Page 40 of He Has Charm

“No,” I say automatically.

“How are you going to stop her?” Chelsea says, worry wrinkling her brow. She’s a sweet woman. I can tell her concern is genuine.

“That’ll be tough especially without involving another woman, since you’re supposed to behave like a monk,” O’Rourke adds.

“I have an idea,” Zoey says. “First of all, we girls should go to the ladies’ room and then change seats when we get back.”

“Right,” I say.

“Then we can talk loudly about promotional opportunities,” she says.

“I know,” I say, “We can talk about our plan for a Mamma Regina promotion with Children’s Hospital and our upcoming visit.”

“Sounds great,” Chelsea says. I don’t look at Knight because I know making a big deal about him and the children’s hospital is his least favorite thing, in fact, a tough pill to swallow. But this is medicine for his own good.

“We can take our own photos here tonight and add our own commentary,” I say. “I’ll have Delaney put it up on the Brawlers’ official social media.”

“Good plan,” Rafe says.

“She’s good at her job,” O’Rourke says, nodding at me. Their approval gives me the vote of confidence to brave turning to Knight, who’s been quiet and getting tenser by the minute.

“You on board?” I ask, then I hold my breath.

“No choice, do I? We have to do something.” Then he lets out a sigh and gives me a lopsided smile, all crinkly and resigned and genuine as hell. “Saving your reputation is worth it,” he says quietly under the clatter for only me to hear. I could melt at those words, at the sincerity in them and the message that he’s sacrificing his actual fucking integrity for me. But I don’t melt. I order myself to freeze, to turn stone cold and businesslike because this is all about business, after all.

It’s all about his reputation too and it’s all his fault that we’re in this mess in the first place. Let’s not forget that important detail, Harper St. John. He’s got a bad boy reputation for a reason. Because he’s a bad boy. Do not believe he cares about you, at least not for more than the next few months. Until his reputation is rehabbed and he’s had a chance to finish the season and reestablish himself as a legit hockey player and not a joke. I stand.

“Time I visited the ladies’ room,” I say, looking at Zoey. She stands and we step away from the table. What I don’t expect is for Knight to stand and then to follow us. He hangs back at a respectable distance so I can’t turn and question him. Plus that would just draw attention. When I pass by Nora’s table I nod at her.

“Interesting to see you here, Ms. Olak. Switching to the food page for a change of pace?” She laughs and shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything, and Zoey laughs too. We disappear into the crowded ladies’ room and I lose track of Zoey. When I come out, I look around for her in the short corridor and don’t see her, so I step around a corner and take a look but all I see in the dimly lit space is the remnants of an old phone booth and what looks like a janitor’s closet.

When I turn to go back, I’m startled because my path is blocked by Maddox.

“What are you doing hiding in a dark hallway, Harper?” he says, coming closer and making the space feel even more closed in, almost intimate. But the bustling noise of the restaurant seeps in, reminding me we’re officially in public. I lick my suddenly dry lips. Must be the effects of the bourbon drink. His eyes hold my gaze as sure as if he’s cast a spell—if I believed in that spell-casting baloney—which I don’t. I clear my throat.

“I was looking for Zoey.” My voice is scratchy and parched and I lick my lips again. He watches my tongue. Damn. I close my mouth. He backs me up a step until I run against the janitor’s room door, the knob hitting my lower back. He rests his hands either side of my shoulders and moves so close I can hardly breathe. But when I do, his scent fills my nostrils and goes straight to my brain, setting off all kinds of small fires. When he opens his mouth to speak and his breath fans the small hairs near my ear, those small fires roar up into shooting flames.

“She went back to the table.” His voice shakes with tension. The muscle in his jaw tics.

“Why are you…?” I stop and think hard about what I want to ask while his eyes stay locked on mine. Then I go for broke. “Flirting with me?”

He sucks in a deep breath and blinks. “I don’t know, sugar buns. Habit when I’m around a pretty girl? Maybe because we’re in this trouble together, a team of two with the odds stacked.” His words are troubled and serious for a change and my heart thuds hard. I look away from his intensity, but he cups my chin and turns my head back to face him. “Maybe because of that spark of hidden passion in those green eyes of yours or because you’re sweet as sugar and you have the most tempting buns in a pinstripe—”

I stop believing him. “Stop it. You promised not to flirt.” I inject all the anger I have into my voice and he, of course, smiles. It’s one of those gotcha smiles.

“There’s that passion sparking.” I push at him but he only backs up a fraction. “Does flirting with you really count? I thought we agreed no flirting with puck bunnies. And you’re no puck bunny.” His admission, the smallest of compliments, feels real and sends my tummy on another roll, shaking up all the old butterflies from their dormancy.

“You promised not to touch.” I hear the weakness in my own voice because I could swear my breathy whine actually says please touch me.

“It was a rash promise. Besides, I don’t mean anything by this. I just need—"

“No.” Panic hits because I feel the excitement rise, the heat bubbling deep inside and spilling over into my panties. Shit. “You’ll get over it. Need is a strong word. A silly word. There’s no need—"

“Oh, there’s a need.” I hear it in his voice and instead of the panic rising to outrage, it dissolves under the power of his gorgeous intense blue eyes aimed at me like he’s christened me queen of the universe, the chosen one to receive all light and attention.

The clatter of dishes from not too far away snaps me back to reality. We’re in public, no matter if it seems otherwise. Someone could come around the corner any minute and find us. The panic must show in my eyes because he reads me like a book. Reaching down, he turns the knob of the door behind me and opens the it. Before I can blink away my surprise, I find myself backed into a closet and when he shuts the door behind us, we’re blanketed by near absolute darkness. Only the crack under the door lets in light.

“No need to worry about spies in here,” he says. “Because we need to have this talk.”