Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
We don’t speak for the first ten minutes. I just watch the trees blur past in the dark, headlights sweeping over moss and cedar. My hands start out folded, then migrate to crossed arms, then drop to my lap, fidgety and uncertain. I can feel the flush of champagne in my cheeks, a slow-burn warmth that will probably last until morning.
He drives one-handed, the other relaxed in his lap, except at the tight curves where both hands flex around the wheel and the sleeve of his jacket pulls back enough to show the thick white scar on his wrist. I want to ask how he got it, but I don’t.
There’s a crackle of streetlamps as we leave the woods behind. The city glows ahead. Since it’s so late traffic is light. The roads are wet and shining. We don’t talk again until we’re within sight of my building, a mid-rise in a fairly decent neighborhood not too far from the hospital.
He finds a spot right out front, kills the engine. Then he just sits, hands on the wheel, looking out through the windshield like there’s something crucial waiting for him in the dark.
“I can make it from here,” I say and reach for the door handle.
He reaches over and places his hand on my knee. Heat and electricity flow through me and I feel that light touch all the way down to my core. “I’ll walk you.”
“That isn’t—”
“Stop arguing,” he says, and I give up because I’m too tired to fight him. Or the crazy feelings being this close to him cause.
He opens his door, walks around to open the passenger door for me. He takes my hand and helps me out of the car. As we walk up the sidewalk, he matches his stride to mine, easy and natural. The night is wet and cold, but I don’t feel it. When we reach my door, he stops close enough that I can smell the sharp, clean edge of his cologne.
We stand there, neither of us moving. I want to say something, but words are not my strong suit right now.
Then he does the thing. He leans in, careful and deliberate, and kisses me. Holy mother of god. My brain shorts out like a cheap string of Christmas lights.
Mick kisses me slow and deep, no hesitation, taking his time and absolutely owning my mouth. His lips are soft, warm, but there’s a low growl in the back of his throat that turns my insides molten. I fist my hands in his jacket, desperate for something to hang on to, and lose myself in the taste of whiskey and stubborn, impossible man.
He slants his mouth over mine, tongue teasing, coaxing, until I open for him and he takes everything I have left. My knees go weak. There’s not an ounce of distance between us, chest to chest, and I swear I feel his entire body lock down like he’s fighting the urge to toss me over his shoulder and carry me inside.
I don’t even try to hold back. My body makes the call before my brain can veto. I kiss him back, reckless and hungry and starved.
He rewards me by pressing in, one big hand sliding around to the small of my back, pulling me close until I’m practically floating. “Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
I’m the one who steps back first. My hand comes up to his chest, flat and firm, and I can feel the solid heat of him under the fabric. I hold him there, not pushing, not pulling. Just anchoring myself. Damn. Talk about leading him on. I’m the queen of mixed signals right now.
I look up. I meet his eyes. “Mick,” I say, and it sounds more like a confession than a name. “I’m not… I’m not interested in anything.”
He just stares down at me with narrowed eyes. “That kiss didn’t feel uninterested to me.”
“It was a moment of weakness.” I admit. “And you’re one hell of a kisser.” I attempt to lighten up the moment. The rest sits between us, thick and unfinished. “Look. I’m not looking for any relationship right now. Much less with a professional athlete. I’ve seen what Harper had to deal with and I’m too busy to deal with all that.”
He just stands there, all patience and restraint.
He opens his mouth and shuts it again without speaking a few times before he finally mutters. “If that’s how you feel.” He steps back giving me space. “I’ll see you around.”
He just gives me a half-smile that’s sadder than anything, nods once, and walks back down the hallway.
I let myself in. The door swings shut behind me with a weighty click, and a little kernel of doubt fills me.
CHAPTER TWO
MICK
My ribs ache, my lungs burn, and I'm pretty sure I've left a piece of my soul on the ice tonight. Winning isn't always pretty, especially when the other team wants to grind you into the ice and the refs decide they’re blind for the final ten minutes of the third period. We took the points, but I'm going to be feeling every second of that win when I try to get out of bed tomorrow morning.