“Really? I could take it off and leave you alone with it.”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Then it’s not a fetish.”

  He grabbed her hips and stroked his penis between her legs.

  “Bryant! Bryant!” She pulled away from him and pushed his hands away when he tried to stroke her there. “All this is good—really, really good. But I really need it. I don’t want to come until you’re inside.”

  “Thanks be to the patron saint of hockey and all his buddies.” He rolled to his back and pulled her to straddle him. “I didn’t want to be Swifty.”

  “I need you to be Swifty. Do you want me like this?”

  “I want you any way—every way. But you said not to mess up your hair.” He stroked her now bare breasts. “Hand me the condom, please.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  After he was sheathed, she stroked him lightly. “Let me do it.” And she guided him inside.

  This was life’s perfect moment—joined, tight, and pounding. He would have said so if he could have spoken. Then he discovered that wasn’t life’s perfect moment. That happened when she began to roll her hips.

  “I’m going to come very fast.” Her words were punctuated with breathlessness. And just then she did—she cried out, bore down on him, shuddered. Determined to make it the Stanley Cup of all orgasms for her, he stroked her breasts, thighs, and belly—and the garter belt and tops of her stockings. That was for himself.

  Finally, she calmed. He pulled her down until they were chest to chest, but willed himself not to come, to continue thrusting. He kissed the tender spot below her ear. “Come again?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Can’t stand anymore. Can’t ride Niagara Falls twice. Come, Bryant. Come for me.”

  “I try not to disappoint a lady.” He just managed to get that out before he had the orgasm of his life.

  It would have been poetic to say they lay together, entwined for a long time. It would have also been a lie. Usually, Bryant was the first up and gone, but not this time.

  “Do we have to go back to the party?” he asked.

  Gabriella had already found her underwear and was reaching for her dress. “I do. That’s a decision you need to make for yourself.” She backed up to the bed where he was still naked and reclined. “Here. Zip me up.”

  He sat on the side of the bed and reached for her zipper with one hand and her hip beneath her dress with the other. He was already stirring again. He’d just part his legs a little more and press her lovely, lovely bottom there . . .

  “Stop that!” She pulled away. “Do you want to be the object of a search party?”

  “No one would look for me.”

  “Do you want me to be object of a search party? Because right now, that’s the same thing, and eventually Emile is going to wonder where I’ve gotten off to.”

  The Bro Code jumped out of its locked box and slapped him in the face. She was right.

  She dug in her little handbag and pulled out a lipstick.

  “Wait, Gabriella.” He got up and gathered his clothes. “We’re going to do this right. I’ll go first. You follow in five minutes. Just let me get dressed.”

  “Why you first? I’m already dressed.”

  “Because I’ll go find Emile. If he’s looking for you, I’ll defuse it—tell him you had a dress malfunction while we were dancing and went somewhere to fix it.”

  She looked surprised. “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “I have some sometimes.” This, tonight, in this room for an example.

  Once dressed, he went to the mirror and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Do you want my comb so you can fix your hair?” Gabriella asked.

  He smiled at her in the reflection. “This is how I fix it.” On the way to the door, he stopped and stroked her cheek. “Five minutes. Don’t go back the way we came. That’s sneaky looking. Go down the main staircase like you own the place.”

  “Right.” She hesitated. “How do I get there?”

  Good question. “I don’t know exactly, but go the opposite way that we came. South. That should get you there.”

  She smiled, amused. “Jarrett would never get out of here.”

  “Jarrett would never be somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.” He couldn’t help himself; he touched her face one more time. “See you down there.” As he reached for the doorknob, Gabriella spoke.

  “Bryant?”

  “Yeah?” He looked at her over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t just do something right.”

  “No?”

  “You did everything right.”

  That pleased him a little too much. “So did you, baby. So did you.”

  Too bad this had been a one-time occurrence. When was the last time he’d wished for a repeat occurrence? Maybe never.

  But it was for the best. He could make her happy in bed, but beyond that, he had nothing to give.

  Chapter Twelve

  Five minutes.

  As anxious as Gabriella was feeling, she’d likely follow Bryant too soon if she didn’t time it. She removed her phone from her evening bag, turned it on, and set the timer.

  Uh oh. A text from Emile twenty minutes ago.

  Where are you? Amy wants to introduce you to her family.

  Then five minutes later:

  ???

  Should she answer him? Tell him she was mending her dress and she’d be along soon? No. Then she’d have to explain why she hadn’t answered earlier. Better to just go find him, pretend her phone had been off this whole time, and tell the dress malfunction lie. Or was it a lie? What was it, if not malfunction, to throw a two-thousand-dollar dress on the floor?

  She should look around to make sure they hadn’t dropped anything. Good decision. One of her jeweled hairpins was under a pillow sham. After tucking it back into her braid, Gabriella smoothed the duvet and straightened the pillows. There. No one would ever know.

  You’ll know. Yes, she would. And she was realistic enough to know it would be a while before she’d forget it, if ever. She might have known—sex she’d never forget with a hockey player. She’d gone where she’d sworn she never would—and with Emile’s best friend no less. It was hard to tell if it had been a gift or a punishment. It had to be her imagination, but it seemed she could still feel the aftershocks.

  And angels above and demons below, she’d thought he was beautiful before. If Hot Nashville could have seen him naked and lusty, they’d name him most eligible single of all time and put his picture on every cover. That would sell some magazines.

  Why couldn’t he be a baker? They could exchange recipes and debate the best way to stabilize pastry cream. Or a plumber? Plumbers didn’t get enough credit, because you never thought of them until you needed one, and that was usually when something had gone very bad. A plumber would be great to have around.

  But it was done now—one and done. That’s how it had to be. Even aside from her personal vow, she’d done the one thing Emile had asked her never to—don’t date a hockey player. Of course, technically, there hadn’t been a date, but she doubted if Emile would see it that way.

  The phone alarm went off.

  Five minutes. Time to go back out there and act like nothing had happened.

  And really, nothing had.

  • • •

  Bryant had been right. South took him to the grand staircase, which he named himself because it ended up in the grand salon. Very fancy. There was a balcony-like structure that curved around so you could approach the steps from the right or the left. The whole Sound starting line could stand shoulder to shoulder in full gear on one of these steps with room to spare for the mascot. Maybe it should be called the Sound staircase.

  From above, he could see people milling around below. There were even a few folks standing on some of the lower steps chatting and drinking, though they probably hadn’t been upstairs. He ought to be able to slip by since he didn’t know them—they were probably office staff and dates or spouses. He put his hands in his pockets and pretended to study the carving on the handrail. He even stopped halfway down and ran his finger over the wood. If anyone noticed him, he’d claim he had an artistic interest in staircases, and wasn’t this one a humdinger?

  Time to finish his descent. Almost at ground level. The band was taking a break and waiters were circulating with drinks and little bits of food. It would be easy to blend in. There. On the floor. Now, he’d go find Emile.

  That’s when he heard the voice behind him. “Swifty! Have you been upstairs? You aren’t supposed to go upstairs in someone’s home without being invited.”

  Fabulous. Captain rule follower. Bryant turned. “I swear, Jarrett McPherson. If you don’t think there are enough rules to follow, you get nervous and start making up new ones to make yourself more comfortable and torture everybody else.” Though he was probably right. Gabriella had said something about that.

  “I didn’t make it up. Everybody knows that. You’re supposed to stay out of private rooms—especially upstairs. I’m just trying to keep you from getting in trouble with the team owner who might not want you going through his underwear drawer.”

  “I did not go through his underwear drawer.” He needed to get away—and get Jarrett away before Gabriella showed up. It wouldn’t be long now. “Let’s go find Emile. Do you know where he is?”

  “Not upstairs. What were you doing up there anyway?” Jarrett got a peculiar look on his face. It reminded Bryant of how his mother used to look at him when he hadn’t exactly told her the whole story. “Please tell me you haven’t been upstairs in Pickens Davenport’s house having sex.”

  “No! I have not!”

  Jarrett stepped closer to him and sniffed.

  “And don’t smell me!”

  “You have. You smell like sex. I am so disappointed in you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. There is no smelling like sex. That’s something they say in books to out people who’ve been having sex. Anyway, what would you know about it since you’ve never had sex?”

  “I’ve had sex more times than you’ve read a book.”

  Debatable, but no time for debate. Gabriella would come down those stairs any second.

  “You bet. You’re a regular love god. Let’s go find Emile.”

  “Who was it?” Jarrett hissed at him like a nun who had found her two star pupils naked in the confession booth. What next? Was he going to pull a ruler out of his pocket and start rapping knuckles? “There are only wives, girlfriends, and office staff here. I don’t know which would be more inappropriate. Please tell me you have not been up there having sex with one of our teammate’s wives.”

  Bryant was incensed—and insulted. “Who do you think I am? I would never have sex with another man’s wife.” Don’t look at the stairs, he told himself. That will give it away. Get out of here and take him with you.

  But that didn’t help. Jarrett looked at the stairs and Bryant let his gaze follow.

  Ah, hell.

  There she was—on the landing, looking aloof and beautiful.

  Jarrett swung his head around, met Bryant’s eyes, and shook his head. “No!”

  “No. We were looking at Mary Lou’s glassware collection.”

  Jarrett didn’t even bother to respond to that—not that Bryant blamed him. It was lame, so lame.

  “Not wives, huh? But sisters? Not just any sister, but Gabriella?” Jarrett was dangerously close to sputtering. Popping an eyeball out of its socket wasn’t out of the question. “Emile is going to kill you.”

  “No, he’s not. He doesn’t hit people.”

  “He hit Cameron Snow.”

  “That was different. Snow did something spectacularly bad.”

  “And you think this isn’t?”

  Good point. Not that Bryant feared being hit. He’d been hit by a lot worse than a goalie who had no stomach for fighting. But it would be bad if Emile knew—bad for everybody.

  “Bryant, I—”

  “Stop.” There was no point in continuing to deny it. Gabriella was halfway down the staircase now, looking like she owned the world. And she might. “Just stop it. Now. Don’t you embarrass her. I mean it, Jarrett. If you embarrass her, I swear to God I will beat you like eggs for an omelet. You know I can and you know I will. I don’t care if you are the Mouse and Cinderella Ambassador. When I get through, there won’t be enough of you left to be Disney World spokesperson.”

  “At least I’m not the Big Brew Beer Ambassador. But I won’t embarrass her.” Jarrett glanced up the stairs and lowered his voice. “But not because I’m afraid of you. I like Gabriella. But this stops now. Do you hear me, Bryant?”

  “It’s already stopped.” Bryant hesitated. “And you’re right. I shouldn’t have done it. It was stupid.” All correct, but it didn’t sit well in his gut.

  Jarrett nodded, mollified. “That’s something. Okay. But you’d better be telling the truth. Because, Bryant, I don’t have to tell you—”

  “You don’t. I know—I know what this could do to the team, to our friendships—everybody mad and picking sides.” Bryant put his hand up. “I swear. It won’t happen again. I mean it.”

  And he did. It had been stupid, so stupid to violate the Bro Code—even if he hadn’t misled Gabriella, even if they had been in agreement.

  But it had been incredible.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I wish you’d come back to the condo and spend the night,” Amy said. She and Emile were standing at the front door beside the Davenports again, but this time they were saying goodnight to their guests. “It’s so late. There’s plenty of room.”

  In fact, there was not plenty of room, even for a condo the size of Emile’s. With the Kelly clan staying over, there were barely enough places to bed everyone down, even doubling up in every bedroom and making use of the pull-out sofa in the den. Besides, with such a full house, life at Star View Towers was likely to be an extension of the party—and Gabriella had had enough party.

  “Yes,” Emile said. “Come back with us. It’s so late.”

  “I have to work in the morning. Besides, I’m sure Amy would like some time with her family.”

  Amy nodded. “True. But that includes you.”

  The words were so simple, so sincere. For whatever reason, Gabriella believed it. In fact, her previous paranoia had either vanished completely or been eclipsed by something else on her mind.

  When she’d come downstairs earlier, it hadn’t felt natural to walk by Bryant without some kind of communication, but it had been necessary. It was obvious that Jarrett had detained him and Bryant hadn’t had a chance to find Emile, but that didn’t matter. She’d known from the text that Emile had been looking for her.

  When she’d found him in the music room, he hadn’t blinked at the torn dress story, and the next several hours had been taken up with meeting Amy’s family—who were nice, but exhausting.

  She hadn’t seen Bryant at all. Maybe he’d left.

  Now everyone was leaving.

  “Are you sure you want to drive back, Gabriella?” Emile placed an arm around her. “I can call an Uber for you.”

  “Thank you, Emile. Really. But I’m not sleepy at all and I haven’t had a drink since the toast.”

  He nodded. “But you will send me a text when you get home. Oui?”

  “Oui,” she agreed.

  “I will go out and ask for your car to be brought around.” Things really were back to normal. Gabriella felt that old, familiar annoyance she’d always felt when Emile hovered too much.

  “No need,” a voice behind her said—the same voice that had recently whispered in her ear. “I’ll help Gabriella get her car.” His hand closed on her upper arm.

  Emile broke into a smile. “Thank you, Swifty. You’ll stay with her until it’s brought around?”

  “You can count on me.”

  Once the door closed behind them, Gabriella said, “I am capable of getting my own car, you know.”

  Bryant gave her a smoky look. “I doubt there’s anything this side of Mars you aren’t capable of. I wanted to talk to you.” He turned to the valet who approached. He wasn’t the same one from before. “Silver BMW crossover. Black Porsche Cayenne.”

  “How do you know what I drive? I didn’t know what you drive.” It struck her odd that she’d had sex with someone without knowing that. Wasn’t that a basic fact? And she’d had so few lovers. Four, to be exact, if you counted Bryant—and none who could even begin to compare with Bryant.

  And it wasn’t just the sex. No one she’d ever been involved with spoke her language the way Bryant did. Come to think of it, none of them had even been hockey fans. Was that the difference? She’d been born into the hockey life. It was part of who she was. How could she spend her life with someone who cared nothing for something that was so fundamental to her essence? Maybe she needed to look for a hockey fan who wasn’t a hockey player. But were there any who hadn’t played at least youth hockey? And once a hockey player, always a hockey player.

  The hockey player she could never have spoke. “I went with Emile to pick up your car at the dealership when it came in last year.”

  Right. She’d come out of work on her birthday to find it out front, complete with a big bow. Emile liked to do things he’d seen on television.

  Bryant took her hand. “I wanted to say thank you for tonight. It was not my intent to ignore you after we came downstairs.”

  “I didn’t feel ignored. I was busy. As I said before, we had a moment in time. Not a whole evening.” That sounded good.

  “Good. Gabriella, I know my reputation. I know we might have done what we did lightly, but I don’t take it lightly. I loved what happened—”

  There was a but coming and she wanted to be the one to say it. “But it needs to be our secret, and it shouldn’t happen again. I understand and I’m glad you do. It would be a huge mess.”

  He looked relieved, and though it wasn’t rational, that disappointed her just a little. But if he looked relieved, he looked sad, too. He squeezed her hand. “Here’s the thing, Gabriella. What happened shouldn’t have, but I’m not sorry. Does that make sense?”

 

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