Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Parker
Nerves jangled in my stomach as I drove up to the cat shelter, my hands gripping the steering wheel. The sight of Bowen sitting on the steps, waiting for me, sent a rush of conflicting emotions through my chest. His presence always had a calming effect, yet today, I couldn’t shake the anxiety that twisted my insides. I was happy to see the quick twitch of his lips when he spotted me—his version of lighting up—but it was tempered by the heavy weight of the secrets I knew I’d have to reveal today. Some of them, at least. How would he react? My pulse raced, and fear clenched my heart. I didn’t want to lose him, not now, not when we were just beginning to find something real between us.
I pulled into the spot beside his Highlander, shut off the engine, got out of my car, and took a moment to breathe in the hot, heavy air of the May afternoon. A bird twittered in a nearby tree, and the scents of wildflowers carried on the warm breeze, offering a fragile sense of peace. I approached Bowen with a tentative smile. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”
“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he said in a low rumble that sent a thrill through me. He stood and pulled a bottle of allergy medicine out of his pocket. The corner of his lip quirked up. “Already took my pill.”
I chuckled, and some of the nervousness eased. His mellow reception felt like a small victory, and I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his bearded jaw. “I like you, Bowen,” I whispered. A flush rose in his cheeks. “And Sunday night meant more than just a good time to me. It was more than casual.”
He stepped closer. The heat of his body radiated against mine as he placed his hands on my hips and drew me into him until my breasts brushed against his chest. “I agree,” he murmured. “But…”
I sighed, the sound tinged with both frustration and resignation as I hooked my arms around his shoulders to pull him close. “But I’m holding back.”
He nodded, his eyes darkening with worry.
“Let’s clean the shelter,” I suggested, “and then we’ll talk.” Though I shot him a flirtatious glance, the words were filled with the weight of the conversation we were going to have.
“Deal.” He leaned down and pecked me on the nose, sealing the bargain.
We broke apart, and I unlocked the shelter. The cool rush of air conditioning greeted us as we stepped inside, and a half-dozen cats and kittens blinked blearily at being awakened. Luke, a sleek black cat, trotted over to me for pets, and I scratched him under the chin, the familiar motion soothing the nerves still thrumming beneath my skin.
Bowen and I fell into an easy rhythm as we worked together like a team, despite the friction simmering just beneath the surface. We made quick work of the litter boxes and floors, our conversation drifting to safer topics, like the best way to cook an egg.
“Scrambled,” I said, smiling. I placed a clean food bowl on the floor.
He smirked and tossed a glance my way as he poured kibble into it. “Fried. No contest.”
“Charmin Ultra Strong or Ultra Soft?” I nudged him playfully with my elbow.
“Ultra Strong, obviously,” he said with mock seriousness, as if this were the most important debate we’d ever had.
I rolled my eyes and made a game-show buzzer sound. “ Ehh . Ultra Soft.”
He shook his head, but his lips quivered as he poured more kibble.
“If we ever move in together, we’ll need two toilet paper rolls,” I teased.
His hand froze mid-air as he blinked at me. “Move in together?”
I offered him a gentle smile, picking up a dirty food bowl. “After today, I hope we’ll have a better chance of that.” The words hung between us, carrying a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep but desperately wanted to.
We finished the last of the chores in silence, the tension building with each passing moment. Once everything was in order, we settled in the living room, surrounded by the cats and kittens who had grown accustomed to our presence.
I reached for a feather wand from the basket, waving it in the air to distract myself from the conversation that was coming. Two of the cats leaped after it, their movements fluid and graceful, while the others bobbled their heads, tracking the feather’s every move. It was a brief, welcome distraction.
Missy eyed Bowen. He held his hand out, patient and unmoving, and purred from deep in his chest.
“I haven’t been completely truthful with you,” I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm.
Bowen grunted softly. “Suspected that.” He didn’t take his eyes off Missy as she inched closer to his outstretched hand, her tiny nose twitching in curiosity. “Need you to be honest with me or…” His words trailed off as the kitten sniffed his fingers.
My lunch curdled in my stomach. Bowen’s tone wasn’t threatening, but the underlying sadness made it clear: we couldn’t keep going like this. I had to open up, no matter how terrifying. I drew in a deep, shaky breath. “You know the ‘boating’ I was telling you about?”
He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with a wary skepticism that made my heart ache.
“It was on a superyacht.” The words tumbled out of me.
His eyebrows knitted together.
The nerves made it difficult to keep my hands still. “And the skiing? It was in the Alps, and my family flew in a private jet to get there.” His eyes grew distant, the warmth fading from them, leaving behind a flat, unreadable expression that made my stomach plummet. “I grew up filthy rich.”
His brow furrowed deeper, confusion and something else—hurt, maybe—flashing in his eyes. “Why are you keeping secrets?” His kept his delivery low and gentle, probably for Missy’s sake. The kitten drew close enough that he could run one large finger down her tiny head. A big purr from her little body filled the space between us, a stark contrast to the strain that hung in the air.
I dropped the feather wand, the playful energy I’d had evaporating. I reached for a handful of foam balls and tossed them across the room. A few of the cats chased after them, but my mind was elsewhere, spinning with a desperate need to explain while maintaining my cover.
“My father intervened in my life in a way that devastated me.” My voice cracked, the old wound still raw. I couldn’t even bring myself to talk about Harrison and his betrayal. “Tied up with my father’s manipulations, a scandal at his company brought a media frenzy down on my head. I had to distance myself from him. I left Boston and became Parker Smith, a woman who could control her own life. I’m happy here. Emily and the WAGs have welcomed me—you’ve welcomed me—and no one is using me.”
He cocked his head. “Who is your father?”
The question hit me like a punch to the gut, and I realized too late that I had walked right into it. I slumped, my shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth I wasn’t ready to tell him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to share that bit of information. You really would think of me differently if you knew my father’s identity.”
His mouth flattened into a hard line, and disappointment flashed across his face. “You don’t trust me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, one that cut deeper than any accusation. “I do trust you,” I insisted. “More than anyone else. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed by my family. They can be overbearing, and they don’t support what I’m doing. Is that a deal-breaker?” I held my breath, the silence that followed stretching out.
Bowen didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he focused on Missy, who had fully warmed up to him, her small body vibrating with contentment when he scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. The sight of his large hand gently stroking her tiny frame sent a wave of warmth through me, but the fear that gripped me quickly overshadowed it, squeezing my chest so tight I could hardly breathe. My future with Bowen hung in the balance, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
Would he accept me as I was and let my father’s identity slide? Or were we over? He gave nothing away, and my nerves jangled. I took deep breaths, which did little to calm my thundering heart.
He continued to scratch Missy under her chin, his brow lowered in thought. “I want to continue seeing you,” he finally rumbled.
Relief flooded through me so quickly that my muscles unwound and I slumped like a rag doll. I stretched my arm across the distance between us and held out my hand. “I want to see you, too.”
He took my hand, his grip firm and reassuring, but his gaze remained intense, searching. “But I still want to know who your father is.”
I involuntarily jerked, a reflexive reaction to the fear I still harbored.
“But I’m willing to wait until you learn to trust me. Because you can trust me with that.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes locking onto mine with a sincerity that made my heart thunder. “Not going to feel any differently about you. Your father and your money won’t change anything. You’ll still be Parker Smith to me, the woman I want.”
I squeezed his hand, the pressure grounding me. “Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tight with the rush of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work out. We were going to be okay. Someday, when our relationship was stronger, more developed, I would tell him everything. I would confide in him, and he would understand when he found out my father’s name.
At least, I hoped so.
The glimpses I caught of Game Two of the Finals had my heart pounding in my chest, the intensity of the contest seeping into every nerve of my body. Electric nervousness filled the bar, every fan on edge as they watched the game on the massive screens mounted around the room. When it went into overtime, the air became thick with anticipation, and my breath caught in my throat. The patrons cursed and jeered when Boston’s defenseman tripped Beck. On the delayed penalty, Chase fired a slapshot past their goalie and the puck slammed into the back of the net, giving the Blazers their first victory in the Finals in franchise history and tying the series 1-1. The bar erupted in deafening cheers. My stomach lifted like I was rounding the apex of a roller coaster, and I got back to work with a smile.
The celebratory buzz in the bar reached new heights as the fans and WAGs filtered in after the game. I moved to the patio to take orders, but I couldn’t keep my gaze from drifting toward the door, my heart racing, eager for Bowen’s arrival. My hands shook with nerves, and I had to take a deep breath to steady them. I couldn’t wait to see him again. The memory of our parting kiss the previous day at the shelter was still fresh in my mind, the softness of his lips lingering on mine like a promise. I planned to invite him to my apartment after my shift, and the thought sent butterflies twirling in my stomach, their wings brushing against my insides with every nervous flutter.
As I delivered a plate of chicken wings to a table, the plate slipped from my trembling hands, and time seemed to slow as it fell to the pavers with a loud crash. The sharp sound echoed in the air, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment as the women at the table frowned, their disapproving looks making my face burn hotter. “I’m so, so sorry,” I stammered, dropping to my knees to pick up the broken crockery.
Before I could gather the shards, a large body crouched beside me, and a familiar hand stayed mine. “Careful,” Bowen warned, his sound like a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. He gently plucked the pieces off the floor, placing them on my tray.
“Th-Thank you,” I whispered and met his eyes. There was something in them—something deep and swirling, warmth and desire—that made my heart stutter in my chest.
“No problem,” he said in a low raspy tone that sent a shiver down my spine. “See you after your shift?”
I nodded, unable to find my voice, my insides tumbling with anticipation. The way he looked at me, the way he spoke the words—it made my pulse quicken, my entire body attuned to his presence.
Just then, a mop appeared in my peripheral vision. “I’ll take it from here,” Mateo said, his expression one of mild amusement as he shook his head.
Bowen rose to his full height, his broad shoulders blocking out the light for a moment as he held out his hand to me. I placed mine in his, his grip firm and warm, and he steadied me as I stood. His thumb brushed across the back of my hand in a slow, deliberate caress that sent heat rushing to my cheeks. “Later,” he whispered, a promise that made my heart skip a beat. He walked backward, his eyes never leaving mine, until he turned and joined Beck, Chase, Hope, and Emily.
The back of my neck tingled the entire night with the awareness of Bowen’s gaze on me. Finally, the clock ticked toward the end of my shift, and I hurried to throw my apron into the laundry bin in the breakroom. I pulled out my ponytail, letting my hair fall around my shoulders, and quickly refreshed my lipstick. The excitement building inside me was almost too much to contain as I made my way back to the bar, where Bowen nursed a sparkling water.
He turned his gaze to me when I approached, his eyes inscrutable.
I inhaled deeply to calm my nerves, then asked, “Do you want to go to my apartment?”
A spark lit his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Love to,” he replied. His deep baritone resonated in my chest, warming me from the inside out.
We left the bar together, my hand tucked securely in the crook of his arm. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, and I nestled into his side; a contented sigh escaped my lips. As we reached the employee parking lot behind the bar, Bowen suddenly came to a standstill, and his body tensed as his gaze swept over the shadows.
“What is it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
He pushed me behind him, his stance protective, every muscle in his body coiled with alertness. “Who are you?” he barked into the darkness. “What do you want?”
I peered around his arm, my heart hammering in my chest. A man stood at the edge of the lot, wearing a ball cap that cast a shadow over his face. The flash of his cell phone camera caught my eye, sending a jolt of fear through me as goosebumps prickled along my arms.
Before either of us could react, the man took off in a sprint down an alley that ran along the back of the bar. The slap of his shoes pounding the pavement echoed off the buildings and disappeared into the quiet of the night.
Bowen growled, the sound vibrating through the air, a mix of anger and frustration.
My body shuddered from head to toe, the adrenaline making my legs weak. “Who was that?” I choked out, struggling to get the words past the tightness in my throat.
“Don’t know,” Bowen said with barely contained fury. “He’s been following me.”
A cold dread settled over me, emptying my lungs. Was the man following Bowen? Or was he following me? My blood ran cold. “When have you seen him?” I asked shakily.
“The first time was when we were on our picnic,” Bowen said, his jaw clenched tight.
We’d been together. He could have been watching either of us.
“The second time was when I arrived at the players’ parking lot,” Bowen said.
I exhaled unsteadily. I didn’t have access to the players’ parking lot, but the unease didn’t leave me. Had I somehow put a target on Bowen’s back? Or was this man a fan who had taken things too far?
“We both need to keep our eyes open.” His tone left no room for argument. He walked me the rest of the way to my car, the concern palpable. When we reached it, I beeped the locks, and he opened the door for me, his eyes scanning the lot. “Wait for me in your apartment building’s garage, and I’ll walk you inside.”
Rattled, I nodded. My hands clenched the steering wheel as I drove home. The fear lingered and made my heart race with every shadow. No one followed me into the garage, and I didn’t see anyone lurking around. Still, I waited for Bowen before getting out of my car.
When he arrived, we walked hand-in-hand to my apartment, the solid weight of his presence beside me a comfort. Only once we were inside, the door securely locked behind us, did I feel like I could breathe again. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head against his sculpted chest. His arms came around me, holding me close, and the tautness in my body slowly released.
“I’m leaving for a road trip to Boston in the morning.” His deep voice rumbled through his chest and vibrated against my cheek.
I nodded. The thought of him being gone for two games filled me with a pang of sadness, but I pushed it aside and focused on the time we had.
“Be sure to have someone walk you to your car after work each night.” He took on a protective edge. “And then text me when you get home.”
“Bossy,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment.
“I want you safe,” he said, his tone serious.
“I’ll be careful. I promise,” I said more softly and looked up at him.
“Despite your secrets?—”
Sweat prickled my scalp, the words catching me off guard.
“I really like you,” he said earnestly, his eyes full of something deep that made my heart swell. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” I whispered, pouring my heart into the words, hoping they conveyed just how much he meant to me.
Bowen’s hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The world seemed to fade away—the pending trip, the worries in my mind, all of it disappeared as his eyes locked onto mine. They were filled with a heat that made my pulse quicken. Slowly, he leaned down, his breath warm against my lips, and when his mouth finally met mine, a spark ignited deep within me. His kiss was firm, exploring, as if he was savoring every second. My heart raced as I melted into him. The sensation of his lips moving against mine, the way he gently tilted my head to deepen the kiss, made the room spin. I lost myself in him, in the taste of him. At my needy moan, he ground his erection against me.
I reluctantly broke the kiss, but desire made me bold. “Do you have time to shower with me?” I whispered. I was eager to wash off the smell of stale beer and hot wings. But more importantly, to spend more time with him. I wasn’t ready for him to leave, not when we were just beginning to move forward with the air cleared between us.
“I’ll make time,” he growled. He took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom, turning the water on to heat. He reverently removed my clothing piece by piece, kissing my skin as he bared it. Delicious little shivers ran down my spine with each callused yet gentle touch. A touch that was unique to Bowen and my growing feelings for him.
Naked and impatient, I helped him quickly shed his regulation post-game suit. I freed his hard cock when I pulled his boxer briefs down his muscular, lightly hairy thighs. He hissed when I ran a finger along his arousal, loving the feel of soft silk over steel. He grabbed my wrist, his voice tight with suppressed need. “Shower.”
Steam swirled around us, cocooning us in a warm, misty embrace as we stepped into the tub. Bowen’s strong hands guided me under the shower stream, the droplets cascading over my skin like soothing rain. I ceded control as he wet my hair, the sensation of the warm water running through the strands making me shiver.
When his fingers worked shampoo into my scalp, his fingers moved with a rhythm that sent tingles down my spine, each stroke methodical yet infused with an intimacy that made my heart swell. I closed my eyes and let the sensations wash over me, my body practically dissolving under his touch. Bowen’s hands were gentle but firm as he massaged the shampoo into a lather, and when he rinsed it away, I felt lighter, almost weightless.
As he repeated the process with the conditioner, his fingers sliding through my hair with ease, I couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure. “Your fingers are magic,” I murmured, the words slipping out as a soft, breathless confession. And they were—because they were Bowen’s fingers, the same fingers that had held me close, that had traced every curve of my body.
He made a sound unlike any of his other grunts, grumbles, or growls. “You should see what else I can do,” he promised in a husky pitch.
My core throbbed in response, my insides heating.
After rinsing my hair, Bowen washed me from head to toe with his hands, leaving delicious tingles in their wake, along with building anticipation.
Pulling my back to his front, he kneaded my aching breasts and nipples with large, soapy hands, and I moaned and arched into his touch.
“More,” I begged, not above pleading.
In response, he turned me in his arms, dropped to his knees, and placed my leg over his shoulder.
“Oh!” I steadied myself with a hand on his other broad shoulder as he licked, swirled, and nipped at my center. Tension built within me like a pulled bow. I wobbled, barely keeping my balance. I was close, so close. Bowen doubled down and sucked in exactly the right spot. I detonated, crying his name so loud it echoed off the tile. I panted as he gently lowered my leg. Bowen stood, and I leaned against him, boneless. “That was…”
He grunted a suppressed chuckle. “Magic?”
I tilted my head to look him in the eye and smirked. “Let’s see what magic trick I can perform.”
I slid my hands down his body as I sank to my knees, the warm water pounding on my back, and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. He moaned and “Yes” escaped his lips, but I didn’t need the encouragement. I wanted to give him the ecstasy—and acceptance—he gave me. I swallowed him down, pleasuring him with my tongue and mouth until his legs shook and he shouted his release. A thrill ran through me—I’d done that for him.
And I planned to do it again and again in the future.
Bowen raised me to my feet and pulled me into his arms, his grip firm yet full of longing, and kissed me with a fervor that stole my breath. His lips moved with an intensity that sent sparks through my veins. My head spun with joy and I melted against him, losing myself completely in the moment.
Breaking the kiss, I rested my cheek against his hard pecs, soaking in contentment like warm bathwater. “I guess we should get out. We’re turning into prunes.”
His chest shook with stifled laughter, rusty and gruff. “Let me put you to bed.” With a jerk, he shut off the water, and the steam dissipated around us. He reached for the large, fluffy towels hanging nearby. The softness of the towel felt like a comforting embrace when he wrapped it around me and gently patted me dry with a tenderness at odds with his aggression on the ice.
When he brushed my hair, each careful stroke was like a caress, his fingers occasionally grazing my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes, leaned into the sensation, and felt utterly cherished.
Standing at the bathroom counter, I stifled a yawn, my eyelids growing heavy as exhaustion from my long shift and the warm, relaxing shower caught up with me.
Not to mention the powerful orgasm.
I barely registered the last glide of the brush through my hair before Bowen’s firm voice broke through the haze. “Bed,” he ordered, the word filled with a quiet command that made me smile despite my fatigue. He gently pushed me ahead of him to the side of my bed, where I swayed.
“Aren’t you tired after playing a game?”
“Exhausted,” he admitted, his usual growl even rougher from the night’s exertion. He tossed the pillows and pulled back the covers to reveal the cool, inviting sheets beneath.
I crawled in, the silky linens brushing against my skin as I settled into the bed. I opened my arms to him, a silent invitation. For a moment, he hesitated. But then, with a sigh of surrender, he slid in beside me, the bed dipping under his weight, and he pulled me against him. The warmth of his body enveloped me, and I instinctively snuggled closer, resting my head on his chest where I could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound was soothing, grounding, but I wasn’t ready for the evening to end.
I led Bowen into a drowsy, lazy conversation, where the words flowed easily, softened by the darkness. We talked about the evening’s game, dissecting plays and penalties. He spoke about the regimented life of a hockey player on the road, the constant travel and the toll it took, but there was a quiet pride in his voice. We drifted into discussing the upcoming games, and I could feel the pressure weighing him down even as he tried to relax.
“Will any of your friends or family be at the games in Boston?” He traced lazy circles on my arm with his fingertip.
I shook my head against his shoulder. “They’re football fans.” I didn’t mention that my father’s company name was plastered across New England’s stadium in big, bold letters, or that I’d spent many games in the owner’s suite. But hockey was different for me—more thrilling, more real. I preferred watching hockey.
I preferred watching Bowen.
I wrapped an arm around Bowen’s waist, feeling his solid strength beneath my touch. I could finally relax around him. He knew most of my secrets, had accepted me despite them, and still wanted to be with me. My heart warmed, and a broad smile spread across my face, even though he couldn’t see it in the dark. “Will you keep in touch while you’re gone?” I asked.
He nodded, and then he pressed a light kiss on my forehead. “I’ll text,” he said, his breath warm against my skin.
Then, with a gentle move, he rolled me onto my back. The mattress shifted beneath us as he leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was slow and deep. It was the kind of kiss that made me feel connected in a way words couldn’t describe. When he finally released me and slipped out of bed, the cool air rushed in to replace the warmth he left behind, and disappointment weighed heavily on my shoulders.
But I knew he had a plane to catch in a few hours, and I couldn’t ask him to stay, no matter how much I wanted to. “Good luck in Boston,” I murmured sleepily. “Text me when you arrive. I’m not working tomorrow night.”
He grunted in response, a sound that made me chuckle softly. Bowen acted reserved, unapproachable, but I knew better. Beneath that rough exterior was a soft heart, and he would text me as soon as he landed. It was just who he was.
I couldn’t wait until he got home from Boston, until we could pick up where we left off and continue growing closer. There was so much I still wanted to share with him, so many moments I wanted to experience by his side.
We would be all right, despite a few remaining secrets.
He would forgive me when I finally told him everything.
Wouldn’t he?