“Are you sure we can’t drive?” Fedora asked.

Cole glanced at her as they got into his car to go to the airport. “To Seattle? Not if you want to get there in time for the competition. Why? Scared of flying?”

“I wouldn’t say scared. More like…nervous. It’s the takeoffs and landings that get me. Once we’re at cruising altitude, as long as there’s no turbulence, I’m fine. It’s stupid, but I read once that most plane crashes happen during takeoffs and landings, so ever since then, I’ve been anxious when I fly.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said. “I, ah, actually feel the same way.”

“You?” She looked at him, aghast. “Don’t pro hockey players fly all the time?”

“Half our games were on the road, yes, but hello, I’m on a plane teaming with macho men who, if they found out you were a nervous flier, they’d tease until you died.”

“Do Slater and Flynn know?”

He thought about it. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

The day was cloudy, but the marine layer would burn off later. Too bad they wouldn’t be there to see it. He’d looked at the weather and they were trading Southern California sun for full on rain. Which meant the plane would be touching down on wet tarmac.

He didn’t mention this to Fedora.

On the plane, she almost squealed when she found out they had first class seats.

“It’s a write off,” he said with a wave of his hand. “This way we can get a drink to calm our nerves.”

As they waited for clearance from the tower and for the rest of the passengers to board—the peasants, Fedora joked—Cole tried to distract her by reviewing the ingredients she needed for her dish. Together with Hardy, they’d decided on chicken wings marinated in soy sauce, ginger, tequila, jalapeno and then deep-fried, served with an achiote and avocado dipping sauce. He, Slater, Flynn and Hardy had tasted the wings and the Wrap Around Smoked Porter together and were, all four, blown away. Roasty and a little sweet, the Wrap Around really complemented the ginger and the heat, and the slight smoke enhanced the earthiness of the achiote.

“Cole, I’m going to buy everything I need and there’s not that much. Less than a dozen ingredients. It’ll be a piece of cake. Assuming all the chefs will cook without incident, the only thing in question is whether the other pairings are better than what we’ve got planned. What do you think our chances are?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never done this before. Oh, shit, here we go.”

The pilot had started accelerating and Cole felt his body press into the seat. He gritted his teeth as his hand found Fedora’s.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he said with a shaky smile. “Do you want to know what I used to do to get my mind off plane crashes? I used to put on noise-cancelling headphones and play the soundtrack from The Sound of Music. Listening to that annoyed me so much, it usually distracted me.”

“You hate the The Sound of Music?”

“Actually, what happened was, eventually, it grew on me and I had to find something else.”

She gave him a wan smile as the wheels left the ground and he felt that moment of drag that made it seem as if the Earth wasn’t going to let them go, and then they pulled free. He let out a long breath. That was always the worst part, but he still wouldn’t relax until they were level.

“You okay?” he asked.

She squeezed his hand, but didn’t look at him. She had her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her.

“You know, it’s okay if we don’t win this thing,” he said, trying again to occupy her mind.

That got her attention. “No, it’s not. I want to win. I want to burst onto the beer-pairing scene and knock everyone’s socks off so that they all know who I am at the end. I didn’t make those damned chicken wings ten times, adjusting the recipe for nothing.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I thought hockey players were competitive by nature.”

“We are. I just didn’t want you to put a bunch of pressure on yourself. I actually do want to win pretty badly. I wish there was something more I could do, other than show up with the beer.”

“I’ll find things for you to do. Don’t worry.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m actually really glad it’s you coming with me. Slater would have bossed me around the whole time and Flynn would have fluttered around like an expectant father. You’re the calm one.”

He wasn’t used to this, getting compliments from Fedora. Usually she was digging at him, teasing him, joking around. He hoped that fun side of her wasn’t gone forever now that they were…dating or whatever. Did she act one way with a lover and a totally different way with a buddy? He hoped not.

Even though they’d made plans to sleep together, Cole still got them separate rooms. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped with him, like she had no choice. When they arrived at the hotel, she retreated to her room and he went to his. The first thing he did was unlock and open the adjoining door. After unpacking—a task that took all of five minutes—he rapped lightly on that door.

“Just a second,” she said.

He pulled his phone out and checked his email. He looked at Instagram and saw Flynn had posted a picture of—

The door between their rooms opened and he looked up.

Holy shit.

He wondered if he would ever stop being stunned by her. She stood there in the doorway wearing—gulp—only the hotel robe. At least, he hoped it was only the hotel robe. She was trying to strike a casual, confident pose, but he could tell she was uncertain.

“You’re overdressed,” she said.

“Oh, I, ah, didn’t know we were going to…”

“I’m up for it if you are.”

“I will be if you give me a minute,” he said with a grin.

As he toed his shoes and socks off, then worked on his pants, he mused that she was running true to form. She was a go-getter at Hat Trick, always busy, not a fan of procrastinating—a trait he admired but didn’t have himself. So it figured that once she made her mind up that they were going to be lovers, she wouldn’t waste any time.

“I thought we were going to grab some dinner or something first. Kind of work our way into it.”

“Nah. Let’s work up an appetite and then go out.”

He pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto his bed. “Sounds good to me.” He walked toward her with only his boxer briefs on.

She gave him a thorough once over and he hoped she liked what she saw. He worked hard to keep in shape, having vowed a long time ago not to become one of those cliché potbellied ex-jocks. He’d retired from professional hockey, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to abandon his self-discipline. He never wanted to be the guy who was embarrassed to take his shirt off at the beach or, like now, in front of a woman he was going to be intimate with. Of course, owning a craft brewery made his vow a little harder to keep. They didn’t call them beer bellies for nothing, but he’d gradually found a good balance between indulgence and exercise that kept him lean and fit.

“That is some impressive six-pack,” she said admiringly. Her voice had taken on a husky quality that heated his blood. He got even hotter when she reached out and touched his abdomen, running her fingertips over the ridges. Up and down. Up and down.

“Thank you.” As much as he wanted to plunge his hands inside her robe and finally, finally touch her the way he’d imagined so many times, he restrained himself. They had time. They had all night, because room service was a wonderful thing. He wanted her languid and lazy afterward. Maybe he’d feed her like some mythical god of love while they lounged on soft pillows, the room reeking of sex.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the tightly wound buns on her head.

She started, touching one of them with her hand. “Oh, I forgot I had my hair up. Sure, go ahead.”

He searched for a hairpin and found one, pulled it out slowly. He was going to savor this. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about doing this?”

“No. Really? It’s just hair. I keep it up so it doesn’t get in my way or into the food. I should probably just cut it.”

“Don’t you dare cut it,” he said, maybe a little too vehemently. “I will pay you a thousand dollars if you keep it long like this.”

He’d pulled out a few more pins, alternating sides so that when it came down, it would come down evenly.

She laughed softly. “All you have to do is ask nicely.” She cocked her head at him as he pulled out the last of the pins. “You like my hair that much?”

“I do. I love how it smells and I especially love how it…ah, there we go…how it feels.” He groaned as he tangled his fingers into the thick silken mass and combed it out. The shampoo fragrance and something subtle that was all Fedora wafted upward. He held a handful of it to his nose and inhaled. “It’s so soft and beautiful, so womanly.”

---

She looked up at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes and something in his chest tightened. “I swear to God, if you turn into a dickhead after this,” she said, “I’ll never forgive you.”

He bit back a smile, knowing she was serious. “I won’t. I promise.”

He maintained eye contact long enough for her to understand he meant what he said, then slowly bent his head to kiss her. Her mouth was so sweet and she let a soft sigh escape as she molded her body to his, causing all sorts of havoc inside him. There was a thick robe separating them, but he could still feel the pillowy softness of her breasts. He was going to lay eyes on them soon and he could hardly wait.

He kissed her for a long while, learning her mouth then exploring the line of her jaw, her cheeks, her neck and then her bare shoulder. Meanwhile, she ran her hands all over his arms and shoulders, up into his hair where they stayed as he bent her backward, pulled the lapel of the robe aside so he could get at her breast. It was full and heavy, with a large brown, erect nipple. He laved it and she moaned. As he licked and sucked on it she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair.

“Cole, that’s so intense.”

He didn’t answer. He was busy moving to the other breast. He squeezed and lifted it, sucking harder and eliciting some loud panting as her leg rubbed against his flank, which opened her up to him. He flattened his other hand on the small of her back and pressed his hard cock right against her crease. He still had his underwear on, but her pussy was so damned hot, even through the fabric.

“You’re still overdressed,” she said, stepping back. She had a red mark on her neck where he’d nipped at her. Her nipples were wet and swollen.

He quickly stripped off his briefs, freeing his aching cock. He took hold of it and fisted it, hoping to take the edge off. “Now you,” he said hoarsely.

Keeping her eyes on his, she undid the sash. He swallowed hard and his breath came faster. With a shrug of her shoulders, the robe fell to her waist where it hung briefly before sliding all the way to the carpet.

Oh holy mother.

She was gorgeously perfect, all curves and softness and golden skin. From the face he knew so well, somehow impish, beautiful and sexy all at the same time, to her bare feet with the sparkly orange toenails. He could have stood there and stared at her all day. She was a work of art. No, she was better. A work of art you could only admire with your eyes. He intended to do a hell of a lot more than just look.

He was going to touch.

To taste and lick.

To bury himself deep inside her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, bearing her down to the bed. “So, so beautiful. It almost hurts to look at you.”

“Just kiss me some more,” she said, pulling his head down.

He did. He managed to kiss her thoroughly even though his body was screaming to spread her legs and shove himself into her. She responded so ardently, giving as much as she got. When she reached down and caressed his cock, he groaned. It felt so damned good. There was so much pre-come that her hand slid over the sensitive skin easily. He rolled over onto his back and she kept hold of him, kneeling next to him. Then as a complete surprise, she bent and took him into her mouth.

Fuuuuuuck.

His hips came up reflexively, but he stopped himself before he choked her.

“Christ, Chevy.”

She made no reply, only pulling back and sinking back down again. He lay there, awash with shocked pleasure, still not quite believing this was actually happening. Although he couldn’t see his cock disappearing between her lush lips because her hair was blocking his line of sight, just as he’d imagined, the feel of those silken strands on his stomach was incredibly erotic.

When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he stroked her head. “Chevy, stop. Or it’ll be over too soon.”

Raising her head, she tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him with lips that were swollen and wet. He sat up and cupped her heavy breasts, excited to finally have full access to her nipples. He’d wanted this ever since he’d seen the outline of them through the orange dress, an image that would remain branded in his brain until the day he died. He took one into his mouth and sucked gently until it peaked against his tongue. She inhaled sharply then exhaled a long moan. Focusing all his attention on the tiny hard tip, he flicked it with his tongue, laved it, brushed his lips against it, then switched sides. Her fingers were deep in his hair and she was kneading his scalp. When he let go with a soft pop, she whined a little.

He didn’t care. He had so much more of her to discover. He let his palms slide down her sides, along her ribs, dipping in to her waist, where his thumbs almost met over her navel.

“Lie down and open your legs,” he said in a raspy voice that didn’t even sound like himself.

As she reclined and parted her thighs, he thought, I’m the luckiest shithead on earth right now. He was looking at her exquisite pussy. In a bit of a sadomasochistic gesture, he refrained from touching it, or better yet, kissing it. Instead, he just took in all the erotic details. The hair was dark and dense and he couldn’t wait to delve through it to find her clit. He loved how the plump lips of her sex were embellished with a dainty frill. More than anything he wanted to tug on those lips with his teeth and slide his tongue around them, then between to open her, to taste her.

Her fingers came into his field of vision. Shit. She was stroking herself.

She had raised one knee and opened even wider so she could spread the moisture around with slow strokes of her slender fingers. Fuck. That was hot. He couldn’t look away from the sight.

He realized he was doing the same thing—pulling on his cock with just a minimal amount of pressure, spreading the pre-come to make it slippery. Their eyes met briefly before he looked down again to see her middle finger slide inside. His cock ached at the sight.

It was probably jealous.

As if punishing himself, he watched that finger glide in and out. She was so wet for him it glistened. Fuck. And he was almost painfully hard. Like Superman’s-abs-hard. As much as he was enjoying the sight, he liked participating more than observing.

Time to switch things up.