day, Darby said there would always be a place for you in the Chinooks’ organization.”
“I think he was blowing smoke.” The thought of driving to work at the Key Arena turned and twisted the burning anger in his gut.
“I don’t believe that,” Walker said. “You should think about it.
They’d come here today for an answer. But they’d also come because they wanted him to be okay. He could see it in their eyes. Because they seemed to want to believe it so badly, he opened his mouth and lied. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
“I know what you need?”
He looked into her small face, half covered in shadows. “What?”
She ran her small hands up his bare chest and rose onto the balls of her feet. “This.” She kissed the side of his neck. The hot, moist pull of her mouth on his skin slammed into his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. “You need this.” Her warm breath brushed across his throat, and he shuddered. His whole body was alive, every cell and pleas Nure receptor sensitive to her satin touch.
“Yes.” He raised his hands and tangled his fingers in her blond and red hair. He brought her head back and gazed into her lust-heavy blue eyes as he lowered his mouth. Down to her sweet, wet lips. She tasted good, like the pleasure he’d been missing in his life. Like sex. Like hot, hungry sex. The kind that ripped a man apart. The kind that left him battered and bloody and willing to die for more.
Her tongue slid into his mouth, slick and wanting. He fed from her long, hungry kisses as her hands slid over his body. Her fingers combed through the short hair on his chest. Touching him and leaving little trails of fire across his flesh.
He raised his head, gasping, and looked into her face, at her lips, pouty and wet, and her eyes, shining with desire. She stepped back and pulled her dress over her head. Except for a pair of white panties, she was naked beneath. He didn’t bother to check his response. To go easy. He went to that wild primal place beating in his chest and groin and he pushed her down onto the chaise. Her panties disappeared along with his clothes, and he lay down on her soft, warm body.
“Yes,” she whispered as he pulled back and drove into her. Her back arched and she smiled. “This is what you need.”
Mark’s eyes flew open and he stared up at his dark ceiling. The black blades of his fan disturbed the air and pushed it across his face. His heart pounded in his chest and his groin ached. Desire, both sharp and dull, pulled at his testicles and he slid his hands beneath the sheets just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming that part too. He laid his palm across his boxers and on top of an impressive hard-on. He sucked in a breath through his teeth at both the pleasure and the pain. His erection heated the cotton of his underwear and warmed his palm and he curled his fingers around the long, hard length of it. Because of an erotic dream about his little assistant, he was as hard as a steel club. He didn’t know whether to be alarmed, or to be horrified, or to fall to his knees on the side of the bed and praise Jesus.
Chelsea cracked open her eyes and winced as the morning light stabbed her corneas. Pain squeezed her forehead, and her mouth felt like she’d eaten socks. She stared into her sister’s face on the pillow next to hers, just like when they’d been kids. Had something happened? Where had they been the night before?
“Oh God,” she groaned. Karaoke at Ozzie’s Road-house flashed before her scratchy eyes, an excruciating memory of her and Bo belting out “Like a Virgin” and “I’m Too Sexy” at the tops of their lungs. There was only one person on the planet with a worse voice than Chelsea. Bo. Bo was worse, and Chelsea was shocked the crowd at Ozzie’s hadn’t tossed them outside.
She sat up and waited for the pounding in her head to dull before she swung her feet over the side of the bed. With her eyes half closed, she wandered down the hall and into the bathroom. The vinyl floor felt cool beneath her feet, and she stuck her mouth under the faucet and turned on the cold water. She drank like a camel, then rose to look at herself in the mirror. Black smudges circled her eyes and her hair stuck out on one side. She looked as good as she felt and reached for the Tylenol. She downed three Caplets and wandered back toward the bedroom.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Chelsea stopped and peered down the hall at the half-naked man standing in the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Eating breakfast,” Jules answered as he poured milk over a bowl of cereal.
“Why are you eating breakfast here?”
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Bo called me last night and I met the two of you. I was the only one in any condition to drive.”
Chelsea retraced her steps, grabbed a terry-cloth robe from the back of the bathroom door, and continued toward the kitchen. Tiny bits and pieces were starting to come back to her. “Why are you still here?” she asked as she tied the fluffy belt around her waist.
“Since I live in Kent, and it was after two in the morning, you and your sister told me to crash in Bo’s room.” He reached into a drawer and grabbed a spoon.
It was too bad she was hungover and her eyes hurt because she really couldn’t fully appreciate Jules’s developed chest or each muscle of his six-pack. She pointed to his tight leather pants. “Are you trying to be Tom Jones or Slash?”
“We talked about this last night when you accused me of having a metrosexual meltdown.” He took a bite. “But again, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were totally wrecked.”
“I remember.” Unfortunately, more than just bits and pieces of the night was starting to come back. The singing. The drinking. The flirting with college boys and tourists.
Jules pointed his spoon at her. “You look like shit.”
“Perfect. I feel like shit.”
“Want some granola?”
“Maybe.” She moved past him and grabbed a Coke out of the refrigerator. There was nothing like a sugary Coke to help with a hangover. Unless it was a Quarter Pounder with cheese and extra greasy fries. Pure hangover heaven.
“How’s Bo this morning?”
Chelsea raised the Coke to her lips and chugged half the can. “Still asleep,” she said when she lowered the soda. She had a vague memory of her sister and Jules making out while Chelsea was busy flirting with a tourist from Ireland. She’d ask Bo about it later. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and joined Jules at the kitchen table.
“How are things working out with Bressler?” he asked.
“The same. He resents that I’m there and gives me crappy stuff to do.” She took a bite, and the crunching in her head was so loud she could hardly think past the pain. “A bunch of hockey players came to his house and drank beer yesterday.”
“You mentioned it last night, but you never said who showed up.”
Chelsea thought of all those huge men in one room. She had to admit that she’d been a little intimidated. Not so much by their size. Most people were taller than she and Bo, but she’d seen them play hockey. She’d seen them slam into the boards so hard, the wood and Plexiglas shook. She’d seen them slam into other players equally hard. Walking into that room y Sto esterday had been like walking into a wall of testosterone, but Chelsea was an actress. She’d auditioned in front of casting directors and producers, and she’d learned a long time ago to master her nerves. To appear calm and cool on the outside, no matter what she walked into. “There was the big Russian guy, Vlad,” she answered.
“Did he drop his pants?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d heard he doesn’t do that as much as he used to. Who else?” Jules took a bite and waited for her to answer.
“Let’s see. A guy with a black eye.” Within a few seconds of meeting the players, she’d discovered they really weren’t intimidating in person. They’d seemed like nice guys. Well, except for Mark. Although, surrounded by his teammates, Mark had been more relaxed. And yes, nicer. For him.
