Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
She slides into the passenger seat, the scent of hospital soap and something sweet filling the small space. She doesn’t say anything at first, just leans her head back against the leather and closes her eyes. I don’t start the car. I just watch her, the way the dim light from the dashboard catches the curve of her throat.
“Rough shift?” I ask, my hand reaching out to cover hers where it rests on the center console. Her skin is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off mine.
“Code blue at one, a compound femur fracture at three, and a man who tried to put a lightbulb in an unmentionable spot at four a.m.,” she whispers, her fingers curling around my thumb. “So, the usual. How was the game? I saw the score on the break room TV. You looked… aggressive.”
“I was distracted,” I admit, and the confession feels like a crack in the glass. I trace the line of her knuckles, my thumb lingering over the spot where her pulse beats steady and fast. “Every time I went down for a save, I was thinking about whether or not you’d had dinner. It’s a hell of a way to play professional hockey.”
“You’re really sweet, which is downright scary,” she says, opening her eyes to look at me. There’s a teasing glint there, but beneath it, I see the same uncertainty that’s been gnawing at my gut for weeks. “Ryan called me today. He spent ten minutes complaining about hockey. I feel guilty keeping this from him.”
“Then tell him.” I pull her hand up to my lips. I kiss the back of it, a slow, deliberate contact that makes her breath hitch. “It isn’t a crime to want something real, Harper,” I say, and I realize as I say it that I’m not just talking about her. I’m talking about the void I’ve lived in for years, the cold, sterile excellence that I used to call a life. I pull her closer, my arm draping over the back of her seat as I bridge the distance between us. “The secrecy… it’s starting to feel wrong. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I want to shout it from the rafters.”
“Not yet,” she breathes, her expression turning serious. She reaches up to touch the scar on my palm, the one she treated. “I want to tell my brother in person.”
“Okay,” I agree and lean in to rest my forehead against hers. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
“Jaxson,” she whispers, her hands finding the collar of my jacket. She pulls me down for a kiss, and it’s not the frantic, desperate heat of our first time. It’s something deeper, a slow-burn connection that tastes like heat and longing. Her lips part against mine, and the rest of the universe blurs away. It’s just Harper and the way she feels in my arms. I need more. I need all of her.
I break the kiss and rest my forehead against hers, fighting the urge to just toss her over my shoulder and drag her to my penthouse, caveman-style. “You want to go get real food, or…?” I let the question hang, but it’s not even a question. We both know exactly what we want.
She laughs, soft and low, the sound instantly making my cock turn to stone. “Take me home, Jaxson.”
Fuck yes. I’m the luckiest bastard alive.
The drive to her apartment is a blur. All I can focus on is her hand on my thigh and the way she keeps glancing over, eyes lit up with that heat that’s become my personal addiction. I barely remember to put the car in park before I’m at her door, opening it for her.
We rush inside, and Harper turns to me and just drops her bag, looking up at me like I’m her whole damn world. I can’t even breathe right. I scoop her up, kissing her again, slamming the door with my foot as I carry her straight to her bed.
There’s nothing gentle about how I make love to her. It’s pure, messy, need-you-so-bad-it’s-stupid. We’re all tangled limbs and sweat and whispered confessions. I never slow down. Not once. Not when her nails drag down my back. Not when she calls my name, a broken prayer. We finally collapse, skin hot and sticky, her voice still echoing in my skull. I hold her tight, refusing to let her go, even as her breathing slows, and she drifts off to sleep wrapped up in my arms.
She’s so goddamn beautiful it hurts. It physically hurts to think about dragging my ass out of her bed and leaving her like this, all soft and trusting and exhausted from my loving. I bury my face in her hair and just breathe her in. The woman is single-handedly fucking up every plan I’ve ever had in my life, and I couldn’t be happier about it.