Moo Goo Gai Pan be damned. She wasn’t in any hurry.
“I love you,” she said quietly, carding her fingers through his hair, watching his eyes change to liquid chocolate.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “I love you, too.”
Their lips met, their tongues exploring as though they’d never done it before. As though they had all the time in the world. She cupped his face in her hands, holding him close, treasuring how he pressed her into the mattress. She locked her legs around him.
His body fit hers perfectly. She loved his texture. His taste. His scent. His ridiculous fat lip.
He shifted away and she brought her knees higher, opening herself to him, groaning long and loud as he eased into her body. Slowly. Carefully. He fit here, too, stretching her, his length filling her as he settled deep. Within a few strokes, it would be different, but as they sank into another kiss, it was as though they’d been made for just this. Exactly.
She didn’t urge him on, happy to be wrapped around him, joined to him, content to hold him like this forever. She skimmed her palms down his back, into the dip at his waist, and drew her fingers over the swell of his buttocks. She wallowed in the touch of smooth skin, firm muscle, and the rising heat from his body. He eased from her and her breath stuttered, gusting over his chest. His long, slow glide back into her core was so delicious, goosebumps broke out across her body.
“Garrick,” she sighed, looking up into his beautiful face. She couldn’t form words to tell him what she wanted.
He didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on hers, his gaze narrow as he shuddered above her.
“Do you feel that?” she asked, unsure how to articulate the depth. The intimacy.
He nodded, stroking, never looking away. She arched beneath him, unable to hold still, her need to be close to him driving her up off the bed and against him.
His strokes picked up speed, the friction unbearably sweet, the power of each thrust lifting her higher. Closer. She brought his face to hers for another kiss and squeezed her eyes shut, moaning into his mouth as he shifted his weight, his knees wider on the bed, his thrusts gathering power. The rock of their bodies, the taste of his tongue on hers, took her to the teetering edge.
The need became too great, their ability to coordinate lips and tongues lost to the maelstrom of passion. They pressed their faces close and gasped, his breath hot against her skin, her moans muffled against his. He was murmuring. Soft words she could barely decipher. Except one.
Love.
Her orgasm rolled up and over her, bowing her spine, drawing a cry from her lips, her chest, her heart, as she arched beneath him. She clung to him as his hips lost their rhythm and kicked in sharp circles.
He sighed her name against her neck as each jerk of his body filled her with his warmth.
With his next breath, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them to the side. She curled against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting over his racing heart.
She wanted to tell him again she loved him. That she’d never made love to another man until that night. Not really. Not as she understood it now.
Her stomach chose that moment to make a noise unlike anything she’d ever heard before. Then the doorbell rang.
Garrick chuckled and leaped from the bed, tugging on his jeans rather than retrieving the Moo Goo Gai Pan in the altogether. Savannah lay like a puddle in the middle of the bed. Happy. And content.
She wasn’t worried she hadn’t had a chance to say what she’d been thinking. She’d have a lifetime to tell Garrick what he meant to her.
Two Man Advantage
Hat Trick Book Two
Samantha Wayland
Dedication
For Victoria Morgan - coach, therapist, artist, author, and most importantly, dear friend. Thank you.
Acknowledgements
As always, I must thank my beloved husband, who does everything in his power to see I have the time, space, energy, and quiet needed to write my stories.
Many thanks also to Victoria Morgan, Penny Watson, Bobbi Ruggiero, and Stephanie Kay for their support and friendship. Thanks to Dalton Diaz for still being my rock. And to Serena Bell, who makes me think harder and write better.
To my friend Meghan Miller, for her patience and humor. I can’t imagine looking forward to edits more than I look forward to hers. I don’t always take her advice (no his voice did not sound like bananas moving over velvet) but there is no doubt my stories wouldn’t be the same without her valuable input. Also, she’s awesome and super pretty.
Chapter One
Garrick bolted upright in bed. “I’m sorry, can you please repeat that? Because I’m abso-fucking-lutely certain I heard you wrong.”
Savannah’s husky laugh buzzed down the phone line. If Garrick’s mouth hadn’t been gaping open with shock, he’d have smiled at the sinful delight in her chuckle.
“You heard me just fine, Garrick.”
That might be true, but he still couldn’t make sense of it. They were in the midst of their nightly phone call, a practice they’d started since Savannah had left for Boston a few weeks before—leaving him several hundred miles away in Moncton, New Brunswick. As often happened, the conversation had turned to sex. Phone sex.
It wasn’t the same as the real thing. At all. But it was all they had until he could move to Boston.
Garrick swallowed. “I’m pretty sure you just suggested I should go find a boyfriend.”
“Hmm…” Savannah purred thoughtfully. “Maybe not a boyfriend.”
“I should think not.”
“But a lover. A male lover.”
He was speechless.
“Garrick?”
“Really?”
She laughed. “Yes, really.”
He didn’t know what to say. He still wasn’t sure he understood. “But I’m in love with you.”
“I know. But you’re horny, and you haven’t been with a man in over a decade, and well…”
He gripped the phone tighter, afraid of what might come next.
“…I thought it would be hot. You know. Because then you could tell me about it.”
A genuine, if somewhat hysterical, laugh burst from Garrick. He was well aware of Savannah’s kink for hearing about his past exploits with men. But those were in the past. Savannah was his future. Unless…
“Does this mean things have changed? That you don’t want…” He couldn’t finish the question, trying and utterly failing to sound neutral.
“No, Garrick. Not at all. Nothing has changed, I promise.”
Relief loosened his death grip on the phone. “Okay, so this is just…”
“Fun. I hope. Or that was the idea.”
“Oh.”
Savannah sighed. “Garrick, I love you. I trust you. I know we’re together. But I don’t believe absolute monogamy is required. We’re committed to each other and I want to you have what you want. What you need.”
“But what about you? My needs don’t trump yours.”
“You’ll be meeting both our needs. Look, you like having sex with men. And I really like hearing about it. It’s not more complicated than that. Or I don’t mean for it to be. Phone sex is great for me, and I have this veritable treasure trove of battery-powered goodies you shipped me off to the States with. I’m more than content. You’re not.”
“I am,” he said quickly. And it was true. Of course—hell yes—he’d be happier in Boston with her, but they had a few months to go before he could make the move. In the meantime, jacking off, even during phone sex with Savannah, was definitely not doing more than taking the edge off.
“You’re not, Garrick. I know you’d never cheat and you’d willingly live like a monk until we’re together again. But I want you to be more than content. I want you to have fun. I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
Savannah growled. “Are you being purposely obtuse or does the idea really repulse you?”
“I’m being unintentionally
obtuse, if that’s possible.” He lay back on his bed, relaxing into the pillows for the first time since Savannah had dropped her bomb. “And I’m still not sure what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it. And then promise you won’t agree unless you’re sure. I don’t mean to pressure you into anything. It was just…an idea, I guess.”
“No,” he said. “I mean, no, don’t feel bad. It’s an interesting idea.”
“Interesting?” she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice.
He rubbed a hand over his naked belly and stretched out his legs, letting them fall open. “Yeah, interesting.”
“Think about it, Garrick. A man. Remember how it was with David? How different it felt? How much stronger, bigger, thicker your lover would feel?”
He hummed and closed his eyes. Savannah was shamelessly pushing all his buttons.
God, he loved her.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am,” he admitted. He wrapped his hand around his growing erection. His blood flowed thick and hot, his body flushing warm.
“Do you have someone in mind?”
An image, a face, popped into his mind. He squashed it. That was madness. “No. Maybe.”
Savannah laughed. “You don’t have to tell me now. I can wait.”
God, he couldn’t. He bent his knees, spreading them. His hand took on a steady rhythm.
“But you do have to tell me,” she said. “Everything. In detail.”
Garrick groaned and rubbed his palm over the head of his erection. She was killing him.
“Now, where were we?” she murmured, and with a moan, dragged them both back into the vividly detailed fantasy she’d been whispering in his ear not ten minutes before.
Only now, try as he might, his lover had a face.
Rhian dodged to the right, trying not to jostle the people packed around him in the crowded bar. He wasn’t big on being touched in any circumstances, but if Deena succeeding in touching his face, he might have to go home and shower.
Everyone knew Deena was working her way through the team, each player another notch on her bedpost. She’d worked hard to earn her puck bunny status and appeared to revel in it, which was cool, but Rhian had no interest in being a part of that. He was all for the occasional discreet casual encounter, but that wasn’t what Deena offered.
When she leaned in again, he grabbed her wrist.
“Ree-in, what’s wrong?”
Rhian sighed. “It’s Rhian.”
“What?”
“My name is Rhian. Pronounced RYE-in. Like Nolan Ryan?”
“Who?”
“Ryan O’Neal?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ryan Seacrest?”
“Oh! I get it!”
He sincerely doubted that. Why the fuck had he come here tonight?
Deena tugged against his grip, but he didn’t let go until he was sure she wouldn’t try to molest him again. She rubbed her wrist as if he’d hurt her, gazing up at him with a wounded expression.
He didn’t buy it for a second. “Please don’t touch me,” he said, the words polite—the tone, not so much.
Deena’s gaze narrowed, and if anything, she looked even more determined.
God help me. Figuring divine intervention was a long shot, he searched the bar for help. He found Dave Chambers and Chris Kimball in one corner, flirting with a couple of women he’d never seen before, while Tim Robineau bickered at the bar with the latest in a long and painful line of poorly chosen girlfriends. In other words, situation normal.
Rhian used to count on Garrick to run interference on the rare occasion this sort of shit happened, but Garrick had all but disappeared since Savannah had moved to Boston. It didn’t seem like Garrick’s style to mope, but the man had been MIA for weeks, except at the gym and on the ice.
Then again, what the hell did Rhian know about being in love?
He was about to give up on finding a wingman, when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He did a double-take. A man was working his way through the crush of bodies. He smiled and waved when he caught Rhian’s gaze.
“Rhian! Hi!”
“Steve?” Rhian barely checked the instinct to back away.
“Yeah, hey. How are you?”
“I’m…uh…I’m great. Wow. What are you doing here?”
Rhian wasn’t just asking for kicks. He’d last seen Steve in Chicago, what felt like a lifetime ago. A lifetime Rhian had cheerfully left behind.
Deena watched their exchange with interest, eyeing Steve like he was a hunk of filet mignon and she’d had nothing but Kraft dinner for a month.
“I came to see you, buddy!” Steve cried, as if of course, and wasn’t this great news?
Rhian blinked. “You did?”
“Sure!” Steve turned to smile at Deena. “And who is this lovely creature?”
She sidled closer to Steve. “I’m Deena,” she said, her voice far huskier than it had been not thirty seconds before.
“Steve.” He took her hand and didn’t let go.
If Deena’s slow smile was anything to go by, she was charmed. “And how do you know Rhian?”
At least she pronounced my name right this time, he thought sourly.
“I’m his brother,” Steve said.
Rhian’s jaw almost hit the floor. “You are not my brother.”
Steve stuck his chin out. “We’re family.”
“I have no family.” The bald truth was out of Rhian’s mouth before he had time to consider the wisdom of airing his dirty laundry to Deena or anyone else. Christ, he was surrounded by teammates, fans, and friends.
Deena’s eyebrows climbed way up as she looked back and forth between them, eventually settling on Steve. “You’ll have to excuse him. He was in a nasty mood before you arrived.”
Rhian wrestled with his burning desire to flee and slapped on a bright smile. “Deena, why don’t we go to the bar and get another round?”
She shot him a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. He couldn’t blame her. Still smiling, he moved to take her elbow, but Steve stepped between them.
“No, please, allow me,” he offered, settling his hand on the small of her back. “Unless Rhian has any objection?”
Deena shot Rhian a scathing glare and looped her arm through Steve’s. “Hardly,” she drawled. “And it wouldn’t matter if he did.”
Steve turned back to Rhian with a wide grin. “See you around, bud?”
Not if I see you first.
Rhian managed to nod once.
As soon as Deena turned away, Steve winked and mouthed, you’re welcome.
Rhian’s gut churned as Deena and Steve fought their way to the bar through the crush of people. Steve showing up out of nowhere couldn’t be anything but trouble. The guy was a shitstorm magnet. Hell, it had to be a miracle he wasn’t in prison by now. When they’d parted ways at age eighteen, Steve had seemed bound and determined to join his old man in the Illinois State Penitentiary system.
Maybe Steve had just been released? Which would mean he probably shouldn’t be in Canada. Either way, Rhian wanted nothing to do with any of it.
The bright chirp of Deena’s voice carried over the rumble of the crowd and the music pumping from the speakers. She appeared to be having a great time. She was an adult. There was little Rhian could do, in any case.
This night had started poorly and gone steadily downhill since.
Rhian grabbed his coat and left.
Chapter Two
Garrick sat at the desk in his study and stared balefully at the mountains of paperwork surrounding him.
How the fuck was he going to keep up with all of this?
In a few short weeks, he would be part-owner of the Moncton Ice Cats. He had spent the last twelve years playing for his hometown’s EHL hockey team, but that would all change when the league approved the deal put forward by himself, two of Savannah’s brothers—both NHL players—and the previous owner, the notorio
usly reclusive, Edwin “Reese” Lamont. Until then, the identity of the stakeholders in their new corporation—except Lamont—was being kept secret, so on the remote chance the deal fell through, they could walk away without anyone being the wiser.
In the meantime, Garrick was trapped in a delicate and uncomfortable game of balancing his responsibilities as a forward on the ice and a paper-pushing desk jockey off it.
For years he’d dreaded what would become of his life once he left the ice. Now he was practically counting the minutes. He’d already convinced their coach, Rick, to bump down his minutes. The result wasn’t a lot responsibility to the team, but it took off some of the pressure. Sort of.
Yeah, no pressure at all.
He surveyed the piles of folders and randomly grabbed one.
Reese’s personal assistant was a compulsive organizer. Everything she sent over was in a color-coded folder. Inside these, there were often a host of sticky flags of various colors to indicate a litany of things Garrick was meant to review, act on, read about, or god only knew what. Because really, what was the point of this maniacal system if no one bothered to explain it to him? None.
He flipped open the plain manila folder. It wasn’t one of the countless documents sent over by Reese, but one that Mark, the team’s departing manager, had passed off. It was the team roster, along with recommendations on what to do about that roster.
Garrick slapped the folder closed and shoved it in a drawer.
He’d been looking forward to being an owner and helping to craft a new team from the Ice Cats’ solid foundation. He’d somehow blithely ignored that he would be on point to make decisions that would make and break people’s careers. And that some of those people would be his friends.
He picked up the next folder and was relieved to find nothing more controversial than the bids for the proposed construction at the arena. First, some remodeling for the concessions vendors. Then later, over the summer, serious changes to the rink itself, including the ability to lay down parquet to host basketball games and other events.
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