by G. K. Brady
Ellie laughed. “Don’t get excited. It’s pretty lame. Just something to open.”
With Christmas tunes in the background and the dogs nestled in the kitchen, he pulled the little bag from under the tree and handed it to her. “Open this.”
She took it from him. “Now?”
“Yes, now.” Along with his building excitement, he fought the smile threatening to break out.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and her eyes sparkled as she pulled the box out of the bag and carefully untied the satin bow. “What is it?”
“Open it!” he laughed. The look on her face made this as much a gift for him as for her—like a little kid getting his first hockey stick.
“Oster? What’s that?” She pulled off the pretty foil wrapping and carefully removed the lid. Then she stared at the tissue paper.
“There’s more in there,” he goaded. “It’s not just tissue paper.”
“I know.” With nimble fingers, she peeled back one flap of tissue, and he held his breath. Now the other flap, and her blue eyes went wide and … Shit! Shimmered with tears as she looked up at him. “This is beautiful!” she whispered. “Are you sure it’s for me?”
He swallowed, fighting down whatever was going on in his chest. “Of course it’s for you. See the leaves? It’s to replace the necklace you lost at Paige’s party.”
She brushed her fingertips reverently over the pieces. “Oh, I love them. They’re so pretty. And so, so delicate.”
Delicate, Sonoma had called it. Yeah, he owed his cousin big-time.
Ellie pulled out the necklace and draped it over her slight wrist. He held out his hand. “Want me to help you put it on?”
One tear slid down her cheek. “Oh, now the present I got you is even more lame.”
“Doesn’t matter.” You just gave me all the present I need. He took the necklace from her, and she lifted her hair and presented him the back of her neck. He clasped it on and smoothed it. “There.”
She turned and opened the top buttons of her sweater, her face lit with a smile. “How does it look?”
“Beautiful.”
After swapping the earrings he’d given her for the ones she was wearing, she swiped at her eyes and snatched a gift from under the tree. Cringing, she handed it to him. “I’m embarrassed.”
He chuckled and tore into it. “Don’t be.” A shoebox, and when he lifted the lid, he pulled out a pair of red fuzzy dice and a package with a hula girl holding a ukulele. “Perfect!” he laughed.
Ellie dropped her forehead in her hand and shook her head. When she raised her face to his, her cheeks glowed pink. “At least I got the girl whose hips swivel the most.”
He leaned forward, pulled her hand from her face, and kissed her. “I love these. They’re awesome.”
A sigh left her. “I got you something else. It’s at the bottom of the box.”
When he spotted an envelope, he opened it, confused about what he read.
“It’s an adoption certificate for a dog of your choice at the Dumb Friends League,” she explained before running on, a frantic quality to her voice. “I might have overstepped, but I just felt so bad about Benny. With the way you love on Casper, I thought you might like a pup of your own. And I’ve already spoken to Natalie; she’s totally down for pet-sitting when you’re on the road.” Now she really accelerated. “And if you don’t want a dog, I understand. The certificate can be donated back to the shelter so someone else can adopt one.” Bright, anxious eyes fixed on his, and that funny feeling that had been tightening in his chest moved to his throat and wedged there.
They sat facing each other, cross-legged. “Come here.” He wrapped his hand around her nape and pulled her to him so her forehead rested against his. “This is the nicest damn gift anyone’s ever given me,” he rasped. And he wasn’t lying.
He kissed her again, lingering this time. She opened, inviting him in, and he didn’t hesitate. The kiss deepened, and his tongue plunged in, tasting her while she tasted him, claiming her mouth as their arms wound around each other. So fucking sweet. Soon her fingers were tunneling in his hair, and she was tugging in that way that turned his blood into ribbons of heat.
She pulled back, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that mirrored his own. “Are we back to necking?” she teased.
More than necking, I hope. He drilled into her deep blue pools. “So I have this fantasy.”
One eyebrow, along with one side of her mouth, cocked. “Oh? Sounds interesting.”
“I got the necklace and earrings because they reminded me of you.” He paused to clear his throat. “But then I imagined you wearing them …”
Now the second eyebrow joined the first one near her hairline.
“… without anything else on.”
A knowing smile slowly spread over her face, and she rose up on her knees. “In this fantasy of yours, do I take my clothes off, or do you?”
Hell yes! “Oh, I think I do.”
Her hands fluttered down her sides and extended outward by her hips, as if she were presenting herself to him. Which, in fact, she was. “All yours.”
He rose to match her stance and began fumbling with the buttons of her sweater. Moments later, she was naked, the firelight and Christmas lights bathing her in a warm glow. The real Ellie in nothing but jewelry blew his fantasy girl to dust.
Merry Christmas to me.
She gave him that same knowing smile and stood boldly while his eyes took their time feasting on every inch of her. His hands followed, gliding over her, his heart galloping as her skin rose beneath his touch.
No one had ever affected him the way she did. She took his breath away, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever pull air into his lungs again.
Chapter 34
On the Road Again
Three days later, Dave was still riding a Christmas high when he woke up in his St. Paul, Minnesota, hotel room. In the other bed, Hadley was a snoozing lump. A morning skate, followed by a meal and a nap, and Dave would be ready for tonight’s game. The days off at Christmas had been welcome for so many reasons—the ache in his hand was nearly gone now—and he was raring for tonight’s game.
His phone blinked, and he picked it up and grinned. The other reasons he’d enjoyed the best Christmas he could remember since he was a kid had everything to do with the girl whose text he was reading. Casper, Benny, and me on the couch with popcorn tonight. Go, Grim Reaper!
Morning wood stirred, growing harder as his mind lingered on gorgeous, sexy Ellie.
Dave: What will you be wearing?
Ellie: Your necklace and earrings.
Now his cock was fully awake, and morning wood became morning rock. Naked?
Ellie: Lol. Might get a little cold.
Dave: Tell me you’ll wear the Xmas Eve outfit. That way if I get hit by a 100 mph slapshot, I’ll die happy.
Ellie: OK. I’ll be wearing your jewelry and nothing else.
Shit! Why exactly was he torturing himself? Because they were flying home after the game, and he’d be with her late tonight.
Dave: Send pix.
Ellie: No way!
Dave: I’m not a perv.
Ellie: Could’ve fooled me. Lol. How about I wear your fav outfit to bed? That way you get to see it when you wake me up.
Dave: Can’t wait. Might have to wake you up with my tongue. He added a few crazy-eyed, tongue-hanging-out emojis.
She replied with a string of puckered lips.
Stifling an inner groan, he glanced over at Quinn, who was still sound sleep. Thank fuck! If Dave hurried, he could commandeer the shower for a while, and God, did he need to commandeer the shower! As he went to put his phone down, he realized he’d missed another text. An urgent text. From Herb. He rose and made his way to the bathroom, skipping the shower and pulling on some gym clothes so he could find a private corner outside his room.
Minutes later, on the business level in a different part of the hotel, he hit Herb’s number.
Af
ter exchanging niceties about their Christmas celebrations, Herb began with, “Sorry to get you up so early, but I thought you might enjoy some good news. And I need something from you.”
“What’s the good news?”
“Arizona contacted me, and they are very interested. They want a call back from me within the hour with either a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down. Do you want to pursue a spot on their roster?”
Dave’s heart plummeted to his knees, which caught him completely off guard. “Why the hurry?”
“Rumor is you’re their top choice, but they have their eye on another defenseman if you pass, and they don’t want to miss the opportunity.”
Out of habit, Dave looked down at his hand. “Uh …”
“Oh, that’s not a good sound. It’s do-or-die time, buttercup.”
Shit!
Shit, shit, shit! This was Arizona, a club built to make repeat appearances in the finals for years to come, poised to win it all, maybe become a dynasty. For months, he’d imagined playing there, pictured how sweet it would be to hoist the Cup over his head and kiss it at the end of this season. Besides the team, there was the allure of the warm desert climate for his muscle cars, fantastic golf courses, a fresh start.
But no Ellie.
Wasn’t having Ellie long-term just a pipe dream he’d indulged this past week, though? She’d never move to Arizona. Hell, the best he had to offer a woman was his bank account and a slice of celebrity, and that hadn’t even been enough to hold Nicky. How the hell would it be enough for Ellie, whose soul ran as deep as the roots she planted in the ground? Besides, he liked being with her—okay, loved—and couldn’t get enough of her, but that was how he felt in casual mode. Enjoy-it-while-it-lasts mode. Han mode. What would happen if they shifted into something more permanent?
“Dave? You there?”
“Uh, yeah, Herb. Just a little shocked.”
“Understandable. Want to take five minutes and call me back?”
“No.” Dave swallowed. “No, I’m good. First, tell them thank you. Second, tell them … I’m in.”
“Will do. Make sure that hand’s a hundred percent.”
The call ended, and Dave ran his hand over his face, then parked his elbows on his thighs. Leaning forward, he hung his head and dragged cleansing breaths through his lungs. Shit, he could use a double shot of something right now. For a guy whose big dream was on the verge of coming true, why did he feel like he’d just sliced himself open?
The game was a bitch. Minnesota took it to them with whacks and cheap shots all night long, and they got away with them because the refs either weren’t looking or had swallowed their whistles.
Halfway through the third period, T.J. had just left the ice and Dave had just come back on when Minnesota’s enforcer, a big, ugly motherfucker, cross-checked Nelson in the mouth. The bastard had been harassing the Blizzard’s first-line center—and their other skilled players—all night. Dave wasn’t normally a hothead who stirred the pot. He also wasn’t a fighter—that was T.J.’s job—but he could fight, though his size usually deterred opponents from testing him.
Tonight, though, the sight of blood spewing from Nelson’s mouth—combined with the wasps buzzing in his stomach over the Arizona trade—flipped a switch inside Dave, and the gladiator took over.
Guys had come together, and the douchebag who’d hit Nelson was taunting him, even though Nelson was bent at the waist, his blood painting red circles on the ice like an ugly Rorschach test. Dave skated into the scrum to get the asshole away from his teammate and give him a nice little face wash with his stinky glove.
Douche shoved Dave across the chest with his stick and laughed. “Wanna taste of the lumber too, you big pussy?”
In a blink, Dave shook off his gloves and took hold of the guy’s jersey. Power surged. He was Thor in fucking Ragnarok, with lightning coursing through his body, shooting out of his eyes. He connected with a few quick punches and pulled Douche around like the sack of shit he was before throwing him to the ice and landing on him. Words were pouring out of his mouth, but he couldn’t remember what he said as he manhandled Douche—only the gratifying Holy shit! look in Douche’s eyes and the linesman pulling him off.
Douche never got the chance to take his gloves off—which should have cost Dave extra in penalty minutes if the refs’ whistles had been active—and as he and Douche skated to their respective penalty boxes, Dave taunted him with a jerk of his chin. “Afraid to ruin your manicure, you big pussy?”
Once he took a seat in the sin bin, Dave sobered. Shit. A five-minute major for fighting meant he was off the ice for half of the remaining period. That wouldn’t help his team one damn bit. The adrenalin ebbed, and his hand throbbed, screaming at him for throwing punches into meat and bone. Not totally healed here, dumbass, it seemed to say. Then everything around him sharpened, and he registered his teammates thumping their sticks against the boards in appreciation. Suddenly, his hand didn’t ache as much.
Neither team scored during the penalty, and when he finally made it back to his own bench, he looked around for Nelson, but he wasn’t there. The trainer shot Dave’s hand a concerned glance, but Dave shrugged it off. “How’s Nelsy?”
“Don’t know yet. They took him to the hospital to check him out.”
“Shit,” Dave muttered and took a seat, averting his gaze from the trainer. No way was he going to let anyone think he’d re-injured his hand, even if he had to grind his molars to dust if the trainers decided to manipulate it after the game. Nothing mattered but what was before him on the ice. His club was up by one, and he could smell sweet victory. His club deserved this win.
In the end, they earned it, beating their opponent by two goals when Minnesota pulled their goalie and Quinn fired in an empty-netter.
Back in the locker room, guys slapped him on the back of the head or fist-bumped him, which made him wince inside until he switched to his left. The right was a pulsing balloon, and he kept it tucked against himself as much as he could without anyone noticing.
“All right, boys,” he warned when they began cutting up. “Your alternate captain’s still getting his squash scanned. Yeah, it was a sweet win, but our boy made a huge sacrifice to help us earn that win. Don’t forget that.”
“Reaper’s right,” one of his teammates said.
“Listen to your captain,” another said.
And still more gave him nods or an “Okay, Grims.”
It dawned on him that they were circling around him—metaphorically speaking—giving him the respect they hadn’t shown in a long time, and Christ, did it feel good! It also dawned on him that he’d invited them in by not being such a pissed-off jackass every time one of them looked at him. Had it been that way all along and he’d simply been blind?
In front of his stall, he glanced down at his scuffed hand. Shit. If he’d done something more than aggravate the hand and Arizona found out, he was done.
Beside him, T.J. said in a low voice, “Nice fight. Better get some ice on that.”
Dave flexed the hand—or tried to—and whatever didn’t hurt like a mother was numb. “As soon as the medical staff is out of sight.”
“Did you re-injure it?”
“Nah. Just hurts a little, but you know what fucking ladies they are about this shit. ‘Ooh, did you hurt your poor little hand?’” Dave falsettoed.
T.J. chuckled. “They are looking out for you.”
True, damn it, but it’s not enough. A younger man’s body and a steady source of HGH, catabolic corticosteroids, and hydrocodone would have taken care of the nagging injury, keeping his pain tolerable, slashing his healing time by …
He pulled out his phone. After weeks of fence-sitting, he texted Bobby.
Ellie awoke, cold and alone, and blinked. The digital clock told her it was 6:11 a.m. Rolling to her side, she ran her hand over the cool, unruffled sheets beside her. The other pillow was undisturbed. Where was Dave? Panic welling inside her, she sat up and shivered, then shrugged her robe ove
r her bare shoulders and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.
One text at 3:48 a.m.: Wind delayed our flight. Heading to town house to sleep. Catch up with you later.
She stared at the screen. Not that long ago, he’d told her he slept better with her than without her. Add to that the fact she had Benny and her house was closer to the arena than his, and her mind began puzzling over the real reason he hadn’t come over.
“Stop it!” she grumbled to herself. “You’re reading too much into it.”
She swung her legs out of bed and stuffed her feet into fuzzy slippers. Off came the necklace and one earring—the other had fallen out during the night—and she hugged the robe around herself and stepped into the bathroom. Forty minutes later, she’d showered, dressed, eaten, and taken the dogs out for a brisk walk, but her phone remained devoid of new Dave messages. He’s exhausted. He’s sleeping. Then her mind leapt to the fight. He got hurt! That’s why he didn’t come over.
She had a morning meeting with Paige she needed to prepare for, so she tucked the phone away and headed for the office. She’d text Dave later to be sure he was okay.
“I’m leaving you two here in case Dave comes by, so stay out of trouble,” she warned the dogs. They wagged and smiled as if they couldn’t wait for her to leave.
Alone in her office, she was reviewing a landscape plan at her desk when a knock came at the front door. Too late to hide, she sucked in a breath, took slow steps to the front door, and unlocked it.
“Good morning.” Agent Rick Clemente raised one hand in greeting. In his other hand, he held a cardboard tray with two drinks. One, she knew, would be a skinny blonde vanilla latte—her favorite.
She held the door open. “Good morning, Agent. Come in.”
“Rick,” he admonished as he breezed past her. In his wake, he left a strong, spicy scent that tickled her nose and had her suppressing a sneeze. He deposited the tray on her desk and flashed her a white-toothed smile. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”