Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She grinned, motioning to my tux.

“I was coming up to get you. You didn’t have to come down.” It wasn’t like I was going to honk at her from the curb.

She shrugged in that easy way of hers. “I was ready early, thanks to the small army you had sent over.”

Stylists, designers, hair and makeup...it had been easy to do once I’d called Connor to get Ivy on the job.

“You’re always beautiful. I just wanted to relieve some of your stress about coming with me.” She’d had a flat-out look of panic when I’d invited her to the black-tie gala.

“Well, thank you.”

I ushered her into the limo, noting the smile on the chauffeur's face as he shut the door between us.

Shea looked around the stretch limo and shook her head. “Feels like a waste.”

I just stared at her, taking in the details I’d missed these last few days. I’d never felt like that during a road trip before—this clawing, desperate need to get home—to get back to Shea.

“What?” she asked next to me, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress.

“You’re exquisite.”

Her lips parted.

“To the gala?” the driver asked through the partition.

“Yep. Just knock when we’re there,” I answered. “Thank you.” Then I used the button on the door to shut the screen, leaving me alone with Shea.

“Seriously, you didn’t have to get a limo,” she said quickly, her voice high with nerves.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

I leaned, gripped her hips and lifted her over me, sitting her on my lap. “Because I knew the second I saw you, I wasn’t going to keep my eyes on traffic.” My thumb stroked her lower lip, and she drew it in her mouth, gently scraping the flesh with her teeth.

“I missed you,” she whispered the admission like it cost her soul.

“I missed you, too,” I answered. “So damn much. It’s killing me not to kiss you right now.”

“Hours of preparation,” she reminded me with a teasing smile. “Hold very. Very still.” Then she leaned forward, engulfing me in her citrus and vanilla scent, making my head swim with her nearness, her warmth, her simple existence.

Then she brushed her mouth over mine lightly. Our breaths mingled, and the millimeter between our separated mouths hummed with electric tension.

“Shea,” I pled, nearly laughing at the fact that I was once again in a position of begging with this woman.

She answered with a light, barely-there kiss, a brief suction of my lower lip as her soft hands framed my face.

“Hudson,” she sighed, coming in for another, then another.

She purred when her hips nudged my instant erection. I should have been a science kit or something. Instant hard-on: just add Shea.

“God, woman.”

“Just kiss me,” she said. “I can redo the makeup.”

Temptation twisted my gut, every primal piece of me demanding to claim what she’d offered. But she’d never had her makeup done by professionals before. Never gone to a black-tie gala. I knew she wore that professional makeup like armor, and I wasn’t going to fuck with it while she felt she needed it. She’d never dated an NHL player and been thrust into his world of tabloids. Hell, she hadn’t dated except for the asshole who had miraculously given her Elliott.

Fuck. I needed to tell her.

“Mmmm, you taste like peppermint,” she whispered, sliding her tongue along the seam of my lips.

“Shit.” I shifted my grip and put her back in her own seat, then slid to the other side of the bench.

“What the hell?” She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“You stay there,” I pointed a finger at her and adjusted my pants, silently making a deal with my cock that I’d be inside Shea tonight if he’d do me a solid and just deflate while we walked the red carpet.

Otherwise, I’d be getting more than one call from Langley about my PR.

Shea’s lips parted in a shocked O, and she moved toward me.

“Not kidding, Shea, or we’re going to be late.” My eyes raked her body, where her creamy breasts rose above her neckline to meet in the most mouthwatering cleavage I’d ever seen. I wanted to fuck those tits. Ugh. Down, I reminded my dick.

“How late?” Her eyes took on that sheen of desire that made me shift in my seat.

“Very.”

She followed me, slipping over the middle seat of the limo. “What if I don’t mind being late?” Her lips caressed the shell of my ear.

“You’re going to find that dress around your fucking waist and my dick inside you if you keep it up,” I warned her.

“You don’t scare me,” she teased. “Besides, that sounds like heaven, not a threat.”

My head hit the leather headrest as I groaned. “Have some mercy on me.”

“Did I mention that Elliott is spending the night at a friend’s?”

My head snapped toward hers. “You’re staying with me in the suite tonight.”

The limo slowed, and a quick glance told me we’d entered the line for the red carpet.

“I didn’t pack a bag,” she answered.

“You won’t need any clothes,” I promised.

That tension was between us, crackling again.

The driver knocked at the partition, and I lowered it, not taking my eyes from Shea’s. God, I was falling for this woman. Everything about being around her was utterly addictive but in the best way. Like being hooked on something healthy.

Shea was like a decadent fudge brownie that actually burned calories.

“Sir, you’re two cars away.”

“Thank you,” I told the driver, reminding myself to tip him well.

“Okay, we’re going to get out at the red carpet. We’ll walk up the steps to the path that heads into the gala,” I told Shea.

Her skin paled. “Steps? Have you seen this dress? My general lack of athletic ability?”

“I can carry you,” I offered, completely honest.

“What? No. Tha

t’s...I’m not a damsel. I can walk.”

“Okay,” I answered, biting back a smile at her frustration.

“But maybe keep an arm around me or something in case.” Her nose crinkled.

“In case what?” I teased.

“In case I...become a damsel,” she ended with a huff, blowing out her breath through very kissable lips.

“I can do that.” Hell yes, I’d keep my arm around her all night. Because she was mine.

Mine. Fuck. I’d gone there.

But where was she? I’d opened myself up like a book to her, and she was still closed up like Fort Knox.

Great, now you’re a high school girl, wondering if you’d just been used for sex.

Not that I was against being used.

“One more car,” the driver called back.

“Thank you,” I answered again. “I’ll get out first,” I told Shea, whose fingers had turned white gripping her little hand-sized purse. “Then I’ll reach for your hand, and you can slide out. Remember to pivot your whole body, then put both feet on the ground. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I’d never let her fall. Not now, not ever.

“Oh, God. You can’t put your arm around me. Not in front of the press. There are going to be pictures!” Her eyes flew wide, panic sending her pupils to nearly consume those gorgeous gray irises.

“I guess now is a bad time to tell you that the Chronicle published a picture of us from Pike’s Market this morning?” I cringed, knowing this could go either way.

“They what?” she shrieked.

“They didn’t mention your name,” I promised. “And it’s not like we were kissing or anything, just looking at each other...but you can tell there’s something between us.”

She stared silently ahead of herself.

“There is something between us, right?” I prodded.

“You want to do this now?”

“No, I’d rather dance with you, then take you to bed and make love to you until you can’t move, but this seems to be where the discussion has led us. That picture is out there, and we’re about to step in front of about twenty different press organizations, all snapping pictures.”