by G. K. Brady
All righty, then.
She and Dave looked up at the newly minted couple, then at each other. She was pretty sure the bemused look on his face mirrored her own. He blew out a breath. “What just happened?”
“No idea, but I think it’s safe to say we know what’s going on with those two now.” She paused a beat, trying to gauge his mood. “Are you okay with that?”
His gaze sweeping up the now-empty staircase, Dave rolled his big, broad shoulders. “It’s not my call. But she likes him, and he’s related to you, and you like him, so …”
“Meaning?”
He turned to her with a wide grin. “Meaning we should forget about them and go check out the hot tub.”
She blinked. Three times. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t bring a suit?”
“No. I thought this was a square dance, not a swimming party. They have a hot tub?” Of course they do!
“Several, I’m told.” Where there had been amusement in his eyes, there was now something far deeper, more intense. Verging on hungry. Suddenly, she was the puck on the ice once more, and he the determined defenseman trying to corral her. Why couldn’t she get that picture out of her head? Because the look he was giving her pulsed fire through her bloodstream, waking up parts of her that had been dormant far too long. As if he realized where he was and who he was with, the look shifted, like a cloud being torn from the sun. “Well, no one says you have to have a suit to get in the water,” he said on a wink.
She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and gave him her most scandalized look. “Maybe Wookiees don’t. They’re already covered in fur.”
He tilted his head and gave her that tummy-fluttering, devilish grin. Whatever thoughts lurked behind those twinkling hazel orbs stayed locked away.
Laughter—or was it a case of nerves?—bubbled up inside her. “But I’ll give you an A for trying.”
“So this means you will get in the hot tub with me?”
She shook her head.
Hands covering his heart, he rocked backward as if he’d taken a blow. “You’re killing me here.”
She struck a hands-on-waist pose, cocking a hip to the side. “You shock me, Mr. Reaper. Here I thought you were sooo serious, but I’m beginning to suspect you’re just a big flirt.”
“No”—he shook his head, the smile still plastered on his chiseled face—“just human and hopeful.”
His eyes glazed over with yet another look that struck a chord deep inside her. Hopeful was an apt description … and tender … and so full of promise and regret at the same time that seeing it made her heart ache.
With the very lightest of touches, he turned her toward the stairs and rested his fingers on the small of her back. “C’mon. I’ll walk you to your room, and I’ll get my stuff and myself out of your way.”
Though her head nodded agreement, the rest of her couldn’t help but be disappointed.
One bad idea after another. Dave was deflecting them all, or trying to, as he walked Ellie upstairs. They bombarded him relentlessly, every single one involving a replay of the kiss that had ended way too soon. His imagination had since added a shit ton more to the mix—and that was only the beginning. Kissing Ellie had been like trying to eat a single potato chip. He couldn’t stop at one.
She opened the door to her room and stepped through, flipping on a table lamp. Though it didn’t cast much light, a quick sweep of the small space revealed his bag at the foot of her bed. He stood frozen in the door frame, unsure what to do next. He couldn’t stay, but he didn’t want to go, especially as his gaze was captivated by the way her dress swung around her legs and clung to the curves he’d had his hands on just a short while ago. Curves he wanted to touch again. Explore. See. Taste.
“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” she said in a quiet voice, startling him from his lustful thoughts into new, even lustier thoughts. Her eyebrows were arched, her hand sweeping toward said bed as if she were a game show hostess presenting it to him. With her in it, apparently.
Yes! I’ll take what’s behind door number one as long as she comes with it! Wait. Different game. Just like this was a different game, and he couldn’t quite decide how to play it. He knew what he wanted to do. But that stupid Yoda voice was sighing at the wrongness of it. Dave was leaving Denver, and all he had to offer was casual, but nothing about Ellie was casual.
He eyed the bed skeptically. Could he sleep beside her without touching her? It couldn’t have been bigger than a wide twin, and while he suspected she intended the offer as a chaste one, all he could picture was her on top of him. Him on top of her. Every inch of her bare skin against his. No way was this a good plan. He shook his head to get his tongue working and blurted, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I snore.” WTF? He didn’t snore—that he knew of—so why was he telling her he did? Right. Yoda was in charge, damn it!
Her mouth wobbled, and a tiny “Oh” squeaked out.
Christ, he was doing a piss-poor job reading her cues and responding accordingly, not that he should be responding the way his body begged him to. With no finesse whatsoever, his dick stood up and hollered, “You’re killing us here!” God, I’m out of practice. His mind zoomed to lying beside her, and his dick throbbed in encouragement.
“Uh, what I meant was, you may be small, but I’m a big guy, and being squished together in that bed probably involves some touching.” Fuck! Could he have sounded any more like a dumbass? No.
She peeled off her jacket and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who said anything about not touching? We’ll sleep on our sides, back to back. No doubt parts of us will touch, but it’ll be minimal.”
Now his imagination—active little bastard that it was—leapt to just which parts would be touching. Yeah. No. “I’ll be fine on the couch.” Somewhere inside him, Han was weeping.
Before she could talk him out of his noble plan—which would have taken pathetically little—he snatched up his bag, scooted out the door, and ran down the stairs. The party had broken up, and the great room was dark and still—with the exception of one couple on his couch, doing what he wanted to do upstairs in that small bed. Shit! They hadn’t seen him yet, but they would if he made a break for the front door. With that escape route blocked, he wheeled for a different exit. Maybe he could flee through a back door and get to his truck. Yep, it was going to be one long, uncomfortable night, but no more so than sharing a bed with Ellie and not being able to touch her. Except certain parts.
When he reached a back door, he patted his pockets. Next, his jacket. No keys. He smacked his forehead. Because I left them in my room. Which room were they in now? Either one was off limits. With a sigh, he picked up his bag and marched back upstairs. Leaned against Ellie’s door and listened. No sound. He knocked quietly. The door whipped open so fast he nearly fell in. Hand on the knob, Ellie stood in the doorway in a cute pair of short PJs. Pink PJs. They were modest, the shorts not too short, but they were made out of shiny fabric that made him want to run his hands all over it. Not to mention the fabric clung and draped in a way that showcased her contours beautifully.
Turn and run!
“So?” She snapped him out of his lustful appraisal.
“Um, so the couch is occupied. I was going to sleep in the truck, but I left my keys in my original room. I was hoping they’d moved those too and I could—”
“You can’t sleep in your truck,” she clucked. “It’s cold, and the seats are stiff.”
“I thought you said the seats were comfortable.” The affront came out in his voice.
She waved him off and whisper-yelled, “If you’re too big for this bed, then you’re ten times too big for that truck.”
“You don’t like my truck?” Ladies, meet Dave Grimson, one incredibly smooth operator. Not.
A smile twitched her lips, and she stuffed her tongue in her cheek—probably to stifle a laugh. Yeah, he was being utterly ridiculous.
“Yes, Dave, I like your truck. It’s perfect for taking rid
es, but for sleeping? Not so much.”
Just take the damn bed, his cock blared.
“So you like my truck, but you don’t think I should sleep there?”
She two-fisted his shirt front, pulled him inside, and closed the door. And there she was, Miss Bossy, setting him ablaze like a campfire doused with lighter fluid. She pointed at the bed, which seemed to have shrunk since the last time he’d eyeballed it. “I’m going to bed,” she huffed. “I suggest you do the same.” With that, she slid under the covers, and turned on her side. Her cute ass faced the middle of the bed. That will be the part of her touching part of me. He groaned inside.
Maybe he could do this honorably. He unsnapped his shirt and sank onto the opposite side of the mattress. Pulling off his boots and socks, he deliberated how much more to strip off. She had on a top, shorts, and probably panties. If he left on his jeans and undershirt, his items of clothing would match hers. Why this mattered, he had no fucking clue, but it sounded like a solid plan. He tugged off his shirt and flung it, landing it on his bag, then heaved himself under the covers. The tiny mattress dipped drunkenly, and—Oh fuck!—pitched her on top of him. In a mad scramble, he shoved her off him, and she emitted a little squeak as she rolled over.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, repositioning himself so he took up as little room as possible … except now his front was right up against her back. His dick hoisted itself up and cheered. He gingerly rolled to his other side, inevitably rubbing her warm ass with his. He stilled. She scooted away, but there was no escaping it. There might have been an inch of space to spare, and it wasn’t enough to keep her heat from sinking into his skin despite the jeans and boxers he wore.
And her fragrance! Jesus, no escaping that either. Not that he wanted to. It surrounded him, laced its fresh-flower tendrils around him until it filled his nose and tickled his senses. Easing himself to very edge of the mattress, he threw one leg over its side. How long he lay like a log stuck in mud, he had no idea. Behind him, she seemed to ease, and soon she let out cute little sighing sleeping noises. She’d fallen asleep, and he finally relaxed and urged his mind to wander away from the kiss that had electricity forking through him.
Coming to the event hadn’t been high on his priority list. Hell, it hadn’t even made it to the bottom of his priority list. But surprisingly, he was having a damn good time reliving some of the fun from his childhood. But the real reason? Ellie. She was the difference-maker. He’d never been attracted to shy, reserved women before, but this one was changing all that. And honestly? She was neither shy nor reserved. More like alluringly mysterious. A woman with many layers he wanted to strip off, literally and figuratively. He’d caught a glimpse tonight of what was underneath that protective shell of hers when she’d let herself go. When she’d gotten caught up in the adventure, her joy had overflowed and been infectious. Enticing. Intoxicating.
Nicky wouldn’t have been caught dead at an event like this. No, he would have come alone. And if by some minor miracle she had come, she’d have spent the evening pouting until he’d been so miserable he would have caved and taken her home.
Such different women. What if he’d met Ellie before Nicole? Would he have been smart enough to recognize how rare she was and chase her? What would his life look like now if he’d caught her? He heaved out a sigh. No point in thinking about a life that wasn’t in his future. Denver would soon be in his rearview mirror.
His stream of consciousness detoured to his injuries and the doping. His sore hand healing at a glacial pace and how easily he could get himself sideways again. How complicated everything, including hockey, had become. Too much noise in his life covered up the music. How could he get back to where he’d been? Just happy to be playing. Happy hanging with friends and family. This career had a shelf life, and he was approaching the end of it. What would take its place?
Despite the philosophical musings running rampant, he somehow dropped off because when he regained consciousness, he was curled around Ellie, his hand resting on her hip and his thumb brushing the skin above the waistband of her PJs. He froze. Oh shit! She seemed fast asleep, her back rising and falling in long, even rhythms. One more touch. Just one. His thumb twitched back into action as if by itself, and his fingers decided to come aboard because … Jesus! Her skin was silk and velvet. In his pants, his cock grew fuller, ready to rally.
Her breathing stopped, and her entire body stiffened. “What are you doing?”
Thumb, fingers, and cock shrank back. He slid his hand off her and rolled to his other side, pretending he was asleep. At least his cock wouldn’t be prodding her and begging to come out and play. He’d explain in the morning. My hands always go wandering in the middle of the night, even when I’m not sleeping with anyone, and my fingers automatically stroke soft things … like sheets. Mom never could break me of the habit, though she tried. I wore out lots of sheets.
Behind him, he could feel her flip over too. “I know you’re not asleep,” she murmured.
“Sure I am.”
“Obviously.” A soft giggle escaped her.
He rolled back over, keeping his body on the edge of the mattress without somehow falling off. Moonlight through the window illuminated the smile curving her lips. Her elbow was propped up, holding her head, and her wavy hair draped her arm and pooled on her pillow. He grew even harder.
“Sorry,” he croaked. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I woke up just before you did and realized what I was doing. It was a mistake.”
One eyebrow dipped. “Touching me was a mistake?” Everything about her suddenly whispered in seductive, dulcet tones—soft, feminine, touchable. Difficult to resist. So yeah, touching her was a mistake, but not the kind of mistake she implied.
“Well, no. I mean, yes,” he rasped. “I mean, I didn’t mean to, but I was asleep.”
Her eyes darted to the dark ceiling. “So if you weren’t sleeping and you were touching me, would it feel different?” Her eyes found his and locked on.
Two beats went by. “Well, yeah, because I wouldn’t start at your stomach.”
Unmistakable heat shimmered in her eyes now. He was pretty damn sure the look in his own eyes mirrored hers but with more intensity. He wanted her. But stepping over the line was a bad, bad, bad idea.
Touch, you must not, Yoda warned.
“Where would you start?” she breathed.
Shut up, Yoda.
His body and mind warred as he traced the side of her face with his fingers, then glided his hand into her hair. “I’d start here.” He twined his fingers in her tresses, relishing the feel of the soft spirals twisted in his grasp.
She closed her eyes and let out a little moan that made his dick tap-dance. “That does feel different,” she whispered.
“Good different or bad different?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “It’s all good. What would you touch next?”
Oh my fucking God. And that’s when his body hip-checked good intentions out of the way and took over. Han had locked Yoda in a back compartment and was at the helm.
Unable to talk, he maneuvered instead until he cradled her face in both hands. It was so small that the tips of his fingers could stroke her hair. She watched intently from beneath her long lashes.
“Next”—his voice finally came back on board—“I’d use something besides my hands.” He brought his lips down to hers, gently, telling himself to go slow. But when she opened her mouth and invited him in, he didn’t hesitate. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, sweeping inside her warm, soft mouth with his tongue, savoring mint and wine and something indescribably delicious—her. She tasted even better than she had by the chiminea. Better than anything he’d ever tasted before.
Her tongue rolled over his languidly, as though trying to taste every bud, and a groan rose up in his throat. Smoldering kisses ignited and caught fire, and she let out a series of mewling noises. Soon his hands were moving down her back, under her slick satin top, over her silky skin. He dug his fingers into her sh
oulder blades and crushed her against him while their mouths dueled. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers plowing through his hair. Then she draped her leg over his hip, pulling herself closer, and he gripped her thigh, holding on as he began a slow grind against her.
Suddenly, she broke the kiss and peered at him.
Panic rose inside him. Please don’t make me stop. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head and smiled. His chest heaved against hers, and only the sound of their rapid, uneven breathing could be heard. His mind blanked, not knowing what to do next. That was, he knew what he wanted to do—and how to do it—but how far could he or should he go? He knew that answer too. Stop now before it’s too late.
Ellie tugged up the hem of his T-shirt, exploding his analysis paralysis into shards.
“Oh, right. Your turn to touch.” For fuck’s sake, could he sound any more idiotic? No, you couldn’t, his disgusted cock pulsed. At least we’re moving in the right direction now, it threw in as a grudging afterthought.
He helped her out by grabbing the back of his T-shirt and yanking it off the rest of the way. With aching tenderness, her fingers traced his lips, his jaw, his temple, outlining his shoulders, continuing her exploration of his collarbones and every spot on his chest. He closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him, let the goose bumps peak on his skin. When her hand glided to his abs, he opened his eyes and sucked in a breath.
She stopped. “Does that tickle?”
“Fuck no. Feels … really good,” he exhaled. “Keep going.”
And she did. With tortuous slowness, she first ran her fingers, then the flat of her palm over every muscle as if drawing them. He was so fascinated watching what she was doing, especially as she dipped dangerously close to his waistband, that he was caught off guard when her mouth landed softly at the base of his neck and followed the same languid path her fingers had just blazed. A groan rumbled through his chest, and he flopped onto his back, taking in every sweet thrill her mouth and hands bestowed on him. Throwing one hand over his eyes, he kept the other anchored in her hair. Her mouth kissed, nibbled, and licked, and her hand dropped to his crotch, where his cock rose to meet her touch. She skimmed over his erection, back and forth, the friction through his fly growing more intense. Fuuuuck!