22. Harbor
HARBOR
I successfully avoided Weston the last few days. Tough, but not impossible.
My streak ended this afternoon when I spotted him at practice.
And holy freaking hell.
He’s hot as sin on the ice, in his element.
Having grown up around professional hockey, I’m not one to sit around and drool over the players. It’s one of the reasons I’m effective at my job. I’m practically immune at this point.
Weston Steele’s becoming the exception to this rule.
Professional women don’t get distracted by players in this business, Harbor. You’re either here to work or to chase men. Choose.
My dad’s voice chides me and I bristle, straightening my shoulders.
I choose work. Every single time.
But watching Weston sprint, the sheer power and strength as he flew across the ice, had me clenching my thighs and losing my train of thought. I went breathless for a full second, my belly swooping when he locked his ocean blue eyes with me.
Not good.
How am I supposed to work with the man all season long? Knowing how his body feels against mine, the way he unraveled me with his mouth, his hands.
His amazing dick.
I stare at the text messages, my hand trembling slightly.
Weston: Prince wants me, you, and Keller to do a local news spot during the youth hockey thing this weekend
Weston: To kick off the Hockey with Heart initiative
Weston: Meet at The Rusty Anchor to go over talking points? 8 PM
I kicked around five different ways to say ‘no,’ but none of them sounded compelling.
Sorry, I can’t because you’re too gorgeous and I don’t trust myself with you
We’ll probably end up naked and we can’t go there again
Dr. Martina thinks I’m self-sabotaging my career
My dad reminded me not to distract you from winning
If I see you again, I’ll fall even more and we really, really shouldn’t be doing this
Yeah, no. I couldn’t very well send any of those texts. Instead, I typed:
Harbor: See you at 8
Now I’m standing outside the Rusty Anchor at exactly 7:59 PM with a yawning pit of anxiety in my stomach.
Stay strong. You’ve literally been single for years. Now’s not the time to break your streak.
I shove through the doors and peer around the dim space, searching for Weston.
“Table for one?” The hostess grabs a sticky plastic menu, her jaw working hard on a massive pink wad of chewing gum.
“No. I’m meeting someone. Last name Steele.”
“Oh.” She gives me a quick once-over, taking in my light-yellow maxi dress and sandals, and my cheeks burn. After a long second, she spins and leads me through the restaurant. The bar’s packed, every seat taken, and most of the tables are filled as well.
“Is it always this crowded?” I ask the hostess.
“During the summer, yeah. It’s peak tourist season. Your date’s outside.”
“Oh. He’s not…we’re not on a date,” I stammer as she pushes the patio door open, holding it for me.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Shit. Even the hostess sees what I’m trying to deny. There’s more to this than work, personal feelings mixed up with my professional reputation, and we both know it.
She points me across the cobblestone patio toward Weston, not bothering to leave the comfort of the restaurant’s AC to take me all the way to the table.
My heart hammers hard, palms sweaty in the thick Florida humidity as I make my way over to him. String lights illuminate the space and the whole vibe is romantic.
Dammit.
This is supposed to be a work meeting, not a dinner date. So why’s my stomach churning with butterflies on speed as I slide into the metal chair across from Weston?
“Hey.”
Fuck me.
He’s gorgeous in the bright moonlight, jaw shadowed with dark stubble. Dressed casually, he’s in a dark blue T-shirt that brings out the deep flecks of navy in his eyes.
“Hey.” I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry.
“Thanks for coming.” He tips his chin at me and my heart skips a beat.
Keep it professional, Harbor. A quick meeting, in and out.
“Sure. I want this charity rollout to go well, too.”
His jaw ticks and disappointment flashes over his face, then disappears just as quickly.
“Same.” His voice is gruff and low, blending with the distant crashing of waves on the beach.
I peer over my shoulder, noting all the empty tables around us. “I’m surprised no one’s out on the patio tonight.”
Weston shrugs. “I rented out the entire space.”
“What? You did?” Shock rolls through me, my stomach doing a slow barrel roll. “Why?”
“Privacy, Harbor.” He levels his gaze on me and suddenly I can’t breathe, my pulse fluttering in my neck. “We need to talk.”
I twirl the gold bangles on my wrist. “About the charity rollout? It’s kind of hush-hush, but not a huge secret, Weston.”
“That’s not what we need to talk about.”
“Yes, it is.” I drop my voice to a whisper, leaning in closer to him. “What happened before, it can’t happen again.”
Even if you want it to .
I silence that voice and forge ahead. “We have too much to lose, Weston.”
“You know how I got here, Harbor?”
I shake my head, blood whooshing loudly in my ears. “I mean, yeah. Hard work, dedication, sacrifice.”
“All of that, sure. But also by taking risks.” His hand inches across the table toward mine, our fingertips almost touching. “I want to take a risk with you, Harbor.”
My pulse goes into overdrive, a hot flush creeping up my neck. “Weston…”
“I get that you’re out here trying to prove something.
To management, the team. Your father. Hell, maybe yourself.
And I get it, believe me, I do. But I haven’t clicked with anyone like this before.
Ever.” He licks his lips, and I try very hard not to stare at his mouth.
“What happened the other day—I can’t stop thinking about you.
” His fingertips brush mine and a heat blooms low in my belly.
I take a shaky breath .
“Me neither.” I whisper the admission, face flaming. “But I don’t want to be a distraction.”
He trails his thumb over mine. “Too late for that.”
The rough, calloused pad of his thumb on my skin sends sparks skittering up my arm and I’m hyperaware of everything. The way the humid air has my dress clinging to me, the soft glow of the twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes, the distant sound of waves in perfect sync with my heartbeat.
Even the warm metal of the chair beneath me feels charged with possibility.
Dammit.
How do I say no to him—to us—when every inch of my body’s screaming ‘yes’?
“Can I get y’all something to drink?” A waiter appears out of nowhere, startling me. I pull my hand away from Weston’s so fast I almost knock my water over.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks. I’ll have a glass of pinot grigio.” I stutter the order, pretending to scour the menu when really my mind’s stuck on Weston.
Too late for that.
Is it possible he’s as affected as I am?
“I’ll take a draft beer. Thanks.” Weston orders and the waiter disappears back into the bar.
“Do you think he saw anything?” I whisper.
“No. And I’ll leave him a big tip to encourage discretion.”
“Oh. Okay.” I let out a tiny exhale of relief, my mind whirring.
Can we really do this? Am I going to give into temptation, risk everything for Weston?
His foot taps against mine beneath the table and I raise my eyes to his.
“What are you thinking, Harbor?”
I take a deep breath, bite at my lower lip. I’m torn between following my instincts or backing away and playing it safe.
“I don’t know.” I give him my honest answer and wait.
His hand finds my knee and a shiver of pleasure races up my thigh as he rubs my leg.
“Now you’re playing dirty,” I tease, and for the first time all night, a smile lights up his face as he laughs.
“Whatever it takes, Hurricane.”
The waiter drops off our drinks and we decline his offer of food, wanting to be alone more than anything. A few seconds later, the waiter’s gone.
“Well? Am I out of the penalty box yet?” One of Weston’s dark brows arches high and I tip my head, debating .
I’ve never wanted to say yes to anything more in my life.
The lights sway in the gentle breeze, casting everything in a golden glow straight from a movie.
This can’t be my life.
It’s too romantic.
Too risky.
Champions make sacrifices, Harbor. They’re laser-focused on the one thing that counts: winning.
Shoving my dad’s voice out of my head, I give Weston a shy smile and pray I don’t regret this moment.
The moment I took a leap, a chance.
“We need to set some ground rules.”