A Secret for a Secret (All In 3)

“So . . . I didn’t know you were a hockey player.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you home if I’d known you were Jake’s daughter.” I cringe. “I don’t bring girls home. Women, I mean. Especially not when we’re under the influence and not thinking clearly. It wasn’t . . . I’m not . . . I don’t—”

She raises her hand, and I take it as a signal to shut up, which is probably a good idea since everything coming out of my mouth seems to be making this worse instead of better. “I don’t need you to apologize or justify your actions. I don’t usually hook up with random guys, either, so we have that in common. Is it awkward that my dad is essentially both of our bosses? Yeah, but neither of us knew that until today.”

“He lives there.” I thumb over my shoulder to the main house. It has zero relevance to our current discussion, but it’s what popped into my head and consequently came out of my mouth.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t afford a place like this on an assistant’s salary.” She blows out a breath. “He won’t be home for a while, though, and we don’t talk about my sex life, so you don’t need to worry about him murdering you or anything.”

“That’s good. That he’s not home, and that he’s not going to murder me for the things I did to your body. To you.” I wish I could stop saying the first thing that comes to mind. Another inconvenient memory surfaces: me on my knees between Queenie’s spread legs, warm and wet and—I slap a palm over my mouth to prevent me from saying anything further.

But then I remember I didn’t find any condom wrappers the next morning.

“We didn’t use protection.”CHAPTER 5

DIRTY BOY SCOUT

Queenie

Ryan, or King, or Kingston, or whatever people call him, looks absolutely horrified. And ridiculously hot, but mostly horrified.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, because whatever he said came out all garbled and unintelligible.

He drops his hand. “A condom? Did we use one?”

“Seriously?” I don’t know whether he’s joking or not.

“I didn’t find any the next morning. Used ones, I mean. There were two on the nightstand, still unopened. Oh God.” He grabs the back of his neck and paces the length of the kitchen. His face is the color of a beet. “I’m never this irresponsible. Ever. Or do the one-night-stand thing. That’s not how I operate. I date.” He stops pacing for half a second, eyes flaring even wider, if that’s possible. “What’s wrong with me? I didn’t even buy you dinner.”

“You bought me a lot of drinks.”

“That’s even worse!” Now his hands are in his hair, messing up his perfect part. “Have you gotten your period since we . . . were together?” He doesn’t give me time to respond, instead barreling on with more questions. “Should we go get tested for . . . things? I mean . . . I’m clean and I’m not saying that you’re not, but just . . . it would be a good idea for peace of mind, don’t you think? I can take us to a clinic that will be discreet. We could see the team doctor.”

I hold up a hand. “There is no way I’m going to the team doctor to be tested for things. Besides, we didn’t have sex.”

He ceases his relentless pacing and stops in front of me. He’s a big man. Broad, with thick shoulders and bulging biceps, ropy veins lining his forearms. I remember what it was like to have him between my thighs, one hand cupping my ass to tilt my hips up, the other cupping a breast so he could thumb my nipple while he licked and nibbled and sucked me to orgasm. More than once. Ryan Kingston is very, very skilled at oral and very, very giving. So giving.

“We didn’t?”

I can’t decide if his apparent relief should offend me. “No.” Although we got close—very close. Closer than we should have without a condom on. And we sure as hell covered every other conceivable foreplay option available, multiple times.

My lady parts clench at the memory of how unreal his stamina was that night. They also seem unaware that his proximity does not mean it’s going to happen again. It can’t. No matter how much I might want it to.

His brow furrows. Even that expression is fairly adorable on his distressed, pretty face. “But I remember . . .” He trails off.

“You remember what?” He was definitely far more intoxicated than I was, although I can admit now that I was tipsier than is generally safe when out alone with a strange man. And while parts of that night are fuzzy—like the last shot we did and the glasses of water we chugged—most of what happened between and on top of his sheets is not.