Page 56 of He Has Charm

“We… what did we do, Knight? We can’t do this. We promised.”

I try to gather myself, to reassure her even as my gut sinks. My default to joking doesn’t seem appropriate, but it’s all I have.

“That promise doesn’t count, sugar buns. It was made under duress,” I say. I’ve watched just enough Law & Order to sound plausible. She laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. This time she shoves a little harder and I drop my hands from her, still close but not touching, a layer of shocking cool air between us.

“Be serious, Knight. When they fire our asses, all the technicalities in the world won’t matter,” she says, tossing the verbal equivalent of a bucket of cold water.

I back away a full step, leaving her orbit of sensual energy with a painful force of will.

“I wasn’t thinking, Maddox. I shouldn’t have let you, shouldn’t have wanted you so much. But now we’ve gone and broken the rules.” She’s on the verge of tears and I can’t let her cry, can’t let her take the blame.

“It was all my fault,” I say. “Your surprise was so spectacular and I have a funny way of showing my gratitude.” She snorts a half laugh and ends up crying.

“Don’t cry, Harper. Please don’t.” I take her back into my arms with no intention except to console her.

“This incident isn’t going to change anything. No one will ever know about our… ” I’m not sure what to call this besides sweet torture.

“Indiscretion?” she says, eyes wide and watery. I nod.

“This is between you and me. No one else.” I mean it. But at the same time I’m wondering how I can possibly not beg her to do this again? And again. And again. Into infinity.

She backs up toward the door.

“I need some space,” she says. Then she flees down the hall and my conscience takes a nosedive.

I have to make things right with her, but tomorrow morning I have to leave early for a road trip.

Fuck.

Eighteen

Maddox

It’s just as well that Harper and I didn’t see much of each other these past two weeks. Since I got back from the road trip, I’ve been staying extra late at practices, plus we had team photo sessions that Delany handled. She told Harper to stay home. The mission to not be seen in public together seems to have morphed into a mission to not see each other at all. I know I crossed the line, or rather we both did.

Things went too far. And yet I can’t make myself regret one second of seeing her passion unfurl in my arms. If anything I feel the opposite—I want more, I want all of her, every last ounce of her grit, her goodness, her poise, and her awkwardness. I want to feel her come apart under me and I want to be inside her, deep and completely, exploding while she crushes me with her clenching pussy. God, I am so not ready or fit to go out anywhere with Harper where I’m not allowed to look at her, let alone touch her.

Then there’s hockey.

Good news is the team is mostly winning and I keep scoring goals. According to the stats, I’ve scored in seventy-two percent of the games I’ve played with the Brawlers so far, though the sample size is too small to give the stat much credit.

Today, another Sunday closer to the playoffs, should be a free day, a day I could clear the air, settle things between me and Harper—meaning convince her to toss the fucking rules of the game over the boards once and for all and come to bed with me.

But no. We have a charity event for Rafe and Zoey’s foundation and I shouldn’t complain because it’s an awesome cause. So I’m lounging in some antique chair in the front parlor facing the entry hall, dressed in my suit and tie and waiting for the untouchable woman to appear so we can leave.

And then she appears and all hell breaks loose along every nerve ending in my body as if I’ve been fucking electrocuted.

“You look like a wet dream,” I say, knowing it’s an over-the-top comment just so I can get a rise out of her. She laughs. Maybe I’m losing my touch, but her laugh may as well be made of dynamite the way it explodes in my chest. I wonder if I’m too late to protect my heart.

“Too bad you have to keep your distance,” she says. Do I hear a wistful note? She pulls on a coat and heads for the door.

“You’re the one who has to keep your distance from me,” I say, rising from the chair, arranging myself in my pants to I can walk. She laughs again. No nervous ramble. She’s definitely used to me, resigned to our truce, our new distant friendship, which is mostly made of texting these days. And damned unsatisfying when I know there’s so much more, so much untapped potential between us, and not just the sexual kind. I’m in this hook, line, and sinker with her and I don’t know what the fuck that means for my life or what she’ll think about it, but it’s true.

We ride in silence with the O’Rourkes, and when we get to the event in some fancy-schmancy building in Boston, Harper practically runs the other way, disappearing into the crowd. If there’s any media here they won’t have any idea we’re together. Not that we are.

As for the warden role, she’s enlisted Finn, of all people, to keep a close watch on me and I go along because truthfully, none of the many pretty ladies here tempt me. None of them holds a candle to Harper. Which is damn inconvenient since she’s so much more than hard to get, and more dangerous than a broken contract.

I promised her I’d behave—I mean between us, that I’d stop flirting. Or that I’d try. Fuck. All I’m doing tonight is following her with my eyes and managing to be poor company to my teammates. There’s no danger of me initiating any flirting with any of the other women here tonight because I have less than zero interest. And I don’t need to worry about any of the them flirting with me because if any of them approach, they get redirected immediately by Finn. He’s whispering something in their ears. Probably telling them I have a communicable disease. I hope so. That’ll get me a very wide path.