Chapter Seventeen

The knock on her door was unexpected. When she opened it to find Brett, she was floored. While she’d changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he was still in the tan suit he’d worn to the casino, but all his suave sophistication was gone. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it constantly since she’d last seen him. His shirt was rumpled, and the first three buttons at his collar hung open. The knot in his tie was tugged low and askew.

“Are you all right?”

“Huh?”

She gestured in the general direction of his chest.

“Oh, yeah. I…it was too tight on my neck.” He exhaled, seeming defeated. “Look, I just came here because you’re right. My focus should be on making the playoffs. It’s better for me, and for the team, if we stay under the radar. And because I wanted to tell you okay.”

She frowned, shaking her head, uncomprehending. “Okay?”

“I’m in. Let’s do this your way.”

“What are you talking about?”

He stepped farther inside, then turned and shut the door with an almost nervous precision she wasn’t used to seeing from him. All his easy-goingness was gone.

She wrapped her arms around herself as he met her eyes. The cold winter air radiating off his coat made her shiver.

“You want to suck my cock, right? You want to do this dirty?”

Her breath left her lungs in an audible rush.

That’s what she’d asked him for. Daring and dirty and sexy. That’s what she wanted.

Her nod was stiff.

Brett pulled off his coat, and the jacket beneath it, in a single move as he walked into the living room. He draped them over the chair…the same spot he’d left his coat the night they’d watched the movie together, and went and stood in front of the couch. The memory of using popcorn for target practice brought a hint of a smile to her mouth.

Uncrossing her arms, she walked toward him. He’d already rolled his left sleeve up his forearm, and was currently doing the same to his right, revealing his tattoos as he went.

Seeing them usually sent something warm sliding through her tummy, but tonight, she was distracted by the vaguely down-to-business feel of the action.

When he’d finished, he raised his eyes to hers. They stood there in the silence. Her breathing was stilted. She was suddenly and inexplicably nervous.

Brett shoved a hand through his hair, confirming her earlier hypothesis of its disarray. “You want me to order you around or something?”

“I, uh…is that what you would…” She stopped herself before she asked him if that’s what he’d do with someone else. He was here for her. He was doing this for her, so she should just tell him to get on with it. Dirty talk was sexy, right?

“Yes. I want you to order me around.”

“Come here.”

Chelsea walked toward him, her bare feet almost silent on the hardwood floor. She stopped in front of him, waiting like a robot for his next order.

“Take off your shirt,” he said, and she noticed that he didn’t quite sound like himself. Not like he’d sounded in the stairwell, when he’d told her to turn around, when his voice had quaked through her, commanding, but tempting, too. Like a plea wrapped up in an order, one she couldn’t help but grant.

She pulled her shirt off and let it fall to the ground.

His gaze dropped to her breasts, and his jaw flexed as he swallowed. For the first time since he’d shown up at her door, something flared in their gray-blue depths as they roved her curves, pushed up courtesy of her pink bra. It wasn’t very sexy, just a racerback with a front-closure that she’d picked up from a sale bin once, but it was doing the job, holding Brett’s attention, and lighting a spark in her abdomen. When he raised his eyes, there was a connection again, and the spark in her belly flickered into a flame. He placed his palm against her cheek, brushing his thumb against her bottom lip.

Her breath caught at the softness of the touch, but as though the slight sound had penetrated his consciousness, he dropped his hand, shaking his head as if he’d just woken from a dream. He felt farther away than he had a moment before.

“Get on your knees for me.” Despite the harshness of the order, he reached behind him and grabbed one of the throw pillows, then tossed it on the ground in front of him. A thoughtful gauntlet.

One that her sore knee thanked him for, but the sweetness of that small consideration got lost in the wave of uncertainty that swept through her as she got to her knees.

His fingers brushed the top of her head, and she looked up at him.

“I’m just gonna…”

He twisted his hand, fisting her hair, and the tug on her scalp wasn’t unpleasant. “Is that okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She reached for his belt again, but with none of the heat and fumbling of earlier.

In the stairwell, she’d been so full of emotion—anger, insecurity, desperation—that she hadn’t really been there, not fully. And right now, she got the distinct impression that she and Brett had switched places.

The brown leather of his belt went lax on the first try.

“That’s right, baby.”

His button and zipper parted easily.

“See how big and hard I am for you?”

Something about his words rang hollow. Like they were actors in a really depressing porno.

Was this how he’d felt when he’d called things off earlier that night? This lack of connection?

“I’m gonna fill you up so good.”

When she glanced up, he wasn’t even looking at her. Just staring straight ahead. “Brett?”

At the sound of his name, he squeezed his eyes closed, exhaling before he looked down at her. She pulled her hands back from his pants. Everything felt wrong—not the good kind of dirty. This was the kind that left a stain on your soul.

“Brett, stop. I can’t do this.”

He let go of her hair immediately and dropped onto the couch.

Seated, he was almost at eye level. As his gaze searched her face, she could read the defeat there. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

She’d thought so, too. She’d wanted something raw. But nothing about any of what had just happened felt right. She hadn’t felt like her. Brett hadn’t seemed like himself. They hadn’t been like them.

“Not like this.” Not like strangers.

It had never been like that between them before…not even that first night, when they actually had been strangers.

When he placed his hand on her cheek, it was strong and warm, but his voice was hoarse. “Just tell me how you want it, Chels, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

The words came out broken. They reminded her of their discussion about his ex-wife. About trying to be what she wanted. About playing the role.

She’d done that to him. She didn’t have the words to apologize, but she tried anyway.

“I just want you.”

He went still. Blinked. And then their eyes met, for real this time. He wasn’t looking through her anymore, and she was so relieved to have Brett back, to have him there with her that she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his as she wound her arms around his neck.

His big hands spanned her rib cage so he could pull her into his lap. His kiss filled the cold places inside her, reminding her how good it was between them just the way it was.

It was the softest meeting of mouths. Unhurried. A leisurely reacquaintance that didn’t feel so much like being wanted, as being cherished.

…

He never wanted to let her go.

Brett pulled Chelsea even closer, desperate not to lose whatever the hell was happening between the two of them right now. He’d come over with some insane notion of giving her what she’d wanted—letting her prove whatever it was she’d needed to prove in that stairwell. There were worse things in the world than having an incredible, gorgeous woman use your body to get you both off, right?

But what had started out as about the shittiest sexual experience of his life had morphed into something he’d never felt before. He was used to women wanting him, but this, whatever this was with Chelsea right now, was so much deeper than just sex.

He was pretty sure he could have sat on this couch with her in his arms for the rest of his life, but his cell phone wasn’t about to let him test that theory. It buzzed in his pocket, caught between their thighs. Chelsea laughed, pulling back.

“Is that a phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Brett’s hands tightened on her hips. He wasn’t ready to lose this moment yet.

“You should get that.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

She cut off his protest with a kiss, even as she reached inside his pocket and pulled out his cell. “Cooper,” she announced, turning the screen to show him.

Brett frowned. Damn. It was late for him to be calling. A trickle of unease wormed through the peace that had filled his chest a moment before.

Chelsea got to her feet and handed him the phone. “I’m going to give you some privacy. Call if you need me.”

Brett was still nodding as he accepted the FaceTime chat.

“Hey, man. It’s past midnight. Are you okay? Is Lainey?”

His brother-in-law looked shell-shocked. “There’s someone here who wants to say hi.”

Brett got a glimpse of a hospital room before his sister’s tired face filled the screen. But her winsome smile put his mind at ease.

“Hey, Uncle Brett.”

Everything in him froze as she angled the camera down.

“Meet Olivia.”

Brett’s heart turned to gelatinous goo and almost oozed through his rib cage at the sight of that squishy little face with a shock of black hair sticking out in every direction. His niece yawned, her tiny fists balled up by her chubby little cheeks, and he was a goner, all the way in love.

“She’s perfect. Jesus, Lainey. She’s perfect.”

His mind was already racing. He could probably fly back to Portland in the morning. She’d need a hockey jersey. Did they make jerseys that small? What the hell was he talking about? They made anything, if you paid them enough.

“Hi, Olivia.”

She snuggled against Lainey, her little mouth puckering like a guppy’s.

“She’s like a little anime baby. Look at all that hair! Do you think there are flights to Portland right now?” He glanced at his watch. Almost half-past midnight. “It’s going to take me at least an hour to pack and get to the airport, but if there’s something leaving around two, that would get me there by what? Around four-thirty? And then I—”

Lainey’s laugh cut him off. “Brett, no. I know you’re excited, but even if you could hop a flight this second, Olivia and I aren’t allowed to leave the hospital until the afternoon.”

The announcement jerked his head up. “What? Why? Is something wrong?”

“Just routine observation. Nothing to worry about, I promise. We’ll be home before dinner.”

Brett’s breath came out in a rush of relief. “Okay then. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Honestly, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll see you for dinner,” he repeated, and Lainey’s smile was pleased in the second before she tamped it down.

“Fine. If you insist. But if you think I’m cooking for you, you can forget it.”

“What? Do you even understand what I’ve been through since finding out I’m an uncle? I have to buy a plane ticket, throw some clothes in a suitcase. Someone’s going to have to chauffeur me to the airport. And you’re, what, lying around with my adorable niece while people bring you Jello? Selfish, Elaine. Totally selfish.”

Lainey put Cooper back on, and after a few more minutes of congratulations and baby fawning, Brett hung up.

Chelsea was standing tentatively in the doorway to the living room. “You sound happy,” she ventured.

“I’m an uncle!” He could tell his grin was goofy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d fucked up the illusion of cool the second he’d walked through her door tonight, so why start now?

She smiled. “That’s so great, Brett. Congratulations.”

“She’s amazing. Definitely the cutest baby on the planet. That’s a totally unbiased opinion, by the way. Her name is Olivia. She’s really tiny. I’m not sure if ‘Sillinger’ is going to fit across the back of her Wolfpack jersey. She’s probably too little for a hockey stick, right?”

Chelsea laughed, joining him on the couch and giving his arm a squeeze. “Seeing as she’s not even a day old, probably. But maybe tomorrow we can go find something a little more age appropriate?”

The fact that she wanted to run errands with him, to do such a small, mundane thing, felt really freakin’ big to him right then. “Are you serious? You’ll go shopping with me?”

“Sure. My Saturday is wide open.”

“Okay, yeah. That would be great. We’ll go tomorrow morning. I mean, later today. You know what I mean. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

Chelsea nodded and stood up. “Me too.”

That was his cue to leave.

Brett got to his feet, but before he could take a step toward the door, Chelsea wrapped his hand in hers. “Let’s go to bed.”

Stunned, Brett let her tug him down the hall and into her bedroom. He accepted the new toothbrush she pulled out of the medicine cabinet, reveled in the simple routine of preparing for bed with her beside him—washing her face, brushing her hair, changing into a tank top and shorts, applying some of that strawberry-scented Chapstick of hers.

By the time they crawled into her bed, with her curled up next to him, the backs of her thighs pressed against the fronts of his, and his arm slung over her waist, he felt like he knew her on a whole different level. That was why he found himself with a belly full of nerves when he finally got around to asking her the question he’d been considering since she’d put her hand in his and invited him to spend the night.

“Hey, Chels? Did you want to…I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but…would you come with me? To Portland?”

She went still in his arms.

“It’s just a quick overnighter,” he assured her, wondering if he’d overstepped. He was notorious for rushing things. “I’ll have you back here Sunday afternoon.”

It seemed like forever before she answered—the longest ten seconds of his entire life. But then she said, “I’d love to,” and his muscles relaxed. And with a deep breath, he pulled her closer and closed his eyes, the faint scent of strawberries teasing his nostrils.

Tomorrow, he and Chelsea were going to meet his niece.