Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

“If you were expecting the asshole in the locker room, why’d you come?”

“I…” She held his gaze for a moment, searching his eyes as if he had the answer. “I guess I was ready to take a chance. And I guess I was hoping there was more to you than what I heard on the news.”

“The news.” He let his gaze drift to her high cheekbone and brushed his knuckles across her skin, pleased when she didn’t flinch or shy away. But his mind was searching the latest newscasts for negativity that might have been thrown his way. “I haven’t committed any felonies lately, at least none that I know of. What were they saying about me now?”

She gave a little shake of her head as if blowing it off as no big deal. “The sportscaster was as impressed with your hit count this season as your teammates were with your hits in the game tonight. In fact, he and the news anchor marveled at your lack of injuries over the length of your career.”

The dots were definitely connecting. He proceeded with honesty but caution. “I’m careful, and I’m good. I’ve spent all my life practicing to be careful and good. And I have to stay careful and good because my performance as a defenseman determines my salary, my future contracts, and the longevity of my career. And while I may have been more zealous when I was younger, my dad always kept me in check. I was never one of those guys who slammed players without a purpose.”

Thoughts churned behind her eyes. “Your dad?”

“Yeah. He coached for decades. Was my coach for most of my life up until I went pro. Even coached me in the minor leagues. He put me on skates at two years old and stayed with me until I got drafted. I was accountable to him for every hit after every game. If I fucked up, I had to look him in the eye and tell him I fucked up and why. I lost control of my speed, I made a bad judgment call, my timing was off, my blade caught on the ice—whatever it was, I had to own up to it.”

He laughed, thinking back. “God, it was awful. At the dinner table, we used to argue over what was or wasn’t necessary. The rest of our family would—literally—put in earplugs so we could all get through dinner together. No joke. There was this plastic box of foam earplugs on the kitchen counter. Once, my mom and my sister tried to double them up and put two in each ear.”

That made her smile deepen, and the darkness gave way to the woman Beckett was so drawn to.

“Anyway,” he said, “if you’re wondering if there’s more to me than the number of my hits—”

“I think you’ve answered that question in a lot of different ways.” And apparently she liked the answer, because she picked up another piece of the cake between her fingers, leaned close, and brought it to his lips. And as she let him lick ch

ocolate off her fingers and watched every move of his lips, she said, “Where does your family live? Is it just you and your sister? Are you as close to your mom and your sister as you are to your dad?”

He was licking her thumb when her questions plucked a strange chord inside him. No woman ever wanted to know about his family. For that matter, no woman ever wanted to hear about Beckett’s early playing days either. They wanted to know about his present and his future. They wanted to know about his teammates and their girlfriends and wives. They wanted to know about his salary, his signing bonuses, the big events he attended, what famous people he’d met, where he’d been, and what he did with his money.

Family-smamily.

Beckett lifted his gaze to hers. Those light blue-green eyes were heavy lidded and hot but soft. As soon as he pulled her thumb from between his lips, she leaned in and pressed hers in their place, then sighed as if she’d been waiting forever to rest her mouth against his.

A wild little sliver of desire snaked down his spine. Beckett closed his eyes, slipped a hand around the back of her neck, and opened to her. She responded like she’d been reading his mind. Her tongue slid right into place against his. The rhythm of their kiss was instantaneous and hungry and took Beckett’s already interested cock to half-mast. He leaned into her, losing himself in the sweet, erotic taste of heat and woman. The slick, smooth stroke of her tongue. The supple suction of her lips. And, God, the little purr in the back of her throat made Beckett want so much more.

She pulled out of the kiss and pressed her cheek to his, leaving Beckett dizzy. “You sure can make a girl forget her own name.” Her nails scraped gently along the back of his neck, and she rolled her head to press kisses to his jaw. “What were we talking about? Your family…right. Where do they live?”

“Wow,” he breathed, “that was so not where my mind was.” He had to force himself to refocus. “They’re all in and around the DC Metro area.”

“They’re so close.” She leaned away just enough to smile up at him, a new light in her eyes. She scraped her wet bottom lip between her teeth, then moved even closer and draped one thigh over his. Do they come to your games? And where was your mind?”

He automatically covered her thigh with his hand. Her soft dress felt sinfully delicious. “When they can. They have busy lives too.” He couldn’t keep his hand still and found her thigh toned and supple and warm beneath the soft fabric. “Eden, I’m having a really hard time thinking about anything other than you right now.”

“I’m having the same problem.” She pressed a flat hand to his tie and slid it slowly down his abdomen. “But at least I’m trying.”

He took a gooey chunk off the cake with his free hand and braced his elbow on the table as he lifted the chocolate to her lips. “Trying to what? Think about nothing but me? Because I would support that decision two hundred percent.”

She was laughing when her lips parted to take the chocolate, but the humor faded as soon as her mouth closed. Her warmth tingled through his hand, and then the gentle suction of her lips tugged on his fingers.

“Damn, you are so beautiful.” He listed forward, leaning his head against hers. Watching her lick and suck his fingers clean made his cock flinch and throb, begging for the same attention. Not only had it been a long damn time since he’d had decent sex, but it had been fucking forever since he’d had a woman give him this sort of focused attention. Only now, when the promise of that kind of pleasure glittered on the horizon, did he realize how badly he needed it.

“Fuck, you’re good with your mouth.” His other hand flexed and released on her thigh. He turned his head and put his lips at her ear whispering, “Will you tell me what you have on under your dress tonight?”

She licked the tip of his thumb. “I could, but that would ruin the surprise.”

His heart did a three-sixty. He was probably pushing the envelope, but he really didn’t know how else to live. It was what he did. It was who he was. “What if I felt it? That wouldn’t be looking.”

He bent his head and pressed a path of kisses along her jaw. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He tasted the sensitive hollow behind her ear, and Eden tipped her head toward him and sighed.

“God, you are sweet.” He lifted an arm over the back of the booth and brushed the hair off her neck, kissing her there. Then he slipped his other hand beneath the edge of her skirt, opening his hand over the soft suede of her boot top before spanning the inner thigh of her leg draped over his own.

His palm hit the warm, bare skin of her thigh, and the shock of intimacy traveled through his body like lightning. “Fuck.” In this cold weather, he wasn’t prepared for skin-on-skin contact. He pressed his forehead to her neck and let his fingers sink into the supple muscle. “Baby, I think your sexy just blew my circuit.”