Page 36 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Nothing. It’s okay,” I manage to squeak out, not looking at him.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Aiden. But I’m kidding myself, aren’t I? Because I’m so much more worried about hurting myself. Aiden isn’t going to be hurt if I push him away, if I tell him to hit the road.
Right after he rescues me from a hurricane and gets me home safe and sound, right after he’s rocked my world with his passion and fucking awesomeness in bed. Right after he makes me feel warm and protected, makes me laugh, impresses me with his resourcefulness and intelligence. Right after he shows me his fucking serious side.
There’s a lull in the rolling boat and I take a deep breath. The salty air that usually cleanses me, assaults my sensitive stomach and I clench my muscles. No not again.
He circles his big warm hand on my back and I settle down. Splashing water on my face, I rinse my mouth, my hands shaky as he strokes my hair, holding it aside, gentle in spite of the size and strength he has at his disposal. Looking up at him I wonder aloud.
“Why do you bother with me? I’m a nasty jerk.”
He laughs. “I ask myself the same thing.” His tongue is in his cheek and I chortle, a weak and pathetic response to his humor. Not at all representative of the blossom of heat and affection that takes me.
“Seriously,” I press because I need convincing. I need more of the warm and fuzzy comfort that he provokes unwanted. Well, maybe not so unwanted. But… do I? What about my career?
“Seriously I can’t help myself,” he says, “It’s my instinctive response to you. Same way you’d pick up a stray adorable kitten in the road and protect it.”
With my gaining strength, I choose to swat at his chest. Is it because I want to express my mock disdain or is it because I love the feel of his muscled chest, the warmth, the solid expanse of him, the strong beat of his heart?
He looks at me, those eyelashes doing their magic, the smirky line of his sensual lips, the idea of those lips on me, everywhere, melting me like M&Ms held too tight in my hands. And I want to hold him in my hands.
His eyes go glassy and I see the reflection of my want in them. What was it I’d been contemplating? Does it matter? Should I go with my feelings? Should I let my impulse have its way with me? Who am I kidding—my impulse to have him, to hold him—now and for as long as I can manage—overwhelms me, eliminates the quaint notion of choice.
“You’re…” I say before my voice fails because his face closes in, his mouth with its slight tremor moving to mine, almost touching, breathing, bathing me in that spicy hot comfort that shouldn’t be possible.
“Babe, I want you so much.” His whispered words send a thrilling fire through me like a lit fuse. A short fuse that explodes into me. I grab his face with both hands and press my mouth onto his. I taste him, test the lush firmness of his lips against mine, revel in the swirl of my insides rising to my chest. My heart flutters and beats like butterflies on fire. My whole body incinerates then and I don’t care that we’re in the tiny bathroom of some stranger’s yacht. I want this man right here and now, every single part of him, everything he has to offer.
Reality crashes in the form of a loud alarming crashing noise above on deck. I jump and let out a yelp. Aiden holds onto me, caresses my back with his sure hands.
“It’s okay. Normal boat noises,” he says.
I chortle and say, “You can’t expect me to believe that?”
“No,” he half smiles, “but you have me desperate to make everything right.” He shifts away from me with effort as if he’s a super magnet trying to pull away from an iron wall, but he manages and opens the door.
“I’ll go check and see what’s going on. You be okay here?”
I nod, happy not to be going anywhere when the boat tilts and my stomach lurches.
Eventually the boat docks in Hyannis where the ocean swells with less violence. Dane and Shana give us a ride to Aiden’s car and he drives us back to Boston. I’m the worst company ever on the trip, dozing on and off while my stomach settles back to wherever it belongs deep in my gut and quietly behaving.
He drives straight to his building, taking advantage of the fact that I’m groggy from sleeping and feeling a bit like a kidnap victim hijacked by a rakish pirate. Not feeling threatened at all. Feeling giddy in spite of everything, including the danger to my heart.
It’s late, and he carries the bags, his and one for the dogs and I help to bring the dogs up without him asking. Predictably, he invites me in. Staring up into his face, desire in his hooded blue eyes causing a flip in my gut, I let out a breath.
“I can’t, I have an early meeting and a lot of catching up to do. I need a good night’s sleep.” It’s all true, but I don’t sound convincing, don’t feel convinced.
“I have a meeting too. then a morning skate.” He’s not pleading, but he’s so damn compelling. With a massive power of will that I resent and regret immediately, I step away.
He picks up the keys because he has to drive me to my place.
“I promise I’m going to call you.”
“I’ll call you if you don’t.” The surprise is that it’s true. I will. I don’t move and neither does he.
“This isn’t a casual fling,” he says. I shake my head in agreement and there goes my tummy again, gut this time the tumult is joyous.
“I know. I don’t know what it is, but casual doesn’t cover it.”
