Chapter 16
SEAN
Sean tried to think back. He’d won a lot of games in the five years he’d spent in the Savage League, but he couldn’t remember a victory that felt as good as the one he was enjoying right now.
Right here. With Kiera Jones sitting in one of his recliners, sucking mini marshmallows into her mouth and blowing on her peppermint hot chocolate.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, but she sounded more amused than uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not. I’m blinking.”
“Then you’re looking at me really hard.”
“Not hard. You’re easy to look at.”
She laughed at that, took another tentative sip of her cocoa, and winced from the heat. “You’re also very quiet.”
“Dryads aren’t threatened by silence. It’s a forest thing.”
She blew on her mug. “You’re not curious about what Elli and I talked about?”
“I’ve got excellent hearing, and the cabin is small.”
“But you only heard one-half of the conversation,” she said.
“Seems pretty clear the two of you confessed your stories.”
“How is that clear?”
“There’s less tension in your shoulders.”
Kiera raised her eyebrows, apparently unaware of how stiff she’d been, but kept her gaze on her mug.
“Or maybe that’s because of my kiss,” he suggested, trying to get a rise out of her.
She still didn’t turn her head, but the corners of her mouth tipped up when she replied, “Or maybe you’re just arrogant.”
“Another excellent theory,” he said.
This time, she turned to look at him.
Another thrill of victory shot through his chest.
“Is arrogance a dryad thing?” she asked.
“No. That’s just me.”
“I don’t know.” She arched a brow. “You nymphs do have a reputation.”
She’d brought that up before and not in a nice way. The nympho slur had been a low blow. This time though, she was teasing, so Sean wasn’t piqued to fight.
“Nymphs,” he said, “regardless of race—naiads, oceanids, dryads—are about nature. Protecting nature. Enjoying nature. Sex is natural. It’s an integral part of who we are, and we make no apologies about it.”
“I wasn’t asking for an apology.” She went back to blowing on her mug, and a curl of steam dissipated in the air.
“That’s good,” he said.
“Elli did tell me one interesting thing.”
“Just one?” he asked. “I would have thought—”
“About you.”
“Me?” She and Elli had a lot to talk about, but he didn’t see how he’d work his way into their conversation.
“She was saying how lucky we were to have you guys at our backs. That Q can shed his skin…”
“He’s a selkie,” Sean said, and nothing more needed to be said. Everyone knew the selkies were slippery as hell, though Will “Q” Quesenberry was in a league of his own. The way he could deke out a defenseman was legendary.
“Right,” she said. “And how Rafe is a hell hound and Lukas and Bjorn are berserkers, and how you can tilt—”
“You already knew that.”
“And go invisible.”
Sean didn’t say anything to that. He’d thought a nymph’s gift of camouflage was common knowledge. But the way Kiera was looking at him, he realized his misapprehension.
“Not…exactly,” he said. “If you know what you’re looking for, you could find me.”
“Then, what did Elli mean?”
Sean set his mug on the end table and lowered his leg rest, its collapsing brace making a loud jolting noise.
He stood up just as pine sap snapped in the fireplace and shot an ember onto the hearth.
He snuffed out the spark in his stocking feet, then undid a couple of buttons on his flannel shirt before reaching over his shoulder and pulling the whole thing up and over his head. He tossed his shirt to the chair.
Kiera sat up a little straighter with her mug raised. “What are you doing?”
“Answering your question.” Taking off his shirt wasn’t completely necessary, but it would intensify the effect.
He opened a window so he could better smell the trees, then found a section of cabin wall where the logs weren’t obscured by hockey posters. He leaned against the blank space and closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in the scent of the logs, the woodlands surrounding the cabin, and…
He opened his eyes to find Kiera on her feet, mug in hand, crossing the floor toward him.
“What the hell?” she asked.
“I’m still here.”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I can sort of see the outline of you.”
“I’m one with the trees,” he said. “Or in this case, the logs.”
She moved even closer with her index finger extended, then leaned in as if she expected her finger to poke straight through his chest to the wall.
When it hit his sternum instead, her whole body jerked, and she sloshed hot chocolate over the front of her creamy-white sweater.
“Damnit.”
“Are you okay?” Sean stepped off the wall.
She looked down at herself but said, “You didn’t look so solid.”
“Kiera, are you okay? That was still really hot.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Though my sweater’s probably ruined. Damn. This is cashmere.”
“I’ll soak it while you clean yourself up.”
“That’s all right. It’ll…dry.”
“You’re covered in chocolate.”
She pursed her lips, still looking down at herself. “Maybe you’re right.”
“No maybes about it. Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll deal with the sweater.”
He went to the bedroom corner, got a hand towel and tossed it onto the bathroom sink.
“Get in there,” he said, indicating the bathroom, “then hand your sweater out the door to me. I think I’ve got some stain removal spray somewhere.”
For some reason, she laughed
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I didn’t picture you as a laundry aficionado.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “It’s just some spray.”
She was still laughing when she took off her sweater and handed it to him, demonstrating none of the modesty he’d been expecting.
He didn’t ogle her tits. His mother had raised a gentleman. But he couldn’t help noticing the black lace trim on the edge of her bra and how it matched the black satin sheen of her very tight pants.
She turned her back and headed into the bathroom, then closed the door.
Sean got to soaking her sweater in the kitchen sink. He knew enough to use cold water first so the chocolate didn’t set—his mother had taught him that—but even with his stain spray, he had a feeling the sweater was a lost cause.
Nearly half of her hot chocolate had spilled and, back in the living room area, the heat from the fire was melting marshmallows into the floorboards. God, what a mess.
He turned off the water, draped the sweater over the faucet to drip, then addressed the floor.
A minute later, he heard the bathroom faucet turn off, and he called out to her, “I’ll get you something to wear.”
He nabbed a purply-gray Henley from his closet and knocked softly on the bathroom door.
The door whipped open. Kiera’s mass of red, gold, and streak-of-pink hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head. Her chest was red from the scrubbing, and water droplets glistened like dew in her cleavage. Was she trying to kill him?
“Sorry,” she said, “didn’t mean to scare you.”
Was that what he looked like?
“Is that for me?” She glanced down at the Henley that was now clenched tight in his fist.
“Uh…yeah.” He handed it to her.
“Perfect.” She pulled it on while he continued to stand there, dumbstruck.
If any of the guys could see him right now, they’d laugh their asses off. Time to get it together.
“Not sure I was able to rescue your sweater,” he said.
“I wasn’t expecting a miracle,” she said with a sigh. “So, no worries. By the time I go back to my apartment, there will be more boxes of new things to wear.”
“You’re going back?” he asked, and he wished he’d thought to put his own shirt back on.
She cocked her head to the side. “Well…eventually.”
“Right.” He dropped his gaze to the floor.
“You didn’t think I was moving in with Elli and Lukas permanently, did you?”
He raised his eyes, unable to keep them off her for too long. She was just too damn beautiful. “Well, no.”
“Or even…” She looked past his shoulder to his cabin, and he heard the unspoken end of her sentence: or even here.
“Of course not,” he said, not really meaning it. He wanted her here. In his cabin. In his arms. In his bed. “But you can’t go home until it’s safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Have you ever known me to do anything stupid?” she asked.
Sean took a breath, about to give her the most obvious example of a crack-of-dawn bodega rendezvous, when he realized she was grinning up at him. She’d set him up for that.
“No,” he said. “Never.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said smugly.
Sean’s gaze descended her body. She was positively drowning in his Henley, but there was something about the juxtaposition against those shiny black leggings that was definitely appealing.
Her breasts pushed against the front of the shirt, enticing him. He knew her legs would feel like silk because he’d allowed his fingers to brush against the fabric earlier. Would her skin be just as soft?
Kiera reached up and tucked some of his hair behind his ear. It was a strange sensation. Mainly because he rarely wore it down. He usually kept it knotted at his nape so assholes on the ice couldn’t grab onto it in the midst of a breakaway.
Tingles shot down his spine, ran across the front of his thighs, and settled in his balls.
“So…” she said. “Your shirt…”
“I can put it back on,” he said quickly.
She shook her head. “Was that your going-out-on-the-town look? You guys had gone out somewhere, hadn’t you? After the game?”
Sean maintained his restraint and exhaled a laugh through his nose. He didn’t have varied looks. He was just himself, no matter where he went.
Though he did own one suit. It just wasn’t anything he’d wear to a bar. He’d worn it to his mother’s funeral and for that reason alone, every time he saw it hanging in his closet, it looked like a holy relic.
“Sean?” she asked. Her fingers brushed the curve of his ear as her hand slid delicately down his bare chest.
“Sorry,” he said. “Got lost in my thoughts for a second.”
“Understandable,” she said. “There’s a lot to think about.”
“Like what I wear when I go out with the guys?” he asked. “Is that what you’re thinking about?”
How weird that just a couple of hours ago, those were his post-game plans. Now, he was here. With her. Having this inane conversation while her lingering touch—just there, against his chest—made his cock rock hard.
It was like he was some horny teenager who’d never been touched. Did she notice?
“Actually,” she said, “I’m thinking how cool it would be to turn invisible. You could hang out in the same room with people without them knowing it. Being a fly on the wall and hearing what they had to say about you.”
“You’d want that as your superpower?” he asked, a little surprised. “Knowing the shit people say behind your back?”
She shrugged. “That or flying.”
Sean smiled, grateful that their conversation was keeping him from tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her straight to his bed. Restraint was the name of the game here. She’d been through a lot today already.
“You don’t fly, do you?” she asked, giving him the side-eye.
“No,” he said, laughing. “And I don’t spy on people either.”
Or at least, he didn’t do it a lot.
She nodded, as if to suggest she wasn’t accusing him of it. “So, what do you use your superpower for?”
“Mostly for mental health breaks. Escaping the chaos. It’s nice to check out for a while without anyone being able to bother me.”
“But you would make an excellent spy.” She gave him a dazzling smile, that he felt in his balls.
He repeated his mantra, Restraint, man. Restraint, then conceded her point. “I suspect there’s more than one dryad in the CIA. Unfortunately, it’s not a skill that comes in handy on the ice.”
“It could,” she said while drawing random patterns on his chest.
“Just like tilting or shifting, it’s an illegal move. We gotta keep the playing field even.”
Her fingers stopped moving, and the pads of her fingers pressed into his skin. “Sometimes it’s fun when someone dominates.”
Sean blinked once, not sure he’d heard her correctly.
Kiera leaned back against the bathroom door frame. Her gaze locked with his, holding for a heavily weighted second that stretched into two, three, four…
She arched an eyebrow as if to say, your turn.
His restraint cracked. “Fuck.”