Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“You’ll stop?” she asked the ground to my left, her face still turned.

“I already have,” I assured her, then took her hands from my chest and locked her fingers around the ridges of the pillars so she sat autonomously.

“Then why won’t you let me go?”

“Shea. Honey.”

“What?”

I would have laughed if the situation had given even an ounce for humor. “Your legs are wrapped around my waist. I’m not holding you. You’re holding me.”

Her face swung back, her head connecting with my jaw.

“Holy shit,” I hissed, rotating the abused appendage.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m just. I’m so sorry.” She dropped her legs from my waist, and just like I’d pictured, her body jolted backward.

I caught her around her waist and quickly lifted her to the ground before backing up a good four feet.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Stop apologizing, Shea. You have nothing to be sorry about. I asked you for a kiss. You gave one to me. You asked me to stop when you were ready. I stopped. There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about here.” I shook my head for emphasis.

As if she’d put on a mask, when she looked at me, she was back to being the sensible, risk-calculating woman I’d met all those months ago at Connor’s.

“Thank you.”

“Let me walk you to your room? Unless you want to go to the bonfire or take me up on that steak offer?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re not angry.”

“Not the least bit.” Horny? Yes. Desperate to climb over her, slide inside her and prove that there was no chocolate in the world that could compare to the kind of orgasm I could give her? Yes. Angry? Hell no. “I’m not a kid, or an asshole, Shea. I have full control of my body, and I’d never use it to do anything that would make you feel taken advantage of. I’m not angry because I’m not entitled to anything you aren’t willing to give.”

“I’m sorry—shit, you said to stop apologizing.” She swallowed. “I’ll take the walk to my room, please.”

I nodded, then held out my hand, praying she’d see it as the offering it was, and the assurance that I wasn’t mad.

She put her hand in mine, and it somehow meant more than the kiss had. This woman didn’t trust easily.

I ignored the perplexed look on Lukas and Noble’s faces as we walked through the kitchen, and then I led Shea to her room.

“Elliott’s asleep on the bed farthest from the door,” I told her.

“Thank you. Really. I just didn’t want things to go too far,” she admitted softly. “I don’t just run around kissing guys.”

“You sure?” I teased with a small smile. “Because the whole nine years thing hadn’t resonated with me before.”

She glared up at me, and my smile turned to a full-blown grin. There was my Shea.

“I’ll always stop when you ask me to,” I swore to her. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to talk you into every single kiss I can get out of you. Kissing you is fucking addictive, Shea. But I’ll never take it further than you would want. Ever.”

She tugged her kiss-swollen lips between her teeth but finally nodded. “I believe you.”

With those words and a goodnight between us, I walked across the hall to my own room. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I broke into laughter.

So that’s what Lukas and Noble were gawking at.

Shea’s crushed brownie had found its way into my hair, my shirt, and along the sides of my neck.

I definitely had to ask Jeanine how to bake those fucking things.

* * *

“If you don’t stop whining like a preschooler, I swear,” I grumbled at Lukas as we ran over the trail that lined the rock-strewn beaches the next morning. The area next to the house was gifted with a sandy beach, but the rest of the shoreline up here was definitely not volleyball territory.

“What? Did you see him? What the fuck is she thinking?”

“That she’s a twenty-year-old with hormones and he’s a frat boy who knows exactly how to use that to his advantage?” Noble offered, keeping pace without breaking a sweat.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lukas snapped. “She deserves better.”

“Deserves better than you,” I suggested, cutting him off at the curve.

“What does that mean?” he hissed, his accent nearly changing the sound of the words. “And who said I even wanted her?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Your infatuation with Faith Gentry is about as big a secret as the piercing in your dick.” Pretty sure the only person who hadn’t caught on was Faith’s big brother, who happened to be Lukas’s best friend and our goalie.

“I’m not—wait, how do you know about that?” Lukas asked, picking up the pace to match me.

“Pretty sure People Magazine knows about that,” Noble agreed.

“Stay out of it,” Lukas pointed a finger at the defenseman and nearly bit it on a rock.

“Seriously, Vestergaard,” I lectured as the house came into view. “How many girls did you bring up here with you.”

“Two. So what?”

“Right. How many girls have you fucked since you first decided Faith was going to be on that list?”

He stopped, tripping Noble.

“Damn, dude!” Noble shouted, and then ran around him. “See you at the house.” He took off, leaving Lukas and me about a hundred yards from the house.

The house where Shea had still been sleeping when I’d left to run. Where she’d let me kiss her on the deck. Where she’d wrapped her legs around my waist and ground herself on me.

Where something had triggered her—scared her into thinking I wouldn’t stop. Because someone hadn’t stopped.

That was about as clear as fucking crystal.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Lukas barked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“The number of girls you’ve fucked?”

“Yeah. So what? I like sex. I like women. Those two things have jack and shit to do with Faith.” His chest heaved.

“Without this sounding like we’re having a moment, those two things have everything to do with Faith. You can’t be hung up on a woman and still fuck everything that comes your way. That’s not how relationships work.” I should know.

Hell, I had two more unanswered texts on my phone from the person who had taught me.

“Who said I want a relationship?” he challenged.

“If you don’t want a relationship with that woman, you back the fuck up,” I seethed. “That’s Eric’s sister. She’s family. You don’t get to threaten the harmony of our team for anything less than death-do-us-part, jackass. You don’t get to fuck her and move on, just adding another notch to what has got to be one hacked up bedpost.”

His jaw locked as he looked toward the house.

“And seriously. Stop treating your dick like a fucking gas pump. You don’t have to fill up every Chevy that comes along. If not for the sake of that girl—because she’s like a brand-new Porsche Cayenne—then for the sake of your own self-respect.”

He raised his arms, letting his palms rest on the top of his head. “For the record, I don’t want her. I’m just worried about her. For Eric’s sake.”

“Yeah, okay,” I scoffed. If that’s what he truly thought then he wasn’t just lying to me, but himself.

“What kind of car is Shea?” he asked with a smirk.

“Seriously?” I ripped my shirt from where it hung at my waistband and wiped the sweat from my face.

“Seriously.” His grin faded.

I thought for a millisecond.

“She’s a 61 Ferrari 250 GT. Silver like her eyes. Curved in every place you want to run your hands over. Ragtop so she can change with her moods. Rare. So fucking rare that she’s worth more than any NHL contract. Than anything I have to give her.”

“So no more Chevys for you,” he deduced. “It’s not just about the PR.”

It hit me then, just how far I was gone for Shea, how completely I was enthralled by her.

“It was never about the PR. Just her. Only her.”

I had a feeling that would always be the truth.

Chapter 6

Shea

“Shea,” Grace said my name like she’d said it a couple of times already.

I blinked out of the daze I’d slipped into, straightening behind my desk.

“I’m sorry,” I said, spinning in my chair to face her. “What’s up?”

Grace arched a brow at me, her lips pressed in a line to hold back her smile.

“What?” I asked.