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  “Depends on who you’re having sex with,” I countered without thinking.

  Her cheeks flushed pink.

  Damn. I’d been so good about not going there with her over the last month. Careful to separate my time with Elliott, the times Shea came with us on whatever we were doing, and my attraction to Shea.

  I’d kept my hands to myself and off her spandex-clad ass when we’d gone rock climbing. Kept my eyes forward when we’d had a private yoga session. Elliott kept me in check. Sure, I’d wanted Shea since the first second I set eyes on her, but Elliott came first.

  But Elliott wasn’t here.

  “Not sure that matters when you haven’t had sex for nine years,” Shea muttered before taking another piece of the brownie between her lips.

  I blinked, then looked at the ocean and back to Shea. Then I repeated the action, trying to decide if I’d really heard what I thought I had. Because she didn’t think of me the same way I did her.

  So maybe that was more of a “friend” confession, right?

  Right?

  Oh, fuck it.

  “You haven’t what?” I turned my entire body toward her. “You’re going to have to say that one more time.”

  “What? That I haven’t had sex in nine years? Big deal.” She crammed another piece of brownie in her mouth like she was avoiding any further answer and shrugged.

  “I think it’s a really big deal. Huge.”

  “You would,” she scoffed, her gaze fixed somewhere out over the water.

  “Wait. What does that mean?” a smile tugged at my lips when she shoved in another bite. “You know, you’re going to run out of brownie eventually.”

  “There’s more in the kitchen,” she muttered behind her hand.

  “Uh-huh. What does you would mean?” I kept at her.

  “Look at you,” she gestured down my torso with the remaining half of the brownie. “You must have girls lining up.”

  “Girls don’t exactly line up. The whole asshole vibe puts them off. It put you off, remember?”

  “That’s because I didn’t know you. And trust me, the girls in my office would absolutely stand in line if that meant they could have a turn with you. No, seriously, they’ve told me.” She nodded like it was a simple fact.

  “And you think I sleep with just anyone?”

  She shrugged again, this one smaller. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because I wouldn’t sleep with just any woman, the same as you’ve waited nine years to have sex with another man. And don’t tell me you haven’t had opportunities, Shea. You’re beautiful, smart, driven, and focused.” All reasons I wanted her. My desire wasn’t fully focused on her supple curves.

  But they didn’t exactly hurt, either.

  She paused with a piece of the brownie halfway to her mouth, wedged between her thumb and forefinger. “You…you think I’m beautiful?”

  It wasn’t the flirtatious, coy question of a woman looking for her ego to be stroked. She was genuinely baffled.

  “Honestly?”

  She quirked an eyebrow over those gray eyes, which shone even clearer without her glasses.

  “Yes. The first moment I saw you, glasses sliding down your nose and overwhelmed by paps outside Connor’s, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” I laid it all out there. Why not? She’d already made it clear that I didn’t stand a chance.

  Her lips parted and she looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. “That can’t possibly be true. You’re surrounded by beautiful women.”

  “Don’t call me a liar. Not about this. Now, why nine years?” The need to know burned a pit in my stomach. What was it that had kept her away from men for so long?

  I already knew she didn’t like violence, which led me to my assumptions.

  I knew that where other women were turned on by my height, my size, it made Shea nervous in a way I hated.

  I knew she had a daughter that had never once mentioned a father.

  “Shea,” I prompted.

  “In my experience, sex is…a power thing. Not that it’s not enjoyable…sometimes, but it’s a one-sided physical activity that always left me…” she shrugged. “I just don’t need it.”

  My eyes narrowed, trying to read between the lines she intentionally left vague.

  “Besides,” she added, eying her poised bite of brownie. “I have chocolate, which, if you eat enough of it, is just as good as an orgasm.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  Before she could lift that bite to her lips, I simultaneously took her wrist in my hand and lifted, then closed my mouth over the brownie, letting my tongue stroke the sensitive pads of her fingers as my teeth lightly grazed her skin, plucking the bite from her grasp.

  Her eyes widened. Her pupils dilated. The pulse jumped in her neck. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as I held her gaze, chewing and then swallowing the brownie.

  She’d crushed the other half in her hand.

  She wanted me, too.

  “Still think chocolate can do it for you? Because if you want honesty, then you should know that I’d do it better. Yes, it would be physical, because I want to lick clean every inch of your body until I know every single curve and hollow. Know what makes you gasp. What makes you scream. One-sided? Sure, if that means I get to worship you. You wouldn’t have to do a thing but feel. And the only thing I’d be leaving you would be limp, sated, and smelling like me.”

  Her eyes dropped from mine to her fingers, still glistening in the torchlight from my tongue.

  “Chocolate can’t do that. I can.”

  Fuck, I wanted to kiss her. Even if I never got her under me, never got to sample the warmth of her body or feel her nails on my skin, I’d live. But I wasn’t sure I’d survive another minute without knowing how her lips tasted.

  “Por—”

  “Please, Shea. Let me kiss you. Even if it’s just this once.” The plea sounded strange to my own ears. I’d never had to beg a woman for a kiss—they’d always been freely given, if not shoved at me. But for this woman—for Shea—I’d beg on my fucking knees if it meant I could have her for this moment.

  The desire in her eyes overcame the shadows of fear that had always lingered there, and she nodded.

  I didn’t hesitate. My hands cupped her face as I pressed my lips to hers and kissed her once. Twice. Again, keeping the contact light. Soft. She leaned in, and I almost fist-pumped in victory.

  Then she parted her lips and brought me to my fucking knees.

  I took the invitation she offered, sweeping my tongue past the barrier of her teeth until I tasted chocolate and Shea.

  Our tongues tangled, swirled, and rubbed against each other with a tantalizing friction that made me go back again and again until my fingers buried themselves in her hair, and I pulled her against me.

  I avoided alcohol.

  Never did drugs.

  But one of Shea’s kisses, and I was addicted.

  She pushed up against me, her fingers digging into my biceps, her breasts raking my chest as she rose on her toes like she was seeking the same thing I was—to be closer in whatever way possible.

  I abandoned her hair, gripped her ass in my hands and lifted. Fuck, she weighed almost nothing and yet felt like everything in my arms. I set her on the stone pillar that divided the railing and brought her almost eye-level with me.

  Never once did my mouth leave hers. Hell no. If this was it—the only time I’d ever be allowed to kiss Shea Lansing—then I was going to become the very fucking breath in her lungs. I’d infuse myself so far into her that she wouldn’t ever compare sex to chocolate unless it was something I was drizzling over her breasts before licking it off.

  Her legs wrapped around my waist and her nails scraped my scalp before tugging me closer.

  “Shea,” I growled, angling her head, kissing her deeper, taking everything she was willing to give.

  “More,” she demanded and kissed me with s
uch passion that I couldn’t fathom how she’d lived without sex for nine years. This woman was pure sensuality, desirable in every way possible, and fully capable of asking for what she needed.

  And right now, she needed more from me.

  So I gave it.

  I kissed her mouth until her lips were as familiar as my own. Then I set my mouth to the base of her throat and worked my way up, using my tongue and teeth until her hips rocked against me, no doubt finding how hard I was for her.

  Fuck, I needed her more than air. More than food, or water, or even the rink.

  I felt her hands brace against my chest as I took her mouth again and nearly begged her to use them on my skin.

  Instead, they pushed.

  She ripped her mouth free of mine and jerked so powerfully that I had to lock my arms around her to keep her from falling the twenty feet to the rocks below.

  “Stop!” she whimpered.

  She may as well have screamed it at the top of her lungs.

  I stilled immediately, dropping my chin and concentrating on my breathing to get control.

  “Please?” she asked, her voice smaller than I could stand, and at direct odds with the woman I’d just discovered.

  It wasn’t stopping that bothered me. Hell, I’d had more than just the kiss I’d asked for. It was the way she’d asked. The slight upturn of her tone at the end of her question, like it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that I would do as she asked.

  “Shea, of course. I just can’t let you drop off the damn railing,” I admitted, my voice sandpaper-rough.

  “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.