Page 28 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“I get it. We’ll make some visits to the hospital without the cameras. I’m sure they’ll get the message.” She closes up and retreats into her serious-business protective shell, no more apology in her words or demeanor. I want to shake her or, better yet, kiss the feigned coolness from her.That wouldn’t help.Wrong way to think.She’s trying to soldier on and I can’t stand that she’s been put in this situation.
“You’ll come to the hospital with me?” She nods and looks away then stands. She walks toward the window and shrugs from her suit jacket as if she’s hot and I watch every movement, especially the strain of her pristine white blouse over the large mounds of her breasts, disproportionately large for her frame. She’s in shape, fit with toned muscles, but she’s not a big woman. She must be fast as hell on skates.
“What got you started playing hockey?” I throw my napkin onto the table and join her at the window, though she doesn’t turn to look away from the harbor view. Just as well since I can stare at her profile without censure this way, let my eyes wander.
“Where did that question come from?” She gives me a brief, curious glance then turns back to the window. “My father. Back when… never mind. You have a haircut appointment.” She turns toward me abruptly and the move brings her close, within touching distance. Too close. I have nothing to contain my boner as it thickens in my shorts.
“Although,” she says, her voice a whisper and her stare unwavering, her eyes glittering with what I could swear was hunger, “I kind of like your hair long.”
“Cancel the appointment,” I say. If she likes it then I want it because I want to be everything she wants. My heart’s beating faster and I feel the pull to step closer, the need pulling me in her direction like my dick and her pussy are magnetized. She doesn’t say a word, isn’t even breathing, I realize. My hand reaches out and pushes a tendril of her wavy auburn hair from her face and I watch it flash with red fire in the sunlight.
Tension chokes me and my balls and I need to relieve it, to get out of this cauldron without doing something stupid, something we’ll both regret.
“Mind if I use your shower?” My voice comes out gruff and I see her eyes watching my mouth.
“Didn’t you already take a shower at the rink?” Her voice is pitched high and panic flashes in those eyes before disappearing. She steps back. I step forward. She clears her throat. “Why do you need another shower now?” The look I give her is nothing short of simmering, relaying my meaning without spelling it out as I rake my eyes over her body, covering every sensual line, even what’s covered by the business suit.
I can literally see her go from warm to volcanic in so short a time it doesn’t seem possible. But one look at those sizzling green eyes and I feel the answering passion reaching out and grabbing me by the balls. The need to escape to the shower intensifies because the alternative is to ravish her where she stands. Holding up to the invitation of her shiver, her mouth slightly open and her tongue darting out to lick her lips, whether she understands the siren call she’s screaming at me or not, is getting harder by the second. Literally. I swallow because there’s no mistaking that she knows what I want to do in that shower.And that I would so rather do it with her.
“Take my word for it, Harper. I need a shower. Now.” Her eyes flare wide for an instant.
“Maybe I should,” she says, then pauses and clears the rasp from her voice before continuing, “should take that extra room and leave you on your own tonight.”
“And free the prisoner?” I can’t resist taunting her. And I don’t want her to leave in spite of the torture. “What kind of warden are you anyway?” Struggling to match my lighthearted words, the slight twitch in my jaw muscle betrays my tension, the raw sensuality of my posture and vibration in my voice impossible to control. The intensity of my passion scares the hell out of me. She’s wearing an unattractive brown skirt and we’ve never kissed let alone had any other real intimacy to tease my appetite for her. Yet it’s there in full, technicolor, ball-tightening reality, and I can’t seem to control it.
And most unfortunately, there’s no relief in sight.Except the shower.
“The kind who feels like the prisoner is in charge,” she says. I laugh, trying to dispel some of my tension though I know there’s only one way to do that. Staring at her doesn’t help, especially when I see the grudging upturn on one side of her lush kissable mouth. God, I want to taste her, to own that mouth, to ravage those lips and plunge inside.
Or maybe I’m not thinking about her mouth.
“Go ahead.” She waves a hand toward her bedroom, a fierce flush tinting her skin. “Take your shower.” Fighting the notion that she’s giving me permission to do what’s on my filthy mind, I force myself to turn away from her and head for her bathroom.
