Page 37 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
That relaxes me somewhat, so after a fast dance to “American Girl” when she suggests we go outside to cool off, I go more than willingly because I’m hot as heck. There’s plenty of other people out there to chaperone. Loosening my tie, I walk outside into the breezy night with her.
That was the last thing I should have done. Even as I go, I sense a warning twinge in my gut, warring with my head, my need to believe she’s okay because she’s Tim’s wife. But when she drags me off the terrace onto the lawn and out of range of the lighting, the warning is like a stab through my back as she wraps me in a clench and kisses me. Or tries to.
Since I outweigh her by a hundred fifty pounds of muscle, it’s easy enough to fend her off, holding her arms at her sides a foot away from me. Looking around quick, I don’t see anyone.
“What the hell, Tiff—?”
“A kiss for old times’ sake.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. Too late I see her tears, the set of her mouth. “Not even after all these years? You fuck your way through life with every woman on the planet and you can’t even spare a kiss for an old friend?”
I can’t even believe what I’m hearing, but more importantly I’m panicked that Tim or Chelsea might see us as I look back to the patio doors where we came outside.
“Don’t worry. No one will see us. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not theGossip Girl,” she says. I want to yell at her that she’s far worse, she’s fucking married. To a fucking friend of mine. Then she pulls from my arms and runs. Heaving a sigh, I take my time, decide I need a break before going back inside. Breathing deep and slow, drinking in the ocean air, I walk down to the water.
However long I’m there it doesn’t seem like long enough to escape my own filthy reputation, the aura that hangs over me, intruding and spoiling even the genuinely good times.
“This is the perfect place to hide.”
I spin around to see Chelsea holding her sandals with one hand and the hem of her long dress with the other as she comes up beside me.
“The moonlight seems brighter now that you’re here,” I say, knowing it sounds cheesy, but I can’t help myself because damn if it isn’t true. She laughs.
“That’s what they all say. Come up with something original O’Rourke.”
Whatever restraint I have snaps. Whether it’s the perfect beauty of her under the stars, or her sassy irreverence or the intoxicating combination of everything I know about her, it doesn’t matter. Closing in, I envelop her in my arms, bring her up against me where she fits like the missing piece to my puzzling life. And while I stare into her familiar, exciting green eyes, I lower my mouth onto hers.
The touch of her lips sparks every hormone in me to life, making my cock jump and balls tighten, causing a tumultuous spiraling of nerves leading to one place, that endless well of need and desire that has been dormant in me for weeks except for her. This woman makes me forget whatever else I was supposed to remember about why I’m not supposed to be out here kissing her, sliding my tongue over the velvety recesses of her mouth, pressing hard against her soft plump lips, pulling her hips against mine until my instant raging erection finds that irresistible valley between her legs like it’s found home.
Feeling her body against mine heats me, starts to make me forget the universe as my heart thuds out of control and my breathing gets ragged. Until a roar of applause from inside makes her jump away from me, breaking our kiss.
“Chelsea.” I keep hold of her, my eyes on hers, unwilling to push this aside, sweep our attraction under the rug as a mistake. I want to deal with it. I want to quench my thirst for her once and for all if she’ll let me. The answering desire in her eyes is obvious, but that was never the problem, was it? It’s the desire in her soul, that deep well of emotion in her that makes her dangerous, that makes her hands-off.
Letting go of her, I back away a step, take a deep drag of bracing ocean air.
“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got?” She keeps her eyes on mind in unmistakable challenge.
“You know I have far more than you can handle,” I say, stilling, my heart racing faster now than when she was in my arms.
“Who says? I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you can dish out. You afraid of me, O’Rourke?”
“Yes.” I smile. She laughs and comes back into my arms, wrapping me in hers, laying her head against my chest.
“Honesty. Now that’s the one thing I’m not sure I can handle,” she speaks into my jacket.
I clear my throat and dredge up some conscience. “We ought to get back inside. In case we’re missed.” She looks up at me, still holding on.
“No one cares about us, Ryan. We’re nobodies—at least not tonight. This night belongs to Levi and Maggs.”
“You’re right about that.” Hesitating, because I know what she’s saying, that if we go inside now people might notice and they shouldn’t be looking at us. The focus should stay on the bride and groom. Fuck. “How late is it?”
“Too late.” Her voice warbles, giving her words a deeper meaning, the kind that gets to my cock. Sliding my hands down her back to her ass, I pull her closer, keeping her face in my sights, testing her.
The way her lips part, the tiny sip of air she takes, the flaring of her eyes, all let me know she feels me, gets my message, the one my hard cock delivers loud and clear.
“I don’t have to tell you what time it is for me.” My voice rumbles with tension, banked passion, the kind I haven’t felt in eons. Maybe not since four years ago when I had her in my bed. That fucking disastrous night.
Then she smiles. And grinds her hips against mine, giving my cock the kind of encouragement it abso-fucking-lutely does not need.
“Jesus.” I let out a long breath, grit my teeth. Then I force my arms to let her go under heavy protest from everything in me but my conscience.
