TEN
Luca
M y eyes flutter open Thursday morning, and it takes a moment to remember where I am. The sweet scent of lavender hits me, not the brackish air from the Long Island Sound that usually fills my lungs. There’s no rickety creaking of the pilings or the tide knocking against my boathouse.
It’s dead silence, which unsettles me.
Fuck, that’s right. I’m in Max’s million-dollar penthouse. And he’s sleeping across the hall from me.
Flipping over, I grab my cock like I do every morning to beat off, sometimes in my crappy bed, or even crappier shower. Knowing Max is only a few feet away, my cock hardens, begging for release.
With little sleep the night before, and the long day moving in here, I passed out the minute my head hit the pillow.
I lift my head. “Shit.”
Grabbing my phone, alarmed it’s dead, I realize I didn’t bother plugging it in. Fuck!
The team has morning skate today. The security agents take shifts for non-game-day rituals. But I’m protecting Max Ryan, so if he’s on the ice, I’m supposed to be there too, whether it’s the practice facility, or the Crusher’s state-of-the-art arena.
Security agents like me rotate a schedule for home and away games. Working as Max’s personal bodyguard yanks me out of that routine.
With sleep pants hanging low on my hips, I open the bedroom door, startled to see the full view of Max’s bedroom. His door is wide open, and instinct tells me he’s not inside.
“Max?” I call out to him anyway.
“He left,” a voice behind me makes me jump.
I’m seconds away from throwing this person against the wall, when I realize it’s an older woman in a messy bun with a dishtowel slung over one shoulder.
“Who are you?” I yell, still worried who the heck this is. I’m firing on all cylinders with just a hard-on and not my other heat.
“I’m his housekeeper, you don’t have to shout.”
“You said he left?” Anger still rockets through my veins. “When?”
“As soon as I got here.” She shifts from side to side. “Can I make up your room?”
Max’s bed is made up, so she’s been here a while.
“I’m sorry.” Shaking my head, I add, “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“You’re a guest. I take care of Mr. Ryan’s guests.”
And probably the dishes in the sink. I hope that’s why Max left the kitchen a disaster.
“I’m not really a guest. I’m working. I’m supposed to be guarding him.”
“Whoops...” She chuckles. “Looks like he gave you the slip.”
“Not for long.” I turn away.
“I have coffee made, unless you prefer tea. And I can make your breakfast.”
“No time.”
“I make Mr. Ryan protein shakes and egg sandwiches for his early practices like today.”
My stomach grumbles. Just as I want Max to let me do my damn job, this woman feels the same way, I bet.
“Sure.” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, your name?”
“Gilda. You?”
“Luca. ”
“Very rugged. I’ll have everything prepared by the time you’re ready to leave.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just leaves me standing there.
I know I need a shower, but I need to get to the practice facility and ring Max’s neck ASAP.
With Belova owning a team in this division, I have to leave the Crushers at the end of this season. It’s only a matter of time before Ivan or someone from his brotherhood recognizes me. I need my end-of-season bonus. I don’t dare touch my fortune socked away, in case someone found it and is waiting for me to make a withdrawal.
Swallowing my pride, I call Bronwin.
He picks up immediately and says, “Why am I looking at Max skating, and you’re nowhere to be found?”
“He snuck out of his penthouse early,” I hiss, my dick aching. “I’m still adjusting to this arrangement.”
Max is not exactly cooperating, but I can’t let that jerk get me fired. I’ll tell him tonight what’s at stake. Preferably with my cock in his mouth, punishing him. Whether he likes sucking off guys or not.
“Beck’s on the ice with him, giving him a hard time. He wants Ryan to take it easy. I’ll cover for you. Get here as soon as you can.”
“10-4.” I hang up.
I take a quick shower, skipping the beard trim I really need, and use the time to make myself come so I can think straight. Dressed up in slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a tie, I throw on the team-emblazoned zip-up jacket I wear at practices.
In the garage, I gasp, spotting my Honda Pathfinder with two flat tires.
That prick!