Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

More of him. His claiming touch, his searing kiss.

Need flared in me like a warning sign, and I backed up a few steps.

“I’ll just go clean—”

“You’ll go to bed,” Brogan cut me off, and I arched a brow at his tone.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, and now my lips parted at the demand in his voice. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to give me Skye back,” I said, my mind suddenly realizing the mistake we were making. “She may have broken her fever, but whatever caused it could still be contagious. You can’t afford to get sick.” I reached for her, and he planted me with a serious look.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Strong immune system for one, and for two, I don’t care. I had an away game. I missed my baby. I’m holding her.”

I opened my lips to argue, but then I shut my mouth. Because he was right. He was a grown man and could make his own decisions.

Just like I could.

“Okay, then,” I said and headed toward the kitchen.

“Fiona,” Brogan said, stopping me before I set one foot in the kitchen. “If you clean right now, I swear on everything—”

“You’ll what?” I asked, turning around to face him again, a smile on my lips.

“I’ll be forced to put Skye in her crib, toss you over my shoulder, and put you to bed myself.”

The breath stalled in my lungs as fire licked down the center of me. I held his gaze, and those hazel eyes showed me nothing but sincerity. He’d do it. He’d make good on his promise, and then some.

And I hated that a part of me wanted to push that boundary and see just how far he’d take it if I refused to obey him.

But the little bundle against his chest quashed those notions. She was finally content and half asleep already, and I would absolutely not ruin that.

So, instead, I huffed a laugh. “Fine,” I said. “Just come get me if you need a break.”

“Get some sleep,” he said, and another warm shiver danced over my skin at the demand in his tone. Fuck, I liked it way too much. Just like I enjoyed it when he was endearing. Or when he was laughing. Or when he was tearing up the ice like a damned warrior.

And as I made it to the safety of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, I realized I liked way too much about Brogan Grant. And now there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.

9

Brogan

The first game of the real season was always tense. There was a driving need to win, to come out and draw first blood. Was it superstitious or foolish to believe the first game set the tone for the rest of the season? Absolutely. Did we all still think that way? Yep. Two of the rookies had even yacked up their dinners before we’d taken the ice.

There were two minutes left in the third, and we were tied with Tampa. A tie was decent. Respectful, even. But it sure as hell wasn’t a win.

The roar of the crowd dimmed to nothing, the sound eclipsed in my ears by the thunderous beat of my own heart as I flew off the bench for my shift. My skates ate up the ice as I charged forward, following Axel as he took the puck across the blue line and into Tampa Bay’s zone.

Two defenders pushed Axel toward the boards, and he sent the puck my direction. Their center rushed to catch me as I caught the puck with my stick. I kicked on my afterburners and flew. I was many things on the ice, but speed had always been my number one asset unless the situation called for glove-dropping.

My world narrowed to the burn in my thighs and the grip of my skates on the ice as I bolted toward the goal on the breakaway. The goalie drew back into the crease, mirroring my movements.

Glove or stick?

GLOVE OR STICK?

I deked, and the goalie dove right, leaving the net wide open above his shoulder. I took the shot without hesitation, raising my hands in triumph as it hit the back of the net. The lamps lit and the noise of the crowd rushed back in, flooding my head as the fans came to their feet.

“Fuck yes!” Axel swamped me in a hug, slapping my back.

I was swarmed by other Reapers on the ice for a few seconds as celebratory music blasted through Reaper Arena’s sound system. Once free of the melee, I turned toward our family section and grinned, pointing up at my girls, Skye and Fiona.

“That one’s for you!” I shouted, knowing damn-well there was no way they could hear me, not above the roaring fans. The noise was so loud it vibrated the glass. Not to mention, Skye was wearing noise-canceling headphones as she snuggled into Fiona’s chest.