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I stumble back. The six-inch high heels of my Louboutin's catch in a crack in the wooden floors.Oh, no, no, no.I begin to tip over.
I throw up my hands to try to find my balance, and my handbag goes flying.This is it. Death by Great Dane. Ugh! That's not the kind of headline I want to make.I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact, only something strong and hard bands around my waist. The breath whooshes out of me. The next second, I’m hauled to an upright position. I know who it is before I sense the heat that leaps off of him and lassoes around me. I know who it is before that scent of fresh snow and cut grass teases my nostrils. I know who it is because I’m plastered from back to hip to thigh against his front and his sizable thickness stabs into the curve of my butt. I know who it is because no one but he could sport such arousal so big, it feels like a hockey stick has slapped me in the rear.
Jesus. Of course, my brain goes to hockey sticks. He's likely to be the new Captain of the London Ice Kings, so he'd better know how to wield a hockey stick. I mean, not the one between his legs—nope, not going there in my head. Obviously, I'm sure he plays with that one, too—the one between his legs, I mean. And ohmigod, the image of his big, fat fingers squeezing his monster cock is something I’m not going to forget in a hurry.
His grasp around my waist tightens, and he pulls me so close, said hockey stick—is it curved at the end, too?—throbs against me. It seems to grow longer, thicker, larger…Gah, that’s your imagination. It has to be.No one has such a big dick, except maybe, porn stars. And Rick’s not a porn star. He’s a freakin’ ex-NHL player, who did a stint with the Royal Marines, did some moonlighting as a bodyguard, and is now back to playing hockey. That’s all he is. He’s human.
He may look like a god, avenging angel, and devil, all rolled into one, but he’s a man. A man who’s larger-than-life, and built, given no inch of him gives while I’m plastered to him, including his cock, which is now happily nestled in the cleavage between my butt-cheeks, and...OMG!My flush deepens, and spreads down my chest to my extremities. A thousand little fires spark across my skin.
Someone clears their throat, and I glance around the room to find every single gaze is on me.Oh no, no, no. Nice way to make an impression on your new employer.
"Let me go." I pull free from Rick who, thankfully, releases me, then spin around. "How dare you touch me, you oaf?"
Rick
She raises her hand, and I sense she’s going to slap me, but I don’t stop her. Instead, I welcome her palm connecting with my cheek. I welcome the sting of pain that zips out from her touch and down my spine. I welcome the throb in my balls, the twitch of my dick which has only grown harder thanks to the contact of her skin with mine. I welcome the flash of anger in her golden eyes, the red stain of her cheeks, the pulse that beats at the base of her throat. When I don’t react, her gaze grows stricken, she firms her lips.
"I don’t need your help," she hisses at me.
"What youthinkyou need and what youneedare two entirely different things,” I drawl.
She huffs. "I’m not sorry I slapped you." Her gaze flicks to my cheek where her palm-print is, no doubt, in evidence.
"I’m not sorry I caught you," I murmur.
"Good."
"Good," I agree.
She tips up her chin, then turns to leave, and promptly stumbles on the same gap in the wooden floor. If I were a bastard, I’d let her fall. If I were the asshole she thinks I am, I’d allow her to hit the floor on her knees and hurt herself, but the thought does funny things to my guts, so I catch her around her waist again—because that’s going to piss her off to no end—and right her. Then, before she can turn and tell me off, I step back.
Looks like you can’t do without me, after all." I brush past her and snap my fingers at Tiny who, having emptied the champagne bottle down his gullet—don’t ask—jumps to his feet and prances over to me to hand it over.
I stare into the bottle—nope, not a drop left in it—then back at Tiny, who pants up at me with a happy smile on his face. The mutt smiles, I kid you not. He has what must be the biggest and most satisfied smile in the doggy world on his face. And I'm stuck with him for the foreseeable future. "Can’t take you anywhere, eh?" I murmur.
In response, Tiny thumps his tail on the floor, and the ground seems to shake a little. Or maybe, that’s from the gnashing of teeth I can hear coming from Giorgina’s direction. I ignore Little Miss Spoiled Brat and walk toward my friend and new boss, Knight Warren. He recently married Penny, and they’ve adopted his friend Adam’s little girl Bianca. She jumps to her feet and races toward us. "He’s sooo cute." She throws her arm around Tiny’s neck. The Great Dane stays still and lets her fuss over him.
"He also polished off a $4000 bottle of champagne," I say in a low voice to her parents.
Knight chuckles. "Doesn’t seem to affect him at all. Besides, Cade can afford it."
As if hearing his name, Cade Kingston, captain of the English cricket team prowls over to us. "What are you ladies whispering about?"
"That you’re going to have competition for rabid fans, now that the London Ice Kings has him as the captain." Knight nods in my direction.
Cade does a double-take. "You’re accepting the offer?"
"I haven’t said yes, yet," I admit.
Knight’s wife Penny rises to her feet. "You going to make that a habit?" She jerks her chin toward the palm-print I wear on my cheek.
I shrug. "It was worth it."
She frowns. "Gio has a good heart. I know she can come across as haughty and disdainful, but she’s a loyal friend."
"So am I."
"Go easy on her, okay?" She reaches up and pats my cheek.
