Chapter Five
By late Sunday morning, Dane’s towel had dried over the back of a kitchen chair, my black swimsuit was hanging over the shower rod, and I’d slept just long enough to stop feeling as though midnight had personally attacked me.
I ate yogurt and berries at Dad’s kitchen island, drank two glasses of water, and tried not to look at the clock every five minutes.
Dad and Vanessa were coming tomorrow.
That had been true all weekend. It had also been easier to treat Monday like a distant problem before I’d spent Saturday naked with the man next door and agreed to see him in New York.
Now tomorrow felt considerably closer.
I rinsed my bowl and set it in the dishwasher.
The house was quiet around me, exactly the way it had been for almost two weeks.
No Dad making calls from the office. No Vanessa wandering through with three cheerful questions before I’d answered the first one.
No one asking how Europe had been or whether I was excited to start a job that no longer existed.
Technically, I still had one day to tell them the truth.
That word was doing an unreasonable amount of work.
I went upstairs, showered, and changed into denim shorts and a soft green tank. By the time I came back down, the towel was dry enough to fold. I tucked it under my arm, slipped on my sandals, and headed out the rear door.
The walk through the trees took only a few minutes. Yesterday, I’d crossed it because we had breakfast and dinner plans. Last night, Dane had walked me home after asking to see me in New York.
This morning, I had no meal to cook and no bargain to fulfill.
I was going because I wanted to see him.
I knocked on the rear glass door.
Dane opened it almost immediately.
His gaze dropped to the folded towel under my arm.
“Returning stolen property?”
“Borrowed,” I said. “I’m improving.”
Dane took the towel from me and stepped aside. He wore a navy T-shirt and athletic shorts, and his beard was slightly less disciplined than it had been the night before.
“I was going to tell you that you could keep it.”
“That would undermine my reform. I need people to see me making responsible choices.”
His smile appeared.
“You came back to the scene of the crime before noon.”
“I said improving. I didn’t claim complete rehabilitation.”
I walked past him.
The kitchen felt different in full daylight after everything we’d done there the night before. Nothing dramatic had changed. The island was clean, the pans were put away, and sunlight fell across the counters instead of warm evening light.
The difference was Dane.
He’d set bread, tomatoes, greens, leftover steak, and the container of herb sauce on the counter.
I stopped.
“Are you making lunch?”
“I was attempting lunch before you arrived and started grading me.”
I moved closer to inspect the evidence. The tomatoes were already washed, the steak had been sliced, and he had apparently remembered that bread improved considerably when it wasn’t eaten directly from the bag.
“This is unexpectedly competent.”
“I’ve been feeding myself for thirty-two years.”
“Not according to the refrigerator I met Friday.”
Dane laughed and handed me a tomato. “You can supervise if it makes you feel better.”
I set it back down. “No. I want to see how this ends.”
He toasted the bread in a skillet with a little butter, warmed the steak without cooking it into submission, and built two sandwiches with tomatoes, greens, and the leftover herb sauce. I stayed on the other side of the island and let him do it.
That required more restraint than I wanted to admit.
When he slid a plate toward me, I took a bite.
Dane leaned against the counter. “Well?”
I chewed slowly, mostly because making him wait was entertaining.
“The patient is going to live.”
“High praise.”
“You used leftovers, didn’t overcook the steak, and remembered butter. Friday’s version of you would barely recognize this man.”
He sat beside me at the island. “Friday’s version of me had just found a naked stranger in his hot tub. He was distracted.”
I smiled into my next bite.
We ate without needing the meal to carry the conversation. Dane planned to keep Sunday easy. I told him my major accomplishment had been returning his towel without stealing another one.
The simplicity of it made me notice how quickly being here had become normal.
That should’ve been impossible after two days.
It wasn’t.
“You really expect me to inspect your New York kitchen?”
“I do.”
The answer came without drama.
I put my sandwich down.
Dane did the same. “You already said you’d see me in New York. I’m not changing the terms on you.”
“I know.”
“You sound like there’s a second half to that sentence.”
There was.
Last night, agreeing to see him again had felt easy because New York was still a distant place beyond the weekend. Sitting across from him in daylight made the idea more solid.
“My apartment, my friends, my entire career—they’re all there.” I traced one fingertip through a drop of herb sauce on my plate, then stopped when I noticed what I was doing. “Whatever happens with work, I’m not leaving the city.”
“Good.”
I met his eyes.
“Good?”
“It means we don’t have to figure out how to do this from opposite sides of the country.”
My chest warmed at the uncomplicated way he said it.
“You realize your season involves travel, and restaurants are not famous for reasonable schedules.”
“I play hockey for a living. I wasn’t expecting reasonable.”
“I work nights, weekends, holidays, and every occasion when normal people decide to go out for dinner.”
Dane nodded. “Then we’ll have ugly schedules in the same city.”
That made me laugh.
“That may be the least romantic plan anyone has ever offered me.”
“I can lie and say we’ll have dinner together every night.”
“No, thank you. I’m trying to reduce the amount of lying in my life.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Dane’s expression shifted, but he didn’t ask the question I knew was sitting between us.
Instead, he reached across the island and touched the inside of my wrist.
“Then we’ll start with seeing each other when we can.”
I turned my hand beneath his and threaded our fingers together.
“That sounds good.”
For a few seconds, neither of us moved. There was no meal to finish and no reason for me to stay except that I wanted to.
I walked around the island and stepped between Dane’s knees.
“I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Does your bedroom live up to the kitchen?”
His eyes darkened. “I can show you.”
I bent and kissed him.
The kiss stayed slow. He held me at the waist while I slid my arms around his shoulders and let the teasing drain out of me.
When I pulled back, his breathing had changed.
“Come upstairs with me.”
“Yes.”
He took my hand.
I hadn’t been upstairs before. His bedroom sat at the quieter end of a short hall, with broad windows facing the trees and a bed large enough for him without swallowing the room.
I took in the room once. “No hockey memorabilia.”
“I get enough hockey everywhere else.”
“That might be your best decorating decision.”
Dane smiled and closed the door.
I pulled my tank over my head before he could say anything else, then pushed down my shorts and underwear.
He took me in, direct and appreciative.
“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m enjoying the view.”
“Then get naked. This feels uneven.”
He did.
I’d already seen him naked twice. Familiarity had done nothing to make six feet four inches of hockey player less impressive.
Dane sat on the edge of the bed, and I stepped between his knees. I kissed him while he touched my hips and back, warm and unhurried.
I wanted him under me.
I pressed a hand to his chest.
“Lie back.”
His eyebrows lifted, but he shifted farther onto the bed.
I climbed over him and straddled his hips. His cock rested hard against my pussy when I settled over him.
I rolled once along the length of him.
Dane exhaled slowly.
“Do you like that?”
“I like it a lot.”
I did it again, then leaned down to kiss him.
He kissed me back and waited.
That made the ache between my legs sharpen.
“I want you inside me.”
“Then take me.”
I sat up, wrapped my fingers around his cock, and guided him to my entrance. I lowered myself slowly, taking him a little at a time until he filled me.
Dane stayed still beneath me.
“Is that good?”
“That’s perfect. Keep going.”
I rested my hands on his chest and began riding him.
The angle was deep, and I took my time—lifting slowly, sinking back down until the rhythm felt right.
“That’s it,” Dane said. “Do it exactly how you want.”
I smiled and rode him harder.
He reached between us. When his thumb pressed against my clit, I sucked in a breath.
“Right there. Keep that pressure.”
He did.
I rocked forward and sank over him again. The pleasure built steadily with every stroke, his touch staying exactly where I’d asked for it.
“Do you need me to change anything?”
“No, don’t change a thing.”
I leaned close enough to kiss him without breaking the pace.
The room had gone quiet except for our breathing and the soft rhythm of the bed beneath us. Dane slid one arm around my lower back, steadying me against him.
I sped up.
“I’m going to come.”
“I’m right here.”
The release gathered low and deep. I came with my forehead against his, the pleasure moving through me in long contractions until I had to stop.
Dane kept touching me until I caught his wrist.
For a few seconds I stayed still with him inside me.
Then I started moving again.
His expression shifted.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I sat up and took him harder.
This time Dane met me, lifting into each downward stroke. His hands steadied me at the waist when my legs began to tire.
“You feel incredible.”
“So do you.”
I bent over him and kissed him.
“I want you to come.”
I kept the pace until his control broke. He said my name as he came, holding me close while the tension went out of both of us.
I stayed over him until I was ready to move, then lowered myself carefully against his chest.
Dane pulled the sheet over us.
Neither of us spoke for a while.