“What’s the best?”
“You.” He grabs me by the waist and throws me down on the bed, then lands as gently as possible on top of me. He still almost knocks the wind out of me. His beautiful, rugged face is suddenly sad as he brushes my hair off my face.
“I missed you so much it was ridiculous,” he tells me honestly. “You’ve made me into a total wimp, Rosie. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s awesome,” I counter with a proud smile.
He buries his face in the pillow beside me as he yawns. I laugh. “Let’s get some rest, okay, sleepyhead?”
He nods and rolls off me. I get up and head to the bathroom. I strip out of my clothes in there, leaving on only my bra and panties, and brush my teeth. When I walk back into the bedroom, he’s lying on top of the duvet in nothing but his boxer briefs. He looks like heaven, so chiseled and with the perfect sun-kissed tint to his skin… and a bandage on his side.
“What happened?” I ask in a panicked voice as I crawl up the bed to take a closer look. I reach out to touch it but he takes my hand in his and guides it away.
“Got some work done on the tattoo while I was there,” he whispers groggily. “I have to keep it covered for another few hours.”
“What did you add?” I ask curiously but he just smiles lazily. He’s going to make me wait to find out. I stand up again, unhook my bra and reach for a tank top, my usual sleepwear.
“No clothes, Rosie,” he begs in a murmur. “I want to feel you.”
I leave the tank on the chair and walk to the bed and slip out of my underwear as he holds the covers up and I ease under them. I roll to face him and watch him pull off his boxer briefs and then slip under the covers and cuddle in next to me. The heat of his bare skin against me—all of me—is like an instant stress reliever. My whole body relaxes.
I roll onto my side and he spoons me, kissing the back of my neck. “Sweet dreams, ma Fleur.”
I fight the urge to cry again. “You too, Luc.”
How am I going to live without this? I’m going to flat-out die of loneliness.
Chapter 43
Luc
The small digital clock on her bedside table says it’s just a little after six when I wake up. Despite being right beside her and feeling her warmth and her heartbeat next to me all night long, I still have an ache in my chest. Because the next couple of weeks are all we have left. Then she’s in Europe for a few weeks and I’m in Vegas alone.
Even if she comes back right away and doesn’t stay longer… I don’t know what her plans are for the year. I don’t know if she’d even entertain the thought of picking up her whole life and moving it across the country.
I watch her sleep for a little while longer and then slip out of bed, careful not to disturb her. I walk back into the foyer where I dumped my bag when we walked in. I open the front flap and pull out the envelope I’d put there in Vegas.
Back in my bedroom I put it down on the bedside table and then head into the bathroom and carefully remove the bandage covering my new ink. I gaze at it in the mirror. It’s fucking perfect. I hope she thinks so too.
I quietly return to the bedroom and slide under the sheets, curling into her back. She lets out a sigh, takes my hand and pulls my arm around her bare middle. I wait until I know she’s drifted off again before I say the words aloud for the first time.
“I love you.”
My heart skips in fear. Or is it excitement? I can’t tell anymore. Rose has my emotions all mixed together. I can only imagine how much more panicked I’ll feel when I say it to a conscious Rose. When I calm down again, I slip back into sleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep but suddenly I feel something warm and wet slide across my morning hard-on. I let out a gravelly grunt. It happens again. I reach down under the covers and my fingers find her hair. She licks me from balls to tip again.
“Rosie…”
And then, all at once, her warm, wet mouth surrounds my length. I arch my back and groan loudly. She starts moving up and down, her tongue sliding every which way in the tight space between her lips and my dick. Her hand rolls my balls, squeezing and releasing in succession with her bobbing head.
Holy. Fuck.
It’s been over a week without sexual contact and in seconds I’m struggling not to slip over the edge. My hands clutch her hair tightly and I tug lightly, pulling her lips off me. She sits up in between my legs, sending the duvet and sheets backward toward the bottom of the bed. She’s still completely naked, like she was last night, and in the morning light I can see every part of her—she’s perfection.
My eyes follow her tan lines, taking in the palest parts—her round and perky breasts, the curve of her hip into her lower abdomen. Her short dark patch of hair leading down to that delicate, perfect spot between her legs.
I grab her hips and pull her forward. She straddles me, reaches down with one hand, raises my long, hard length skyward and lowers herself slowly onto me. She’s the wettest I’ve ever felt her, and with no effort at all, I’m completely inside her.
Without giving either of us a moment to adjust, she starts moving. My hands crawl all over her body, cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples in between my fingers. She lets out a little appreciative sigh and her head tilts back.
I’m going to come fast and hard. There is no way to even try to stop the freight train about to roar through me. I let my hands slide down her taut belly and I press a thumb to her clit. I want to make sure that when I go off, she’s right there with me.
“Luc. Yes… oh, Luc.”
My thumb moves back and forth quickly, urged on by her raspy pleas. I feel my balls tighten and I buck up, slamming into her. She lets out a surprised squeak and gasps my name as her orgasm starts. As I feel her pussy tighten around me, I grab the back of her neck and pull her down to my chest and roll on top of her. I can only manage two thrusts before my eyes roll back in my head and I see nothing but stars. I collapse on top of her, my cock still shuddering inside her.
“I love you.” Oh fuck. Did I just…? I fucking did. Crap.
I didn’t want it to be like this! Now she’s going to think it’s some sex thing. It’s not a sex thing. I just cheapened the whole damn thing.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to say that,” I mumble into the pillow next to her head.
“Oh.”
“No! I mean, I meant what I said. I just didn’t mean to tell you.”
“What?”
Oh my God. What is it about this woman that makes me a complete imbecile? I take a deep breath, pull my head out of the pillow and look at her. I know my face is pink with not just exertion but embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean to say it during sex,” I confess softly. “Because I didn’t want it to seem like I didn’t mean it. Like it was orgasm speak but…”
She laughs boisterously at that, shaking the whole mattress. “Orgasm speak?”
“I wish I was dead!” I declare and roll off of her. I flop back on the bed beside her and cover my face with my hands. I hear her giggle and then feel her lips on my cheek.
“I love you too,” she replies softly, but confidently.
I peak at her through my fingers.
“I love you, Luc,” she repeats.
I move my hands from my face. She smiles. I start to smile. I feel… bulletproof.
“Enough to move to Las Vegas?”
Chapter 44
Rose
“What?”
He reaches over and hands me an envelope from the nightstand. I look at it and slowly open it up. It’s a first-class ticket from Silver Bay to Vegas, dated for two days after I get back from Europe.
“I want you with me, Rose, just like you are here,” he says, sitting up and staring down at me with the most serious look I’ve ever seen on his face. “I don’t know if you’re still thinking about staying in France with Kate or whatever, but if you are coming back to America, come back to me. Please.”
I take in the sweet, eager look
on his face. It’s everything I ever dreamed of since I was young—to have him look at me like that. I drop my gaze, my eyes sweeping over his gorgeous torso and then… I see the tattoo. My mouth drops open. “Oh my God… Luc.”
I reach out and gently trace the new design. The fleur-de-lis is filled now. The empty space in the bottom now holds an intricate black ink drawing of a rose. My vision blurs with tears, but I blink them back.
“The fleur-de-lis is my Quebec heritage. The top half, with the Garrisons and me on the rink, that’s my past. The words mean ‘more than my life’ because that’s how I feel about hockey. It’s what made me who I am. So have the Garrisons,” he says quietly, explaining what I already, intuitively, knew. “I left the bottom empty because I wanted to put something there that symbolizes the rest of my life, moving forward, and I wasn’t sure what that was until this summer.”
I look up at him and he smiles softly and leans forward, his lips brushing mine. “It’s you.”
He kisses me, long, slow and deep. I crawl up in his lap, wrapping my legs around him as he wraps his arms around me. “Move to Vegas with me, Fleur. S’il te plait.”
“Of course.” I run my hands through his bed head. “I love you, remember? And someone has to be there for you. You’re a bit of a disaster when you’re in love.”
He laughs at that. “I am.”
He rolls me over and starts to kiss his way down my body again. As he reaches my abdomen and moves to my hipbone, I sigh and my eyes flutter closed.
“Say it again,” I beg him softly.
“I love you, Rose,” he whispers gruffly and I smile as his lips move even lower. No matter what happens next, it’ll all be okay because Luc Richard loves me.
About the Author
Victoria Denault loves long walks on the beach, cinnamon dolce lattes and writing angst-filled romance. She lives in L.A. but grew up in Montreal, which is why she is fluent in English, French and hockey.
Learn more at:
VictoriaDenault.com
Facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaDenault
Twitter: @BooksbyVictoria
Please turn the page for a preview of the next book in Victoria Denault’s Hometown Players series, The Final Move.
Available December 2015!
Prologue
Devin
Five years ago
I walk toward the barn eager to steal a little solitude for a few minutes. The day has been a whirlwind. I’m happy—and I’m happy that everyone who loves me is happy for me and here to show it. Everyone wants to talk to me, shake my hand, hug me or, in the case of all the local girls, flirt with me. I guess signing a seven-million-dollar-a-year contract and winning the Stanley Cup in the same year will do that. I’m grateful for the attention—from all of them—but it’s exhausting. Especially the girls, which I know sounds crazy. I swear to God every girl in Silver Bay showed up to this barbecue—even ones who never gave me the time of day in high school. Seven of them have already given me their phone numbers and four more have subtly offered to “show me a good time” while I’m home this summer. I really wasn’t interested in that, which Jordan loved to point out made me insane.
I was only twenty-one and most normal guys my age weren’t looking for serious relationships yet. But I wasn’t a normal guy. I was a guy who had worked with insane focus to reach all my goals since I was a toddler—and I always reached them. I wanted to be in the NHL, and I was drafted in the first round. I wanted to win a Stanley Cup, and I won one. I wanted a big contract and this week I signed one with the Brooklyn Barons. I got what I wanted—and now I wanted a serious relationship. Something with hope of a future—like a family of my own. It was weird, maybe, but I loved my large, tight-knit family and being away from all of them for nine months of the year, I realized how badly I wanted one of my own. The way I saw it was my parents married in their early twenties and they were still madly in love. I could have that too if I worked hard enough at finding the right person to have it with.
As I reach the barn door I realize it’s half open. As I slide inside, I hear a giggle. I know it’s Callie. After years of her family melding with mine for holidays and meals and everything else, I know her laugh as well as I know my mom’s or Jordan’s.
It’s still bright outside but in the barn the light is so low it seems like dusk. Still, I find her form quickly—she’s up against the wall in the far corner of the barn near the apple-red vintage tractor my dad uses during farming season. I take a few more steps and realize she isn’t up against the wall; she’s up against Owen Kaminski, one of my buddies from my junior hockey team. He’s a big guy, almost as tall as me and much heavier, and he’s draped all over her like a fat kid on the last piece of cake.
I clear my throat loudly. He jumps and turns. When he sees me he looks instantly guilty. I give him a stern look and then give Callie a disappointed one. As Owen starts to walk away she rolls her eyes.
“See you back at the party,” I say to Owen firmly.
“See ya there.” He nods and disappears, closing the door behind him.
Callie doesn’t move from her position leaning against the far wall. She has her arms crossed over her chest as a symbol of her annoyance.
“Are you drunk?” I can’t help but wonder aloud.
“I tried to sneak a beer—twice,” Callie explains unhappily. “Both times Wyatt caught me and took them away. He said if it happens again he’s going to lock me in Cole’s room until the party is over.”
I laugh and walk toward her. “Thank God for you Caplan girls. You make it a lot easier for us boys.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, with you sneaking alcohol—and boys,” I tell her and raise my eyebrows judgmentally, “and Jessie running away, my dad is probably more grateful than ever he has boys.”
“Jessie didn’t run away,” Callie replies in a sad but stern voice. “We know exactly where she is. She’s just… never coming back. Thanks to Jordan.”
I don’t say anything to that because there is nothing to say. I was in Brooklyn when most of the Jordan-Jessie drama unfolded and I still don’t have all the details. No one seems to want to talk about it. Jordan is miserable this summer—his first summer back from Quebec—and Jessie isn’t returning to Silver Bay for the summer. Rumor has it she’ll never come back here again.
I get back to the subject at hand. “Kaminski, Callie? Really?”
She shrugs and smiles a little self-consciously. It’s a rare moment to catch Callie Caplan insecure about something and it makes her more pretty than she normally is—which is very.
“He’s had a crush on me for years,” she tells me and shrugs again, letting her arms fall to her sides. “And he has no hope of being a professional hockey player now. Just a regular boob like the rest of us.”
“Is that a requirement for you?” I question as she pushes off the wall and walks closer to the tractor. “That they’re hockey failures? What are you, some kind of consolation prize?”
“Ha-ha,” she says sarcastically before she climbs the giant piece of machinery. She doesn’t sit, but leans forward, hands on the steering wheel, as she stands in front of the seat. “I just wouldn’t want to deal with the drama of dating a pro hockey player. All the away games, and cheating, and puck bunnies, and egos.”
I laugh and decide to climb up on the tractor with her. It’s weird to have to look up at her. “It’s not nearly as salacious as you think.”
She gives me a disbelieving stare and swipes my half-empty beer bottle from my hand, taking a swig. “Okay,” I admit. “It can be like that… but it doesn’t have to be like that. I’m not like that.”
I slip past her and drop down into the driver’s seat. She turns to face me and sits on the engine casing. She’s essentially straddling the engine, her bare legs dangling on either side. Her sundress is bunched up around the top of her thighs. She looks like a naughty girl from a country music video. It’s beyond hot.
“You’ve never banged a puck
bunny? Not once in the two years you’ve been pro?” Callie asks me skeptically.
“Every girl I’ve slept with, I’ve gone on actual dates with. No random hookups,” I explain with a shrug. “I want something real. Something that leads to something more than sex.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a chick.”
I smile lightly at that. “And you’re such a dude.”
She puts her hands on the metal engine casing in front of her and leans forward on them, her brown eyes staring right into mine. “You’re a catch, Devin Garrison. It’s such a shame you’re going to deny the world that.”
“What makes me a catch, my big paycheck?” I say, feeling sorry for myself.
Callie gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “I’m not going to lie, that’s a bonus to some girls because most twenty-one-year-old guys can’t afford a used car let alone much else. But screw the money. You’re good looking. You’re well raised. You’re built like a fucking Greek god and you’re a sweetheart when you aren’t so focused on overachieving… or cock-blocking my hookups.”
I laugh out loud at that. It echoes off the barn walls. She’s grinning widely. “What were you going to do, Callie? Bang him right here on the tractor?”
“No, but there’s nothing wrong with a little harmless groping on the tractor, is there?”
I smile despite myself and shake my head.
“Not all girls have to be about romance and soul mates and all that crap,” she contends, pulling her legs together to dangle off the front of the engine casing.
“How old are you again?”
“Eighteen.”
“How many guys have you been with already?”
Her big brown eyes flare in shock at that question and then she looks at the floor of the tractor, embarrassed. I feel like instant shit. “Contrary to popular belief, I’ve only had actual sex with one guy. Sure, I like to make out a lot, and maybe fool around, but there are tons of ways to get a guy off without being a total whore.”
Making a Play Page 22