Page 19 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Five
Harper
After a night of tossing and turning to X-rated dreams featuring the sex-video version of Knight where I’m his costar, I peel myself from bed and wonder how I’m going to look him in the eye without feeling a clench in my pussy. Since when did I become a sex maniac?
Since I’ve been sex deprived for almost a year and had a sexy hockey hunk dropped into the bedroom next to mine with a giantDo Not Touchbanner splashed across his mouthwatering pecs. Nothing like off-limits temptation to inspire the imagination. And boy do I have one. So vivid I’m not sure I can face myself in the mirror, let alone Maddox.
But there’s only one way to get my family out of the mess my dad left us in, and that’s to suck it up and earn the bonus Ham promised me if—nowhen—Maddox finishes out the season with the Brawlers, and without incident. No trouble means big bucks.
Sex with Maddox—I can feel my temperature go up at the thought—meansbigtrouble and possibly losing my job. Bigger trouble. So, yes. I can face him. I’m tough and this is a job. Once I’m dressed in my business suit, I fling open the door and step into our shared living space. But he’s not there. I check my watch—one of those multipurpose gadgets Jett bought for all the agents and my favorite self-indulgence next to my shoes—the ones I ruined—and I see it’s still early so I don’t panic.
When Knight emerges from his room a second later, shirtless, his hair still wet and tousled, his blue eyes bright like an irresistible beacon, I seize up for an instant. Shit. Poise. Business. All business. Picture him covered in the pages of his lucrative contract.
“You’re up early,” he says, smiling like nothing’s amiss.Because nothing is amiss, Harper. He doesn’t know you had dreams about him that make it a miracle your bed didn’t go up in flames.
“Practice is in thirty minutes. Are you ready?”
“You’re coming to the morning skate? What the hell for?”
“I’m to deliver you to the coach and pick you up. I’m your escort and warden whenever you’re not with Coach Green and the team. He’s in charge of you for games, practices and on road trips. That’s the deal.”
“Fuck, that’s crazy. Don’t you have a life of your own?”
“This is it, Knight. Babysitting you is my life for the duration.”
“That’s just wrong.” He rakes his fingers through his hair then grabs his jacket. “It’s not like I’m going to go off the rails at seven in the morning. Not unless you consider stopping for coffee in the lobby dangerous living.”
“It’s all about keeping the Brawlers’ management happy, giving them a measure of confidence.” He levels those blue eyes on me, telling me without words that I’m being an ass and that he doesn’t actually deserve it. Or at least that’s what my conscience is telling me. “Look, I’m sure things will ease up after a few weeks and you start fitting in. Score a few winning goals without any drunken orgies and I’ll see if I can leave you in peace, go back to New York City.” In the meantime, I don’t dare share my secret strategy about escaping to my friend Shelly’s place when I feel myself slipping. That’s the best way to keep from getting either of us into trouble, because I’m coming to realize there’s more danger in our proximity melting down my walls of resistance than of him going off the rails with a puck bunny.
He’s silent, so I hold up my paper cup. “Want some coffee?”
“Fuck yeah, but not that hotel room shit. How can you stand drinking it?”
“Look who’s the princess now,” I say. He grunts on his way past me, but his one-dimpled, lopsided grin shows up and gives me a satisfying sensation, right in the gut. Not like the nerve-tingling excitement from before. This is softer and kinder and totally unexpected.
And possibly even more dangerous than the sizzling, sexy vibe. Shit.
“Let’s go then.”
“You drink your coffee black?” I nod in answer to his question as we leave the room.
We stop at the lobby coffee shop and he gets a shake and a pastry, which doesn’t surprise me. It does surprise me when he orders me a black coffee.
“Something to eat?” he asks. I shake my head, feeling disoriented at his kind yet ordinary gesture.
“I don’t eat until lunchtime.” He raises his eyebrows.
“That’s just not right. How do you keep up your strength?” I chuckle.
“Not everyone is a professional athlete burning ten thousand calories a day, Knight.” We push through the revolving door together and it’s tight, but he manages the maneuver gracefully without stumbling and we get into a waiting cab. It’s a short drive. He sucks down his shake in under a minute. He takes a bite of his pastry and looks at me, because I’m rudely watching him eat.
“Sorry,” I say and turn away.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you. How about a bite?” I turn back and he holds the pastry out close to my mouth.
“No thanks. Really, I’m not hungry. I…” But I can’t tell him I was staring because he’s beautiful to watch, not because I wanted his food. In fact, I want him for food. Shit.
He nods. Then he smirks and devours the rest of the pastry as if he knows I’m imagining it’s me he’s eating. When he licks each finger, his blazing blue eyes arrowed on mine as if he’s sending me a sensual message, I nearly moan. We arrive at the Garden in the nick of time and I jump from the taxi, letting him pay when I should be paying. But I rush through the door. I need to escape him. But it’s me and my overwrought hormones I need to escape.
