-damp hair.
He shook his head, obviously searching for words. “I’m saying that if you’re torn between keeping your distance and living in the moment, then my suggestion as your friend is that you live in the moment.”
“You were the one who told me to run,” I reminded him.
“For fuck’s sake. I told you if you were going to use your damage as an excuse to run, that you do it back then. Months ago. That was then. This is now. And you might not see it, but you are in this so fucking deep, my man. So if there’s even the slightest chance you think it could work—and I mean like a one in a billion shot—then you take it. Because the pain is coming for you either way at this point.”
“I’ll hurt her. My temper—”
“You haven’t really lost your shit in almost two years, Cannon. You’re not the same guy you were before you came here. Before you met her. But maybe the truth is that you’re not scared of hurting her. Maybe you’re scared of her hurting you.”
My eyes flared, and my stomach tensed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said softly. “Look. We don’t get a lot of chances to be happy in life. If you have a chance to be happy, even if it’s just for a few months, then be happy. It’s better to have loved and lost, right?”
“Alfred Lord Tennyson was a fucking idiot.” I turned and walked toward the car door.
“Think about it!” Logan called from his car in the next spot.
“You’re no longer my best man!” I snapped, but didn’t mean a single word of it.
“Whatever. I’m planning the best bachelor party ever, you surly bastard.”
“I’m already married!” I got in the car.
“No shit! Now act like it!”
I contemplated his words as I drove home. Maybe he was right, and I should enjoy every second I had with Persephone while I had it. But it would only hurt that much more when shit went south, and I was fooling myself to think she’d be the only one hurt.
I wanted her with a ferocity that bordered on insanity. Not just her body, but her heart, and her mind, and her inherent goodness. I wanted to be the man she thought I was. I wanted to prove myself worthy of her…but was that even possible? What if all she really wanted was what she’d said—to make her mother happy. Oh, and sex. She was pretty clear that she wanted that.
But what if I lost myself a little more every time I took her? What the fuck would be left of me when this all fell apart? When she laughingly walked away and returned to the country club crowd?
My thoughts raced as I pulled into the garage and then hauled my gear inside, dropping my bag in the mudroom.
Holy shit, it smelled delicious in here.
I hung my keys and headed into the kitchen, then leaned against the doorframe and watched my wife’s ass—the only visible part of her thanks to the door—wiggle as she got something out of the pantry. The Beatles were on full blast, singing about holding someone’s hand.
Her shorts were impossibly small, ending just beneath the curve of her ass, and I had the sudden urge to bite that little strip of flesh beneath the hemline.
“Honey, I’m home,” I called out.
“Ooh!” she shrieked. “I didn’t hear the door open. I must have been lost in my own thoughts.”
I pivoted toward the speaker, turning off the tunes. “Or it could have been the music up on decibel four trillion. What is that incredible smell?”
Her head popped out of the pantry. “Peanut butter cookies.”
I blinked, then followed where she pointed to see a cooling rack full of my favorites. Shit, that ache was screaming in my chest. “I thought you were making chocolate chip cookies?”
“I already did. And ran them over to my mama. Then I got home and decided to make you a little treat.” She walked out of the pantry with a tub of peanut butter. “I ran out with the first batch, and this sucker was on the highest shelf.”
She set the jar on the counter and I grinned. She was wearing a Reaper jersey, tied at the side and rolled at the sleeves.
Walking forward, she plucked a cookie off the cooling rack and then held it to my lips. “I promise it won’t kill you. And I promise I won’t bake again until after the playoffs.”
If she was still here.
I opened for her and took a bite of the cookie, letting my tongue drag over her fingertips. It was still warm and soft and tasted like Saturday afternoons, which ironically, this was. “That’s amazing,” I praised.
She smiled wide, stopping my heart. “I’m glad you like it.”
She handed me the rest of the cookie, and I devoured it as she turned to walk around the island.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She wasn’t just wearing a Reaper jersey. She was wearing one of my Reaper jerseys. Not the ones the fans could buy on websites or even the store in the arena. It was one of my game jerseys. That’s why she had the sleeves rolled and the waist tied. That thing had to have come to her fucking knees.
“Cannon? Are you okay?” Her brow puckered as she stood over the mixing bowl, watching me.
“You’re wearing my jersey.” She had my name on her back. A wave of primal possession washed over me.
She glanced down and laughed softly. “Oh. Right. Sorry, I got peanut butter all over my shirt, and this was hanging in the mudroom closet. Wait. Are you mad?”
The way her southern accent curved around the words was sweeter music than anything she could have been playing through the speaker.
“No.” My tone was gruff.
“Okay, then. Good,” she said with a bright smile. “What were you thinking about for dinner?” she asked as she turned around to grab a cookie sheet, flashing my name and number over her back again.
If you have a chance to be happy, even if it’s just for a few months, then be happy.
Logan’s words echoed through my brain.
Then the only sound in my head was my own voice chanting, mine. Mine. Mine.
I stalked across the hardwood floor, rounding the corner of the island when she looked up. She must have seen something in my eyes because the cookie sheet rattled against the counter as she dropped it.
“Cannon?”
“Persephone,” I growled her name like the curse and the prayer it was, then gripped the nape of her neck and kissed her.
She gasped, and I filled her mouth with my tongue, stroking it against hers, demanding her response. She gave it, gripp
ing my arms and rising against me, kissing me back without reservation.
I grabbed her ass with both hands and lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist just like I knew she would. The kiss was ravenous and consuming, neither of us giving quarter as I sat her on the edge of the island.
Her fingers tunneled into my hair, and she pulled slightly, holding me to her kiss with the sweetest bite of pain as she licked the roof of my mouth. “I love kissing you,” she whispered against my mouth.
“Good.” Because she wasn’t kissing anyone else. This mouth was mine. This body was mine. She was mine. I tilted her head and kissed her deeper as my dick surged against the cabinetry. Would there ever be a time when this woman didn’t get me hard as the fucking granite with a single kiss? I doubted it. “Tell me you still want this—you want me.”
Her pupils dilated as she tugged my hair again lightly. “I want you.”
“I’m not a gentle man. What you saw—and felt—the first time we were together was me being exceptionally careful,” I warned her, knowing that if all she wanted was gentle and sweet, then I’d give her exactly that.
“And it was delicious.” Her voice lilted in a way that sounded like she was thanking me for dessert. “But I want whatever it was you were holding back. I want all of you, Cannon. You won’t break me. Let me prove that I’m strong enough for you.” She feathered her thumb over my lips, and I nipped at it.
“You have nothing to prove to me.”
She responded by jerking my shirt over my head. It landed in the mixing bowl, but I didn’t give a fuck. Not when her lips were at my neck, my throat, my chest. Her kisses were little flicks of fire to my nervous system that gathered in my cock.
Her hands skimmed my sides, feathered over my abs where they lingered when her touch made the muscles tense. “You are pure fantasy. It’s like you stepped out of my hottest dreams. You know that, right?”
“Then we must have the same damned dream because you sure as hell have starred in mine,” I growled, bringing her mouth back to mine. I kissed her with reckless abandon, not slowing to seduce her or gentling when she whimpered. Her hands reached for the waistband of my athletic shorts, and she tugged.
Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5) Page 15