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  But it shouldn’t be a one-way street. Did other women expect that of him?

  The button gave way with a small tug, and she kept going when he didn’t stop her. The low purr of the descending zipper was mostly muffled by the dull roar of the jet engines.

  His hand flexed over hers, his other one fisted on the seat beside them. There was something going on that she didn’t understand. Should she stop? Ask him? Keep going?

  Slowly, his hand slid off hers, thumbs hooking under the waistband of his shorts. He held her gaze as he lifted his hips, a touch of vulnerability flashing before he shut it down behind a soft smile. He started to shove his clothing down, face blank instead of full of the heat that’d claimed it moments ago. His hesitation, mixed with his earlier protest and lack of enthusiasm, were all the signals she needed.

  She sat back, hands trailing down his thighs to rest on his knees, the right one covered by a brace once again. His hips lowered back to the seat, the silence stretching.

  “What is it?” she asked, her focus on the circular pattern she was tracing around his unobstructed kneecap. The hair was springy under her fingers, soft yet not. The floor vibrated beneath the balls of her feet and knees.

  His hand brushed down her neck, the slight shaking noticeable because she was so attuned to him. “I prefer giving more than receiving,” he finally said, voice a tight line of insistence before his hand dropped away.

  For a second she almost snorted. What man didn’t like to get a blow job? But he sounded serious, and laughing at his admission was not the thing to do. That much she knew. And there she was, making another stereotyped assumption about men and him. She knew better, was better than that.

  She tracked the line of her finger as she trailed it down his calf to his anklebone. A shallow grunt-turned-groan floated over her head. So he was still interested in her. Just not in what she wanted to do.

  His sandals were backless, a fancy leather upgrade of standard flip-flops. She kept her finger moving downward until it passed over the large bump on the back of his heel. Hard and rough beneath her touch, it scratched her skin when she rubbed her finger back and forth over it. There were similar, if smaller, bumps on the outsides of his big toes as well.

  “Is this what one of your girlfriends objected to?” Was she the same one who’d turned him off blow jobs?

  His gruff snort was heavy with derision. “She wasn’t my girlfriend. But, yeah. That’s it.” He shifted his feet back, tucking them away from her.

  What other damage had hockey done to his body? Him? “Is all this worth it?” She waved her hand at the fancy plane, finally meeting his eyes.

  “What?”

  “The money, fame, recognition? Is it worth the damage it’s done to you?”

  His eyes slammed closed, cutting her off. The tight pull of his jaw and press of his lips showed exactly how true her barb had hit. And how he felt about it.

  Her stomach dropped with her heart. What was she doing? She hadn’t meant to poke at him. He didn’t need that. Especially from her.

  Her head fell forward, forehead coming to rest on his knee. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  There was a long moment of regret for her unthinking mouth before the stroke of his fingers ran through her hair. Gentle at first, a light brush over the springy ends before reaching her skull. Her breath caught at his touch, the tenderness it held. She turned her head to peek up at him. His expression was thoughtful instead of angry or annoyed like she’d expected. Deserved.

  “It wasn’t really a choice,” he said, sadness lacing out to jerk at her compassion and doubling the guilt that burned in her chest. “Hockey lets me breathe. It’s the one place where I’ve always known what to do. It’s forty-five minutes of pure adrenaline where the only thing I have to think about is getting the puck in the net.”

  He reached down to haul her back up. The air conditioning blew over her back, making her distinctly aware of her shirtless state and failed seduction. He settled her beside him so her legs were lying sideways across his lap and wrapped his arms around her. The chilly air was forgotten the second she was tucked within his embrace.

  “Was it worth it?” he went on. “It was never a question of worth, but necessity. Hockey was all I ever wanted to do. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t skating. It’s who I am.”

  “But it’s not,” she immediately insisted, twisting to see if he was serious. “You are so much more than hockey. It’s a sport you play, but it isn’t you.”

  He shrugged, glancing away. “It’s what everyone sees when they look at me.”

  “At first maybe. I can’t honestly say though, because I’ve never seen you play. But trust me, it’s not what I see—at all.”

  He met her eyes again, a smirk transforming his face into the mischievous man she recognized. “Which is what makes you so amazing.”

  “That’s me,” she preened, fluffing her hair. “Amazing.” She held her serious face for all of second before the laughter burst from her. His matching chuckle was buried in her neck. “That tickles.” She pushed on his arms, shoulder hunching to get away.

  An instant later his laughs turned to soft kisses and swirling licks that sent a whole other sensation over her skin. Her sigh was long and breathy as she relaxed her shoulder, neck stretching to give him more room.

  How did he do that?

  She was on her back, him sprawled over her before she was aware he’d moved them. She let him drive this time, not caring so long as he was happy. His dominant streak wasn’t overpowering or obnoxious, wasn’t anything she didn’t like—want.

  Her worries fled as his breath heated her skin, mouth warmed her nipples. Her clothing disappeared to the hum of the engines and the soft moans he called from her. Slow and luxurious, she floated in the decadent seduction. Every lick and suckle, every gasp and cry, every stroke and plunge.

  She gave herself to him and tried like hell to hold on.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel surrounded him, embraced and gave everything Scott asked for. Her cries were soft and high as he dove into her wet heat, lips sore, tongue aching. He didn’t relent though, couldn’t back off until she shattered again.

  One more.

  Give her one more orgasm. He could ensure that.

  He drove the vibrator into her tight heat, inhaled a deep draft of her heady musk and sucked on her swollen nub hidden beneath that exquisite piercing of hers. One of their outings had included a trip to an adult store where he’d discovered her piercing was just the tip of her adventurous sexy side.

  He eased back enough to hold the vibrator against her clit. Her instant high-pitched cry was one he loved. It shimmered over him in confirmation of the one thing he knew he could give her—pleasure.

  The toy had been a last-minute addition to his carryon that he was fucking thankful he’d tossed in. She squirmed on the narrow bench, hips jerking uncontrollably beneath his unyielding intent to see her come.

  He slid the vibrator down to circle her opening, loving her deep gasps and dazed gaze that watched him from beneath heavy lids. Her jaw dropped farther when he continued his path lower to tease the puckered clench of her anus. Her throaty moan rolled from her in time with the deep rock of her pelvis.

  Fuck, she was so open and willing. Trusting and giving, even after he’d rejected her earlier advance. An asshole move on every male scale he could think of. He shook the negative thought from his mind, not wanting the distraction of the repetitive montage. He’d make it up to her now. Here.

  He dove in to suckle her clit and used his free hand to thrust three fingers into her channel. The triple onslaught was her undoing. The tight clenching on his digits preceded her arched back and the digging heels in his shoulders. Her whimpered wail was his song of victory.

  The rush of pleasure at feeling her come, at knowing he’d given her that, was one less weight for him to carry.

  He turned off the vibrator and dropped it to the floor. Quick, before she descended
from her floating cloud of bliss, he shucked his clothing, suited up with a condom Grenick stocked in the small cabinet above the seat, then slid his rock-hard erection into her. God. Fucking God in hell.

  His full-body shake was instantaneous and uncontrolled. The heat gripped him, sucked him deeper until he couldn’t go any further. He absorbed every sensation. The amazing rush of her inner walls over the sensitive head of his cock. The tight clench that was both supple and hard. Wet and scorching.

  He opened his eyes to get lost in the almost black ones gazing back at him. Soft and dreamy, lips a deep red that matched the flush on her cheeks, it was a vision he wanted to keep forever.

  She guided him down for a long, slow kiss that almost fried the last of his working brain cells. Lost, that was what he was. In her. In the chance she provided. The hope she represented. This was the connection he’d hidden from since he was nineteen. Too pathetically long.

  His hips started to move almost on their own. Easy glides in and out. Savored strokes that let the pressure build in his balls.

  Salt danced on his tongue when he kissed down her neck, sucked on the sensitive juncture of her shoulder. Musky richness invaded his nostrils on every deep inhalation. Little cries of pleasure floated into his ears each time he bottomed out. A passion-rich combination that simmered over his senses and eventually drove him harder. Deeper.

  Seeking.

  His grunts merged with her sobs. Her legs clamped around his waist, encouraging each thrust. The leather covering the bench slid beneath the damp skin of his arms and legs, another stimulus that built on the others.

  He strode for the end, hunted it down with a desperation he’d long abandoned. She gasped, arched beneath him, nails digging into his back.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Eyes squeezed tight, head buried in her shoulder, he fought for his release. Begged silently for the completion. Tried to force it out through pure will. Like he had every time with her.

  Hips pumping, breath panting, pleas chanting through his mind, there was a moment when he thought it would work. A second when his groin tightened, balls pulsed and he almost shouted in victory. Chased it.

  Rachel shuddered beneath him, muscles spasming around his cock in a sensual signal for him to come. Let go. Shatter with her.

  And he tried. Hard.

  Harder.

  Reached for it. But it wasn’t there.

  Fucking hell.

  He shouted his frustration. Let his anger out in the strangled cry that poured from his lungs. The silent torment flattened him. Sucked him dry while his dick remained hard as stone within her.

  Their gusting breaths cut through the air. He hid from her still. Too frustrated to meet her gaze. Too ashamed to admit the truth to her.

  That was what motivated him to move. Had him scrambling off the end of the seat to stumble into the bathroom. The routine was painfully familiar now. Empty condom discarded in a wad of tissue. Deep breaths. A cold, damp towel on his sac to speed up the process.

  His legs shook, triggering thoughts of his knee. Fucking stupid knee. The pain burned deep and aching now. Another taunt of his inadequacies.

  He couldn’t hide in there though.

  Rachel was waiting, and he wouldn’t spread his shame to her. Disgust swirled sick in his stomach at how close he’d come to doing just that. Over a blow job. What kind of a man turned down a blow job from a beautiful, giving woman?

  One too fucked up to come.

  Shit.

  He could’ve enjoyed it for a bit. Let her pleasure him like she’d wanted to. But his fears had ruined it.

  His fist nailed the edge of the counter, jarring his hand and spiraling his thoughts. He blew out a ragged breath, ran a hand through his hair and swiped a towel from the rack. The small shower was tempting, but he needed to get back to Rachel.

  He settled for wrapping a towel around his waist to hide the last of his slowly receding erection then grabbed another for her.

  She was curled on her side when he came out, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her head rested on a pillow, a throw blanket covering her. Bare shoulders and arms, combined with their discarded clothing splayed across the floor, told him she was naked beneath the thin cotton covering she’d dug out of the drawer beneath the bench.

  He studied her, hand clenching around the held towel. It was a moment before he caught her deep, even breaths. Ones that signaled her sleeping state.

  Thank fuck.

  He sagged against the wall, too relieved and exhausted to hold himself up. This had to change. He had to change.

  He was hurting everyone around him. His behavior becoming erratic. Emotions dipping and sailing on a rollercoaster of FUBAR if he didn’t jump off. That was what had happened to Gardner. The man had been fucked up beyond all recognition, and no one had seen it. He’d hidden the severity of his addiction and pain from everyone. Just like Scott had done. Was doing.

  He slid to the floor, eyes never leaving Rachel’s sleeping form. His foot bounced, need rushing up to circle his neck and dry out his throat. Another familiar sensation that had him eyeing his shorts, but his trusty mint tin was in his carryon, not his pocket. A small first step in changing his habits.

  Thank the fucking heavens for Rachel. That she’d been sent into his life when she had. He dug his fingers through his hair until it yanked on his scalp. He couldn’t believe how strong she was. Determined and brave.

  He was past kidding himself. She was one of the main reasons he’d agreed to rehab. They’d made no promises to each other. One week was too fast for declarations of love and forever commitments. Yet the possibilities were what he reached for.

  She deserved better than the shell of a man dictated by the cycling rotation of pain pills. And at his lowest point two nights ago, he’d finally admitted he deserved better too.

  Now he had to follow through on it.

  * * *

  Scott stared at the non-distinct white brick, two-story building. Set in a quiet burb outside of Atlanta, it could’ve been anything. There were no signs advertising the business that went on inside. No bars on the window or big locks on the doors, like his nightmares had conjured up. The small parking lot was half-full, the surrounding lawn well maintained.

  A familiar heavy blanket of humidity wrapped around him, but this one seemed more cloying. He tugged on his shirt collar, swallowed and tried for a calming breath. Fresh-cut grass overrode the gentler scents of the blooming flowers that lined the path to the door. It was so normal and nonthreatening. Not to him though.

  Rachel’s touch was light on his arm. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Still no pressure. Not once in this entire process had she pushed him. Not even after ten minutes of standing in the unforgiving Atlanta heat.

  They’d come straight from the airport, his nerves worsening the entire way. The private car had been waiting at the private hangar, lessening the chance of him being recognized. Not that his face was identifiable by the average person. The city’s current lack of a professional hockey team was another thing in his favor.

  The urge to take a few pills clamored up his back and dampened his nape. They’d ease his nerves. Make the last steps manageable. Doable even. But he’d taken his remaining two pills while Rachel had been sleeping. Snuck them in, even though she knew he had to take them now. Guilt and habit still ruled him.

  He pulled out his phone, checked his messages one final time. A quick text to his agent was his last before he shut it down.

  Dave was the only person besides Rachel who knew the truth of where he’d be for the next month or more. The man had brought his dependable logic to the situation. There were no guarantees that any contract offers would still be open four to six weeks from now. Teams had to fill out their rosters, and he didn’t expect them to wait on an indefinite response from him. But Dave said he’d handle it, and Scott trusted him to do so.

  Everyone else got a variation of the same email explaining his unexpected vacation, citing
an escape from the speculation and media. A few had responded with questions. Grenick had thankfully been out of town, or the man probably would’ve been at his door demanding answers.

  He was waiting until after rehab to contact Segar. Call it one more chicken-ass step, but he wasn’t ready to give the man the satisfaction of thinking he’d been right about Scott’s addiction until he could shove his sobriety in Segar’s face. Immature? Definitely. But it was the least of his concerns.

  He glanced down, found Rachel’s hand. She squeezed his fingers, a smile lighting up her face beneath her sunglasses. The flattened state of her hair and the slight plumpness that remained on her lips were the only tells of their early romp. One he hoped wasn’t his last with her. But like the contracts, he had to be a realist. There was no guarantee she’d be waiting when he got out.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely ready.” There was so much truth in his delayed response, he almost choked on it. Swallowing again, he handed her his phone. “They aren’t allowed.” Like all outside contact. Once he walked through those glass doors, he was on his own.

  She tucked it into her purse with a simple nod. “Is there anything else you want me to hold on to?”

  “Me?” More truth. It was pouring out of him the deeper his cracks ran.

  Her arms were around him, head tucked beneath his chin a moment later. “You got it.”

  Shit. This wasn’t good. His throat burned with unsaid words and regrets, doubts escalating until the urge to flee became a tempting call, like the drugs. He held her tight, nose buried in her hair, where he found that fruity scent. It reminded him of why he had to go.

  With a deep inhale, he pressed a kiss to her temple, a last lingering one to her lips and walked away.

  Or forward. That was a better way to think of it.

  His steps were silent on the concrete, while a bird chirped in the trees. It was all so normal when it was anything but. The metal handle was warmed by the sun. His grip slipped. Feet stalled. He caught her reflection in the glass. A hand pressed to her lips, arm crossed over her stomach in a tight hold.