Chapter 13
CONNOR
When I arrive home from practice, there are three vehicles I don’t recognize in the driveway.
For a moment I wonder if Mildred has invited her friends over.
And if she has, is it for protection against me, or because she’s becoming comfortable here?
I don’t want to examine my feelings about either too closely.
Chatter comes from the living room, Mildred’s laughter ringing out, warming the air. The room is full of cameras, lighting equipment, and people I don’t know.
In the middle of it all is Mildred, wearing a stunning dark purple gown, her hair and makeup done, looking the picture of sophisticated elegance. I wish I could appreciate it more, but I thought I’d have a moment to myself before I had to deal with more than Mildred and Meems.
Practice wasn’t the worst, but the whole team is off-kilter. It’s Ryker’s first season in net, and Romero is new on defense, and it’s his first year in the pros. My engagement to Mildred is another layer of tension. We all need to find our sea legs.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“Oh, you’re home!” Meems’s wide smile makes it difficult to remain irritated about the fucking invasion of what’s supposed to be my living room.
“I’m home.” I bend to kiss her cheek.
“I arranged an engagement photoshoot for you! Isn’t Dred beautiful? Your suit is steamed and ready in your room. Go put it on, and we can get started.”
“Mildred is always stunning.” I cross my arms. “We took photos at the engagement party. Why do we need more?”
“Because I would like official pictures. Go get changed.”
Arguing is pointless. Besides, clearly she’s excited, and that’s the entire point of this whole charade. Plus, Mildred is already cooperating.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in a black suit with piping that matches Mildred’s dress.
When I return, Meems is beaming like a fucking spotlight.
I approach my fiancée, and she gives me a slow once-over. I can’t decide if it’s for Meems and the photographer’s benefit, or because she actually appreciates how I look. I do the same. Fake ogle, real ogle, she doesn’t know the difference.
The dress, while modest, draws attention to her luscious curves.
Makeup hides the circles from the nightmares.
Every night so far, she’s woken up screaming.
I’ve been sleeping with my door open so I can get to her sooner.
I’ve also been sleeping in a T-shirt. Each time she clings to me, and I hold her until she stops shaking.
I don’t want the bad dreams to continue, but I also want a reason to touch her, and now I have a nicer one.
“Let’s start in front of the fireplace,” the photographer instructs.
Mildred and I move into position.
“Sorry about this,” I mutter, unsure where to put my hands. It’s easier when she’s the one hanging on to me.
“I don’t mind. Lucy is over the moon,” she whispers.
“A little closer, you two. Act like you like each other,” the photographer jokes.
We close the space between us. All her softness and warmth press against me.
One of the assistants steps in to position us, adjusting my hand so it curves around the dip in her waist. Mildred’s hand slides up my back and rests between my shoulder blades.
“Beautiful. Hold that pose.” She snaps several photos.
Each position requires more contact than the last. This is apparently fine with me when Mildred is having a nightmare and needs me to calm her, but here, in front of these people…I don’t know. It’s different. I’m constantly told to relax my shoulders.
This is an excessive amount of closeness. I don’t think I’ve touched anyone for this long in my entire life. At least not on purpose. I’m hyperaware of Mildred’s curves and how good she feels tucked against me like this.
“Okay, let’s move to the staircase.”
I help Mildred to the stairs and hold her hand as she navigates them in heels.
“Oh, this is perfect. Dred, can you move up one step so you don’t have to tip your head back quite as far?”
She moves up a step and still has to look up, but we’re closer to eye level now.
“Excellent! Now look into each other’s eyes,” the photographer instructs.
Mildred turns toward me, and the entire front of her body presses against mine. She settles one palm on my chest. With the other, she moves my hand to her hip.
“Tap into your inner competitor and pretend it’s a staring contest,” Mildred whispers, maybe trying to alleviate some of the obvious tension.
Unfortunately, my body is starting to react to her closeness in highly inconvenient ways. If I don’t get some space soon, she’ll be made aware. “Looking at you is quite the challenge.”
Her smile falters. “Dick of the Millennium award is coming your way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what—”
“Everything okay up there, you two?” the photographer calls.
“Everything’s fantastic!” Mildred lies. “My fiancé isn’t used to being photographed out of his hockey equipment.”
The photographer laughs. “Why don’t you kiss your husband-to-be?”
“I don’t—” I start to object.
“You didn’t have a problem kissing me in front of your family at our engagement party, but three people you don’t know is a problem?” Mildred mutters through a fake smile.
“Meems is watching.”
“Meems was at the engagement party,” Mildred argues.
“Everyone is watching us.” And we’re arguing. About kissing.
“Well, give them something to watch, Connor,” she challenges.
My gaze drops to her pretty, full lips.
She drags her pink tongue across them, arching a brow in challenge. “Better make it good.”
My dick gets irritatingly excited about her sass and the prospect of tasting her mouth again. I tuck a finger under her chin and dip down, bracing for the onslaught of sensation.
The camera goes off in rapid-fire succession as I brush my lips over hers. She’s sweet like strawberries. The tiniest whimper escapes her. I start to pull back, but her nails bite into my skin and she tilts her head, lips parting, stroking along the seam of my mouth with her tongue.
It’s like tossing a lit match into a vat of gasoline. My need for more is all-consuming.
I open for her, which is an exceptionally awful idea.
Because the moment our tongues brush, kissing her like this is all I ever want to do for the rest of my miserable fucking life.
The world could turn to dust around us, and I wouldn’t care.
I snake an arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against me.
My hand slides into her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss.
Mildred makes a soft, surprised sound as I sweep her mouth again and again. I want to get lost in this feeling, in her softness, in feeling something good. In her. I run my other hand over her hip, curving around the generous swell of her ass.
“Connor, dear, remember where you are,” Meems calls, her voice laced with humor.
“We definitely got the shot,” the photographer says with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.
Which is when I realize I’ve been trying to climb inside my fiancée’s mouth. I wrench free and put some space between us. Mildred stumbles back, eyes wide and glassy. I catch her before she can tumble down the stairs. A flush works its way up her chest and into her cheeks.
“I need a minute.” I spin around and rush up the stairs.
“Just, um…I’ll be back, too.” Mildred’s voice is pitchy.
I stride down the hall, heading for my bedroom, my self-loathing on fire. Mildred is on my heels, making it impossible for me to close the door behind me without slamming it in her face.
She glances around at my bedroom. She’s never been in here before.
I grip the back of my neck. I’m such a fucking asshole. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She moves closer, deeper into my bedroom. I don’t want the memory of her in here. I don’t want her to leave.
Her eyes glitter with emotions. “Run away, you mean?”
“Kissed you like that.” My jaw clenches. My cock aches. My disgust is at an all-time high. She’s not here because she wants to be. She’s not my fiancée because she enjoys my company. She’s here to save herself from a lifetime of struggle and to give Meems hope that I won’t end up sad and alone.
“I kissed you back, Connor.” She’s right in front of me, close enough to touch.
“You didn’t really have a choice, did you?” I say through gritted teeth.
“There’s always a choice.” She settles a palm on my chest, but I can’t handle the contact.
Everything is heightened, and all I want is to feel her lips on mine and her soft tongue. I want her moans and her sighs and the feel of her skin under my fingers. But that’s a level of complication neither of us needs, so I step back out of reach.
“I’m overstimulated,” I snap.
She raises both hands. “I’m sorry.”
I turn away so I can adjust my erection, which is bent at an uncomfortable angle. “I need a moment, and you being in here is the opposite of helpful.”
I’m met with silence.
I sigh. Why do I always have to be an asshole? Mildred doesn’t deserve my bad mood. It’s not her fault I’m painfully attracted to her and struggling to manage my fucking hormones. “I’m—”
I turn around so I can explain myself, but she’s gone.
Her disappearance is an effective solution to my problem below the waist. But when I’m finally in control enough to return to the living room, the photographer is gone as well, and my fiancée is nowhere to be found.