by Jennie Marts
“Wow. Impressive.”
Owen shrugged and refilled her glass. She noticed his was still half full. “He’s a good dog. Labs are eager to please, and he’s a fast learner. I’ve had him since he was a puppy, and he’s almost seven now, so we have a routine.” He took her hand and led her to the sofa.
Sinking into the corner of the couch, he pulled her down next to him.
Oh boy.
His arm rested easily on the back of the sofa as she pulled her leg up and turned so she was facing him. She could feel the heat of his body as her leg nestled against his thigh.
Her hand trembled slightly as she took another sip of wine. She hoped he didn’t notice. Keep things light.
This was no big deal. She was just snuggled up on the sofa with a professional hockey player, a guy that was so incredibly good-looking it almost hurt to look at him. A guy whose abs were hard as steel and whose slightest kiss had her toes curling and her clothes threatening to fling themselves off. A guy totally out of her league and out of her scope of reality.
Nope, nothing to be nervous about at all.
So, keep it simple. Talk about his house, his car, his dog. Anything other than how much she wanted to rip his shirt off with her teeth and lick him. “Isn’t it hard to have a dog when you travel so much?”
“Nah. I have a huge family, and my mom doesn’t like to admit it, but she has a soft spot for Fred. And I think he loves her more than he does me. He usually stays at my folks’ house when I’m on the road.”
She sighed. “Your family seems really great. You all seem so close.”
“We are. My parents are awesome. And even though my brothers drive me crazy sometimes, they’re my best friends, the guys I know I can count on, no matter what.” He lifted a lock of her hair and absently twirled the curl around his finger. “Kind of like you and Justin.”
She laughed. But not a ‘funny ha-ha’ laugh, more like a ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ kind of laugh. “No. Your family is nothing like mine and Justin’s.”
“You guys seem close though. Are you in pretty good with your parents?”
“If by good, you mean it’s a good thing I don’t live there anymore, or it’s a good day when I don’t see or hear from them, then I guess we’re good.” She shifted in her seat, hoping to distract him and go back to talking about his family. “What does your dad do, besides help create incredibly handsome sons?”
This earned her a slight grin. “He’s in construction. His company is Bannister Building and they build homes and do large scale renovations. One of my brothers works with him, but he taught us all how to do the basics. What about your dad? What does he do?”
You mean besides riddle my mother with insults and abuse? “I don’t know. I don’t really remember my real dad. He left when I was three or four years old and never came back. We had a pretty rough time of it after that. It’s not a very happy story. Let’s go back to talking about your dad and how he taught all of his fine sons to use a hammer. I’ll bet you built a treehouse in your backyard.”
“A tree fort, actually. And an ice rink in the winter. My dad wasn’t a fan of video games so he kept us all busy. The only time we were allowed to lay around in our rooms was if we were reading a book.”
“The library is a great place for that. Justin and I spent as much time as we could out of our house as well.”
“Your mom must have remarried because I’ve heard you mention your step-dad. What did he do?” He seemed determined to hear more about her family.
“As little as possible.” She took another swallow of wine. “Listen, my life growing up was nothing like yours. We were dirt poor. We didn’t come from a happy home where our mom baked cookies and we had a treehouse. We didn’t even have an actual house. We lived in a crappy apartment.”
He looked at her with sincerity in his eyes. “Gabby, I’m not trying to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything about your family. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
She rubbed at her forehead and the tension settling there. She didn’t usually talk about her family. Her past was her past. They’d got through it and she’d moved on. Well, maybe not moved on.
Otherwise she wouldn’t have had such a hard time at the game tonight, but she’d moved past it.
His hand rested on her thigh, his fingers moving in a gentle circle on her leg. The fireplace gave off a warm glow in the dimly lit room, and she felt safe. Whether that was the wine talking or the feeling of closeness to Owen, she didn’t know. She probably shouldn’t have had so much wine.
She took a deep breath. “After my dad left, we were pretty bad off. My mom couldn’t pay the bills, and we got evicted from our apartment. We actually stayed in a homeless shelter for a while.” She stopped, sneaking a glance at his expression, anticipating the look of horror.
But he didn’t seem horrified or even shocked. He didn’t get up and run for the hills either. He remained calm, unflustered.
“My mom eventually got a job as a cashier at a grocery store, and that’s where she met my step-dad, Ron. He was the assistant manager. Apparently he swept her off her feet. My mom was really pretty back then. I mean, she’s still pretty now. She just looks like she’s lived a hard life and gone through a lot. Which she has. Sometimes, like if Ron was gone for a business trip, she’d get her spirit back, and we’d dance in the living room. She’d turn up the music, and laugh and get Justin and me to dance with her. We loved it. We loved her.”
She picked at the seam of her jeans. “I can’t blame her. I used to. But I don’t anymore. She was so young. And she had these two little kids to support. And Ron was nice, at first. He had a job and we moved into a little apartment after they got married. He seemed to genuinely care about us kids, and he loved my mom. But in a possessive controlling kind of way. Like he was totally obsessed with her, always worried that she was going to leave him for another guy. Things were okay until he lost his job. And started drinking more. And yelling more. And obsessing more.”
Owen frowned. “I don’t like where this story is headed.”
“No. And it only goes downhill from there. We fell into this vicious cycle where Ron would get a new job and everything would be good, then he’d get fired for drinking, which led him to drink more. And hang around the apartment, brooding, and railing against anything that got in his way. Which was usually us kids or my mom.” She shrugged. “You don’t realize it when you’re in it. Realize how bad it is. You just live it. We had bad nights and my mom swore she would leave, then we’d wake up in the morning, and he’d be sorry and swear he’d never do it again, and we’d cover up the bruises with makeup and long sleeves and make up stories about falling down stairs and running into doors and go on with our days. It was just our life. Until it wasn’t. Until I turned eighteen and left and took Justin with me.”
“Wow. That must have been hard.”
“Not really. I mean, it was hard because we didn’t have much. We were still dirt poor. I rented a room, and Justin slept on this crappy sofa. I got a job at a bakery and made sure that Justin finished school. We ate a lot of mac and cheese and canned soup, but it was also good. We were happy. We slept. I mean, really slept at night without worrying about being woken up by one of his rages.” She stared at her hands clasped in her lap.
“You’re very brave.”
She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work. And I worked hard. I had two jobs and saved everything I could. I don’t know if I was brave or just scrappy. I never gave up, and I never will. I caught some good breaks. My baker, Estelle, was our neighbor and she loved us kids. Her husband owned the building where I have the bakery. It used to be a television repair shop. After he died, she rented it to me, let me live in the apartment upstairs, and agreed to help me with the baking. She is the true angel. She gave me just the break I needed to start fresh and get the bakery off the ground.”
She sighed, avoiding his gaze. “Well, now that we’re all thoro
ughly depressed.” Tipping up her glass, she drained the last of her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table. “Aren’t you glad I shared my happy life story with you?”
“Actually, I am.” He picked up her hand. “Everybody has garbage in their life. But it’s what you do with your garbage that defines you—if you surround yourself with it and live in its stink, or if you decide to drag yourself out of it and leave it behind. And that’s what you did. You didn’t let that life define you. You rose above it. Hell, you started your own business. That sounds like a pretty good life story to me.”
Did he really see her that way? As brave and strong?
Sometimes she let herself believe that. After a good day at the bakery or when one of the interns graduated and thanked her for the help. But other days she just felt tired—and let herself wonder if it was all worth it. Especially after this last week when she’d had to use all of her savings to bail her brother out. Again.
“I think my brother is still living in his garbage—still caught up in the old anger and despair. I’ve seen the damage that alcohol can do, and it amazes me that he lets it get the best of him. He has so much potential. He’s smart and funny. He’s cute and charming. He could do whatever he wants. That’s why I hate to see him falling into the same patterns that my step-dad did—moving from job to job, drinking too much, and letting his temper and his fists get him into trouble.”
Fred must have heard the emotion in her voice because he padded over and laid his head on her lap. She petted his fuzzy head.
“You’re right. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but he seems like a good guy. He’ll figure it out.” He ruffled the dog’s neck.
“Okay, enough about me. Let’s go back to talking about your family. Or better yet, let’s stop talking and do something else altogether.”
He raised an eyebrow and offered her a cocky grin. “What did you have in mind?”
Flames of heat shot through her, but the atmosphere was still full of her life story—the depressing words still hanging in the air—and as sexually charged as she felt, she wasn’t quite ready to jump into a make-out session. She looked around the room. “How about a game of foosball?”
“Okay, you’re on.” He stood and pulled her off the sofa, leading her to the table. Picking up one of the white balls, he held it over the table. “But let’s make it interesting. How about a game of strip-foosball?”
She laughed. She really did like this guy. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at this game.”
He winked. “That’s what I’m counting on.” He dropped the ball and shot it through the hole at her end of the table. “Point for me. Lose the jersey.”
“Wait. I wasn’t ready.”
“Too bad. The rules are different in strip-foosball. As much as I love you seeing you in my jersey, I’d rather see you out of it. Take it off.”
He said it with just enough sexy authority—and she’d had just enough wine to lose her normally more reserved disposition—that she followed his instructions and pulled the jersey over her head. Underneath, she wore a pink push-up bra with black lace trim, and she heard Owen suck in his breath as she dropped the jersey on the floor.
Wait until he saw the matching pink lace panties.
She wrapped her fingers around the foosball handles. “All right. This time I’m ready. Try that again.”
Owen stood still, his gaze fixed on her near-topless form. “Try what again?”
Laughing, she grabbed another ball and whacked it into his goal. “Point for me. Now you take off your shirt.”
The corners of his mouth tipped into a grin. A grin that was sexy as hell, and had her inner vixen waking up and getting ready to play.
He peeled off his shirt, his muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head. Damn. His body was perfect. He was kind of perfect. And she was going to take him down. Or at least get him naked.
She dropped another ball and made another neat goal. “Now the pants.”
He shook his head. “I still have my shoes and socks on.” He toed off a shoe and reached for the handles on his side.
He had her at a disadvantage because she’d taken her shoes off at the front door when they’d walked into the house. But she made up for it by scoring another three goals in a row. She pointed at his jeans. “Now. The pants. Drop ‘em.”
Already barefoot, he had nothing else left and chuckled as he unzipped his jeans and shimmied out of them. “I think I may have underestimated your foosball skills.”
Gabby’s mouth went dry as he stepped up to the table wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. Snug black boxer briefs. Not that she noticed, but her inner vixen damn sure did.
He took advantage of her momentary distractedness and scored a goal on her. She peeled off her sock and giggled as she swung it in the air around her head. He shot another goal as she let the sock fly. Laughing, she pulled the other one off as he grabbed the ball and made another score.
Uh oh. She wasn’t laughing now. She gulped at the hungry look he now wore on his face.
He nodded at her jeans, his voice low and sexy. “Take ‘em off. Slowly.”
Heat curled in her belly and the Vixen took over, slowly unzipping her zipper and wiggling her hips enticingly as she drew her jeans down her legs before stepping out of them. She must have had more wine than she thought.
She was never this brazen, this flirty, but she was having fun. She loved teasing him, loved the way his eye went dark with desire as she stepped up to the table and bent forward a little, just enough to give him a nice view of her black lace-covered cleavage. Yes, Vixen was here to play.
He grabbed the handles of the table, determination in his eyes. “Just so you know, Angel, I plan to get this next goal, and you’re taking that pretty little bra off.”
Oh. My. God. Her nipples puckered at his words, and she considered lying down on the table and letting him take her right there. But those little foosball men might poke her in the back and would probably ruin the mood.
She gripped the handles of the table, ready to play. “Give it your best shot.”
He grinned. “Oh, I intend to.” He dropped the ball, and with one quick flick of his wrist shot it into her goal. He crossed his arms over his glorious muscled pecs and narrowed his eyes. “The bra. Take it off. Now.” His gaze went from her breasts to her face and held enough heat to light the table on fire.
She had plenty of fire darting through her body. She was terrified and absolutely, totally turned on at the same time. Grinning, and trying to act more self-assured than she felt, she teasingly dropped one strap, slowly sliding it down her arm.
“Keep going.” His tone was light, still holding a playful tone.
Offering him a coy smile, she turned to the other side, seductively lifting her shoulder as she teased the other strap down.
She gazed up at him, and her breath caught. His expression had changed from playful to one of pure hunger. And her body responded, flames of desire flickering and swirling inside of her.
“Keep going.”
The deep tone of his voice sent another thrill shooting through her. She reached behind her, never taking her eyes off of his. Taking a deep breath, and summoning up her courage, she unsnapped the clasps and let her bra fall slowly to the floor.
Standing before him, wearing only a tiny pair of pink and black lace panties, she felt brave and terrified at the same time. She reached for one of the table’s handles, standing up straight and slightly arching her back, feeling her nipples hard and tight, and reveled in the sound of his quick intake of breath.
She’d never acted so bold, so daringly sexual, and she loved the way it made her feel. Spicy and sexy, and a little racy. Free.
Bare and vulnerable, she offered herself to him, risking her pride and her heart as she waited for his reaction. Trying to keep the tremble out of her voice, she took a breath, and leveled him with a flirtatious gaze. “Are you ready to play?”
He stood still. Frozen. Blinked twice t
hen shook his head. “Ah hell.” In three steps, he was around the table and lifting her in his arms. Crossing the room, he pushed open the door of the master suite and carried her to his king-sized bed. “Game over.”
But the game had just begun, she thought as his mouth crushed against hers in a toe-curling kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
This woman was going to kill him.
And he couldn’t think of a better way to go.
He looked down at Gabby’s beautiful body on the bed beneath him and knew it would be a slow, satisfied, happy death.
She was gorgeous, her chestnut hair spread out across the pillow, looking like an angel. His angel.
He knew it. Had felt it before, but had no doubt now. Watching her tonight, watching as she came alive and teased him during the foosball game. He thought he might die when she stripped out of that sexy little lacy bra. The way she stood, shoulders back, her full breasts lush and ripe, her nipples taut with yearning—she was a vision—and sexy as hell.
He wanted her. Needed her. Considered taking her on the floor next to her fallen clothes. Instead, he had enough sense to carry her to his bed. Their first time shouldn’t be on the floor.
There’d be time for the floor later, and the kitchen counter, and the sofa in front of the fireplace.
He grinned down at her. “You had me at ‘do you want to play a game of foosball?’”
She traced a finger along his pec. “As long as I get to have you.”
Yep. She was gonna kill him. Tonight.
And several times.
He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a teasing kiss. Pressing, then backing off, a nip, a lick, until she was arching up, pushing her bare breasts against his chest. Ducking his head, he trailed a line of kisses down her neck, across her breast, then circled his tongue around the hardened pebble of her nipple before sucking it between his lips.
She moaned—a soft, sexy sound—and he came undone. He wanted her—wanted to touch, to taste, to feel every inch of her. He explored the lush landscape of her body with his hands, his lips, his tongue—learning the way she tasted and what she liked—and what made her make those delicious sounds.