Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

“He and Joe went to have some father-son time.” His voice sounded as rough as the stubble over his jaw. “They’re hitting a few of their favorite pubs.”

“Well. Good for them.” Mia was done with Tate and his misplaced overprotectiveness. Maybe Joe could whip him into shape. Nothing else had worked. “Wish I’d known, because you are definitely staying in the hall. Good night.”

She shut the door in his face.

But Rafe’s hand hit the wood before the latch caught, and pushed it open. “No, I’m not.” He stepped in, nudging Mia backward. “We have shit to talk about.”

She set her wine down on the kitchen bar, wandered deeper into the condo, and crossed her arms. “Like how I wish I could go back in time and walk away from you at the hotel when you asked for help? Or how I wish I’d never taken you back to my room?”

“No.”

He followed her, advancing in a slow, predatory way that unnerved her. She felt brittle and weak. She felt alone and unwanted with a difficult future ahead and no strength to face it.

“Like how you lied about not using me as a rebound fuck,” he said, voice tight and rising. “Like how you came here with a deliberate plan to fuck me out of your system then move three-fucking-thousand miles away.”

The rasp of his voice as he tried to keep it down scraped over Mia’s skin. The scent of his cologne and the heat of his body teased her with memories. She wanted to cave. She wanted to lean into him and feel his arms around her. Wanted to feel his lips against her skin. So she kept inching away, because that wouldn’t solve any problems, and that desire was how she’d gotten here in the first place.

The vortex of emotions she’d spent the last hour calming threatened to slip from her control again. “You’d have to be inside my head to make that call. And you’re not. You haven’t even talked to me in a damn year, so don’t you dare stand there and tell me you know my motives better than I do.”

“Then why?” he yelled, making Mia flinch. Her heart stuttered and raced ahead. “Why did you sleep with me after twenty years and hundreds of other opportunities when you didn’t? Why do it right after you broke up with Sam and before you move across the fucking country?”

Pain seeped into his voice, and Mia’s strength waned, all the hurt rushed back.

“Because Tate was right,” she yelled. “And I’m s

ick of guys walking away from me because my heart is somewhere else. I did it because I wanted a fresh start, okay? I just wanted to finally let go.”

His hands closed on her biceps, and he gave her a shake. “Let go of what?”

“You.” She threw her arms out to break his hold. “You, you idiot.”

He straightened away from her, his expression shifting from confused to hit-with-a-puck-between-the-eyes.

Mia crossed her arms again, pulling them tight across the pain ripping through her heart. What the hell difference did it make if he knew how she felt now? She was going to be across the damn country soon.

“It was stupid, I know that now.” The admission swamped her with guilt. She was better than this, and she didn’t know how she’d been drawn to such lows. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess. I’m sorry it’s become a problem between you and Tate. I’m sorry it’s created trouble for everyone. But you guys, you all just go about your life, and I’m always an afterthought.”

The truth hurt, and she couldn’t hold the tears back. “Joe loves his job and deals with important cases. He travels all over, and he’s got the perfect son. Tate has an awesome career and the best father a guy could ask for. He could also have any woman he wanted if he’d let go of Lisa’s betrayal. You get Joe and Tate and any puck bunny you smirk at.” She wasn’t going to go into all the ways her life failed to measure up. “I get the leftovers. I get the occasional visit from Joe, the occasional call from Tate, and then you dropped me completely. Which reminds me,” she said, anger renewed, “fuck you, Savage. You have no right to come here and—”

In one step, Rafe closed the distance. She startled, but before she could react, he clasped her face in both hands…and kissed her.

The gears of Mia’s brain stalled, and a murmur of surprise escaped her lips. She fisted her hands in his blazer, trapped between shoving him away and sinking in.

Before she’d decided, he broke the kiss abruptly.

“Stop,” he said, a little breathless. One hand pushed into her hair. He dropped his forehead against hers, and his eyes closed. “Just stop.” He pulled back only far enough to focus. “Go back to the part about why you came. Why you slept with me. Why you’re really pissed at me right now.”

“Why? Just so I can humiliate myself again? Forget it. And don’t tell me what to do. I’m sick of you and Tate throwing your weight around. If you didn’t hear what I said the first time, too damn bad.”

He pulled her in for another kiss. This time, she pushed at his chest. But he wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her off her feet.

She turned her head to escape his mouth. “Rafe—”

He dropped to the sofa, pulled her in to straddle across his lap, and held her there.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told her.

“Then you’re going to have another black eye soon, because if Tate walks in on us like this, he’s going to go ape shit—talk with Joe or no talk with Joe.”