Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

“Lukas,” I said, watching his every move as he stepped toward me. “You aren’t going to fail. Adrenaline is immaculate. No one has style like you, and the fact that you want it to be affordable to those who aren’t of celebrity status is amazing.” I narrowed my gaze, trying like hell to see past the walls he’d dropped over his glacial blue eyes. “You know that though,” I said. “So what or who are you talking about? Who wants you to fail, Lukas?”

He blinked several times, stepping away from me like I’d gotten too close. “It doesn’t matter.”

Another zing of pain down the center of me. He was keeping something from me, I could read it as easily as I could tell when he was exhausted or jonesing for a pick-up game or in desperate need of release.

The thing I couldn’t tell was if it centered on this product launch, his citizenship, and his career aspirations, or if it was something to do with us.

I hated that I didn’t know just as much as I hated how…different he’d been acting lately.

Had Sweden been a fluke? Some magic, foreign spell with the quality of anything that happens there stays there? Was it because now that we were back in the States, he knew I was mere weeks away from starting my senior year in college? Returning to classes and campus likely didn’t fit into his hockey-star lifestyle.

Something I’d known from the start of…whatever it is we were to each other…but had been too swept away to care.

“It matters to me,” I finally said. He was at the door now, one foot in and one foot out. Like he battled with what he truly wanted to do. “I’m here to support you. If you’re unhappy, talk to me. I’ll get back to the manufacturers, and we can handle this. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure this launch happens as close to your vision as I can.”

A small flash of a smile and his shoulders dropped. “You truly are incredible.”

Warmth pulsed in those cracked pieces of me.

He sighed, returning to his desk. “All right,” he said, clearing his throat like he needed the motion to ground him in the business at hand. “Take a seat.”

For half a moment, I almost thought he meant in his lap, and heat raced across my skin. That quickly, I wanted him, craved him. I’d slept at my place the last few nights—secretly hoping he’d call—but he hadn’t…unless it was business related.

Then, he motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk, and I told my thighs to unclench as I sank into the seat across from him.

Maybe Sweden had been a fantasy.

But he was dying to tell Eric. To claim me regardless of the risks.

Could that be a fantasy?

A sweet, consuming, fantasy that I’d think back on when the nights were long and cold and lonely. Maybe I shouldn’t want more, and simply be grateful for that piece of him. Because, regardless of where we stood now, I knew I’d gotten a taste of the real Lukas. The one not seen in the media or even on the ice. He’d let me in. Let me see pieces of himself he reserved for only the few people he trusted.

I was happy to be considered one of those people.

Even if it was for only a short time.

The sun was setting by the time we’d finished working out the kinks in the figures. A few hours, several empty takeout containers, and four phone calls later, and I stretched my arms over my head, trying to relieve the knot that had formed between my shoulder blades.

“I didn’t think it could be done,” Lukas said, the top three buttons of his white shirt open, his long legs stretched to capacity under his desk as he sank back against the chair. His hair was disheveled from the numerous times he’d raked his fingers through it, his once perfectly ironed slacks now wrinkled from the number of times he’d risen and sat, risen and paced, and then sat again.

He looked downright delicious, the golden lights of the office illuminating the satisfaction in his eyes, the look gleaned from a long, hard day’s work.

“Well,” I said, standing and stretching some more. “You underestimate me.”

“Never,” he said. “I had no doubts in you, Faith. But them.”

Again that tone, the one that had slipped into his voice far too often for my liking. The one that hinted at something bothering him, but he was content to not let me in on it.

Fine. That was fair.

Sure, he’d told me I was the only one he wanted, but that was on vacation in a miraculous foreign country where everything was sensory and overwhelming and had that suspended reality quality that simply didn’t exist here.

“I’m glad you’re happy now,” I said, tapping his desk. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I turned toward the door, hating the tension in my chest, hating how badly I wanted him to ask me to stay.

“You’re going?” He gently grasped my elbow before I’d made it to the door of his office.

I shuddered at that simple touch and cursed my body for betraying me. “Was there something else you needed?” There was no bite in my tone…nothing but the raw honesty of the question.

“I…” he let go of me, glancing around his place like a task might magically present itself.

My shoulders sank. I didn’t want him to look for a personal assistant task. I wanted him to want me to stay with him just because he wanted me.

“I didn’t think so,” I said, barely able to hide the hurt from my voice.

“Faith, please,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair one more time. “Don’t go.”

“Why?” I challenged, looking up at him.

“Because I don’t want you to.”

“Why?” I asked again, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ve stayed at my place the last few nights.”

He stepped toward me, towering over me, the heat and scent from his body intoxicating. “That was your choice. And it still is.”

“Was it?” I sighed. “You haven’t…you never asked—”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he admitted. “We came home, and then everything happened…” he shook his head. “I mean, with school coming up and our work coming to a close…I didn’t know what you wanted. I still don’t.”

Warmth rushed my insides as surprise took hold. “You thought because of school and work that I wouldn’t want…you?” I was shocked at the insecurity I rarely saw in the confident man.

He shrugged. “Is it so surprising?”

“Yes,” I said, slightly miffed. “Yes, it is. After everything that happened between us, how could you for one second think—”

“You obviously thought the same thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You did, or you would’ve stayed with me. You wouldn’t have run back to your townhome like I was nothing more than a vacation fling—”

My dark laugh cut him off. “You’re joking, right?”

The hard set of his jaw begged to differ.

I rolled my eyes. “Lukas, you haven’t touched me since that day you said we had to tell Eric—which we still haven’t. The only thing you’ve done is discuss business with me. The normal tasks as your PA. You never once acted like I was anything more than a fling. And, come on, isn’t it more believable that you wouldn’t want me? A college student. Your best friend’s little sister.”

He flinched, his eyes clenched against the titles I’d never been bold enough to speak out loud, but here…now…with his ridiculous accusation that I used him… I couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice guttural. “Ever speak like that about yourself again.” He stepped closer, our bodies practically touching. “I…helvete, Faith. I’m drawn to you because of who you are, not because of those labels. Those labels should be the thing that keeps me away, but I can’t. I know I’m no good for you…I know you’d be better off with some upstanding college gentleman…but I can’t, couldn’t stay away. You know that. I’ve told you that so many damn times. But when you didn’t so much as think of staying here, with me…what was I to think?” He shook his head. “How many times has it happened to me before?” He asked, his ey

es taking on a distant quality. “Where I was nothing but a conquest. A prize. A story to tell.”

I swallowed hard, my breaths coming faster. How could he think so little of himself? The idea that I would think our time together in Sweden was anything less than monumental?

I reached up to him, smoothing my hand over the center of his chest. The pure vulnerability in his eyes, the way he sighed under my touch, it made me realize that the confident, sexy male before me might have a reputation for being a wheeler—nothing but a player—but…but perhaps that was because no one had ever appreciated him for anything beyond that celebrity status, both on the ice and in the bedroom.

No one had admired his love of the classics or his ability to take the simplest phrase and transform it into a wicked turn of tongue. No one had ever laughed at his commentary on American reality shows or fallen for the tender way he treated his family. No one had seen him at his best, secluded and content in a café in his home country, his love for the staff and patrons immeasurable.

“You should’ve known better,” I finally said.

“I could say the same of you, Älskling.” His fingers slid into my hair, and I closed my eyes against the gentle touch.

“What are we doing?” I whispered, hating the conflict storming my insides. I wanted this man, in more ways than I could even fathom. I wanted him to see himself as I did. See all his worth, the heart of him so far away from the bullshit the media posted.

“Whatever you want,” he said, his breath warm on my cheeks.

“Whatever I want?” I asked, breathless as I flickered my eyes up to his.

His wicked grin was laced with a bit of desperation, and a deep hunger churned in my core. “All you have to do is tell me.”

I wetted my lips, using the time to collect my thoughts. The heat between us crackled, the energy pulsing in taut, sparking beats. If I closed my eyes, we could be back in his home in Sweden, the rest of the world a faded memory.