Page 62 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Nineteen
Harper
“Of course,” I say as I mute the stupid guy on ESPN. “A romance makes a better story, even if it’s pure speculation and flat-out not true.” I pace a circle around the parlor while he’s sprawled on the old-fashioned sofa, pillows propped to make it half comfortable, still watching the TV.
“Well mostly not true,” he says, furrowing his brows. “Maybe we should talk—”
“Talk? What for? There’s nothing to talk about, Maddox. We’ve already covered all of this. We can’t be anything more than—” I wave my hand because damn if I know what we are. “See what happens when there’s even a rumor of that kind of thing? Children’s Hospital cancelled our commercial shoot, Maddox. I told you it doesn’t get much worse. Now we’ll probably lose the Mamma Regina’s account again.” I stop in front of him, hands on my hips, trying to control my breathing. “Imagine what they’d say or do if they ever found out…” I can’t say it, can’t continue fighting.
He stands up and takes me in his arms and there’s no escape because I want to feel his strength, to lose myself in him, to not worry about losing everything in my life: my job, my family’s financial security, my heart.
He murmurs in my ear as he holds me.
“It’ll be all right, sugar buns, I promise.” Sweet words, the kind I need to hear, the kind that soothe my soul, calm me enough so that when I’m ready, I can face the fact that the only way everything will be all right is if I make it that way. I gather strength, taking from him whatever he’ll give me. It’s only fair because I’m losing everything I have to him. And he can have whatever he wants. Though I’m not about to tell him he’s already taken my heart, hoping to keep it my little secret in the name of self-preservation.
I crave his charm, his gorgeous blue eyes, and his Adonis body. There’s more to him of course, but I’m not sure how much of it he’s giving away. Or for how long.
And there’s the rub.
“Are you going to be okay?” he says.
I snort.“Of course. You know me.” He lifts my chin, forcing me to stare into those dark-fringed eyes of his and it’s not fair. His eyes are like magic, they disarm me no matter what shields of defense I put up. Common sense, reason, rational thought, none of it matters.
“I know you’re feeling vulnerable,” he says. My knees go weak in corroboration. He lifts me.
He actually scoops me into his arms. Even as I snort in disbelief, my arms automatically go around his neck and my head rests against his shoulder. He carries me to his room without a whimper of protest from me, without any of the rightful indignation that filled me weeks ago.
When we get inside his room, he kicks the door closed. It’s a symbolic gesture that I understand as he lowers me and my feet hit the plush carpet.
“Maddox,” I rasp and lean on him. He holds my arms and separates us enough so we face each other, like this is the moment of truth. In my mind, that would be the moment where we confess our love to each other.
But he has a different kind of mind, a male mind, the mind of a committed bachelor.
“I want to make love to you, Harper.” That’s his confession of love, or that’s the way I hear his words. He saidmake loveinstead of have sex or fuck, and he called me Harper instead of sugar buns. Surely that translates to meaningful feelings. I know it does. Emotions fill me up, expand my chest and force me to be true to what I want deep down.
“I want that too.” I breathe the words. He pulls me close against him and backs me to the bed until I fall and he follows, holding himself above me with his brute strength of muscle and will. Staring at his face, the one from my dreams, the one always out of reach, I don’t dare blink and the world shrinks down to here and now, him and me. Nothing else matters.
“So you don’t mind if I take your clothes off.” He slips his hands under my sweater as I smile my answer. He rests his forehead against mine and, my heart pounds. I suck in air when his hands scrape over my ribs and cup my breasts over my lacy bra. His thumbs circle my nipples and I shudder.
“Oh my god. You have a touch.” He smiles and nibbles my lips as he unhooks my bra.
“I want to touch you everywhere, run my tongue over every inch of your body, and drive you crazy until every nerve cell on your skin is so sensitive I could set you off by touching the tip of your nose. I want to make you writhe in my arms.” As he says all this his hands roam over me, setting off sparks and making me believe his promise. He pulls down my pants and damn if his fingers don’t shake against my skin.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks.
“I could say the same thing, but we both know the answer.” He chokes out a laugh and I smile, releasing some of the tension and that’s a good thing. I need clarity. I need to have my eyes wide open and see him for who he is, not for who I wish he was, or who he might become years from now. Lifting my hips as he tugs my pants all the way down my legs, I see the familiar intensity of those eyes and my belly flips.
He tosses my pants with my panties somewhere across the room and kneels between my legs, putting his hands on my thighs. I feel so exposed and vulnerable. But the look on his face, the reverence, the pure appreciation and joy, erase my self-consciousness and I lift my hips in invitation. His eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re pretty fast, sugar buns. We need to slow you down.” He trails an index finger along my inner thigh and up, close to the apex where I need him. My heart tries to outrace my breathing. Then he pauses and runs his fingers back down, a knowing smirk on his face, the one I’ve come to know and …love? No. Yes.
“Never mind that,” I say more to myself than him. “Come a little closer.” I don’t wait for him. I prop myself up on one elbow and reach for his crotch, taking hold of the iron rod that fills his pants. He lets out a long low hiss and clamps a hand over mine.
“Harper,” he croaks. I ease up and reach for his zipper. He lets me.
“It’s only fair,” I whisper. “You’re staring at me half naked, and—”
“You’ve already seen me fully naked.” His eyes go dark and he takes on the look of a blue-eyed wolf, prettier and more dangerous than the standard kind. At least that’s what I’m thinking as he tugs at my sweater before I have a chance to free his cock for my viewing pleasure. “Or have you forgotten the shower incident?”
