Back in Play Page 19

  God, he loved her.

  Fuck. He sat back, amazement shaking him. Where in the hell had that come from? Strong affection, sure. Lust, definitely. Love—how? Did he even know what it was?

  The one time he’d thought he had ended up being a complete lie.

  Instead of arguing with her, he did the one thing he could think of to calm her down and forget his wild thoughts. He drew her into a kiss. Her lips were the best drug around. Or maybe it was her taste, that rich tempting flavor he caught when he swept his tongue into her mouth.

  Yeah, he missed that too.

  A ringing chime sounded over the speaker system, a seemingly soothing tone he’d come to loathe. His groan was one of frustration, not desire when he sat back.

  “That’s for the next group session.” He wished he could ignore it. Hell, he wished he could leave with Rachel right now.

  That wasn’t going to happen though. He might be off the Vicodin, but he hadn’t figured out how to manage the cravings or the pain. Would he ever? There were many times when he doubted it.

  She nodded, smile tight. “I guess that means I have to go.”

  He stood by way of answering, her hand still clasped in his. As long as he still held it, she couldn’t leave, right? And that was mature.

  Her hug took him by surprise, much like her greeting one had. It didn’t stop him from hanging on. From holding her as tightly as he dared and cherishing every touch. He sneaked in one last inhale of her shampoo—of her—and held it until he had to breathe.

  He led her back to the waiting room, steps slower than necessary. A last kiss, hug, touch, and then he was walking away again. How the fuck could he keep doing that? Each step was leaden, but he continued.

  One step at a time. Eventually, they’d bring him back to her. He had to believe that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A wave of relief passed through Scott the second he stepped across the threshold to Rachel’s home. Clean, sober and relatively pain-free for the moment.

  That was a victory in itself.

  A big, huge fucking victory.

  The subtle scent of vanilla played in his nose as he sucked in a long breath—the best one he’d taken in almost six weeks.

  “It’s not as big as your place,” Rachel was saying, “but it’s good for me.”

  The tidy cottage-style home could probably fit in his great room, but it was just as welcoming as his oversized house. They’d entered directly into the cozy living room, which was decorated in bright splashes of color against soft creams and whites that said fun. Pictures hung on the walls around a mounted flat screen, and knickknacks lined shelves with hints of her life and travels.

  “You can set your bag on the stairs.” She motioned to the staircase to the right of the doorway as she kicked her sandals off. “We’ll take it up later.”

  To her room? The guest room? He’d relinquished any right he might’ve had to ask when he’d checked himself into rehab.

  He did as she suggested with his bag and slipped his flip-flops off as well. The cool hardwood floor was refreshing beneath his feet after the blanket of heat they’d just escaped from. “And I thought Minnesota summers were humid.”

  “Ha!” She grinned at him, hand snaking out to brush his arm. “We’ve got you beat by a mile.” That was a fact. The heat actually had him longing for a bit of the northern snow. “Come on. I need some water.”

  She led the way past the living room and compact dining area that flowed into the pass-through bar. He stood in the kitchen doorway, not wanting to crowd her as she moved around grabbing glasses and ice.

  “Do you like lemon in your water?”

  “Sure?” Hell if he really cared one way or the other. His face must’ve given away his thoughts, because she simply laughed and stuffed a freshly cut slice into both glasses before filling them from a jug of water.

  “Do you have any wishes for dinner?” she asked after handing him the water. “We could grill, order in or go out. Your choice.”

  His choice. Wow. That’d been one nice thing about rehab—he’d had to make precious few choices. But it was time to have them back.

  “Can we grab steaks and grill?” Damn, that sounded like heaven. His diet had taken a major hit in the center. “The trainers are going to have a cow over the weight I’ve lost.” And there was that frown he hated to see on her face. “What?” Oh, right. There weren’t any trainers or dieticians or coaches he had to be concerned about right now. Was that freeing, or did it simply leave him lost? And now he was frowning.

  “Steaks sound great.” The spunk was back in her tone, and it didn’t seem forced. Good.

  He sat his glass down, took the three short steps that brought him next to her and wrapped her up in his arms. Now that felt fantastic. A sense of rightness slid in to calm that jumble of questions and doubts that balled in his stomach.

  “Hmm,” she hummed against his neck. “Nice.”

  “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “Not a problem.”

  For how long though? She was back at work—who in the hell started school the first week of August?—and he couldn’t hang around indefinitely. Yet he wasn’t ready to go home. Not when his former teammates were already trickling into town, unofficial practices picking up—without him.

  Sure, he could skate with them. There were always guys from other teams on the ice in August, since the official season didn’t kick in until September. But could he do it? When he wasn’t even sure if he was playing anymore?

  “I’ll need to call Dave tomorrow.” His agent would have the details to answer that question. Just the thought of how much crap he had waiting for him was enough to have him wishing for a hole to hide in. Right. Wasn’t that what he’d just dug himself out of?

  “Do you want your phone back?”

  Her breath tickled over his skin, a welcomed sensation. Yeah, he’d missed the little things too. She hadn’t moved away, and he was more than content standing in her tidy kitchen with her warmth pressed to him.

  “Not today.” He nuzzled her hair, soaking her in. “Today I just want to be with you.” Being shoved back into the real world after six weeks of contained structure was a bit like being shoved onto the ice with his blade guards on. He was just waiting to trip and fall.

  Her hum of agreement vibrated on his collarbone. “I like the sound of that.”

  At some point in the last month, he’d stopped questioning his luck at Rachel coming into his life when she had. Some things simply happened when they were supposed to. Was it really love? He’d debated that since it’d first slammed into his thoughts, and he honestly didn’t know. Or maybe he wasn’t ready to admit it. But where would he be if he hadn’t called her for that date?

  More than likely, he’d be contracted to another team, in the process of moving and downing even more pain pills.

  Or would he be holding out for that possible Glaciers contract? Which was exactly what he was doing right now. But hopefully he was closer to actually getting it.

  “How long have you lived here?” he asked. He was tired of thinking about his problems. Exhausted actually. There were far more interesting things to think about. Like Rachel.

  “Seven years.” She pressed a kiss to his collarbone then moved away. “Let’s hit the grocery store now before it gets hotter.” She plucked a bundle of cloth shopping bags from a slot between the fridge and wall. “It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “So we’re walking?” That sounded excellent. Anything outdoors was heavenly right then, despite the heat. It was a level of freedom he hadn’t treasured until he’d been deprived of it.

  She paused, glancing to his knee. “Is that okay? We can drive.”

  “No,” he insisted. “I’m fine.” The two words came out fast and sharp. He flexed his knee, as if that would prove his words true. There was no way he was going to stand for her babying him.

  Her eyes went wide, expression flattening. “All right.” She wet her lips. “But th
at’s not going to work.”

  “What?”

  She motioned at him, scowling. “That attitude crap right there. I asked a simple question. There was no need to snap at me.”

  “And there’s no need for you to treat me like an invalid.” He crossed his arms, firm in his own conviction. “That’s not going to work either.”

  A tense silence stretched, neither of them budging until she slowly nodded. “Fair enough.” She set the bags on the counter then leaned back to rest against it, arms crossing in a mirror of his. “But tell me truthfully, how’s the pain?”

  Defensive defiance raced up his back to jerk his shoulders back and clamp his jaw tight. He didn’t need her scrutinizing him 24/7. He’d left the fucking clinic and didn’t want a watchdog.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?” There was another topic they needed to tackle. It was exactly like the therapist had warned. Trust was something he’d have to earn back. It still stung. He’d never lied to or wronged Rachel.

  Except for his sexual issues—she still had no clue about that. Oh, and the drugs he’d hidden, even if it’d only been for a few days.

  Fuck. He scrubbed a hand over his face, protective reflexes dropping away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t exactly proven my trustworthiness.” Yet she was the one person he trusted completely right now. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” He could go somewhere else. The Caribbean maybe? Hockey wasn’t popular there. Was it?

  Her sigh contained the weightiness of tried patience. He almost chuckled at the similarities it held to his mother’s. He’d heard it a lot when he was growing up. But Rachel wasn’t his mother, and he didn’t want her to step into the role of having to take care of him.

  “Look,” she said, drawing nearer. She stopped a few feet in front of him but didn’t reach to touch him. A notable anomaly for her. He forced himself to meet her eyes. “You haven’t even been here for an hour. And although in some ways I feel like I’ve known you forever, we really know very little about each other. There are going to be some bumps and glitches we’ll need to figure out. That doesn’t mean I want you to leave.”

  Straight-shooting logic. He could trust her for that. Which was why he threw out the question she hadn’t answered. “Do you trust me?” For some damn reason, he had to hear the answer.

  There came her touch. On his biceps. Gentle and calming over his tightly wound muscles. Her face had softened too. Eased into that patient understanding that must be awesome with her students. “There are a lot of things I trust about you. Like your intentions and dedication. I trust that you want to be off the drugs. And I trust that you don’t want to go back to them.”

  She inhaled, and he waited for the but that was coming. He almost winced when it happened right on cue.

  “But I also know you hid the pain from everyone for years. You denied then buried it. I guess I have a need to make sure that you don’t do that again. So.” She smiled, squeezing his arm. “Can I trust you to be honest with me about that? I won’t hound you, but you have to admit when it hurts too much to do something, even to take a two-block walk to the store.”

  There was nothing but truth laid out before him. Missing was the deserved accusations or demands. Once again, her calm directness left him defenseless.

  With a slow hesitancy, he unfolded his arms to ease them around her. He rested his cheek on her head, eyes closing to lock in his promise. “I will.” Her deep inhale pressed against his chest before she released it, hands skimming up his back as she relaxed into him. He’d do just about anything to keep her right there.

  That was a promise he made to himself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rachel flicked on the switch, which turned on the bedside lamps, nerves rushing up to make her pause. She turned to Scott where he stood in the short hallway. His bag was slung over his shoulder, the yellow glow of the light shining on the question lifted on his brows.

  Her pulse had a heavy beat and her skin was too warm, given the comfortable air-conditioned temperature. “You’re welcomed to share my bed, or there’s a guest room. The bed fits Rock, so you’d be comfortable there.” The too was almost on the end of the sentence before she cut it off. It wasn’t her place to imply that he’d be comfortable in her bed.

  Dang. Their day had been an odd mix of good and bad. Like she’d said to him, stumbles and tense moments had cropped up between the comfortable natural ones. This wasn’t an easy dance, and they were both figuring out the steps.

  He ducked his head, hand clenching on the strap of bag. His gaze was tentative when he glanced up. “I think that’s your call.”

  And there they were, stumbling around each other again. What would honesty get her? A shattered heart, or the love she’d almost given up on?

  “I’ve spent the last month and a half wishing you were sleeping next to me.” Honesty it was then. The old Fielding charge wouldn’t let her cower from what she wanted—believed in. She held out her hand in invitation.

  There was no hesitation before he clasped it. “Me, too.” His smile stomped out her doubt as she backed up and led him into her bedroom.

  He set his bag on the floor before lifting her chin to capture her mouth in another of the many kisses they’d shared that day. She couldn’t get enough them. Of him now that he was there.

  She opened to him automatically, her tongue playing slowly with his. It’d been like that all day. The slow steps back to comfort. Quiet “Hello” “How are you?” “I’ve missed you” said without words.

  Desire smoldered gradual and languid in her blood. There was no rush. Each brush of his lips slid into her, eased around her heart and opened her up.

  “I can’t stop tasting you,” he murmured against her mouth. A breath-filled admission she completely agreed with. She chased after his flavor until she found it hidden beneath their dinner and the glass of Coke he’d had as they’d watched a movie.

  She tangled her fingers in the longer hair that brushed over his nape. She liked the softer texture. It fit him now.

  His hands ran over her back, down her sides in the same leisurely pace as his kiss. Each stroke was a confirmation of sorts. A verification that he was there. That they were together, their chemistry still amazing.

  The kiss went on and on. Drugging in its quiet intensity. Her head spun in a floaty sensation that left her feeling weightless.

  She hadn’t wanted to assume they’d return to being lovers. Had prepared herself for the possibility that he wouldn’t want to—not right away, at least. If ever. But this was exactly what she wanted.

  Their clothing disappeared a piece at a time. Her shirt then his. That first press of skin on skin had her stuttering a sigh. Fire followed his touch, and it was everywhere. Across her abdomen, up her ribcage, around the sides of her breasts to cup her jaw for another tongue-swirling kiss.

  Her bra fell away next. It was there then not. The first brush of her aching nipples over the light fur on his chest sent a sizzling jolt straight to her sex. She gasped, arched, fingers digging into his biceps.

  He tipped her back, supported her with his arms and dipped to kiss down her exposed throat to the valley between her breasts. Her legs trembled in silent need and her head hung back, neck stretched in offering to him.

  Every touch of his lips to her skin was a sensuous exploration peppered by teasing swirls of his tongue and little nips. Needy sounds filtered up her throat when he sucked first one then the other nipple into his heated mouth. Draws that pulled them taut before teeth needled them even harder.

  Blood rushed to her head and pooled in her groin, where the ridge of his erection ran solid and confirming over her pubic bone. She wanted it in her. Hard, slow, driving, filling—she had to have it.

  All of it.

  Every perfect yet flawed inch of him.

  He brought her back up, mouth taking hers in a plunging kiss as he walked her backward.

  “I need to feel you.” His breath teased her cheek. “Be in you.”

 
Her eyes fluttered open to stare into his. Darkened by passion and softened by what she hoped was the same thing she was feeling, she fell into him, her kiss her agreement. Harder and more intent, she pushed in to stake her own claim on him.

  She kissed over his chest, hands plunging beneath the back of his shorts to grip the swell of his ass cheeks. Her moan was instantaneous. They were the firmest, roundest buns she’d ever held. She squeezed then smoothed her palms up and down in a memorizing stroke that upped her need and ground his erection into her hip.

  His groan held a tortured note she agreed with. Their shorts were attacked in a scramble of snaps, zippers and bumping hands. Their slow warm-up had built into a steady fire that drove her rediscovery of his body.

  Heedless of his desire to lead, she gripped his cock the second it sprang free. The velvety silkiness heated her palm, the rigid hardness another confirmation of his desire.

  “Fuck.” The praising curse floated over her head. She pumped him once, twice, marveling in the weighted girth. She knew exactly how it felt sliding into her, stretching and filling her.

  She dropped to her knees before he could stop her. Licked up the shaft before he could protest. Sucked him down before he could back away.

  His shout overrode her satisfied hum. His fingers tangled in her hair as her eyes drifted closed. Her first forbidden taste of him was pure bliss. Rich and dark, it danced on her tongue as she slid back up. Yes.

  She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and held the musky scent of his lust. Decadent and distinctive, it lit her up and had her plunging back down for more.

  “Rachel.”

  She registered a plea, the tight notes far from a command. It drove her wild, just like the tightening grip in her hair that was countered by the gentler touch along her jaw.

  The rounded cap was soft beneath the tip of her tongue, the swell of a vein intriguing on her bottom lip. There was so much she wanted to discover. Pleasure she wanted to give him.