CHAPTER 2
OFF-LIMITS
***
Lauren
The darkness of my bedroom is suffocating, the stillness amplifying every creak and whisper of the night. I toss and turn, the sheets tangling around my legs, my nightgown sticking to my skin with an uncomfortable dampness. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I wipe it away with a shaky hand, feeling the slickness under my fingertips.
I try to find a comfortable position, but my mind refuses to settle. Images of Granger keep flashing before my eyes–the way his muscles tensed under my touch, the warmth of his skin against mine as I applied the bandage. My hands trembled so badly that I was sure he noticed. Yet a spark ignited between us, becoming more intense each time our eyes met.
I let out a frustrated sigh and stare at the ceiling, my eyes wide open. The dim light from the streetlamp outside casts eerie shadows that dance across the room. My brain plays tricks on me, morphing them into lovers’ silhouettes. My heart races, the memory of his intense gaze burning into me. Why does he have this effect on me?
I bury my face in my pillow, trying to muffle the whirlwind of thoughts. "It's just a silly crush," I whisper to myself, my voice muffled by the fabric. "You can't act on it. There's no way he feels the same."
But even as I say the words, doubt creeps in. There was something in how he looked at me, a spark that seemed to leap between us. My skin tingles at the memory, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the thoughts away.
The nightgown twists around me, too tight, too confining. I tug at it, freeing my legs from the clinging fabric, but it only makes things worse. Every movement feels exaggerated, and every shift of my body is a reminder of the restless energy reverberating through my bones.
The cool air hits my sweaty skin, and I shiver as I yank the nightgown over my head. My thoughts drift back to the locker room, the intensity in his eyes, the way his lips curled into a smile that seemed just for me. My sex pulses, and I try to dispel the images, but they cling to my mind like a stubborn fog.
My body pulses, blood rushing through my veins, sending an electric charge to my extremities. Heaviness settles low in my belly as dampness pools at my center. I glide my hand over my curves, circling the weight of my breasts and the dip of my belly button, then sinking lower to the hypersensitive mound that slopes into my personal playground.
I slide my middle finger between my swollen folds, finding the nubbin that desperately needs attention. I circle and tease the sensitive flesh, conjuring the elusive genie as I fantasize about the man who sparks magic in my veins. Would he touch me like this, feather-light and gentle? Or would he take me roughly, ramming his thick cock into me and taking me to the height of pleasure?
My heart palpitates as my mind wanders and my fingers play. I circle my clit, applying pressure to the brink of coming but not allowing myself the release. My breasts grow heavy as my nipples bead against the sheet. I swirl my fingers again, firmer this time, circling until I’m dizzy and drunk on the fantasy of him. I come hard in a sweat, pressing and stretching the last of my release from my body until the thrumming subsides.
"It's just a crush," I sit up abruptly, throwing the covers off in frustration. "It doesn't mean anything."
After a fitful night of taking matters into my own hands, I give myself a stern pep talk on the way to the arena. Granger’s a distraction I can’t afford, no matter if the tension between us is undeniable. There’s too much riding on this internship to screw it up over a silly crush. Now’s not the time to act like a groupie, or worse, a puck bunny, hoping to get my claws into hockey’s biggest bad boy.
Evidently, fate doesn’t get the “stay clear of Granger” memo. The man’s a magnet for cuts and bruises.
On my second day on the job, Granger shows up in the medical room with a small scratch on his forearm–nothing life threatening.
“Got a minute?” he asks, striding into the room. “Got caught by a stick during practice.”
His ruffled hair flops over one brow as he meets my gaze with piercing dark eyes. My stomach flip-flops as a wave of heat bursts inside my chest. I scramble from my seat at the counter, grateful for a break in counting inventory but hesitant to close the space between us.
“I’m the only one here.” The rest of the team is either in meetings or rink-side with the coaches. “Did Dr. Evans send you in from practice?”
“Nope.” Granger shakes his head, a grin forming across his lips. “I like your bedside manner much better.”
“Can it really be referred to as bedside manner if you’re sitting in a chair?” I tease, pushing the underlying flirtation further.
“A bed could be arranged,” he says, his voice thick with intent.
Heat radiates through my veins. His words feel loaded, a subtle innuendo that causes the butterflies in my stomach to flutter their little wings as fast as a hummingbird.
Nervous tremors rattle my insides, giving way to cracks in my internal fault line that divides doing the right thing from giving way to what my heart wants. I try not to fluster and reach for the antiseptic. Though I’m not sure I’m supposed to treat Granger without Dr. Evan’s approval, seeing to a small scratch can’t hurt. But being alone with him in an enclosed space sure as heck isn’t helping with the bad case of desire pounding at my chest.
“I thought hockey players knew how to handle their sticks?” I raise an eyebrow and smirk while cleaning the scratch. Granger doesn’t miss a beat.
“I’m an expert at handling my stick.” He leans forward and flashes me a sexy, dimpled grin, but the fire in his eyes lacks humor. The darkness deepens, brooding and borderline dangerous. “Must have been distracted.”
He shifts his knee and brushes against my thigh. My stomach leaps as my pulse quickens. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat and leave the playful exchange hanging between us before doing something I know I’ll regret–like crawling onto his lap and climbing his body like a cat in heat.
Instead, I treat the scratch that barely needs a bandage, going through the motions as the heat of his gaze soaks into my pores. The charged air prickles my senses, teasing and enticing. By the time Granger leaves, my body’s on fire.
So much for professionalism.
On the third day, Granger waltzes into the medical room, this time with slightly swollen knuckles.
“Hit the boards too hard.” His coy grin causes my heart to jolt, ping-ponging against my ribs.
It’s no wonder he attracts women like flies. He’s a charmer without even trying. The way his simple grin can turn my insides to mush is a sure sign his recurring visits to the medical office spell nothing but trouble.
“You can’t be left alone for two seconds without medical intervention, can you?” I point to a seat and grab an ice pack from the freezer. I take a seat on the wheeled stool and scoot close enough to examine the swelling.
Mistake number one.
“Depends on who’s doing the doctoring.” His thick, low voice wafts through me, curling around my insides and gently squeezing my heart in a bear hug.
I gather a deep breath. Mistake number two. He smells of sweat and musk with a hint of cinnamon and citrus–masculine and rugged–catnip to my delirious, impetuous brain. I take another breath, deeper this time, savoring his scent and allowing it to seep into my lungs.
I take his hand to assess the bruising. Mistake number three. When I touch him, adrenaline rushes through my fingertips and splinters up my arm. The sensation reaches my chest and spiders to my nipples, causing them to pinch and pucker. I shift uncomfortably, suddenly too hot for my cotton scrubs, and desperately hoping my sports bra offers plenty of protection to save my dignity.
“Guess you don’t know your own strength.” I slide one hand under his and place the ice pack over the swollen skin, which is already coloring a soft shade of purple. “Wanna tell me why you put your fist into the boards?”
Granger curls his fingers around mine, warming my hand–a stark contrast to the freezing cold ice. He reaches for me with his free hand and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. He lingers with his finger, tracing the shell of my ear. The unexpected, intimate gesture sends my pulse racing. A surge of heat and desire speed to every nerve ending in my body. My knees brush the inside of his powerful, thick thighs, and my body ignites with blistering heat. When our eyes lock, the connection intensifies, making it difficult to focus on anything but him.
A shiver skitters up my spine as heat rises in my cheeks. I suddenly feel more exposed than before. Clattering echoes in the hallway cause me to jump. I jerk away from Granger as Dr. Evans enters the room. He cocks an eyebrow as I reposition the ice on Granger’s knuckles and wheel my stool away from him to a more professional distance.
“That should reduce the swelling. Try to take it easy on the boards.” My voice rattles nervously, like I’ve been caught red-handed with my hand in the cookie jar. I turn to address the doctor, hoping he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat creeping around my temples. “Almost finished with inventory,” I say as innocently as my guilty conscience allows.
Granger slips out of the room, the silence and strained relationship between the two men strikingly obvious.
By the end of my first week on the job, Granger visited the medical office every day. Each time, we were alone. It’s as if he waited for the perfect opportunity to drop in on me. I’ve come to expect him, anticipating his arrival as the highlight of my day.
Today’s no different from previous days. Granger appears in the doorway minutes after the rest of the team leaves for lunch.
“Felt a twinge during a drill,” he says, placing his hand across his chest as he rolls his shoulder. “Mind taking a look?”
Hell, no. I don’t mind taking a look, even though it’s a bad idea–very bad.
“Maybe Dr. Evans or one of the physical therapists would be better?” Muscular pulls and strains aren’t my specialty, though technically, increasing my skill set is what I’m doing here.
He reaches behind his back and slowly closes the door. “You’re not afraid of muscular contractions, are you?” He flashes his million-dollar, panty-melting grin and lowers his gaze, perusing my curves like he’s taking inventory or a leisurely stroll. It’s possessive, illicit and sensual.
I'm overwhelmed with twinges and all for it.
He reaches for the bottom of his shirt and drags it upward, exposing his perfectly sculpted abs. My mouth temporarily dries up as every ounce of moisture in my body travels downward in a dizzying spiral to my core.
Those twinges from moments ago enter the realm of fluttering spasms of the most unprofessional kind.
“Nope,” my voice scratches. I indulge in a quick tongue-wagging ogle as his head dips beneath the fabric, then pull it together when his messy head of hair pops back into view.
Our eyes lock, and the connection between us is electric. The overhead lights buzz and my brain follows suit. There’s no mistaking the undercurrent between us, and I’m about to get swept to sea.
“Have a seat.” My voice hitches, higher pitched than usual, my nerves exposed and vibrating along with my heart.
Granger pulls a chair away from the wall, spins it around, and then straddles it with his chest facing the chair’s back. Thank goodness for the barrier it creates. At this point, I’m likely to attempt lap dancing for the first time in my life.
“Where was the twinge, exactly?” I ask, rounding the chair to his side. I know exactly where I’m feeling a twinge–that part isn't difficult to guess. I hover over his shoulder and back so closely that the heat from his body penetrates my scrubs. If I jutted my hips forward, I could rub against him like a cat.
He tilts his chin, giving me a side glance, then does the unexpected. He takes my hand, dwarfing it with his big mitt of a hand. If his hand is this big, then he must be ginormous elsewhere. My insides quiver at the thought.
“About here.” He guides my hand to his shoulder and presses lightly. I swallow the knot creeping into my throat, but the damned pounding in my chest keeps knocking it upward.
“I got it,” I say, my breath shallow.
I trace his muscles with my fingertips, losing myself in the sensation of his skin on mine. He works his jaw, stretching and flexing his neck while holding me captive with his intense gaze.
The air feels like a steamy sauna, each touch ratcheting up the tension that’s been coiling in my system for days. The crush I’ve kept hidden for years seems like child’s play compared to this. What would it feel like to let go, even for only a moment?
But there’s no time to contemplate or explore the idea. Muffled sounds from the hallway suddenly become louder as the office door swings open. Startled, I yank my hand away from Granger’s shoulder too quickly.
My eyes dart to the doorway, and my heart sinks.
Zach fills the space, his eyes sharp and assessing. His fingers slowly form clenched fists as he works his jaw. His eyes darken, fierce and unyielding.
He suspects something.
My heart races and a mix of guilt and defiance swirls within me. What do I say to diffuse the situation before things go south?
“Thanks for the help, Lauren.” Granger takes the situation in stride with the nonchalance of an innocent bystander, slipping his shirt back on as he looks me in the eye. He rolls his shoulder for effect. “Feels better already.”
He brushes past Zach, neither man uttering a word but speaking volumes with their expressive silence–both hard and steely, refusing to give an inch.
Zach watches Granger leave, then turns his attention to me. “He’s got a reputation, Lauren. I know you can handle yourself, but be careful. It isn’t a good idea to treat him or anyone else here alone.” He makes his point by opening the door and dropping the doorstop. “It looks bad.”
I meet his gaze, feeling frustration and gratitude for his possessive nature, but I can’t let this go. He’s overstepping his bounds as my brother, interfering with my job.
“I’m a grown woman, Zach. And I’m a nurse doing my job. Patients have a right to privacy. If they ask for it, I won’t deny it to anyone who walks through that door.”
He nods, his expression softening. “I’m just looking out for you like you’ve always had my back.”
“The same way the team has had our family’s back.” I close the distance between us, never able to stay irritated with him for long. I place my hands on his broad shoulders, grateful he’s my big brother. “You trust Granger and your team every time your blades hit the ice. And you trust me, right?”
“Of course I do.” His brow furrows. “But you’re my sister. I don’t want you to get caught up in something that could hurt you–professionally or personally.”
“Thanks for looking out for me, but I can handle myself. Trust me.”
Despite my words and their reassuring delivery, the feelings Granger stirs within me complicate everything. I have choices to make, and they won’t be easy. But Mom’s cancer battle and the kids at the children’s hospital battling the disease have taught me a huge life lesson. Life is full of hurt and growing pains. When we fall, we get back up, dust ourselves off, and hope like hell we learned something from the fall.
***
Granger
The noise from the locker room echoes faintly in the background as I step into the locker room shower. The clamor of voices and rattling metal lockers are a distant annoyance. I reach for the faucet, turn it on and let the hot water cascade down in a steady stream. Steam rises, curling and swirling around me, creating a cocoon of heat.
I step under the water, feeling it pound against my shoulders and back, washing away the grime and sweat from practice. The sensation is almost therapeutic–each droplet a small massage that helps ease the tension knotted in my muscles. I close my eyes, letting the warmth envelop me, my thoughts slowly untangling in the steamy haze.
I plant my hands against the wall, leaning into the stream of water, allowing it to cascade over my head and down my back. The noise from the locker room fades further into the background, leaving me alone with the sound of water splattering against the tiles and the steady rhythm of my breathing.
I slick soap over my chest, recalling the shift in Lauren’s breathing the moment I slid my hand over hers. Heat spreads through me, soothing all of my pains except for the throbbing ache between my legs.
Despite the shower’s open stalls and the lack of barriers, the steam and solitude create the illusion of my own personal sanctuary. I allow my imagination to run free with thoughts of Lauren lying naked in my bed. I slide a soapy hand over my hardening shaft, drawing my balls up around the base. I take a deep breath, the steam filling my lungs and warming me from the inside out as I picture her shapely legs, wide hips, and round breasts bouncing as I plow into her creamy center.
I’d give anything to pin her arms to the wall and worship every fucking inch of her tight little body. I grip my cock harder, firming my grip as my soapy hand glides up and down my rigid length. The day's frustrations and the weight of expectations seem to dissolve in the wet heat as I imagine coming on her sweet lips, between her breasts, and buried deep in her tight pussy.
It takes mere seconds for the vision of her to send me over the edge. My legs shake, and I brace myself against the wall as I come hard, spewing into the water spray and letting go of the worries and doubts that gnaw at me.
As I lose myself to the buzz of my release and the comforting rhythm of the water, the faint sound of footsteps approaching pulls me back to reality. I groan, hoping whoever it is will take the hint and leave me alone, but I don’t have that kind of luck.
“Granger!” Coach's voice cuts through the steam, breaking my moment of solitude. “Your father wants to see you ASAP.”
I let out a low grumble, feeling the tension flood back into my shoulders. Of course, my father would need something immediately. I can never escape his shadow, not even in the shower.
“Got it, Coach,” I reply, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. I turn off the faucet, the water slowing to a drip as I step out of the shower. The cool air hits my skin, a stark reminder of the reality I can never entirely escape. I grab a towel and start to dry off, preparing to face whatever my father has in store for me this time.
I rap on the door and let myself into my father’s office. He sits behind an oversized mahogany desk, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, buried in financial reports.
“I hear you’ve recently been skipping out of practice.” He doesn’t bother with pleasantries before diving into why he summoned me to his office. “You’re not setting a good example for the team.”
“They’re big boys. They don’t need handholding from me.” Irritation simmers low in my gut. “That’s what you have Zach for, remember?”
Zach Brooks is the golden standard in my father’s eyes. Unlike me, Zach’s a born leader, methodical about everything he does, and not easily riled–traits my father wished I’d been born with.
“You’d be team captain if you’d get your shit together.” Dad removes his glasses, always a sign he has more to say that I’d rather not hear. “You’ve got potential, Granger. But I can’t afford to keep a player on this team that can’t show up, put in the work, and pull their weight.”
“I pull my fucking weight.” My jaw tightens, and I work to keep my temper under control. I’ve spent my entire life trying to live up to my father’s expectations, but it doesn’t matter what I do. It’s never enough.
I’m never enough.
“Only on your terms. You should be out there setting an example and be the face of the team. The only thing keeping the coach from benching you is that you’re my son.” Dad’s jaw twitches. I didn’t come by my quick temper by accident. “Why can’t you do what you’re told for once in your life? It makes the organization look bad. It makes me look bad that I can’t control my own son.”
And there it is. The root of it all. All Dad has ever cared about is his image and how my behavior reflects on him. His overbearing ego has caused me plenty of headaches through the years. It’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine. Call it what you will, but karma’s a bitch, and I’ve never been one to back down from it. Not even when I was a scrawny kid getting bullied on the playground.
The first time I stood up for myself, I came home with a black eye. Did I get any sympathy? Nope, just a lecture about fighting not being acceptable even when I’m backed into a corner with no place to go.
When a younger kid scrawnier than me kept getting picked on and getting his lunch money stolen, I was the one who stood up for him. I went home with a busted tooth, a black eye, and a ripped shirt. Did I get any kudos for standing up for the underdog, someone too weak to stand up on their own? Not a chance. Dad grounded me and paid the kid’s lunch bill every month instead of getting to the root of the problem–bullies who need to be taught a lesson. I wasn’t the problem then, and I’m not the problem now. I’ll stand up for my teammates, those I care about, and those who can’t fight for themselves.
Ironic the Saint’s family business is born of fighting, bloody noses, and knocked-out teeth.
“I expect you to lead the team by example, not blow off practice.”
“I’m not blowing off practice.” Though I wouldn’t mind blowing off a little steam right now. “I reported to medical for injuries.”
“Injuries? For fuck’s sake, Granger. You’re no good to the team if you’re injured.” Dad shakes his head and lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Nothing that’ll take me out of the game.” He isn’t worried about my health so much as he’s concerned about winning. I pump my fists in my lap, counting the minutes until I can leave this damn office. “I’ve got plenty of fight in me to win.”
“I don’t need a hothead son losing his temper and spending the game in the penalty box. Leave the fighting to someone else. I’m tired of reading headlines associated with your temper and the family name.”
“Is that it? We done here?” I don’t give a shit about what the headlines say. I’ll protect my team on or off the ice. If that means roughing another player and doing time in the box for it, so be it. “I’m missing practice.”
Hockey isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s physical, fast, and often dangerous. There’s no time to pussy foot around being polite. It’s about winning fair and square. If the other team shows up looking for a fight, they sure as hell better be ready for one. Trouble and my father’s precious ego be damned.
I leave my father’s office ticked off with a tension headache stretching from the back of my eyes to the base of my neck. Despite overhearing Zach’s warning to Lauren yesterday, I head straight to the medical office–to Lauren.
People underestimate how far their voices carry through empty halls, echoing off the cement walls and floor. It’s why I closed the door behind me when I dropped in on Lauren yesterday. I wanted privacy, but not for the reason Zach or anyone else might think. I’m not surprised he’d assume the worst considering my reputation with women, but his words hit me in the gut, sure as if he’d punched me.
This isn’t a fleeting attraction for me. Lauren isn’t like other women. There’s an undeniable connection between us that’s electrically charged on a level I can’t rationally explain. I’d like to explore whatever is between us, but I don’t want her to get caught in the chaos that surrounds me. Trouble follows me like that kid in the old Peanuts comic strip who’s always in a cloud of dust and dirt. I’m drowning in trouble.
That’s why I wanted to talk to Lauren privately but never got the chance. As soon as I laid eyes on her, my brain short-circuited. All I could do was bask in the magic spell she put on me.
Reality smacked me across the forehead when Zach interrupted us. Lauren deserves someone better than me. That realization is the catalyst I need to confront the demons that keep me from being the best man I can be. I’ll do that for her–make the changes necessary to prove I’m worthy of her trust and respect.
I rap at the medical office door before stepping inside. Lauren’s hard at it, tapping away at the keyboard with a pile of manila folders stacked alongside her.
“Busy?” I ask as she turns. Her eyes light up when she smiles, and my heart takes off like I’m barreling down the ice about to score.
“Yes, but I could use a break.” She places her hands on her knees and scans me from head to toe with her pretty blue eyes. “Are you broken, bruised, or bleeding?”
“Ouch.” I grab my chest as if she dealt a wounding blow. “Way to hurt a man’s pride.”
“You have a knack for finding trouble,” she teases, but it’s the reason why I want to do better from now on.
“Maybe trouble finds me.” I rub the back of my neck, easing the residual ache the meeting with my father caused. “Think you could spare something for a headache? Feels like a migraine coming on.”
“Sure, but let me take a look first. Have a seat.” She grabs a scope from the wall bracket, and I play the dutiful patient, doing what I’m told.
I’m not always belligerent.
Lauren steps between my sprawled legs, shining the scope light on her palm. Her knee brushes against my inner thigh, sending a jolt of energy straight to my groin. It only adds fuel to the flame already burning low in my gut. Every moment spent with her feels like walking a tightrope. I’m treading as carefully as possible, balancing what my body wants with the reality of the situation I’ve thrust myself into.
She’s off-limits.
“Look to your left without moving your head.” She points to the wall with her right hand outstretched, then leans closer to peer into my eyes. She takes a deep breath and holds it, wavering before recovering quickly. But I notice. I notice everything about her. “Now to the right.”
Her voice strains an octave higher than before. Her breath falters and wafts along my cheek. The thought of pushing boundaries lingers thick and heavy in the air. When I walked in here, I hadn’t planned on picking up where we left things yesterday, but when her knees drift higher up my thigh, I’m ready to risk everything for a chance with her.
I place my hands on her hips, drawing her closer as she lowers the scope. Our eyes lock, a silent exchange passing between us. I lean in, and my lips graze hers, soft and unsure. The rush of emotion is intense–the chemistry building between us, off the charts.
“Stop me if I’ve read the room wrong.” My heart pounds as the words hang between us, hoping she won’t tell me to stop.
“We shouldn’t,” she murmurs without pulling away. “Saints’ policy.”
“There aren’t any rules for this.” A silent plea lingers in my heart. It’s only now that I realize my need for her goes well beyond what I imagined. She’s the oxygen I need to breathe and the life preserver keeping me from drowning.
“No rules,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper.
“There’s no going back from this.” I have to know she’s thought this through long enough to know there will be consequences.
She nods, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Then kiss me like you mean it.”
I do, and I mean it with my heart and soul.