Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
BIANCA
Brody’s eyes light up.
“No. Not me.” I heat up with embarrassment as I see his let-down, barely resisting the urge to cover my no-doubt pink cheeks. “I was the team manager,” I mumble.
“My sister plays hockey, and I thought you might—never mind.”
“Right.” I know all about his sister, Kara.
She’s four years older than him, a raven-haired beauty with the same startling blue eyes as Brody, and now plays hockey for the WPHA in Boston, the Fleet.
She’s a star player, and according to their hometown press, she used to kick his pants in hockey growing up.
Axton waves us over to the kitchen island and sets out three glasses and a cold bottle of Moet.
“Wow,” I say.
“I can’t drink, Ax. Sorry. I’ll stick to this.” Brody lifts the sports drink from the counter and takes a swig. “But you two go ahead.”
I feel obligated to have some, even if champagne is my least favorite drink in the world. I’ve long since learned to go with the flow in my role at dinners and events, accepting whatever the hostess has to offer, and I channel that professionally curated grace now.
Axton pops the cork like a pro. “I worked as a server in the summers when I was in college my first two years.” He grins, then slides his glance to Brody. “Some of us didn’t get the big scholarships to cover all our expenses. Or any scholarship my freshman year.”
He pours me a glass expertly. “It’s impressive that you worked your way from humble beginnings to where you are—playing in the NHL with the Portsmouth Whalers. I know how it is to have to work hard and against the odds for every accomplishment.”
He grins and clinks my glass, and we have a moment toasting our underdog wins.
Brody clears his throat. “Hello. I worked hard too. Damn hard.”
I turn to him, surprised at the tone of his voice, like he’s… jealous? “Of course you did—you would never be where you are now at such a young age if you weren’t as tough as nails workhorse.”
“You’re amazing, dude. I think my favorite thing about you is that you didn’t take all your talent for granted and glide through—because you could have. You could totally still be a player if you put in half the work.”
“Don’t go overboard, Ax. You still owe me all the beer I can drink after the game. I beat you fair and square.”
Ax rolls his eyes.
“What was the bet?” I ask.
“He beat me in Donkey Kong. Only because I never played it and the only reason I know about it is my late Uncle Joe used to love it.”
“Old school games? You’re full of surprises, Brody.” As surprises go, this one is tame, and I take another sip of champagne to stave off my anticipation about what other surprises I’m bound to experience. I’ve done my homework, but Google and social media can only take me so far.
“Hey,” Ax says, “How did your… meeting with Doc go?”
Brody shakes his head and then looks at the ceiling.
“Your meeting with Doc? Doctor Scully? What did he say?”
He takes another gulp of his sports drink, draining it like it’s a bottle of whiskey, aka courage. “Not much.”
“You get a CT scan?” Ax asks in a hushed voice, looking between us. “I can talk about it in front of your wife, right? I mean, she’s your wife.”
Brody makes a face that’s halfway between a laugh and a grimace. “Yeah.” He turns to me. “You may as well know. I had the CT scan and we’ll know the results tomorrow. It’s a game-time decision about whether or not I play.”
I nod. It wouldn’t challenge a five-year-old to know that Brody is miserable about the possibility of not playing.
“Too bad, man. Guess that means I won’t have to buy you beers then—”
Brody flips him the finger, and he laughs.
“I’m catching a nap before dinner and films at the facility tonight. You coming?”
Brody shakes his head, and I take a deep breath, not sure how I feel about being here with him alone even though I was going to have to face it sooner or later. This arrangement was all good in theory, but now…
“Do you have a guest room where I can put my things?”
Brody stares at me, his blue eyes going intense, striking me through the heart with his look, like he just turned into the world's most dangerous predator, and I’m his prey.
“No. You can put them in my room.” His words infiltrate my system like a dangerous purr, and there’s no way I can argue or put up a fight when this exact scenario is the incarnation of my hottest daydreams. Not to mention the dreams I have at night—don’t even think of going there.
“I... fine.” Pulling myself together, I reason with myself that just because we’re sharing a room doesn’t mean there will be… fooling around. As I pull my luggage with both hands behind me, I whisper, “I’ll sleep on an air mattress.”
A devil takes over the smile on his face, and he may as well have grown horns to go with the unmistakable carnal gleam in his eyes. “We’ll see, honeybuns.” His voice deepens into an X-rated murmur, and against my will, I can see what he’s seeing, and my mind’s eye refuses to turn away.
Some remnants of my survival instincts force my legs to move, and I rush the rest of the way down the hall into the room at the end which, luckily, is his bedroom and not the broom closet because that would have been too embarrassing to endure.
He’s right behind me, and I turn to see him carrying the rest of my things—two boxes of books that I somehow thought I would need to occupy me—like they weigh less than…
than… I stare at him, my gaze skimming past his before I can get caught up in the startling effect of their intensity and land on his luxuriously rich and full head of hair.
Lighter than his fantastically full head of finger-curling hair.
As he reaches for the door and my heart literally stops—then only because I’m still young enough to withstand such a shock—starts again, the sound of the front door banging open stops him cold, followed by a shout. Thank god it’s a friendly shout, or my heart might have stopped permanently.
“Brody? Baby brother? Where are you? Don’t bother trying to hide—”
“Shit.” Brody’s demeanor changes in an instant like he’s channeling a sexy chameleon—if chameleons had sexy hair. He shakes his head, his smile more wry than devilish as he gives me a regretful glance and then turns on his heel while simultaneously putting the boxes on a nearby chair.
“Why would I hide from you, Kara?” he shouts back as he waves me forward to join him.
He doesn’t move until I reluctantly reach his side, and he gathers me in, placing a warm hand on my lower back that according to the laws of heat conductivity I shouldn’t be able to feel through the layers of my blouse and suit jacket, but that I most certainly feel like the brand of a hot iron—only more pleasant.
He whispers, “She’s harmless,” as he sweeps me forward to meet his older sister, the superstar hockey player and, more importantly, a gorgeous young woman who I would give my right hand to be like.
No, scratch that. I admire her, that’s all. I’m fine. I’m cool. I kick ass in my job, don’t I? I rock this business suit—who cares if it’s a little tight across my butt and my blouse gaps between the buttons and—
Her raven hair swings in glorious waves around her face as she turns to greet us, her brilliant blue eyes and big smile frighteningly warm and friendly and menacing in its disarming effect.
Shit. She’s exactly like her brother. Full of lively mischief and charm and more beautiful in person than is fair—I mean, than I imagined.
In a word, she immediately intimidates the hell out of me.
Okay, so that’s a few words. My mind jumbles up with all the words tripping over each other when I know I’m expected to say something.
“Brooks—I mean, Bianca—this is my sister Kara.”
“I know. I mean, I’m pleased to meet you.” It’s all I can say because I’m on autopilot like some cyborg that they forgot to program for charm and poise. I feel stiff and mechanical.
Until Brody leans close, lowering his mouth close to my ear and he… nibbles. That sparks all kinds of things to life, loosening up all the feelings—none of them appropriate for the moment, but I’ll take it as prompts go.
My lips curve and I lean into his nuzzling, reminding myself this sinful gesture is exactly the right thing to do, that our charade gives me permission to let my wanton impulses go—just a little.
“My new wife,” Brody murmurs, and his breath skips over my nerves, hitting each one as it travels down my neck, not stopping until the pulses of pleasure reach that strategic location right between my thighs.
The giggle that comes from my throat sounds like it comes from a television somewhere, playing an X-rated movie. It couldn’t be me.
Scratch that. Kara’s raised brows and open mouth as she stares at me tell me, yes, it’s me and my ridiculous PDA.
“So you’re the new… wife.” Her eyes shutter, and all the friendliness and warmth disappear like I’ve done something terribly wrong. Then she puts out a hand to go with her neutrally polite smile. It’s the kind of smile I recognize from the many business events I’ve attended.
“Glad to finally meet you, Bianca. I understand you were Brody’s agent, from the Jett Agency?”
“I am—still am his agent.” I separate myself from Brody—or try to. He holds on, not giving me a lot of room, but it feels like his hold is more protective than possessive. I don’t know how to describe the difference. Maybe it’s all in my head. Wishful thinking. Stupid thinking.
“Bianca is a super-agent,” Brody says. “I would never let her go.” He drops his hand suddenly from around my waist, where it had wound its way, infiltrating its warmth. I feel the sudden absence like a cold chill.
“Why wouldn’t I want her to continue representing me? She’s done a fantastic job sealing the deal on a big promotional campaign with Cavalaro Motors—”
“I never heard of them,” Kara says, looking between us with something like suspicion, unless it’s paranoid guilt getting to me.