Nothing but Trouble

by Rachel Gibson

  “I’ll try to remember.”

  But he didn’t. He didn’t even try. It was up to her to be the strong one and maintain a distance. She had to remind him that sliding his hand to the small of her back or up her thigh wasn’t work-appropriate. And touching her bottom during three-man hockey was definitely illegal contact. Not even when she fell on her butt. Later, after Derek left and the clock struck five, she let him kiss it better for her.

  During that whole week, she didn’t see very much of her sister. But she wasn’t surprised. That was how Bo operated. Whether it was a job or new boyfriend, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly. Most of the time her relationships ended in heartache. Chelsea had a good feeling about Jules, though. She had a feeling things would turn out all right. She wished she could say the same for herself.

  She didn’t know where her relationship with Mark would lead. It was so new and different and terrifying. Most terrifying of all, moving back to L.A. was losing its appeal. She didn’t want to be one of those women who gave up her dreams for a man. Her head and her heart were at war, and she was terrified that her heart was winning the battle.

  “I changed your ringtone,” she told him as they lay in bed watching Big Trouble in Little China. For a hockey player he was surprisingly good at remembering dialogue.

  He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed. “Trouble” by Pink played from her purse.

  “You’re trouble,” he said. “That’s for sure.”

  “You’re the trouble.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you showed up on my porch.” Once again, she wondered where this relationship would lead.

  The Saturday after the Stanley Cup party, Mark surprised her with tickets to Oklahoma! and her heart won a bit more ground. “Do you like musicals?”

  “Yeh.”

  What a liar.

  After the play, he brought her to his house. Instead of taking her to bed, though, he took her hand and led her through the dark house. He opened the pocket doors to the formal living room—empty except for the Stanley Cup sitting on the floor in the middle of the white carpet. A bottle of Dom Pérignon lay in the top of the cup, surrounded by ice, while the crystal chandelier shot prisms of light across the shiny silver.

  “Oh my God.” Chelsea moved toward the three-foot trophy. “You took your turn after all.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced about the empty room. “I thought there had to be a representative from the Hall of Fame with the cup at all times.”

  “Not at all times.” He moved behind her and wrapped his long arms around her waist. “All the other guys took the cup to strip clubs or sports bars. Walker took it to the top of the Space Needle, and Daniel drove around with it in his convertible. Every guy who has ever dreamed of winning the cup dreams about what he’s going to do with it. It’s time I lived mine.” He kissed the part in her hair. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to spray champagne on your naked body and make love to you in front of the cup.”

  “That’s the dream you’ve always had?”

  He shook his head, and his lips brushed the top of her head. “It’s better than the dream I had.”

  She reached for the zipper on the back of her sundress. Her heart swelled so big that her chest ached, and in that moment, standing in that room, she couldn’t remember one good reason why she would ever want to leave this man. Of all the people who deserved to share this moment with him, he wanted to share it with her.

  The dress slipped to the floor, and she stood in front of him in her bra, panties, and four-inch snake-skin sandals.

  “Leave the shoes on,” he said as he grabbed the bottle of champagne and took off the cage. “They turn me on.”

  As far as she could tell, everything turned him on. “You’re easy.”

  “And cheap too.”

  Hardly. She tossed her bra and underwear aside as he pushed the cork with his thumbs. “You’re going to make the carpet wet and sticky.”

  “I’m planning on making you wet and sticky.” With a soft pop the cork flew across the room and hit the closed drapes. A fine, gassy mist curled from the bottle’s mouth and a stream of foam followed. He raised the bottle to his lips and took several long swallows. “Close your eyes.”

  She did, and a cold mist of champagne hit her chest. It smelled of rose petals. “That’s cold,” she complained.

  “I’ll warm you up in a minute.” He lowered his mouth to her and kissed her as he poured the bottle over their heads. It ran over her closed eyes and the side of her face. The contrast of cold champagne and his hot mouth tightened her nipples, and desire pooled between her thighs. He tossed the empty bottle aside and ran his hands and mouth over her wet, sticky body.

  His touch seemed different somehow. Lighter, and he lingered over each erogenous zone. He took his time, in no hurry to get the job done. Even when she tore at his clothes until he was as naked as she, he licked her shoulder and the side of her neck. He slid his mouth across her breasts to her belly, then he laid her down at the foot of the Stanley Cup. Prisms of light shot across her breasts and belly and the side of his face. He lifted his lips from her hip.

  “Are you taking birth control?”

  She knew why he asked, and the thought of hot skin on hot skin almost sent her over the edge. “I had my yearly exam and three-month Depo shot just before I moved up here. I’m clean as a virgin.”

  He smiled. “After my accident, I had every test on the planet. I’m clean, but I’m not quite a virgin.” He moved until his face was just above hers. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes. Do you trust me?”

  Instead of answering, he slid into her body, hot flesh against hot flesh. So good, she groaned. “Oh God.”

  He held her face between his palms and stared into her face. “You and the cup,” he said. “Two of my biggest fantasies.” He kissed the tip of her nose as he slowly moved his hips, driving into her and pushing her to the sweetest ecstasy of her life. Her whole body responded to his touch, catching fire and burning out of control. He drove into her, over and over. Hurling her toward climax. At the point of impact, her heart and soul shattered and she called out his name.

  And when it was over, he took her hand and washed her in the shower. His touch was gentler than before. Gentler than it had ever been. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” She dried his back and shoulders. “I’m just shocked you wanted to share this night with me.”

  “Who else?” He took the big fluffy towel from her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You stayed with me when I tried to make you go.” He looked down into her eyes. “That means something to me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it means you’re stubborn.” He pushed a wet hunk of her hair behind her ear. “Or maybe that you like broken-down hockey players.”

  She should tell him about the ten-thousand bonus. His thumb brushed her jaw, and his eyes turned a rich velvet brown. “You’re not broken down.” Now. She should tell him now. She opened her mouth, and something else came out instead. “You needed me.” And maybe she needed him just a little bit too.

  “I still need you.”

  She closed her eyes against the pinch in the backs of her eyes and the pain in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she’d do the unthinkable. If she wasn’t careful, she might fall in love with Mark Bressler. And that would be bad. She was leaving, and falling in love would be really bad. So bad she’d have to guard against it.

  And she did. Right up until the morning that he insisted on driving her to her doctor’s appointment. He sat in the waiting room reading a golf magazine while she had her consultation with the plastic surgeon, and on the drive home, he waited for her to tell him what she’d learned.

  “The doctor said I will probably lose sensitivity,” she said as they drove across the floating bridge. Now that she knew more of the risks, she was a little scared.

  “Fo
r how long?”

  She shrugged. “Could last six to twelve months. Could be permanent.” She’d known about the side effects and risks, but hearing them from the doctor had made them very real.

  From behind his sunglasses, Mark looked across the car at her.

  “I might not be able to nurse a child.” She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. Knowing all that, she still wanted to do it. She glanced up at his profile. “My family is going to freak out,” she said, but what she really wanted to know was what Mark thought. She was too afraid to ask him. Too afraid he could get her to change her mind.

  Silence stretched between them for several long moments before he said, “I love your body. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” He reached for her, and she fully expected him to tell her that he agreed with her family. “But if you’re not happy with the size of your breasts, do something about it.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Do what’s going to make you happy.”

  That’s when it happened. Her heart swelled up into her throat. The backs of her eyes burned, and she fell in love with Mark Bressler right there on the first exit to Medina. Fell in love with him so hard and fast it took her breath away. Fell in love even when she knew better.

  The third Monday in August, Mark jumped in his Mercedes and headed to the Chinooks’ head offices. They’d set up an appointment to talk about the assistant coach position, and he wasn’t as adamant against it as he had been a few months ago. In fact, he was starting to warm to the idea. No harm in listening to what they had to say.

  He pulled out of the driveway and headed toward downtown Seattle. He needed a job. Lying around and doing nothing was driving him insane. He needed something to do, other than wonder how he was going to change Chelsea’s mind about her no-sex-at-work policy.

  Which was bullshit. He’d only agreed because he figured he could change her mind. But she’d never budged from her position. Not the first week or the second week either. Not even when they’d been driving back from viewing a property in the Queen Anne district and he’d reached over and slid his hand up her bare thigh. He’d slipped his fingers inside her panties and she’d been slick and half ready. She’d let him touch her for a few brief moments before she’d pushed his hand away. Leaving him hard and fully ready. He’d fought an erection for the rest of the day, until, at five o’clock, she’d found him in the garage, putting away Derek’s stick and a few pucks. “I’m off work now,” she’d said, and practically launched herself at him. She’d torn at his pants. He’d bent her over the hood of the Mercedes, flipped up her little skirt, and entered her from behind. It had been down and dirty. Quick and raunchy.

  And sweet.

  But not nearly as sweet as the night she’d let him make love to her at the foot of the Stanley Cup. He’d had sex with a lot of women in his life. He’d had sex with her too, but that night had been different. He’d felt as if every cell in his body exploded. He’d felt blown apart, and when he’d come back together, he’d been changed. The way he looked at his life. And the way he looked at her.

  He couldn’t say that he was in love with Chelsea. The kind that came with a big diamond and wedding vows. He’d been in love like that before, but this felt different. This was easy, comfortable, like sliding into a warm pool of water as opposed to a jet tub.

  No, he couldn’t say that he loved her, but he did miss her when she left. Missed the sound of her voice and her clunky shoes on his tile floors.

  He liked being with her. He liked talking to her and making her laugh. He liked the twists and turns of her mind and her sense of humor. He liked that she thought she was impulsive when she was clearly in control of everything around her. He liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way. He especially liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way with him.

  No, he didn’t like that about her. He loved that about her. He loved the way she touched him and kissed him and took control. He loved what she did with her hands and mouth and the breathy little sounds she made when he touched her. He loved looking into her face when he was deep inside her small body. The way the determination in her eyes grew heavy, drugged, as he drove into her. And he absolutely loved the tight contractions of her vaginal walls that squeezed and gripped him hard, pulling an orgasm from the pit of his soul.

  When he thought back to the day she’d first arrived on his porch, he was glad that the stubborn determination that had once annoyed the hell out of him when he’d tried to get rid of her was the same determination that had made her stay. God knew she could probably get a better job. One that might pay better too.

  He was not the man he used to be eight months ago. He was not a superstar hockey player. He didn’t live large. Sportswriters were no longer interested in him, and multimillion-dollar endorsement offers had dried up. He was a broken-down former athlete who woke with sore muscles and needed a cane about half the time.

  He drove into the parking garage and parked next to the elevator. Chelsea didn’t seem to mind. She made him feel alive again. Like a man, but it was more than just sex. If that’s all it was about, any woman would do. It was the way she looked at him. As if she didn’t see his scars and broken life. She’d stuck with him when others had walked away. He didn’t know why she’d stayed. He just thanked God that she was still in his life.

  It had been two months since he’d been at the Key. Eight months since his last game. He’d scored a hat trick that night against the Penguins. He’d thought his life was golden. He’d been on top of the world.

  He took the elevator to the second floor. Shit happened. Life changed. Time to move ahead and not wallow in the past. The doors opened, and Connie Backus, manager in the benefits and compensation department, stood on the other side. He knew Connie from his numerous run-ins with her over the home health care workers.

  “Hello, Mark.”

  He held the door open for her. “Hi, Connie.”

  “You look good,” she told him, and flattened an armful of folders against her chest.

  “Thank you. I finally feel good.”

  “I spoke with Chelsea Ross the other day. She said the two of you are getting along.”

  She could say that. “Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good. We were a little concerned when we saw her wearing a man’s jacket at the cup party a few weeks ago. We thought it might be yours.”

  He glanced at his watch. He was already two minutes late. “It was. She got cold. No big deal.”

  “Good.” Connie stepped inside the elevator, and Mark lowered his hand. “We’d hate to think she was trying to earn that bonus money in other ways.” Connie punched a button and laughed like they were in on some joke.

  The doors started to close and he raised his hands and pushed them back open. “What bonus?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Chelsea sat at Mark’s desk, bored and answering e-mails while he was at some big meeting at the Chinooks’ offices. He hadn’t told her what the meeting was about, and she didn’t have any idea when he’d return. She leaned her head back and glanced up at the different photographs and posters of him on the walls. Her gaze settled on the picture of him holding the puck with “500” written across it. A few days ago, he’d told her it was the puck that had scored the five hundredth goal of his career. She’d smiled like she’d understood the importance of that, and he laughed because she didn’t have a clue.

  “That’s one of the things I like about you,” he’d said. “You’re not impressed by money and fame.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She’d thought about the bonus. She’d thought maybe she should tell him about it, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not while he was talking about her not being impressed with money. “I’d love to be so famous that movie roles are written just for me,” she told him instead.

  “That’s different. That’s being motivated by what you love to do, not by the money and fame that it might bring. I know a lot of guys who’ve c
hased money and fame when they should have been concentrating on playing better hockey.”

  She’d looked around his house. “You were never motivated by money?”

  He’d shrugged. “Maybe a little in the beginning. But it was usually a mistake.”

  Money had motivated her in the beginning, but she couldn’t call it a mistake. Not now. She’d fallen in love with him and there was no going back.

  She rose to her feet and walked toward the photo. She moved through a sliver of light pouring through the closed drapes, and she raised a hand to the cool glass. She looked into Mark’s smiling face and smiled herself.

  Her fingers slid across the smooth surface, and her whole body felt alive, happy. There was no going back to those days when she thought he was a colossal tool. Too late. She loved everything about him. She loved the sound of his voice and his laughter. She loved the way he smelled and the touch of his hand on her arm or the small of her back. She loved how she felt when he looked at her or simply walked into a room. She loved that his hard shell contained a soft heart.

  She didn’t know how he felt about her, though. Oh, she figured he liked her. Of all the people with whom he could have chosen to share his night with the cup, he’d chosen her. But like wasn’t love. She knew he liked having sex with her, but sex wasn’t a commitment.

  She lowered her hand to her side. Fear knotted her stomach just below her happy heart. She was giving serious thought to changing her whole life for a man who liked her. She’d never changed for a man, and she ran through a mental list of all the reasons why staying in Seattle was a good plan. Reasons that had nothing to do with Mark.

  She liked Seattle. She liked the feel of it and she liked the cooler weather. She liked being close to her sister and she liked the few local commercials she’d acted in. Maybe she’d try out again for a role in local theater.

  Not Oklahoma! though. She couldn’t sing, and Mark clearly hated musicals. She smiled, but her amusement was short-lived. She had to tell him about the bonus. It had been weighing on her mind, and she knew she had to tell him. Hopefully, once she explained it, it wouldn’t be a big deal. The money had nothing to do with her feelings for Mark. She’d agreed to the bonus before she’d even met him. She’d fallen for him despite her attempts not to, but lately the money had begun to feel like a deep secret she was keeping from him.