“Do you guys want dessert?” the server asked when she appeared to clear their dinner plates, and Kristen smiled as Will’s leg slid against hers and he gave her a look that promised a far sweeter dessert than anything they had on the menu.
“I think we’ll pass,” she replied and was rewarded with a sizzling grin from Will.
They walked hand in hand back to her car, with Will on the street side of the sidewalk, guiding her around puddles of hard slush from the last time it snowed. He was such a gentleman, and the small, subtle ways he looked out for her made up for his lack of passenger skills.
“Back to your hotel or are you coming home with me?” she asked when she’d started the car.
“I’ll come home with you. That baklava looked good, so I think you owe me some dessert.”
“Try not to leave fingernail marks in my door panel on the way home,” she teased, pulling out into traffic.
Three hours later, a very naked Will cupped her breast and held her close to him. “Are the fingernail marks in my back payback for your door?”
She hadn’t quite recovered enough from her third orgasm of the night to come up with a witty response, so she chuckled and made a sound that was probably an agreement.
“Better than baklava,” he murmured against her hair.
She was sleepy, her muscles languid from sex and the heat of his body, so she might have nodded off until Will kissed the back of her neck. It was always the last thing he did before he got up and summoned an Uber, getting dressed while he waited.
Grabbing his wrist, she stopped him from rolling away from her. “Don’t go.”
His body tensed against hers for a few seconds, and then his arm relaxed as he kissed her neck again. “Are you sure?”
Was she sure it was a good idea? No. She’d never had a man spend the night in this apartment because it was a relationship line she’d never wanted to cross before. But was she sure she didn’t want him to leave? Absolutely. “My alarm goes off early, but I’ll make you breakfast.”
He settled against her, his breath tickling her hair. “Or I’ll make you breakfast while you get ready for work.”
This man’s a keeperwas the last coherent thought she had before she fell asleep.
8
Afew days later, Kristen let herself into her father’s house, or—as she thought of it, sometimes with humor but quite often not—the Erik Burke Shrine. She was fairly certain if she looked hard enough, she might find a picture of her somewhere, but she’d bet good money it would be a picture taken with Erik before or after a big hockey game.
Most of the time, she was okay with it. She’d long ago come to terms with the fact Lamont Burke was living vicariously through his son’s success—that being Erik Burke’s dad was the most important aspect of his identity—but accidentally having the best sex of her life with a hockey player already had her on edge.
She’d also had a pretty brutal workday that she might resent less if she had the title and the pay that went with the amount and kind of work she did. Being summoned to the shrine by a terse text message hadn’t done much to improve her mood.
Of course her father was in what she called “the situation room,” which was furnished with two recliners, a table between them, and three televisions. A dry-erase board with a diagram of the ice permanently printed on it hung on the wall, and that was it. This room was for watching game tapes and strategizing.
“Kristen!” He looked surprised when he finally looked up from the legal pad he was reading. She knew from experience it was a list of all the mistakes he perceived Erik had made during the last game so they could review them.
“You demanded I stop by,” she reminded him. “I’m here.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, tossing the legal pad on the side table as he pushed himself out of the chair.
She turned and walked back to the kitchen, knowing he’d follow rather than invite her to sit in the other recliner. She’d never crossed the threshold of the situation room, and she saw no reason to start now. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she leaned against the counter and looked at him expectantly.
“We’re getting ready to leave for St. Louis,” he said.
“Did you really have me come all the way here after work so you could tell me that? I know you’re getting ready for the All-Star weekend because I talked to Erik a few hours ago.” She talked to her brother almost every day, a fact her father never seemed to consider.
“I want to know where the situation with you and Cross Lecroix stands before I leave town.”
“It still stands in themy personal business, so don’t worry about itcolumn.”
Temper flared in his eyes, and it might have intimidated a lot of people into submission, but Kristen had given up on pleasing Lamont Burke a very long time ago. She put up with him because he was her father and because totally cutting him out of her life would make things harder for Eric, but she wasn’t emotionally invested in his opinion of her anymore.
“It’s going to be a big weekend for your brother, and he’ll be in the spotlight. I don’t want you two back here trying to distract attention from him.”
