Page 33 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Eleven
Harper
“Get dressed, Knight. We’re moving out this morning.” I put my hands on my hips. He steps through the door of his bedroom wearing gym shorts. That’s all.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He brushes a sexy shock of hair from his face. I gulp down my whimper and double down on my prison warden persona.
“What clothes? You’re half naked. And no gym shorts in public. Make yourself presentable. Pretend you’re going out to meet an attractive woman.”
“I think we’ve already done that part. You and me.” He moves closer. I scream at my legs to back up, but they don’t. The need is so strong to finish what we started yesterday that I can smell it, taste it, feel it in the rush of my blood.Stop it, Harper St. John. He’s a client. My meal ticket and that’s all. And even if he wasn’t, he’s so not the type of man I’d be interested in.
On the rare occasions that I allow myself to imagine a future when I might be in the market for a boyfriend, that boyfriend would be someone serious. Not a player. Probably the exact opposite of Maddox Knight. Except maybe the hunky part and those dreamy blue eyes. I could so go for that in a man. Someday.
“You have a game tonight,” I say. “Don’t waste your energy. Remember, you’re all about hockey.” He snorts.
“Way to shut a guy down. But don’t worry. I was teasing.”
“No teasing. Teasing is bad. Off the table. Forbidden.”
“Don’t you know better than to use the forbidden card with me?” He smirks. Shit. He’s right. Forbidden fruit exemplifies the mess we’re in right now and the last thing I need to do is pile on another apple. Shit. I’ll never be able to eat an apple again without feeling dirty.
He laughs. Not exactly a laugh. More like a low chuckle, the sultry kind that puts my nerves on edge, that cuts through too many barriers like my spine is made of butter and he’s wielding a machete.
“Not forbidden then. How about inappropriate? We’re inappropriate, mismatched, polar opposites, impossible, oil and water—”
“You ramble when you’re nervous,” he says like it’s news to me. Shit. I can’t admit to him that he makes me nervous, not if I’m going to have his professional respect. Although that ship may have sailed after my peeping Tom act last night or whatever you call it when a person eavesdrops inappropriately. Or is there even such a thing as appropriate eavesdropping? Never mind.
“You’re crazy. I’m not nervous,” I scoff. Nervously. “I ramble all the time. It’s the pressure of my job.”
“Handlingme’s got to you?”
“No. Of course not. I can handle you just fine—or not handle you. Guard you, keep you out of trouble, make sure you stay on track, guide you toward your best behavior, help you redeem yourself with your sponsors—”
“Jesus, Harper. Do you ever stop rambling? Maybe you need a sedative.” He’s suppressing a grin.
“No. no sedatives.” I clamp my mouth shut before it runs off on another stupid ramble about the evils of sedatives and drugs. Instead I take a deep breath. It’s about time I do my job.
“What time did you get home last night?” I ask. “I waited up.”
“No you didn’t,” he says as he goes back into his room. He leaves the door wide open so I follow him. We need to have this conversation. I need to know that he didn’t go out tomcatting, don’t I? I’ll double-check with O’Rourke and have to do damage control if he did. But O’Rourke would never let him get away with that, would he?
“I tried to wait up,” I say. “I was up until at least eleven p.m. But never mind that I fell asleep. The point is, where were you? Where did you go so late? Please don’t tell me you went—”
“Nowhere except where I told you I was going. Don’t worry. There were no women involved unless you count my teammates’ wives and girlfriends and I don’t go there. Ever.” I snort my disbelief, but I forget to talk when he plucks a T-shirt from his bag and pulls it on over his head and I watch every consequential rippling of every muscle in his torso, chest and arms.
His body is magnificent, even covered by an orange T-shirt with a yellow smiley face. He could have posed for Michelangelo or any world-class sculptor and they’d pay him dearly for the privilege. Shit. I close my mouth as he pulls on socks and sneakers and stares at me, his eyes aimed at my mouth.
“I would never cheat on you.” His smile drips with promise and I shake myself, metaphorically speaking, because he’s toying with me and I need to stay cool. But shit, ignoring his words is hard.
“You expect me to believe O’Rourke and the others were up until all hours entertaining you?”
“Nah. It was more like I was entertaining them. I’m a very entertaining guy, if you recall my recent starring role in a certain video.” He wiggles his brows and now I’m mad because he’s just caused a reflexive hot blush to rise up from the furnace of my center and heat up my face.
“Stop it. You’re ridiculous. Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” He chuckles and yet again I’m all worked up, losing my cool.
“But getting a rise out of you is so much fun. And it looks like this is as close to flirting as I’m going to get for a while, so maybe you should let it ride.” I stare at him because he actually sounds serious. And if I think about it, he makes sense. I heave a sigh as he aims those baby blues at me like he needs a favor and I’m the only one in the world who can grant it. Shit. I roll my eyes and turn away, waving a hand.
“Just… get dressed. In pants and a shirt that doesn’t light up the night sky and look like it belongs to a fourth grader.” I march from the room to get my bags and check my phone again for messages. I’ve already checked and responded to a dozen of them since I got dressed at seven this morning. Everything is taken care of. But I need the distraction of scrolling through my phone as if I can actually register what I’m seeing.Focus, St. John. I reread Delaney’s text telling me she’ll meet us at the townhouse with the key and some papers to sign.
