25. One Step Forward…
ONE STEP FORWARD…
CHELSEA
Isuck in a breath as the words slice my skin like a thousand paper cuts, leaving me raw.
He steps closer and I step back, but my retreat is cut short as I bump up against the door. I can see his hand, still braced against the painted metal, in my peripheral vision, and I keep my attention there so I don’t have to focus on his gorgeous face.
“Look at me.”
I do.
“You’re all I think about.” His body shifts as he brings his other hand up, circling my wrist. His thumb strokes against my pulse and it flutters madly.
“You’re brilliant, and beautiful, and way too good for me.”
He settles my palm against the front of his pants.
“That’s because of you.”
His erection jumps beneath my touch, and his whole body tenses, but he lets go of my wrist. My fingers linger against the thick ridge of him for an agonizing moment before I force my hand away.
“I got hard the second you shoved me up against the wall. I want you on your knees more than I want my next breath. But when that happens, I want it to just be you and me in the room.”
I kiss him, just wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. I don’t want him to change his mind, take back any of the sweet, sexy words that make me feel special and wanted.
When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing hard. I let my hand drift down his chest, the backs of my fingers flirting with his shirt, with his abs, tight and unyielding beneath it. I stare straight ahead, at the column of his throat, watching the muscles in his neck work as he swallows.
His exhalation ruffles my hair.
I drop my hand to his waistband, but he shakes his head.
“Not here, okay? I don’t want you to think I said all this to get in your pants.”
My heart melts.
“I’m not wearing pants,” I tease.
“Your panties then.”
“I’m not wearing those either.”
He drops his head and swears against my neck as his hips thrust forward, grinding into me and startling a gasp from my lips.
With a curse, Brett pushes away from the door. Away from me.
“Okay, I’m calling a timeout.” He zips up. Rebuckles his belt. “I need to regroup.” He walks over and sits on the top step, bracing his elbows on his knees.
I take a seat beside him, staring down the short staircase at the landing below. After a moment, I angle my body toward his and drop my forehead against his arm, exhaling some of the pent-up emotion.
We sit there a while, with only the buzz of the lights and the sound of our breathing as it evens out.
“We good now?”
I nod against his shoulder before sitting up. “Yeah. But I think I bruised my knee,” I admit, half-glaring, half-pouting at the embarrassing admission.
“Awww.” He reaches over and gives it a squeeze. The warmth of his palm seeps into my skin. “If it makes you feel better, I think you might have chipped my tooth when you attacked me with your mouth.”
“What?” Guilt and concern war for dominance in my chest.
He tips his head back, jamming his finger against his left incisor. “Is it bad?”
I bat his hand out of the way so I can examine it in the crappy lighting.
It takes about four seconds to determine that his stupid tooth is fine, and I know he knows it by the way he grins at me when I finally pull back. “Jerk.”
“C’mere.” He slings his arm around me and pulls me against his side. I lean in as he presses a kiss to my hairline.
“Why would chipping your tooth make me feel better?”
“Because it sucks being the only guy on the injured reserve list.”
“Because it means you’re in pain?”
“Because it means you’ve got to watch everyone else play while you sit on the sidelines.”
Yeah. I get that. That’s how I felt tonight when he was having a good time with his teammates and the sequin brigade. Left out. And not just because I was doing my job while they were gambling. And drinking. And laughing. And flirting.
My mood takes a little nose-dive and it makes my voice sound petulant. “Well, I was trying to play with you.”
His shoulder rocks under my cheek when he chuckles.
“And when we’re done working, I’m gonna meet you at your place and we’re going to play all night. That’s a promise.”
I risk a glance up at him. From this angle, I can only see the underside of his stubbly jaw. Is there no part of him that doesn’t turn me on?
When we’re done working.
I never thought about it like that. Smiling and laughing and posing for pictures seems more fun than carrying around a to-do list and making sure things are running smoothly behind the scenes.
But I suppose he’s on the clock tonight.
That’s the part of professional sports people don’t think about as much.
The volunteer work, the fundraising, the giving back.
A totally different kind of work than he does on the ice, but work nonetheless.
“Do you think we’re going to die in here?” I ask idly. The material of his suit is soft against my skin. His body is warm and I can smell the faint, clean scent of his shampoo. His ribcage expands and contracts against my arm in time with his breathing.
Not such a bad way to go.
“I doubt it.” He reaches into his jacket with his free hand and produces his phone.
A little smile curves my lips. “Geez. Good thing this isn’t a heist. That’s how the popo find you, by triangulating cell phone towers. You would have blown the whole thing before we even got a chance to Bonnie and Clyde our way out of here.”
“The popo, huh? I take it back. Obviously, you’re a total bad girl. You’ve got the jail yard lingo down and everything.”
I press my mouth to his, indulging in a soft, sweet kiss.
Desire flickers in Brett’s expression, and I like the way he licks his lips as I pull away. “What was that for?”
“Because I like you,” I say, getting to my feet. He follows suit, and I gesture toward the phone in his hand with a tip of my chin. “Now use that to get someone to spring you.”
I inspect our surroundings. There’s a dusty wedge of wood tucked in the corner of the landing. Obviously, we aren’t the first people to get trapped in here. I grab it and hold it up.
“Jam this in the door when you leave so I can follow when the coast is clear.”
He hits send on his S.O.S. and tucks his phone away. “Or we could, you know, both walk out of here when Jace opens the door,” he suggests, though he accepts the doorstop I’m shoving in his hand.
“No way. How are we going to explain this?”
“Why do we have to?”
“Because I’m the boss’ daughter. The guys will never let you live it down.”
“I can handle the guys,” he tells me.
“We’re not even supposed to be—” Kissing? Sleeping together? Sneaking around? All of the above? “—doing this.” I use the word as a catch-all.
“Okay. I get it.”
I look at him, trying to parse the curtness of his reply. “Are you mad?”
Brett shrugs, shaking his head. “Why would I be mad?”
I’m not sure, but it seems like he is. And it gets worse when I take the seven steps that lead down to the next landing.
“What?” I ask at his frown, leaning back against the smooth concrete. It’s cold against my back. “If I don’t hide, I might as well walk out with you.”
“God forbid.”
Definitely mad.
I don’t get a chance to take issue with his snarky tone, because the door flies open and the resulting bang ricochets through the concrete stairwell like a gunshot, jacking up my heart rate.
“What are you doing in here, ya dumbass?”
Chase Hawkins. Great. The team big mouth.
“I could ask you the same question,” Brett counters.
“Decker’s turn to deal, so he sent me to rescue you.”
Crap. I missed the dealer shift change. Thank God for Shanna. We might be mad at each other, but I can always count on her.
“So what exactly am I rescuing you from?”
My heart stops for a beat as I wait for Brett’s answer. Not that I think he’ll sell me out, but his earlier anger has me off-balance.
“Just needed some air. Didn’t realize I’d be trapped.”
“Uh huh.” I can hear the grin in Chase’s voice.
“Next time, stick to a bathroom stall. That way she can’t lock you in after you thanks-but-no-thanks her phone number while you’re zipping up.
Unless she’s still in here? Is it the girl in the pink sequins?
” Chase takes a step forward so the two men are chest to chest as he jokingly pantomimes looking over Brett’s shoulder.
I suck in a breath and press tighter against the wall, as if it will make me invisible or something.
“Fuck off, Hawk.” Brett says it in the dismissive, bullshitting kind of way that accompanies the constant teasing of teammates, before planting a hand on the man’s chest and giving him a good-natured shove that knocks him back into the hallway.
My breath comes out in a sigh of relief.
“You’re such a player, you know that?”
Chase laughs. “Whatever, man. You’re the one who got locked in a stairwell. Hope she was worth it.”
Brett pauses, looks right at me for a second that stretches to five… ten…
“You coming?”
Chase’s demand steals his attention, and he looks away from me. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
The door doesn’t bang shut behind him, and I walk back up the seven steps to see the wooden triangle has done its job. I grab it as I push the door open a little, peeking around the edge to ensure the coast is clear.
It is.
I toss the wedge back to the corner, its clatter sharp in the silence. With a deep breath, I step into the hallway, alone again, my footsteps echoing as I walk back into the noise and lights.