First Shot At Love

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Should she admit that to JP, when she saw him after the game? Yes, she would. He'd get a chuckle out of it and tease her, then lean down and press a quick kiss against her lips. And then—

  Her mind quickly filled in the blanks and she shuddered, heat rushing to her face. It was the 'and then' part that got to her. Always.

  She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her blush, then took her seat and reached for the cup of overpriced soda. It felt a little odd, sitting here by herself, with nobody to share in the excitement. JP would have gotten her two tickets, but she didn't really have anyone to bring. She had thought about bringing her sister, but Monica was dealing with her own issues with a failing marriage, a busy workload, and the demands of an active toddler.

  And Emily was still relatively new at her job and didn't feel comfortable asking anyone to go with her. No, that wasn't exactly true. She could have asked any number of her coworkers and they would have gladly joined her, even if they were a bunch of math geeks like herself. The reason she didn't was pure selfishness: she and JP were meeting after the game and she didn't want to share him with anyone, especially not anyone at work. They knew she was seeing someone but she hadn't yet told anyone who that someone was. In a few weeks, maybe, but not just yet. The relationship was still too new, barely two months old.

  And maybe, just maybe, she was still a little afraid that she was imagining things. It felt like they had been together for so much longer. A little warning teased the back of her mind, cautioning her not to read too much into it.

  Warning her to be careful with her heart.

  She raised the cup to her mouth and took another small sip through the straw, wondering if maybe it was too late for her to be careful.

  No, not yet. But if she wasn't careful, she could easily see herself falling in love with JP.

  Not yet? A small part of her wanted to laugh. Who was she kidding? Nobody except herself, that was who. But she couldn't acknowledge it, not yet. And if she didn't acknowledge it, then she could keep that part of her safe.

  For now, anyway.

  She placed the cup back into the holder then settled back, vowing to pay closer attention to the game. Her eyes darted to the bench across the ice from her, immediately picking JP out from the other players. She couldn't see him that well, not really, not when she was halfway up in the stands. And he shouldn't be able to see her, either. But she swore he looked in her direction, swore their gazes met for a few long, heated seconds.

  Did she imagine his smile? Or the smoldering look in his eyes? Probably. But she wasn't imagining the heat rolling through her, or the sudden need pooling low in her belly and settling between her legs.

  She shifted in the seat and forced her gaze to the skating players on the ice, telling herself not to think about what would be happening in a few hours.

  Too late. Her body was already thinking about it, telling her that she was more than ready.

  Nine

  Emily had barely closed the door before JP pulled her into his arms. He grinned as her eyes widened in surprised, felt heat shoot through him when desire flared in their blue depths.

  And then his mouth crashed against hers. Hot, needy. Demanding. What was it about her that made him burn? He didn't care, only knew he didn't want it to stop.

  Knew that it would never stop. Not this burn, not this need.

  Not the feelings that she stirred to life deep within him.

  He pulled away, pressed his forehead against hers, and smiled. "You drive me crazy, my beautiful Emilie."

  She smiled back, her cheeks turning the faintest pink as she ran her hands up his chest. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels that way."

  JP nearly opened his mouth, ready to say more. No, not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, caught her mouth once more, swept his tongue inside. She tasted like chocolate and heat, warm and sweet and delectable.

  He deepened the kiss, hunger surging through him with an urgency he didn't understand. He ran his hands along her back, down to cup the firmness of her ass, holding her against him as he rocked his hips toward her.

  She moaned, her fingers already working the buttons of his dress shirt. Flames danced across his skin as she dragged the tips of her fingers across his chest. All thoughts of seduction, all plans for sweet romance, fled his mind.

  He wanted. Needed. Now.

  He lifted her against him, moved the few short steps to her small sofa, then sat. Her body straddled his, her soft moans mingling with his own as she ground against him.

  JP broke the kiss, shifted to removed his jacket and shirt and tie. He grabbed the hem of her sweater, pushed it up and over her head. Then he sat back, his gaze sweeping across her body, dropping to the tight points of hardened nipples pressing against the sheer lace of her bra. He traced the scalloped edges with one finger, scraped his palm against one tightened peak. Then he lowered his head, pulled the tight peak into his mouth and sucked. Nipping, licking, pulling it deeper into his mouth as she rocked against him with tiny moans.

  He slid one hand between them, reached down and undid the snap of her jeans. Eased the zipper down, dipped his hand inside.

  Emily moaned again, her head falling back, her hands digging into his bare shoulders as he stroked her.

  "You are so beautiful, my Emilie. So beautiful."

  She raised her head, her lids fluttering open. Their gazes met, held, heat and awareness thickening around them. Then she slid off his lap and kicked her shoes off, shimmied out of her jeans and bra until she was standing in front of him, her beautiful body bared for his gaze.

  JP groaned, reached for her in desperation and brought her back to his lap. Hands, fingers, mouth. Caressing, touching, kissing as heat built between them. Engulfing, demanding, consuming.

  He shifted, reached for his wallet with one shaking hand, searching for a condom. He undid his pants, pushed them past his hips and sheathed himself. Then he grabbed her hips and led her to him.

  Watched as she lowered herself onto the hard length of his cock. Slow, inch by delectable inch until his cock was buried deep inside her tight heat. He cupped her face with his hands, caught her mouth in a searing kiss that spoke of need and desire as she rode him.

  Harder, faster, deeper. Gasping breaths and moans of need. Whispered words of promises unspoken. Faster still, her body tightening around him, her climax crashing over her with hard tremors. Riding him, her head tilted back, nails hard against his skin as he gripped her hips and drove himself into her.

  Hard. Harder. Until his own climax seized him, leaving him shaking. Breathless. Mindless.

  He tightened his arms around her, held her flush body against his as the world slowly righted itself.

  As reality sunk in.

  JP stiffened for just a second, held his breath. Waiting, hoping. Knowing it was false hope, his mind realizing what his body already knew.

  The condom broke.

  Ten

  This couldn't be happening.

  This really couldn't be happening.

  Emily stared at her reflection in the mirror and repeated the words, over and over. The woman looking back at her didn't believe the words, no matter how many times she said them.

  She leaned over the sink, splashed cold water on her face, then looked back up. The reflection was the same: it was her, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her coloring maybe just a little too pale in the bright light of the bathroom.

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and made a quick wish, then opened them. Another deep breath and she looked down, hoping that the image would change.

  It didn't.

  She stared at the small stick, at the two pink lines filling the small window.

  This couldn't be happening.

  She glanced at the second stick, the one she had purchased just in case. As a back-up. As a fallback. As reassurance.

  A small laugh escaped her, breathy and borderline hysterical.

  There were no pink lines on the second one. Instead of those
damned lines, she saw a small plus sign.

  Plus. As in positive.

  This couldn't be happening.

  She scooped both sticks up with a shaking hand and shoved them back into the drugstore bag. She wanted to throw them out. To burn them. To pretend she had never seen them, had never purchased them.

  But it was too late for that.

  About three weeks too late.

  She tossed the bag into the trashcan then lowered herself to the edge of the tub, her hands gripping the cold porcelain. Her mind spun, a thousand different thoughts and worries and fears colliding against each other, each one there for the space of a heartbeat before it darted away, replaced by another thought.

  And another and another until her head spun and her vision swam.

  She closed her eyes and leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her middle and sucked in deep breaths, waiting for the nausea to pass. A sheen of cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her stomach twisted, clenching as the nausea got worse. She swallowed, took another deep breath and held it as she perched on the edge of the tub, ready to dive for the toilet just in case.

  But the nausea slowly eased, leaving her tired and drained.

  Why couldn't it have been the flu? For two weeks, she had been hoping it was the flu. The tiredness, the nausea, the constant feeling like she was drained. It should have been the flu.

  She pressed her against her flat stomach and looked down, still not quite believing.

  No, it wasn't the flu.

  She was pregnant.

  And oh God, how had it happened? She shook her head, her snort of laughter mocking her. She knew exactly how it had happened. And when: the night JP's condom broke. In her living room. On her sofa.

  She hadn't worried about it, had honestly thought the timing was wrong. And JP had been so concerned, so tender. And she had assured him there was nothing to worry about. Had practically guaranteed it.

  Oh God, she needed to tell JP.

  But how? What could she say? It wasn't like she couldn't tell him, he'd figure it out eventually.

  Unless…

  Would he think she was trying to trick him? Or trap him? What if he didn't want her to have it? She couldn't do that, couldn't just…no, she couldn't even think about that.

  But what if he wanted no parts of it? No parts of her? They hadn't been going out that long, hadn't talked of commitments or obligations or anything like that. She thought she knew him, better than she knew a lot of her friends. And she thought she knew how she felt, thought he possibly felt the same way. But what if she was wrong?

  A calmness she hadn't expected settled over her, followed by steely determination. Well, if he didn't want her or their baby—and oh God, she was going to have a baby!—then she'd raise it herself. Women did that all the time, right? She was strong, independent. She had a somewhat good job doing market analysis that gave her a somewhat decent paycheck. She'd make it work.

  She had to.

  But she had to tell JP first.

  And how would she even do that? She certainly couldn't just pick up the phone and call him. No, this was something she had to do in person. Except he was leaving this evening for an extended road trip. Should she wait until he got back?

  Yes, she should wait.

  No, she needed to tell him now.

  She glanced her watch, chewed on her lower lip as she argued with herself. Tell him today or wait? Wait, or tell him now? Back and forth until she made herself dizzy.

  Enough. She was being foolish. She had to tell him, she couldn't wait.

  Which meant it had to be done now.

  She stood up, splashed some more cold water on her face and ran a brush through her hair. Then she hurried from the bathroom, grabbing her keys and coat on the way out the door, that sense of unreality following her the entire time.

  Eleven

  The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time. JP muttered to himself, nearly tripping as he pulled on a pair of nylon workout pants. The material clung to his wet legs and he cursed again.

  He grabbed a towel as he walked out of the bathroom, running it across his bare chest and dripping hair. Who the hell was at the door? It couldn't be Randy, not yet. They weren't due to leave for another two hours.

  He hurried through the living room, nearly slipped on the tile floor of the entranceway before reaching the door. He yanked it open—

  And froze, all thoughts of finding a new place to live fleeing his mind. Emily stood in front of him, looking small and fragile in the oversized winter coat. Her hair was tousled, as if she had run her fingers through it numerous times. And her face was pale, her eyes wide and a little dazed as she looked up at him.

  "Emilie." JP reached out, grabbed her hand and tugged her inside. "Are you okay? Did something to happen?"

  It was a stupid question. Of course something had happened. She looked shell-shocked, like she didn't quite know where she was or how she got there. Her gaze darted around, never landing on any one thing for longer than a second. The sparse furnishings. The bare walls. The balcony overlooking the Baltimore skyline below.

  His bare chest.

  A flush crept across her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze, staring down at the tile floor. JP took her hand again and led her to the overstuffed leather sofa. She didn't look at him, didn't even try to shrug out of her heavy coat.

  He tossed the towel to the side and squatted in front of her, taking both of her cold hands in his. "What is it, mon ange? Did something happen?"

  She took a deep breath, her gaze clearing as she finally, slowly, looked up at him. Her mouth opened, just as quickly closed with a snap as she looked away. He squeezed her hands, a knot of apprehension twisting his gut.

  "Emilie. Tell me. What is wrong?"

  "I—" She stopped, looked away again, took another deep breath and stared down at their clasped hands. "I'm pregnant."

  The whispered words hung between them, suspended between reality and disbelief. JP heard the word, understood its meaning. But not the context.

  Not right away.

  Not until it slammed into him with enough force that he actually lost his balance and fell backward, landing on his ass.

  "Preg—" He stuttered, had to close his mouth and swallow, tried to clear his throat. His mind. Tried to make sense of the word, of what she meant. "Pregnant?"

  His hands briefly tightened around hers, maybe too tight because she pulled her hands from his grasp. And then she was standing, stepping around him because his ass was still glued to the fucking floor. She was talking, soft jumbled words that didn't make sense. Nothing made sense, not when shock and disbelief battered him, sent him reeling.

  Kept him frozen in place.

  Pregnant.

  Emily was pregnant.

  And he was the father.

  He was going to be a father.

  The thought terrified him. Thrilled him. Petrified him. Excited him.

  He was going to be a father.

  Emily was going to be the mother of his child.

  A vision of her, soft and glowing, holding their daughter to her breast, seared his mind. Vivid, clear. He ran a hand across his chest, trying to understand the sudden tightness beneath his breastbone.

  Trying to understand the feral possessiveness that tore through him, shredding all anxiety and doubt.

  He was going to be a father.

  The sound of the door opening echoed through the room like a shot. He looked up, fear twisting his gut when he saw that Emily was leaving.

  He shot to his feet, a string of French falling from his lips as he raced after her. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, saw her eyes widen in shock as he cupped her face with both hands.

  He wiped his thumb across her cheek, high up to catch the single tear falling from her eye. Then he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss against her soft lips. Sweet, tender, a million emotions and thoughts and dreams encompassed in that single touch.

  He pulled away, swept his thumb along
her lower lip, trying to find the right words.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" She hesitated, shook her head. "I don't expect you to—"

  He kissed her again, silencing her, then pulled her into his arms. "She is mine, Emilie. Mine and yours. Ours."

  She stiffened in his arms, tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her. He kissed her again then dropped to his knees and pressed one hand against her stomach. Flat still, firm, with no hint of the life growing within her.

  He swallowed against the thickness clogging his throat, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her stomach. Her hand threaded in his hair, her fingers trembling. He reached for her other hand, gently tugged until she was kneeling in front of him.

  "Mine, Emilie. Always mine. You and our daughter."

  She ran a hand across her eyes and tried to smile. "Or son."

  "No, a daughter. As beautiful as her mother." He cupped her cheek with his hand, stroked her smooth skin with the pad of his thumb.

  Her eyes met his, wide and uncertain. The same emotions running through him were reflected in the deep blue of her gaze. "I'm scared, JP."

  "No, Emilie. There is nothing to be afraid of. We will get through this together." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and pressed his free hand against the flat of her belly. She reached out and covered his hand with hers. He caught her trembling fingers, steadied them with his own, and kissed her again.

  "Together, my Emilie. The three of us. Always."

  ###

  No, JP and Emily's story doesn't end here…not even close. This is just their first shot at love!

  Do they get their happily-ever-after? What does the future hold for these two? JP and Emily are one of my best-loved couples…and two of my readers' favorites! You can read the rest of their story in BREAK AWAY, The Baltimore Banners Book 5.

  About the Author:

  Lisa B. Kamps is the author of the best-selling series The Baltimore Banners, featuring "…hard-hitting, heart-melting hockey players…" [USA Today], on and off the ice. Her Firehouse Fourteen series features hot and heroic firefighters who put more than their lives on the line and she's introduced a whole new team of hot hockey players who play hard and love even harder in her newest series, The York Bombers. The Chesapeake Blades--a romance series featuring women's hockey--recently launched with WINNING HARD.