Page 9 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Going out after games is an important ritual, an important way to fit in with a new team.”
“You’re an excellent cajoler, did you know that?” He grins, but with the effort of the perennial underdog that I am, I force myself to get back to business. “Let me get back to work.”
“One more question?”
I can’t help the deep sigh. “Shoot.”
“Tell me about your family. About what makes Harper St. John tick?”
“Seriously?”
“As fuck.” His easy going demeanor doesn’t hide the fact that he’s one hard-nosed, determined SOB and I know I have no choice.
“Okay, on one condition. You tell me about your family first. About what makes you tick.” Why do I ask? Because I’ll do anything to deflect him from talking about my family. And I know full well he’s not going to let me work. Besides, ignoring him would be not only rude, but increasingly impossible for my worn-out resistance.
“I thought you knew everything there was to know with your shameless spying in the name of the job?” he says with that tease in his voice that sets me on edge. Not the bad kind of edge where I’m annoyed. No. The sexy kind of edge where I want him to ravage me right here on the plane in full view of all until I come writhing and screaming in his arms. Shit.Stop.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say with faux calm.
“Okay. You ready for my big secret?” I nod and force myself to breathe. “I feel truly lucky to have the two best sisters in the world. They are my weakness. I love to spoil them. And my mom? Well I would crown her queen of the universe if I could. She deserves so much more than a son like me.”
Surprise hits me right in my heart and then shoots down to my hot, melting pussy. I hope to hell he doesn’t notice me actually clenching my thighs. Because who doesn’t love a hunky superstar who adores his sisters and mom and spoils them with such obvious pleasure?
“Wait—what do you mean,son like you? You’re a fine son—you bought your mom a house. I mean—I saw the transaction… sorry. I’m not spying, I swear.”
He chuckles. “It’s oddly pleasing to know you’re watching everything I do, that you’vebeenwatching everything I’ve been doing all this time.”
“Not everything. Clearly. Because believe me when I tell you, I would have stopped you from that last excursion.”
“Tell me about it. I wish you had.” He shakes his head. “Since you really do know more about me than I want to think about, it’s your turn to divulge a secret. What other wild indulgences do you have besides expensive red-soled shoes?”
“Shoes are it. But they are gorgeous princess shoes—the ones I broke. When I’m in the room with VIPs as I often am, those shoes make—made me feel like I was one of them, like I belonged there.” I shrug, not embarrassed, but vulnerable. His intense blue-eyed stare saysyou’re the only person in the world,reassuring me that he gets it and he’s not judging.
“Which leads to the question of how you got to the Jett Agency and why?”
“Honestly? I used to be an athlete. Back in the day.” I can’t help a wistful pause, but he waits for more details and so I give them to him. It’s not exactly what I want to give him and not exactly what he really wants, but it’s all I can afford. “I played hockey and made it to college on a scholarship—UNH. But that was it. Full stop. No such thing as pro hockey for women. At least not the kind that pays the bills. And I’m not saying that I was good enough to go pro.”
“Impressive. Explains why you look so fit rather than skinny.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Also explains this … thing we have.” He moves his hand back and forth between us.
“We don’t have a thing.” Panic wells with the intense pleasure spreading through my belly, tightening my chest.
“Sure we do. I get a zing every time I look at those gorgeous eyes of yours or take a deep breath of your scent. I can’t place it, or describe it, but it knocks me sideways like a good hipcheck.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I barely stop myself from an indulgent giggle.
“That’s all you got? Not much of a denial.” His eyes see right through me and I shiver. He grins at my telltale response.
“No,” I insist, forcing conviction into my voice. “There’s nothing—”
“Yes, there is. And I can prove it. If you’ll let me. Or you can prove me wrong—if you’ll let me.”
“Let you?”
He nods, his eyes softening and hypnotic with their sensual pull as he moves close, leaning his head down toward mine. And even though I should, I don’t move. Not one single muscle, not even a breath.
