Kurt just wanted to stop feeling so alone. Wanted to stop wallowing, alone. He’d been frozen in sadness and regret, like Han Solo in the block of carbonite. Which was a cool comparison, but damn it, the reality felt like shit.
Seeing Lisette, kissing her, had started the process of unfreezing him. But she didn’t deserve to deal with his shit. Not if she’d quit her job to escape it all. Kurt couldn’t clam up now, though. Not with her hand on his arm and those big brown eyes staring up at him not with pity, but interest. Like she wasn’t asking to be polite, like the guys on the team would, or to be nosy, like reporters, or to worry about his fifteen percent, like his agent. Lisette seemed to genuinely care.
Kurt looked up, past her shoulder, at a float covered with suns and licking red flames. “I’ve been thinking of quitting hockey altogether. Life’s too short.”
What came out of her mouth was half a gasp mixed with a ripple of laughter. “To be paid a gazillion dollars to do your favorite thing in the world?”
Yeah.
That was what he’d figured everyone’s reaction would be.
Which was why he’d kept it to himself so far. The question was whether he could make her understand. Make her see that, as good as it looked on paper, the money and the fun didn’t add up to his perfect life. Not now. Not anymore. So Kurt swung his gaze back down to meet her eyes, still twinkling with laughter.
“Jasper was doing his favorite thing in the world. Then he broke his leg, right out there on the ice, and now he’s dead. The game’s dangerous. Football’s getting all the strong-arming about concussions, but hockey has the same risks.”
“True. But those risks have been the same your entire career. You’ve been fine with it so far.” She pursed her lips. “And you haven’t had any major injuries, have you?”
“No.”
“And Jasper’s troubles didn’t stem from hockey. They stemmed from bone cancer. His leg could’ve snapped just as easily walking down the steps at school.”
“I know.”
“I guess I don’t get where you’re coming from.” But then she shook her head, tilting it down and sending all that dark hair cascading down the front of her top. “Not that I have to. It’s your decision. You shouldn’t live your life just to fulfill other people’s expectations for it.”
It felt good to hear her say that. As good as ice on a swollen lip. It was exactly the sort of go-for-it support he’d been hoping to get.
It wasn’t enough.
Kurt needed her to understand. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, waste another day driving himself crazy with what-if-ing this to death unless he could find the words to explain to at least one other person the why of it all. Because she was sort of right. You didn’t walk away from financial security—crazy-ass millions of it—and the thing you’d always loved doing, for the hell of it.
“You’re right. The risks haven’t changed.” He thumped himself in the chest, right where the Cajun Rage logo centered on his jersey. “I have.”
Her lips pursed again. She took a beat, hopefully noticing that Kurt was opening his shit wide up here and taking a big fucking risk to do so. “Go on.”
God, he hoped he could explain it. Explain that he wasn’t a pussy or bored or fucking stupid. Explain that this was his life, and it didn’t come with a nice, safe warm-up skate around the rink. Kurt rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“Death crystallizes shit. It makes everything more real. Gives life an urgency, you know? My hockey career’s got an expiration date, no matter what. Then I’ve got a whole other life to put together for the next forty years. Shouldn’t I do that while I’m still in one piece? Is it worth risking all that could be ahead of me for one more year, even one more game, when my brains could get tossed around like salad in a bad check?”
Lisette hitched in a breath, almost like she was surprised. Or about to cry. Then she patted his chest, right where he’d thumped it a minute ago. The warmth of her small, soft hand flooded straight to his heart.
“It’s exciting watching the games. My heart’s always in my throat when I do, though, because it is scary how hard everyone plays, how rough and no-holds-barred it is. So I have to say, selfishly, that I’m glad you’re asking. But...that’s a question only you can answer.” She patted once more, then pulled her hand back, where it hovered in midair for a second, like she didn’t want to stop touching him.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Kurt shoved a hand through his hair to shatter the awkwardness suddenly hanging between them like a sheet of jagged ice.
“Gee, really? Here I thought you were going to solve my problem with 100 ccs of wisdom.” He stared at the swimming fish who were oblivious to the fucking emotional striptease he somehow just couldn’t stop. And in curve of the glass bowl in the side of the float, Kurt saw the grim set of his jaw, the unhappy, hooded eyes.
God. Why would Lisette want to keep touching such a wallowing, messed-up son of a bitch? The words, the truth that kept him immobilized on this decision ripped from his throat like gravel spraying from his Harley tires. “Tell me how I can turn my back on my team and my friends and still be able to look myself in the mirror.”
She pressed up against his back, arms circling his waist like a life preserver. “How do you do it now? How do you look past your grief to see what’s truly in your reflection?”
“I don’t.”
Her fingers curved into his stomach. “You don’t look in mirrors?”
“Not for a while now.” Trying to make light of it, Kurt rasped a hand across his two-day-old stubble. “I’ve got an electric razor. Makes it so easy I can do it with my eyes shut. I was tired of seeing nothing but a scowl.”
“Oh, I get it, believe me. But feeling good, being happy? It takes practice every bit as much as skating.” Going up on her tiptoes, Lisette murmured into his ear, “I declare that smile practice is now in session.”
Then her fingers splayed, arrowing down to just below the waist of his shorts. Just enough to make him wish they’d damn well keep going. She scraped her teeth along the cords of his neck, then licked a path down to where Kurt knew she could feel his pulse jackrabbiting through the skin. Lisette sucked. Sucked and swirled her tongue. That was all it took to bring his dick into a full-out lunge, trying to meet her fingertips.
Kurt reached back and around to pull her closer. He got two handfuls of the sweetest ass he’d ever touched and squeezed. Kneaded. His hands almost completely covered those taut globes. He couldn’t wait to see how they’d look doing exactly that on her naked skin.
He didn’t care if she gave him a hickey. Didn’t care that the guys would give him a mountain of shit if he walked into the locker room with a love bite like a teenager. The only thing Kurt cared about was the way her tongue lapped at him, sending shivers of sensation straight down to his dick.
They weren’t really kissing. They were fully clothed, in a fucking warehouse. They weren’t even face-to-face. But her assault on his neck was so damn hot, Kurt was ready to shove up her skirt and take her on the floor, with the goddamned goldfish watching.
Whispering, breath feathering against his ear, Lisette ordered, “Look at your reflection in the bowl, Kurt. What do you see?”
He turned his head to catch a smug, satisfied grin curling up the edges of his mouth. Huh. Kurt twisted to see her wet lips and flushed cheeks. Guess she’d enjoyed giving as well as getting. Which turned him on even more. “You think I’m good in a practice session? You should catch me in the real deal.”
Stepping back, Lisette said, “We’re here to work. To plan. To honor your brother.”
Aaaand there he was. Jasper’s damned ghost, cockblocking him again. Just like he always would. The kid would hover between them no matter where they went or what they did. He’d been an idiot to forget it. To think that Lisette making a move meant anything more than her big ol’ heart taking pity on him.
She shook her head and picked up the bag and portfolio from the ground. “I’m sorry
, I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t say that. I’m glad you did. Thank you.” Kurt slapped on another smile that felt as forced as the one for his head shot for the team roster. “Now show me where you think we should set up the food.”
Because he was paying Lisette to help with his brother’s party. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here with him. And he couldn’t let himself forget that again.
Chapter Four
Lisette tossed another packet of red balloons into the basket hanging from Kurt’s arm. Then four more packets, because Mardi Gras World was enormous, and you couldn’t ever have too many balloons at a party.
And because riffling through the racks of party supplies kept her from staring at Kurt. From staring at his tan skin and the dark brown stubble covering his jawline. From hungering to reach out and have it rough against her flesh in all its sexy manliness. From staring at the gorgeous, thoughtful hunk of man she’d pushed away in a moment of panic and self-doubt.
It was the dumbest thing she’d ever done.
Besides kissing him in the first place.
He’d shocked her by opening up. Absolutely yanked at her heartstrings with his gut-wrenching honesty about re-evaluating his life. Impulse had driven her to kiss him. Heck, she would’ve jumped off a bridge with just a tiny bungee cord if Kurt had said it would put a smile on his face.
But then, Lisette had balked. Just like the kids who, after waiting an hour, got out of line when faced with the prospect of actually getting onto a roller coaster. When Kurt made that offhand comment about the real deal, she’d remembered that this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The whole reason he was sad was due to the loss of the brother she’d helped nurse through his final days. His career was up in the air because of Jasper. Kurt was paying her to be with him for two weeks because of Jasper.
When he finished pushing through his grief, he certainly wouldn’t want any reminders of it around. They had no hope of a real relationship. No hope of a real anything. The last thing Lisette wanted to do was act like quicksand, miring him in place with sad memories.
So she’d pulled back. Reminded him of the reason, the real reason, they were together.
It was the right thing to do. That didn’t make it any less difficult, though. Knowing it was right didn’t stop her from thinking about him all the time. Thinking about how easily they talked. How powerful his hands felt on her butt. How Kurt’s wall of muscles steadied her as she actually quivered under his touch.
She wanted him. And he probably only wanted, could only handle, a distraction. And there’d come a time when Kurt wouldn’t want to see her at all. When he’d want to put everything sad behind him and just move on with something new.
Damn it.
She’d thought this whole party-planning gig was the answer to her prayers. Easy, fast money, topped off with a little balm to her soul of helping a patient’s family one last time. But right now it felt more like torture. Like putting a triple-chocolate torte in front of her pregnant, always starving sister and then telling her not to eat it.
And Lisette wanted to lick every inch of Kurt clean.
Lisette yanked a handful of beads off a peg and added them to the second brimming basket. She hurried down the aisle to the register line. “I think we’ve got enough decorations for three parties. We should check out.”
“We can’t be finished already. I blocked off the whole rest of the afternoon for this. I thought women treated shopping like a competitive sport. Whoever takes the longest, wins.”
There it was. Kurt might be a sensitive, caring man, but there was also some caveman lurking in there, too. Which would be fine if she got primal, raw sex out of him as a salve. But that sure wasn’t happening.
“Don’t pull that crap.” Lisette brandished a finger at him. “Don’t paint my entire gender with the wide brush of derogatory sexism, as though we aren’t fully functioning, responsible members of society.” Maybe her voice rose a little at the end. Maybe the clerk goggled at them as she handed a receipt to the woman in front of them with the giant piñata. But sometimes, a person had to take a stand.
“Yowch.” Kurt winced and rubbed his cheek. “I think I just got bitch-slapped.”
“Well, you deserved it.”
He set the baskets on the counter. Thrust his credit card at the clerk and then pulled Lisette over toward the impulse bins brimming with plastic crawfish and vampire fangs. “Hey. I was only teasing. Seriously. I’ve got nothing but mad respect for women. But yeah, I can get sucked into flattening my ass on the sofa and losing an entire night to Xbox. Along with every guy on the team. Stupid stereotype that deserves mocking, but is one hundred percent true. I was just throwing down some of that on you. No insult intended.”
Oh. Of course. Of course he’d only been teasing. She’d popped off like a cork out of a champagne bottle because of her frustration with the situation. Like a little kid throwing a tantrum when her mom refused to buy her candy. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. And completely unfair to poor Kurt. Not to mention the last thing she could actually admit to as the reason for being upset. Lisette scrambled to come up with something else.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you, I swear. I’m just having an, um, frustrating, tough day. I was venting at you, not because of you. No other interviews this week since the Rajuns. No callbacks for a second interview. And no shiny new job prospects on the horizon, either.”
“That’s rough. It sucks that you’re having such a hard time getting hired. People who can’t see how awesome you are—they’re idiots.”
“I’d agree, but then I’d be calling your organization idiots.” Talk about an unprofessional thing to do in front of Kurt! After all, it wasn’t as if he, even as a star player, had had any say in the back-office hiring decisions. So Lisette bit back the oh-so-tempting name-calling and just doled out a wistful shake of her head. “I was so sure that interview with the Rage would be a slam dunk for me.”
Kurt sucked in a deep breath. Held it. Probably wondered what he’d done in a previous life to get stuck now with a pathetic whiner. But just as Lisette panicked that she’d gone too far with the woe-is-me admission, he let out all that pent-up air.
Pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, he said, “Looks like someone else needs smile practice today.”
“No, I’m fine.” Better than usual even, because being with Kurt was a great distraction. A great way to focus on something besides the lack of follow-up in her in-box. “I’m feeling sorry for what I want and don’t have yet, is all.” There. She’d managed to be honest with him, which felt good.
“Well, you still want me to practice smiling, right? And I’ve gotta have a reason. So come out with me. A night out would be good for both of us. Drinks, oysters at Brennan’s, the whole nine yards.”
Was he...did he...was that supposed to be an invite on a date? After she’d worked so hard to put him back on the off-limits shelf? After she’d remembered—albeit too late—that Kurt was in a totally vulnerable place and wasn’t ready to date? Or was it just that Kurt was a VIP, and the night he’d just suggested was the equivalent of sitting on the couch eating popcorn to him, aka totally normal?
Lisette knew she should say no. But this was Kurt Lundquist. The celebrity she’d crushed on, the brother she’d grown to like and respect while sharing the heart-wrenching death of her patient, and the man she wanted more with every minute she spent by his side. So instead of saying no outright—which she couldn’t imagine saying to him ever—Lisette babbled, “I can’t possibly go there.”
“Why not?”
“It’s far too fancy.” With one hand, she plucked at her mint green tank top. “I live in scrubs and shorts.” Might as well tell him the whole truth. Because Lisette wasn’t embarrassed by her financial turnaround. She was proud that she’d managed to live off her savings and finish school without financial help. “I sold all my nicer stuff, except for a couple of interview outfits, at a consignment shop to help cover
my last round of tuition.”
Kurt grabbed the bulging bags and walked her out of the store. “We’re in a mall. I think we can find you something to wear.”
It was a fun idea. Just not a possible reality. “I can’t afford it, Kurt. Not until I get another job. What you’re paying me goes straight toward a security deposit on a new apartment.”
“I get that. I’m not so selfish that I’d ask you to pay for the evening I invited you on. I’ll buy the dress.”
First, he asked her on what sounded like a date, and now he wanted to pay for her clothing, too? Kurt Lundquist was her new fairy god...something. Sex god, for sure, but she hadn’t realized sex gods granted wishes outside the bedroom. “You can’t buy me a dress.”
“I sure as hell can. Not just a dress, either.” He steered her past a stone fleur-de-lis spouting water into a too-blue pool and toward a department store. “Dress, shoes, a matching purse too small to hold anything besides lipstick—the whole shebang.” Kurt curved his palm sideways across her mouth to cut off the automatic rebuttal about to burst out. “Consider it your uniform for this assignment. The hospital gives you scrubs, right? This is no different. If you’re hanging with me, you go where I go. I’m dragging you out, so it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable.”
Lisette hadn’t splurged on herself in sooo long. It was beyond tempting. As tempting as the thought of being out with Kurt on something that sounded a whole lot like a real date. Except for the word responsibility. Was this truly him being sweet? Or simply protecting against a paparazzi onslaught?
It didn’t matter. She’d live for the moment. She’d take the goodness guilt-free, thanks to his clever spin on it, and enjoy. “Okay. But if this is all for your benefit, what color dress should I get?”
“Cajun Rage red, of course.”
Of course. Not a nice, safe, good-for-multiple-occasions little black dress. Maybe this really was a date...
Half an hour later, Lisette was sure. She’d picked out more than half a dozen dresses in varying shades and lengths. The only unifying factor had been their very reasonable price tags. Kurt said no to all of them. Except for the sedate sheath, for which he hadn’t even bothered to verbalize his disdain. He just shook his head and pointed for her to head back to the dressing room.
Check My Heart Page 4