Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I guess that gives all new meaning to being swept off your feet, right?”

Her eyes dropped to my lips.

We were scant inches away.

I could almost taste her from here.

I needed her under me again, or maybe on top of me this time, riding me with all tha

t exquisite auburn hair flowing down her back like fire. Or maybe I’d take her from behind, gripping that firm, round ass as I stroked us both to orgasm.

“Hudson,” she whispered.

“I need to kiss you,” I told her. “Really fucking kiss you.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” she replied.

Though I was half tempted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off, I set her on her feet, then took her hand, gently tugging her through the crowd toward the giant glass doors that led to the patio.

The crowd thinned as we approached the door, and I spotted a dark alcove built into the side of the wall, as if the architect knew I’d have Shea here—as if it had been built precisely so I could kiss her.

“Your makeup,” I warned her as I backed us into the small, dark space, obscured from other guests by the long, navy blue curtains.

“Don’t care,” she assured me.

I lifted her again, gripping just under her ass to support her weight, knowing that dress wasn’t going to let her wrap her legs around my waist.

She threw her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine, opening instantly.

I groaned, sinking my tongue inside her mouth, needing to be within her in any way I could. My weight pinned her to the wall as I took her mouth over and over, drinking her in as though I’d been starved for days—which I had.

With each flick of her tongue, each little whimper she let free, I came more alive. Felt more centered. If I was adrift, then she was an anchor in the best of ways, holding me at harbor when I needed it most.

Her fingers skimmed the base of my skull and came up empty. I’d cut my hair before the road trip and now regretted it. I wanted to feel the bite of her nails, her grip when she lost herself.

“Hudson,” she moaned softly before dragging me under again until there was nothing outside her mouth, her body, her soft sighs as our tongues dueled and tangled, stroked and supplicated.

“I want you,” I growled. God, did I want her. Not just in my bed, but in my life. On my arm, at my back, at my side. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would betray or cheat. She was the kind of woman who would love fiercely, who would be just as fierce in her defense as she was in her passion.

I wanted her for mine—for always.

God, this feeling was what I’d been missing. How close I’d come to wasting it all on a lie, on never knowing Shea’s touch, never exploring her heart.

“Then take me home,” she whispered.

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, resting my forehead against hers, our breaths harsh pants against each other’s lips. “I want all of you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her forehead puckering beneath mine.

“I mean I don’t just want you in my bed, Shea. I want to be with you.” The confession came naturally. Why hide something I felt with such intensity?

“Be with me how?”

I blinked. Was there a communication breakdown somewhere? “I would like to date you, to be with you, in a relationship, committed, exclusive, all that.” Was that clear enough?

She shoved at my chest, and I gently set her feet back on the floor, putting a little space between us.

“Is that...not what you want?” Holy crap, I was nervous. I didn’t get nervous before Stanley Cup games, and here I was sweating bullets.

She looked up at me, stunned. “I...I don’t know. I mean, I love being around you, and there’s no doubt we have some serious chemistry, and you’re great with Elliott, but…”

“But what?” I asked, exasperation leaking into my tone.

“But you are literally famous, Porter.”

Great, the last name was back.

“And?”

“And you play hockey. You’re paid to beat people up on the ice, and I swore I would never let that kind of violence into a relationship. Not ever again.”

Nausea hit my stomach. “You think I’d hurt you? Have I ever given you a sign that I’d lay a hand on you?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. Her eyes fell away, and I lost that precious contact, that window into what she was thinking. “But you said it yourself—these things don’t start overnight. They develop over time, and with you using your fists to settle disputes on the ice, it would only be a matter of time…” she trailed off, her eyes focused somewhere near her feet.

“Until what, Shea?” I hissed. “Until I used them to settle fights with you?” Holy fuck, I was going to be sick.

“I…” she took a deep breath. “I don’t think you would...but I didn’t think he would, either, and he never had any warning signs.”

“And mine are just flashing,” I snapped.

“I haven’t been with another man since him. I just...God, Porter, if you ever...you wouldn’t just hurt me. Look at you—” she gestured to my frame, which towered over hers.

“You could at least look me in the eye while you accuse me of being a fucking monster, Shea.” I bit out every single word.

Her gaze jumped to mine. “I didn’t say you were a monster. You’re not.”

“It’s just that I could turn into one.”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times.

“Please, don’t hold back now. Continue to tell me how I’m good enough to kiss, to fuck, but not safe enough to have an actual relationship with. Let it all out, because you and I are on two different pages, hell, two different books, and it would be nice to get it all out there.”

She swallowed. “I never meant to sleep with you.”

Now I was the speechless one. It took a good minute to wrap my head around that. “So that wasn’t you, dropping your robe, standing there naked, and exposed, asking me to fuck you?”

“Of course, it was!” she snapped out in a pleading tone like she was the victim here. “I wanted you. God, I still want you. Wanting you is pretty much all I think about right now. I just wasn’t planning on it—planning on you. I figured I’d meet someone, and we’d have a pleasant relationship, and then move naturally toward marriage one day, and then I’d have sex with him. Sorry if having a kid at sixteen kind of screwed up my sense of sexuality.”

“I’m sorry you don’t tell me things about your past. You don’t tell me shit, Shea. You’re like trying to put together a puzzle that’s missing the box, and it’s all shades of one color, and backward and shit. And I’m standing here telling you I want you, not in spite of the way you frustrate me, but because of it. I want you because of your complicated past. I want you because you’re a survivor. You’re not some green little girl who runs when it’s tough. You stand your ground and fight for what’s yours.” My shoulders sagged. “I guess I just hoped you wanted me to be yours.”

“I do!” she cried. “I just don’t know if I can. I made such horrible choices before, and Elliott paid for them. I paid for them with more than a pound of flesh. I lost my whole life—my friends, my parents, my security. It took years to feel safe again. I can’t just give that up because you barged into my life.”

“You still don’t feel safe,” I reminded her. “You have a tracker on Elliott. You won’t walk a red carpet with me. You have an alarm system that’s worth more than the rent you pay. And none of that is on me, none of it.”

“I know,” she whispered. “God, Porter, you’re surrounded by beautiful women. I’m sure there are twenty in that room you could take home tonight.”

“More like fifty,” I shot back.

She blanched.

“But I. Want. You. What’s your next excuse? The violence? Because I can give you my ex-fiancée’s number and you can call her up for a character reference. You can ask her if I put a finger on her when I found her fucking another Ontario player in our bed. You can ask if I so much as touched him. She’ll tell you I calmly packed a bag and left. I went straight to the front office and asked them to trade me, specifically so I wouldn’t go after him. So I wouldn’t have to see her.”

“You were engaged?” she asked, her voice soft.

/> “Yes. I thought I’d found that perfect, easy relationship you just aspired to. We’d get married, have some kids, and it would all be...simple. But then she decided I wasn’t enough. It wasn’t good enough to marry the highest-paid defenseman in the league, she wanted someone with more fame. More sponsorships. More interviews with the right people. I wasn’t enough for her, and apparently, I’m too much for you.”

“Hudson,” she whispered, reaching out to touch me.

I backed away another foot until we ran the risk of being seen. “No. You don’t get to use your touch on me. I’m so fucking sorry he hurt you. If I could go back and save you from that, I would. I would give up everything if it meant you never had to experience that. I’m not sorry he gave you Elliott—she’s amazing. I do wish I had been there when you were alone, that I could have spared you some of that. I’m even more sorry that you judge me based on someone else’s actions when I sure as hell don’t judge you by my ex’s. I don’t group all women together the way you do men, but I get it. In your mind, I pose a serious threat to your safety, your body, because you’re wired for flight-or-fight, and you’ve chosen flight. But damn it, Shea, you pose a serious threat to my heart.”

“Hudson,” she whimpered again, but I stepped back, almost fully in the light now.

“No. I can’t right now. I just can’t. You’ve got me raw and bleeding. Please don’t think you’re weaponless just because you’re smaller, Shea, because your words are fucking sharp. I’m going to go for a walk. Let me know when you find another excuse not to be with me, or when you want me to take you to bed, because the truth is I’ll probably still let you fuck me and walk away like I’m your dirty little secret. That’s how badly I want you. Yeah, I’m bigger than you. I can’t do shit about that. But you’re the one with all the power here. You always have been.”

I left her standing in the alcove and immediately took my ass outside, letting the cool air brush over my heated face. One more second with her, and I would have done something I regretted, like let her touch me. Or kissed her. Shown her with my body why we were good together. Why I was worth the risk.

Why I was worthy.

She’d stripped me down to a six-year-old boy, asking for simple love and not understanding why it came in the form of verbal—then physical—abuse.