Harlow
“It does too count,” Wade growls against my neck as we’re standing in the back of the living room watching Janie opening wedding gifts.
His arms are snug around my waist, holding me so my back is tight to his front.
“I was under duress.”
The light scrape of his stubble tickles my neck, making me wonder what it’s done to my skin in other places. My legs press together and I have to bite my lip from how sensitive I am.
How much I want him again.
All of him.
Wade stills behind me, his breath coming in a warm rush. I can feel the smile on his lips. “Time to go, Good Girl.”
Silently, I nod.
This is madness.
Wade edges past me and cuts over to where his mom is standing. A few quick words, then he’s tugging me outside, and we’re running for the truck. He throws the door open and before I can blink, he’s got me by the waist, lifting me into the passenger seat.
Laughing, I push at my dress to keep it from riding up. But Wade has other ideas.
He bites his bottom lip and pulls it through the sexy clasp of his teeth. “One look.”
“Not on your life!”
Only he’s nodding, that gleam in his eyes as naughty as I’ve ever seen. “They’re all oohing and ahhing over Janie’s new Instant Pot, but even if they checked outside, all they’ll see is the open door and my back. Come on. One peek.”
My eyes flare wide and, laughing, I check over his shoulder to the house filled with family and friends. “Absolutely not.”
His hands creep higher and beneath the dome light, I can see the hint of his tongue against the spot he just bit.
He is so… crazy… hot. My legs widen.
Satisfaction lights his eyes as his thumbs skate over the still bare, sensitive skin of my sex.
Someone wouldn’t give me my panties back after the boathouse.
“One more taste, Harlow.” He leans in, urging my knees apart with those big hands to make room for his even bigger body. “I’m starving.”
I’m shaking my head the entire time, and I’m pretty sure somewhere deep inside there’s a part of me that really wants him to stop. But she’s not the one breathless and leaning back over the center console, sliding one knee fractionally higher. She’s not the one watching as he pushes my dress aside so I’m open and exposed to him again. So that we can both see when he drags his thumb through my slickness in one stroke… and then, eyes blazing, brings it to his mouth.
“Wade,” I manage on a broken breath.
“Yeah, Good Girl?”
“What do we have on the calendar for tomorrow?”
His brow arches, the corner of his mouth kicking up with it. “Errand in the city, but pretty easy day.”
“Good.” Hooking my fingers in his jeans pocket, I tug him closer. “Because you’re not getting any sleep tonight. Now get in the truck.”
Wade
A bossy Harlow is a sexy Harlow.
Almost as sexy as playful, teasing Harlow.
But nothing compares to daring Harlow.
When she opens her legs for me while I’m driving down that dark, deserted backroad outside of town and lets me slide my finger deep, in and out, until she comes apart all over my hand… Jesus.
I almost lose it right there.
But even going thirteen miles an hour for half the ride, we eventually make it back. And then up to our room, where I have Harlow against the door—inside our room, but barely—on the desk, the bed—not the pull-out—beneath the shower and, for a while, on the floor with my back against the inside of the closet.
I get my mouth on her again, and with the number of times I make her moan, my ego should be wearing a super-suit and flexing in front of a mirror. Instead, he’s flipping a puck on his stick, staring at me expectantly.
What are you going to do, Wade?
Yeah, I got Harlow to agree to the full week. But even if she actually gives it to me—and that’s a pretty big if, considering she sort of was under duress—she’s going to be worried about after.
Which is why, after giving my body a workout more intense than any game I’ve played in pro hockey, instead of sleeping, I’m awake, running my fingers through the dark silk of her hair as she sleeps against my chest.
I must finally drift off, because the next time I open my eyes, it’s to a room bright with sunshine streaming in around the drapes and Harlow watching me with sleepy eyes from my chest.
My heart does something I haven’t ever felt before. It’s so good, so full it almost hurts.
“Okay. One week,” she says softly.
Taking her arms, I haul her up my chest.
We’ll start with one. But I’m going to make it so good, no fucking way will she want it to end.
Harlow
For all my resistance, I’m already seeing the benefits of being Wade Grady’s temporarily real, fake girlfriend. The man has been holding back in no small way. But now that he’s not skating the line between real and fake, it’s like some restrictor has come off. And this Wade is undiluted, pure dirty-talking charm and charisma.
This Wade doesn’t keep his hands above my waist or limit our contact.
This Wade doesn’t just wrap his arms around me from behind… he buries his face in that spot between my shoulder and neck and does this low growl thing that has me squirming in his arms and the poor couple in the elevator with us laughing into their hands.
This Wade throws me over his shoulder and carts me, wriggling and squealing, across the hotel lot to the grassy strip where we stretch before our run.
This Wade watches me with the kind of heat and intensity that leaves me a little breathless and a lot hot… and wondering what kind of defense I would have had if he’d shown me this true side of him from the start. Not enough.
“Keep looking at me like that, Good Girl, and you can forget running out to the orchard. The only workout you’re getting today is back in that bed.” He does that lip-biting thing again, but this time there’s nothing scripted about it. It’s authentic as his eyes rake shamelessly over the length of my legs, fixing on my running shorts-covered ass.
I shiver, averting my eyes and grinning down at my shoes.
It isn’t until we start our run that things fall back into place. But now that they have, I’m more focused on what Wade is sharing about his career than I am on the way the boulder-like muscles of his thighs shift and flex with every step he takes.
“I guess I assumed it was a pretty straightforward ascent once you made the move from football to hockey.”
Wade lets out a laugh, keeping pace beside me, his breath even and strong. “Not me. Lots of guys get picked up right out of high school. You know Greg Baxter?”
I read a bit about him while researching the team. “He was your captain but retired because of a concussion, right?”
“Yeah, well, that guy’s career trajectory was like a rocket. Mine was more like those terraced rice fields cut into the mountains in Japan. From a natural talent standpoint, guys like Baxter have me beat hands down.”
I slant him a look, doubtful. “But here you are. Playing at the same level.”
Another laugh. “Because I never fucking quit. Yeah, I got here. But if I’d let up for even a minute, I wouldn’t have.” We round a bend in the gravel road and the big painted sign for the orchard comes into view. “I played in college, but not on a free ride. Coach told me once he’d never expected me to advance past that level.”
“What?”
“Yeah, but I busted my ass, studied every tape, talked my way into more practice, more ice time, more one-on-one. And I made sure that every game I played reminded the decision-makers that they wanted me to play more in the next. I’m not a finesse guy, but I get it done. And that’s how I got myself into the AHL, how I earned the game time there, the chance for Taxi Squad. More time playing up than down.” He shakes his head. “But this was the first full season I’ve played with the Slayers.”
And from the articles, it sounds like he’s impressed everyone. “I read that your contract is up for renewal.”
“They’re hammering it out now. It’ll be finalized in the next couple weeks. Deadline’s at the end of the month.” Wade slows to a walk. Stops and turns to me. “Signing my first endorsement helps too. Good press. Good season for me even if it wasn’t great for the team. The stuff happening now—it’s a big deal for me. No matter how hard I worked, I knew the odds were against me getting here.”
I nod, my throat inexplicably tight. This man is nothing like I’d assumed that first night in the club. He’s driven, intelligent, kind and humble in the most unexpected ways. He knows what it means to work for something you may not get and to keep going anyway.
“But now you have. It must feel amazing.”
He lets out a laugh, kicking at the dirt. “It feels fucking fragile. Like finally, I ought to be able to take a breath, but I can’t. Not if I want to hold on to what I’ve been killing myself to get.”
“Wade.” I want to step into his body, take his face in my hands, and—I don’t even understand what I’m feeling except that it’s a pull I can’t give in to.
“Don’t give me that gentle voice, like you’re sorry for me, Good Girl.” He offers a lopsided smile so different from his sexy smirk, something melts inside me. “I’m exactly where I want to be. This is what I signed up for. And no matter who you are or how you got there, if you’re in the NHL, your clock is ticking. You’re always fighting to keep your spot.”
“Well, I hope you get to keep it for a long time.”
“So,” he drawls, stepping in closer. “You know about my contract. Been studying up on my sport pretty hard?” He picks up a bit of my hair and starts playing with it. The touch is so teasing and light, goose bumps break out across my skin. “Think you’d be interested in seeing a game?”
In this moment, it’s like there’s nothing fake between us. Never has been. It tightens my chest in a way that has nothing to do with the miles we’ve run.
“You could sit in my seats,” he says, voice low and rough.
I swallow. Feel my heart turn over in my chest. I can’t go to his game. We won’t be together.
“Wear my number.”
But even knowing it won’t happen, I can almost see it.
“I’ll knock the glass when I skate by, warming up.”
How did we get this close?
I’d swear he didn’t move, but my head is tipped back and he’s staring down at me.
“I’ll show off for you. Score for you. Take you out after to meet the team.”
But if he wasn’t the one to breach my space then I must have—
His mouth closes over mine, slow and sweet.
When he pulls back, it’s with a smile that makes me ache.
“You’re thinking too hard. It’s just a game, Harlow.” He gives that bit of hair a gentle tug and lets it unravel from his finger.
“I know, but when this week is over—”
“We can’t even be friends?” He asks it so casually, but there’s something in the way he’s watching me that says he’s not so casual at all.
I could say yes. Tell him what he wants to hear. But I know what it feels like to be strung along, and it stinks.
I could tell him no. Leave no room for misunderstanding. But even though there’s no romantic future for us, the idea of not having this man’s friendship feels bad in a way that steals my breath.
Moving off the road, I sit on the soft grass beside the fence. I stretch my legs out in front of me while Wade sits beside me and hangs his arms over his spread knees.
“Come on, Good Girl. Lay it on me.”