Page 48 of Hockey Nanny

Every rational thought clawed for dominance. Don’t. Not now. Not like this.

But I knew that if I were to allow her to get into this limo, the moment would slip away forever. And I’d wasted too many chances playing it safe. Watched too many moments fade to nothing. So, I stepped closer anyway.

Her breath hitched when I stopped an inch from her, and that sound shattered the last of my careful defenses. My hands found her shoulders, neither tentative nor cautious, and I drew her toward me just enough that I could feel the faint press of her thighs against mine.

“Carissa—” I started, but the rest of my sentence fell away. I didn’t even know what I’d been planning to say, exactly. I probably did it to give her the chance to stop me.

Her hands went to my chest, palms pressing flat, and the heat of her skin burned through my dress shirt.

“If you’re wondering whether you should kiss me, you should know it’s all I’ve been thinking about for most of the night.”

My heart lurched, betraying everything I’d kept buried, and I closed the gap. Her lips met mine like gravity taking its course, our breathless moan of satisfaction mingling together in the cool night air. The first contact was electric, almost violent in the way it claimed all my focus. Her hands fisted in my shirt, and I pulled her closer, pressing a little harder, letting my restraint snap entirely. The weight of half-glances, almost touches, and words left unsaid, poured into this one moment.

Her body curved into mine, matching every inch, every heartbeat, every deliberate surrender. My hands threaded into her hair, tilting her head just so, and she leaned into the motion, lips parting, tongue hot and urgent against my own.

I tasted her, felt her response like a runaway fire consuming all my senses. She was here, willing, letting me take the lead, the friction of desire sparking against the hushed emptiness of the lot. Streetlights flickered overhead, but all I could focus on was the feel of her against me, the softness, the hunger, the need I hadn’t allowed myself to chase until this exact second.

When we finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, our foreheads hovered close, breathing ragged, hearts hammering in perfect sync.

The Vegas night sprawled around us, a silent witness to the moment we’d both waited for. I pressed my lips to hers again, this time slower, deeper, letting every careful, guarded instinct fall away into the heat still simmering between us.

Nothing existed beyond her, beyond the warmth, beyond the claim of her mouth on mine.

I didn’t pull back again. Not yet. Not until I was certain, until I knew she wanted this as much as I did, and when she tilted her head, sliding closer, letting her arms wind around my neck, I let go entirely.

17

~

Carissa

I barely noticed anything else as Dawson’s hands anchored me against him. The moment we tried to move, it turned into a tangle of limbs and laughter, our knees bumping against the limo door, my heel catching the edge of the step. Every shift of his body made it impossible to pull back, impossible to stop leaning in, and I was hopelessly aware of how perfectly we fit together even when we were fumbling.

His hands tightened at my waist as we somehow managed to collapse into the back seat, a jumble of arms and legs, his mouth finding mine the instant our bodies hit the leather.

I laughed into him when we nearly slid off the seat altogether, and he muttered something against my lips that sounded like an apology. But it only made the warmth between us pulse harder. Every accidental press, every small stumble, was a deliberate excuse to stay this close, to keep the kiss going, to let the world shrink until it was just the two of us and the heat we could no longer ignore.

Where Boone was all insatiable hunger, Dawson took me in a more measured, deliberate way. Not that I was comparing the brothers. My mind just couldn’t help making the leap. Same face, very different kind of heat.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers gliding along my jawline, cradling the back of my neck with atender intimacy that sent a shiver through me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to know what it would be like.”

“What what would be like?” My heart was a frantic drum and there was nothing I could do about it.

“This,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky register that was meant for me alone. His thumb stroked my jawline, a slow caress that made my breath catch in my throat.

God, his hands. I’d imagined them on me a thousand times, a thousand different ways.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and pure, unabated lust. My lips parted slightly, and his gaze dropped to my mouth, his own lips curving into a faint, hungry smile.

“You’re okay with this?” His breath was warm against my skin.

“Only if you promise to stop talking so much.”

“Good.” He dipped his head, nose skimming my cheekbone until his mouth was right against my ear. “Because I have no intention of holding back tonight.”

And then his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t a gentle, questioning kiss. It was all the want he had pent up for months, unleashed. It was hot and desperate and devastatingly skilled. His lips moved against mine with a surety that made my head spin, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I opened for him with a soft, broken sound I didn’t recognize. The taste of him—bar fries and cheap beer—was dizzying. My hands came up, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, holding on for dear life as he plundered my mouth, each roll of his tongue a promise of what was to come.