“No sex Monday through Friday.”
“That’s bullshit. That only leaves the weekends.”
“Okay,” she compromised. “No sex during working hours.” And she meant it too. If she wanted to keep what little dignity she had left, she had to at least try and separate her working and personal relationship with Mark.
“I’ll try to remember.”
But he didn’t. He didn’t even try. It was up to her to be the strong one and maintain a distance. She had to remind him that sliding his hand to the small of her back or up her thigh wasn’t work-appropriate. And touching her bottom during three-man hockey was definitely illegal contact. Not even when she fell on her butt. Later, after Derek left and the clock struck five, she let him kiss it better for her.
During that whole week, she didn’t see very much of her sister. But she wasn’t surprised. That was how Bo operated. Whether it was a job or new boyfriend, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly. Most of the time her relationships ended in heartache. Chelsea had a good feeling about Jules, though. She had a feeling things would turn out all right. She wished she could say the same for herself.
She didn’t know where her relationship with Mark would lead. It was so new and different and terrifying. Most terrifying of all, moving back to L.A. was losing its appeal. She didn’t want to be one of those women who gave up her dreams for a man. Her head and her heart were at war, and she was terrified that her heart was winning the battle.
“I changed your ringtone,” she told him as they lay in bed watching Big Trouble in Little China. For a hockey player he was surprisingly good at remembering dialogue.
He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed. “Trouble” by Pink played from her purse.
“You’re trouble,” he said. “That’s for sure.”
“You’re the trouble.”
He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you showed up on my porch.” Once again, she wondered where this relationship would lead.
The Saturday after the Stanley Cup party, Mark surprised her with tickets to Oklahoma! and her heart won a bit more ground. “Do you like musicals?”
“Yeh.”
What a liar.
After the play, he brought her to his house. Instead of taking her to bed, though, he took her hand and led her through the dark house. He opened the pocket doors to the formal living room—empty except for the S‹xcetanley Cup sitting on the floor in the middle of the white carpet. A bottle of Dom Perignon lay in the top of the cup, surrounded by ice, while the crystal chandelier shot prisms of light across the shiny silver.
“Oh my God.” Chelsea moved toward the three-foot trophy. “You took your turn after all.”
“Yes.”
She glanced about the empty room. “I thought there had to be a representative from the Hall of Fame with the cup at all times.”
“Not at all times.” He moved behind her and wrapped his long arms around her waist. “All the other guys took the cup to strip clubs or sports bars. Walker took it to the top of the Space Needle, and Daniel drove around with it in his convertible. Every guy who has ever dreamed of winning the cup dreams about what he’s going to do with it. It’s time I lived mine.” He kissed the part in her hair. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to spray champagne on your naked body and make love to you in front of the cup.”
“That’s the dream you’ve always had?”
He shook his head, and his lips brushed the top of her head. “It’s better than the dream I had.”
She reached for the zipper on the back of her sundress. Her heart swelled so big that her chest ached, and in that moment, standing in that room, she couldn’t remember one good reason why she would ever want to leave this man. Of all the people who deserved to share this moment with him, he wanted to share it with her.
The dress slipped to the floor, and she stood in front of him in her bra, panties, and four-inch snake-skin sandals.
“Leave the shoes on,” he said as he grabbed the bottle of champagne and took off the cage. “They turn me on.”
As far as she could tell, everything turned him on. “You’re easy.”
“And cheap too.”
Hardly. She tossed her bra and underwear aside as he pushed the cork with his thumbs. “You’re going to make the carpet wet and sticky.”
“I’m planning on making you wet and sticky.” With a soft pop the cork flew across the room and hit the closed drapes. A fine, gassy mist curled from the bottle’s mouth and a stream of foam followed. He raised the bottle to his lips and took several long swallows. “Close your eyes.”
She did, and a cold mist of champagne hit her chest. It smelled of rose petals. “That’s cold,” she complained.
“I’ll warm you up in a minute.” He lowered his mouth to her and kissed her as he poured the bottle over their heads. It ran over her closed eyes and the side of her face. The contrast of cold champagne and his hot mouth tightened her nipples, and desire pooled between her thighs. He tossed the empty bottle aside and ran his hands and mouth over her wet, sticky body.
His touch seemed different somehow. Lighter, and he lingered over each erogenous zone. He took his time, in no hurry to get the job done. Even when she tore at his clothes until he was as naked as she, he licked her shoulder and the side of her neck. He slid his mouth across her breasts to her belly, then he lai‹ly,d her down at the foot of the Stanley Cup. Prisms of light shot across her breasts and belly and the side of his face. He lifted his lips from her hip.
“Are you taking birth control?”
She knew why he asked, and the thought of hot skin on hot skin almost sent her over the edge. “I had my yearly exam and three-month Depo shot just before I moved up here. I’m clean as a virgin.”
He smiled. “After my accident, I had every test on the planet. I’m clean, but I’m not quite a virgin.” He moved until his face was just above hers. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Do you trust me?”
Instead of answering, he slid into her body, hot flesh against hot flesh. So good, she groaned. “Oh God.”
He held her face between his palms and stared into her face. “You and the cup,” he said. “Two of my biggest fantasies.” He kissed the tip of her nose as he slowly moved his hips, driving into her and pushing her to the sweetest ecstasy of her life. Her whole body responded to his touch, catching fire and burning out of control. He drove into her, over and over. Hurling her toward climax. At the point of impact, her heart and soul shattered and she called out his name.
And when it was over, he took her hand and washed her in the shower. His touch was gentler than before. Gentler than it had ever been. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She dried his back and shoulders. “I’m just shocked you wanted to share this night with me.”
“Who else?” He took the big fluffy towel from her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You stayed with me when I tried to make you go.” He looked down into her eyes. “That means something to me.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it means you’re stubborn.” He pushed a wet hunk of her hair behind her ear. “Or maybe that you like broken-down hockey players.”
She should tell him about the ten-thousand bonus. His thumb brushed her jaw, and his eyes turned a rich velvet brown. “You’re not broken down.” Now. She should tell him now. She opened her mouth, and something else came out instead. “You needed me.” And maybe she needed him just a little bit too.
“I still need you.”
She closed her eyes against the pinch in the backs of her eyes and the pain in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she’d do the unthinkable. If she wasn’t careful, she might fall in love with Mark Bressler. And that would be bad. She was leaving, and falling in love would be really bad. So bad she’d have to guard against it. And she did. Right up until the morning that he insisted on driving her to her doctor’s appointment. He sat in the waiting room reading a golf magazine while she had her consultation with the plastic surgeon, and on the drive home, he waited for her to tell him what she’d learned.
“The doctor said I will probably lose sensitivity,” she said as they drove across the floating bridge. Now that
