Quick Trick (Rough Riders Hockey 1)

“It’s pretty good.” Sniffle. A clandestine wipe of her eyes. “Have you used this software before? Are they all pretty much the same? How long do you think it would take me to edit a film like the one you took today once I got the hang of it?”

He inched toward the bed, worried and—sonofabitch—scared. He was scared. He was never scared.

Beside the bed, he reached down and stroked his hand up her arm. She was warm and soft. Even from where he stood, he could smell her sweet fresh-from-the-shower scent. And man, did that stir his hunger. But Grant banked that need. “Baby, what happened?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “How’s your brother doing?”

“Really good.” He put a knee on the bed beside her and leaned over to close the lid on his laptop.

“Hey, buddy,” she tried to joke, “I was watching that.”

He smiled down at her, but the first look at her face punched him in the gut, and his humor faded. Her eyes were red and swollen, still glistening with tears. The sight felt like a knife in his gut. “What’s wrong?”

She rested back against his leg and offered a weak smile. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Christ. If he hadn’t already tipped over the edge for her, this moment would have pushed him.

He ran his hand over her silky hair, and kissed her. She opened to him immediately, her mouth warm and hungry. Her tongue stroked over his lip, then slipped into his mouth and found his.

And just like that, Grant couldn’t remember what they were talking about. The feel of her making that first move, of openly wanting him, blew all his other thoughts out of his mind. He cupped her face and kissed her hard and deep. The satisfied, wanton sound she made in her throat drove Grant to search for more. Her mouth was so fucking perfect. He wanted to rip off her clothes, bury himself inside her, and stay there until they called him back to the ice.

The ice.

Fuck. He’d had to go and think about that.

He broke the kiss and lifted his head. “Baby…” he said, breathless, “let’s talk a minute.”

“I don’t want to talk.” She twisted to reach for the button on his jeans. “I want to use my mouth in other ways.”

He grabbed her hand and held on. Hard. If she got her mouth anywhere near his cock, they wouldn’t be talking about anything substantial for hours. “I want that too, but I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

The spark of excitement in her eyes went out. She pulled her hand from his, then rolled to her side again and patted the bed near the laptop. “Come over here and show me how smart you are. I really want to see what you can do with this software.”

He stood there, at a loss, while she opened the laptop again. He’d never known a woman who didn’t want to talk when she was upset. It was hard to fathom his need to actually elicit the kind of conversation he’d spent his life avoiding, but he cared about Faith. He cared about her life. He cared about what was upsetting her. And he definitely cared if it involved him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched over her, pressing a hand to the mattress. With his fingers, he pushed the laptop out of reach, threaded his fingers with hers, and brought her palm to his lips.

“Are you mad about me going out with Patrick?”

She cut a look at him. “No. Of course not.”

Phew. One down. “Did I do something else that made you mad?”

She hesitated. “It’s not your fault.”

But she broke his gaze and tried to pull her hand back.

Bingo.

“Tell me what it is so we can talk about it.” Good Lord, he couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth.

“It’s nothing. It’s petty, stupid, small-town bullshit. And it certainly won’t matter to you.” She lifted her gaze to his again and dragged her hand from his to thread her fingers into his hair and pull him toward her. “I really just want you to make love to me so I can forget all about it.”

Make love?

That phrase hit him sideways. He’d never thought about sex in that context. But he didn’t get a chance to think more about it before she opened to him with that hungry kiss again. And the way she used that delicious mouth of hers made Grant forget everything else. Sweet, sensual, sexual, she’d become one white-hot, luscious erotic masterpiece at the speed of lightning.

When she released his hair to pull at his shirt, Grant put the brakes on. He straightened, breaking her grasp. “Talk first. If it’s important enough to upset you, then it’s important to me. I don’t care if it has to do with Aunt Pearl using chicken wire to fence her pigs, talk to me.”