“Shit!”
My heart is racing, my hands are clinging to the towel, and my eyes are aching from scanning the area as I rush to my badly parked golf cart. The dress isn’t here.
I lift my gaze, flinching when I spot my poor battered dress lying on the gravel path fifty feet from where I’m crouching.
My options are drive my cart in a towel to the dress or struggle with bare feet and the gravel. Desperate for this moment to be over, I choose the cart and hop in, starting it and backing up quickly.
It’s not as easy to drive whilst holding the towel, but I manage. My dress has tire tracks from multiple carts being driven over it, and when I grab it a bug falls out and scurries away. Holding the garment out as far as I can without losing the towel, I fish the key from it and put my dress on the seat.
Once inside my place, I drop the keys and dress on the floor and walk to the bathroom to take the longest shower possible.
But the steamy water and soap don’t wash me clean because every time I close my eyes, I imagine him. And not merely the feel of his body pinning mine or the way he uses his magically long tongue, but also the light in his eyes and the smile he offers when he’s not trying.
Being almost five foot nine, I’ve never been with a guy who picked me up like I weighed nothing, until Lawrence. It’s the first time my hundred-and-fifty-five-pound body was swept up and carried so easily.
My hands lather the soap over my body, bringing memories of the way his touch dug in as he clung to me. Need. He had a need of me and I mimic it with the soap, reliving the experience until I’m in the mood for another round.
Turning off the shower, I contemplate sneaking back into his room and ravaging him a second time.
But the realization of where I am, who I am, and even better, who he is, hits hard.
He’s a twenty-year-old hockey player.
And a vow I made to myself when I was twelve years old is broken. Sixteen years I managed not to date, kiss, or hook up with a single hockey player. Even when I was the one horny teenaged girl on the team of cute boys.
Annoyance and shame build as I get dressed and pack my bags, preparing to go back to the real world. A world where I have way too much shit to do to add fucking Lawrence Eckelston to. I have to unpack a brand new apartment I don’t want, face the feelings about Ben and I being over, and get back to being in charge of the entire NHL contract while Victor is in Europe.
The idea of sleeping with one of our clients makes me sick, but the disgust and loathing motivate me to clean and finish so I can leave faster. Before I have to see Lawrence again.
A knock at the door startles me mid silent lecture.
I turn to the front door but there’s no one there.
My stomach drops and I realize it’s the other door.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“Come on, Red, I can hear you in there. I got you a coffee,” Lawrence says through the doorframe.
I take several deep breaths before I force myself to walk to the door. As I lift my hand to the knob, I decide to tuck angry, professional Jenny back in and paste a smile on my face. “Hey,” I answer as I open. “Did I wake you with the noise of my packing?”
“You did but that’s cool. Motivated me to get up and make some coffee.”
Oh God, he looks good wearing only shorts. His spiky hair looks like he just got out of the shower, adding a glistening sheen to his muscled body which already appeared photoshopped. It’s too good to be true. Thick muscles over a tall, lean frame. He cracks that grin, the one I normally want to punch him in the face for, but instead of being annoyed by it, I smile wider.
“Here.” He hands me a mug. “It’s just cream, right?”
“What? Yes, how—”
“I guessed.” He laughs. “Actually, I saw you order a coffee and thought the ‘just cream’ was weird. Canadians always have a double-double.” He raises his thick eyebrows and leans against the doorframe. “You gonna invite me in or what? I haven’t seen your side yet.”
“You saw it through the window,” I joke but remind myself to cool the flirting. I don’t need a repeat.
“Ah yeah.” He bites his lip but the smile doesn’t fade. It changes and I want to be the one biting his lip. God, I want a repeat. The feel of beating those drums and dancing and him fucking me is overwhelming, mixing with the aftershave he wears that makes me want to devour him.
I want a repeat. In fact, I can think of nothing beyond having his hands all over—“Can we fuck again?”
His eyes lift and I realize I’ve said it aloud.
Oh God. Oh God, why?
I can’t breathe.
My whole body has pins and needles.
“Yes,” he says flatly and takes my coffee before I’ve even had a sip, putting both our mugs on the table next to me. He grabs my hand and pulls me into his arms, wrapping around me and it happens again. Something—his smell and feel and thick muscles—makes me crazy. I’m climbing his body and he’s cupping my ass, slamming me into the wall so I’m sitting on the table in his side of the cabin.
We’re kissing and feverishly ripping clothes. It’s my blouse this time shooting buttons everywhere and my skirt being ripped to shreds as he spreads my thighs open.
“Oh fuck, you’re so wet already,” he whispers into my mouth as his thick fingers slide into me and he thumbs my clit and rubs my
