Chapter 7 Home Run （Margot） #2
“I’ll survive. Jesus, that was close,” I whisper with a shaky laugh. “I’m fine, just—how did you get here so fast?”
“I used to play hockey when I was younger.” His voice scrapes my spine like sandpaper, rough but reassuring.
My heart won’t slow down, even though the shock of my near-death experience has faded.
“Hockey? That explains a lot.”
He snorts. “Nothing special. It’s all muscle memory now.”
“Sweet. That must come in handy with saving clumsy women all the time.”
“No. Just you, duchess.” He gazes down at me with a hardness in his green eyes and, behind that, so much heat I shiver.
I could take that statement in so many awful directions, jokes and innuendo with devastating consequences.
But I don’t dare.
He hasn’t moved his hand from my waist. His free hand lingers in my hair, his thick fingers moving idly, gently tucking a loose strand behind my ear.
“Hockey,” I say again. I’m almost squeaking.
What a sight that must’ve been.
Kane Saint with his ridiculous height and barrel chest tearing across the ice.
I can see the hockey stick clenched in his hands, murder in his eyes as he confronts the other team.
His animalistic focus on the puck, ready to plow his way through a solid line of huge men.
I’m not a big sports girl, but that I could watch.
Then I see a faceless woman in the stands, cheering him on.
Hot jealousy bolts through me.
She must’ve been something to hook herself a hockey beast, even if it didn’t last. Were they high school sweethearts?
Stupid, I know.
I have no clue what happened to the kids’ mom, but now it eats at me, almost as much as finishing Gramps’ little treasure hunt.
I’m guessing they’re not together anymore.
He hasn’t worn a ring this whole trip and there’s no sign of a woman in the picture, no mentions from the kids, no calls back home.
But once, she could’ve been his everything.
“Hockey,” I whisper again.
“Don’t tell me you just learned the word?” He smirks.
“No, I—I’m just surprised. And I wish I could’ve seen it.”
His smirk widens. “Why’s that?”
“Maybe it would’ve been nice to see you a little less buttoned-up and more spontaneous.”
“Maybe?”
“Orrr maybe I just want to picture you being good at something besides swinging a hammer when I beg you not to.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Woman, I’m good at a lot of things.”
Oh, no.
Another image crowds my senses now.
One with his smirking face between my legs and his green eyes on mine as he slides my panties off with his teeth.
My heart jackhammers.
There’s no ignoring the ache in my belly.
My hands find their way to his chest on their own, palms flattening against wall-to-wall Kane.
“You going to keep giving me shit for helping you or what?” he asks.
“Only because you’re fun to tease. But for real, I’m glad you’re here,” I admit, a little too breathlessly.
“Yeah?” His voice is just as quiet.
He must be single.
Surely.
There’s no other woman, and he certainly hasn’t been here long enough to date.
If he even does date.
Who knows.
Somehow, that feels more foreign than seeing him dominating the ice.
This human brick, walking into a classy bar to meet a girl from an app with butterflies in her eyes.
He’s too intense for something so mundane.
And there are so many mysteries, so many questions burning the tip of my tongue like a match.
But he hasn’t let me go since I stumbled.
There’s this fierce hunger on his face that sends lava to my fingers and toes.
No one looks at me like this.
Not in a long time.
Maybe never.
There’s a promise in his eyes that says total ruin.
He shifts his weight, fingers flexing. I get this awful feeling he’ll pull away then and make some flimsy excuse to stop touching me.
“Y’know, I might’ve twisted my ankle after all. Feels a little sore,” I tell him.
“Your foot went pretty deep,” he agrees.
“Yeah. I don’t think you should let go just yet.”
His lips curl up. I swear he’s suppressing a growl.
The hand in my hair drifts down to my neck, over soft skin, and his thumb traces my pulse.
We’re a human rubber band stretched to its limit, and it’s too much to bear.
Screw it!
I kiss him.
Hard.
For this crazy heart-splitting second, he doesn’t kiss me back.
His lips tighten, his rough mouth stone under mine, his grip on the back of my neck tightening.
Did I just fuck up?
Maybe he never wanted this.
Maybe he only wanted the fantasy, the flirting, to look without tasting.
Then he truly grabs me.
His kiss turns ravenous.
Possessive.
His hot growl pushes into my mouth until I’m vibrating.
His tongue sweeps the seam of my lips, not asking, and God, I let him in.
His kiss is a blazing red brand, claiming and soul deep.
If I thought I was on fire before, this—
This makes me Margot chocolate, helplessly melting.
All I can do is thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer, begging him to continue.
He retaliates by pushing me against a wooden beam.
The roughness tickles me through my t-shirt, and I whimper.
He replies by biting my bottom lip.
Holy shit!
Whatever this thing is between us, it’s explosive.
Desire burns just under my skin.
I want to get closer, to inhale him, to surrender myself to a mouth made for dark delights and saintly sins.
My mind spins.
Dizzy with want, right down to the heavy wetness between my legs.
From the way he’s kissing me back, I guess he feels it too.
Unrestrained lust.
Like a dormant volcano waking up.
And I was the tectonic call that made him erupt.
I’m the ground made to burn, ready to be reshaped by his passion.
That’s hot and satisfying and deliciously heady.
His hands linger on my hips, holding me steady as he grinds against me, making me feel his erection.
Absolute battering ram.
No surprise, but it is.
He makes a ragged noise in the back of his throat, so sharp it makes me gasp.
God.
I’ve never needed a man like I need him now.
Right here, right now, dust and darkness and worries be damned.
His hand slides up my shirt, grazing bare skin.
His hands are so hot, incandescent, and he inhales softly against my mouth.
“Fuck, duchess. The things I want to do to you could put me in prison.”
I bite my lip like the thirsty little deviant I am.
His dirty talk must be devastating.
I raise a leg and he catches my knee, pulling my legs open, and shit.
Holy flaming shit, I’m losing my mind.
“Dad?” Daniel’s voice shakes my vision.
Kane freezes against me.
His hand squeezes my thigh almost painfully. I can practically taste his reluctance.
“Daaaad!”
Yep, we’re dead.
I’m grateful he doesn’t rip himself away too fast or I’d hit the floor again. There’s a tent pitched in his jeans as he shifts his belt.
Scrambling, I finger comb my hair and tug my shirt down, pressing everything back into place and trying not to look at him.
Oh, man.
These kids.
Two very big little reasons why secret attic kissing should not be happening.
And one of those reasons starts coming up the ladder, stepping on the bottom stair and straining to look up.
I wipe a shaky hand over my mouth, grateful I didn’t bother with lipstick today, trying to pull myself together.
Dan will be a distraction, at least, and I need one ASAP.
If Kane keeps looking at me like that, all dark and dangerous, I’m going to lose my calm.
We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.
The boy pokes his head up through the small door a few seconds later, bewildered. He gets a lungful of the dusty attic and grimaces.
“Oh, yikes! It smells like Grandma’s garage in here,” he says, coughing. “And we’re getting hungry. Is it almost dinnertime?”
I’m already moving, brushing past Kane, who remains stock-still.
I don’t dare look at him, even as my body drifts past his.
If I could just rewind time and—
No, don’t think about it.
“Great timing, Dan. We were looking for you,” I say brightly. “Any chance you want to help me get this picture downstairs?” I retrieve the painting and hold it up.
Dan eyes it suspiciously. “You wanna keep that?”
“My grandmother painted it.”
“Oh, cool. Yeah, no problem.” Clearly no art connoisseur, he just holds out one hand. “Ready when you are.”
“Go slow, Bud,” Kane urges, hovering over us and ready to step in if it doesn’t look like we can handle it.
“Be careful. Let’s see…” I pause, counting the steps on the ladder. “Why don’t you stand at the bottom and we’ll just pass it down?”
Safety first.
If I’m the reason Kane’s kids get hurt, won’t that be the cherry on this awkward hot-shit sundae?
“Sure,” Dan huffs. “Then will you guys come down for dinner?”
“Have some patience, little man,” Kane grumbles behind me.
“It’s fine, we’re on our way.” I don’t look at Kane directly, but I’m sure his stance has relaxed a little. “We’re done up here anyway.”
My voice cracks a little on the last word as I scoot up, slowly dangling the painting down through the opening.
Dan reaches up and grabs it, then sets it on the floor.
“Coming?” I whisper over my shoulder.
I won’t let my eyes focus.
Seriously, if I see him right now, I just know I’ll see the disgust in his eyes.
“Right behind you. Take your time and watch your step down.” His voice is so neutral, so flat it hurts.
Watch your step.
A little late for that, dude.
How do we coexist after trading wildfire kisses?
As soon as the painting gets tucked away safely in my room and I’ve cleaned up, I head outside.
Zero need to stick around for dinner.
If Dan caught one whiff of what was happening, then everyone knows I made out with Kane Saint by now.
Technically, my tenant.
Definitely my latest disaster.
My heart drums a messy rhythm, still lodged in my throat.
If Sully Bay has a town idiot, I’ve just stolen their place.
Nothing much to show for Gramps’ huge riddle, and now I’ve gone and kissed a near-stranger.
Practically in front of his kids.
Yeah, there’s no way I can face him again and ever look normal.
It’s not that it’s the first time I’ve kissed a stranger.
When you don’t date much and you had the wild college phase a lot of girls do, accidental kisses happen.