I feel like I shouldn’t even be going. I haven’t heard from Alex—not a word—since we ended whatever it was we were trying to start. He’s purposely showed up at Daphne’s when he knows I’m not there. Not just last Saturday but again on Wednesday when I was at court with Laura and Mackenzie, which he knew because I texted him to tell him she had another hearing. He responded with nothing but a “Thanks” and a crossed-fingers emoji. When he texted me hours later to see how it went and I told him, he responded with a smiley face and a thumbs-up. I forced myself not to respond with the middle finger emoji. I hate that he’s just walked away from me. And I hate that not wanting him to walk away makes me feel like a lovelorn fool.

Still, when Rose Caplan and her sisters sent me an Evite to his housewarming I accepted. I would have invited Len for moral support, but she offered to stay at my place and unofficially babysit Mac, who pitched a fit when I used the actual term “babysit.”

Yeah, she’s almost fifteen but I still feel like someone should be with her. She thinks it’s because I don’t trust her. I do, but I’m new to this guardian thing and I’m terrified something will happen if she’s alone at night, like a murderer will try and break in or the gas will leak and explode or something. What if she goes to sleep before I get back and gets woken up by a sound and thinks someone is trying to break in and terrifies herself? I did that the first night my parents left me alone to go out to dinner when I was thirteen. They came home and I was hiding behind the couch, holding a croquet mallet and sobbing. I don’t want Mac to have to freak out like that. Is this the level of worry my parents went through when I was a kid? God bless them.

Anyway, I really should have lied and said I was busy, but Rose mentioned that her sisters were really hoping to talk to me more about Daphne’s House and there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity to get any kind of help for the place. If they were interested in donating or volunteering it would be stupid to miss out on that because of a guy.

I turn onto his street in Tribeca and start looking for his address. It’s a loft building. There are many in this area and none of them is cheap. I’m not shocked he wanted a loft, with his aversion to small spaces. I’m greeted by a smiling doorman and tell him I’m here to see Alex Larue. He grins. “The housewarming. Head right up.”

Everything about the building is big and airy from the lobby to the hallways and I see, as he opens the door, his loft. He gives me a tight smile and motions for me to enter.

Everyone is already there and the people I’ve previously met call out greetings. I wave and smile and walk slowly into the expansive, sparsely decorated space. He’s got twelve-foot ceilings and enormous windows on two sides. His bedroom is a large nook. You can see a track where there used to be sliding doors but he’s removed them. The bed is positioned to face out into the living room, toward the giant windows, none of which have curtains. I’m sure someone tonight will make a joke that he’s an exhibitionist, if they haven’t already. I’m also sure he’s used to it. I have a feeling he’s never lived in a space with many walls or curtains.

“Thanks for coming,” Alex says but his tone is gruff and cool.

“Yeah, you sound super excited to see me,” I scoff back and move quickly toward the kitchen to Rose and her sisters. Their greeting is much warmer and much more believable. Each of them hugs me and thank me for coming.

“Please excuse your host,” Callie adds with a smirk. “The guy who will talk to anyone in a skirt is suddenly as perky as Oscar the Grouch.”

Alex rolls his eyes and walks over into the living room area where a bunch of guys are drinking beers and talking. I recognize Devin, Jordan and Luc, but there are other guys here too who, judging by their hulking sizes and in some cases scars and bruises, are also Barons players.

I spend the first forty minutes at the party talking to Rose, Callie and Jessie. They’re genuinely interested in the charity and they tell me tales from their own childhood. There’s no love lost for their grandmother and they don’t hide it, but Callie tries to find a bright spot. “In the end, Lilly did us a solid when she kicked the bucket because that’s the only reason we went back to our hometown. If we hadn’t, Jordan wouldn’t have found Jessie again and I might not have found Devin, and Rosie would still be wishing she could make Luc notice her.”

Rose gives Callie a shove. It’s light but it makes her clutch her stomach and turn green. I worry she’s about to puke, but she seems to gain control of the situation. Jessie narrows her green eyes suspiciously. “You’ve had the flu for a while now.”

“Uh-huh.” Callie grabs the glass in front of her that is filled with what looks like sparkling water.

Rose watches both her sisters carefully for a second and then the oven bings behind us and she jumps off her bar stool. The delicious smell of caramelized onion and melted cheese fills the air as she opens the oven door. Except Callie turns green again and jumps off her own stool. “I’m going to go ask Devin something.”

She’s darting across the living room before either of her sisters look up. Jessie looks suspicious again. She grabs her glass, which also appears to be filled with water, and follows her sister. I watch Rose take a tray of bite-sized appetizers out of the oven. She looks around for her sisters. “This is Callie’s favorite. Goat cheese and caramelized onion in puff pastry. Where did she go?”

I point to the living room. Rose’s dark eyes dart from Callie to Jessie. “And why is Jessie wearing a baggy sweatshirt to a party? Sure, she’s glamming it up with a scarf but I didn’t even know she owned a sweatshirt.”

I smile and Rose starts to smile too. “Oh my God…I think they’re both…”

“Pregnant?” I conclude for her and she immediately starts to tear up.

“Oh my God, you think so too? Oh my God!” I step closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

“It’s just a guess. Don’t freak out until you know,” I advise her cautiously but I have a feeling nothing about these girls is cautious.

Rose walks around the island, puts her hands on her hips, one of which is still covered in an oven mitt and asks in a loud voice that seems very un-Rose-like, “Are you two pregnant?”

The room is suddenly and completely silent. Jessie and Callie both look up at their sister. And then turn to each other. I feel like I’m watching a reality show on TV, but judging by the way these girls act no one is surprised by this and honestly, their honesty and bluntness are refreshing.

“You girls are horrible liars and ridiculously bad at keeping secrets so I’m going to tell the truth for you,” Alex says firmly.

“Alex…” Jordan and Devin both say in a warning tone and then they’re looking at each other, baffled.

“They’re both pregnant,” Alex announces firmly.

Rose starts screaming. Callie and Jessie start screaming and pointing at each other. Alex walks over to watch the show next to me. He leans down and with a half smirk on his lips whispers, “And not by me. I thought I should make that clear since people think I like to mess around with my friends’ girlfriends and wives.”

I roll my eyes.

Two hours later, everything is back to normal. The night turned out to be really fun. Everyone I met was great. Most of the guests have left and Callie has offered to teach the kids the tips and tricks she learned when she started cooking for her sisters as a kid, and Jessie has offered to give a talk on what her childhood was like. And all three of them have offered donations.

Now the only people left are Jessie and Jordan, me and Alex. Jordan helps me pick up empty glasses and carry them to the kitchen area while Alex loads his dishwasher.

“So where’d you get the name for the place?” Jordan asks casually. “Who is Daphne?”

“She was my birth mother,” I tell him and Alex stops loading the dishwasher. “She died when I was almost two.”

I can feel Alex’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over. Jordan looks the way people always look when I tell them—stunned and sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” I smile softly and out of the corner of my eye I see Jessie yawn where she’s stretched out on the couch. “I think you need to get her home. Congratulations, by the way.”

Jordan looks back at Jessie and his face softens into pure love. It’s the kind of look you see in movies or read about in romance books and dream someone will give you one day. It’s nice to know it actually exists.

“Thanks. I’m thrilled,” Jordan replies. “And I think having Callie going through it too will be great for Jessie. And hysterical for me. So there’s that.”

He chuckles and walks over to the couch. “Let’s go home, babe.”

Jessie stands up and smiles at me. “It was great seeing you again, Brie. And I can’t wait to come by Daphne’s.”

I give them a little wave as they head for the door and glance around for my purse so I can get the hell out of here too. Being alone with Alex doesn’t seem like the best idea, even though he did seem to relax as the night went on.

I see my purse hanging on the back of one of the chairs by the island so I walk over and grab it. Before I can tell him I’m leaving he curses in French. “How do you work this thing?”

He doesn’t know how to work the dishwasher? I walk over and watch him stare helplessly at the inside as he holds a small detergent pod in his big hand. “Where the hell does this thing go?”

“You’ve never used your dishwasher?” I ask.

“I’ve always had one but never used it. I usually eat out, and I hand wash the one or two plates I use.” He looks up at me with helpless, almost puppy dog, eyes.

“Mon Dieu,” I say with a smile and my use of French makes him smile too. I walk over and take the pod from him. I pop it into the little holder on the inside of the door and close it then punch the appropriate buttons on the front. It makes a soft gushing sound as it begins its cycle.

“Merci,” he replies softly.

“Anything else you need help with?” I ask and I can’t help but flash him a cheeky smile. “Like how to use a washing machine or set your alarm clock?”

“You’re hilarious,” he snarks back. “Making fun of a man in need.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”

He’s standing so close I can smell the woodsy scent that engulfed me seconds before he kissed me the other night. My skin starts to tingle. I try to take a deep breath, but it’s hard suddenly. He’s smiling but it’s dark, in the most delicious way. “You have a nice place.”

“Thanks.”

“Very open.”

“Yeah. I like open spaces,” he says. “You know why.”

I adjust my purse on my shoulder and suddenly remember. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”

“What?” He looks startled and not in a good way. He takes a step back and blinks. “I told the girls to make sure no one brought gifts.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to, but there’s this little store near the courthouse.” I feel suddenly stupid again. Why does he always make me feel like this? “I bought it on a whim. It cost nothing and if you really don’t want it, I’ll keep it for myself.”

I pull out the bag and shove it into his chest. He doesn’t take it so I just hold it there. My knuckles are between the gift and his chest and it’s like pressing them into a rock. He’s pure, solid muscle. I think of how he looked in that tight shirt after the game and I flush. “Just take it. It’s not a big deal.”

He makes a noise almost like a groan and finally takes the bag. It’s a simple paper bag. The gift is unwrapped inside because I wasn’t lying when I said it really wasn’t a big deal. He looks inside. The scowl on his face softens and softens until it’s nothing but amazement. He pulls out the tiny metal, handmade fleur-de-lis with little LED lights hammered into it.

“It’s not a nightlight, but it’s not like a real light. It’s kind of useless really but it’s a fleur-de-lis,” I explain even though it’s obvious. “and I rarely see those around New York and it reminded me of you. If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it.”

“I’m keeping it,” he replies quickly and turns it over and pushes the little switch on the back. The tiny lights come on. “It’s perfect. I use ambient light all the time. I don’t sleep in the dark.”

He points and I follow his hand and notice a tiny light in a socket in the corner of the living room. I force my face to remain neutral but holy shit, is this big, hulking, man afraid of the dark? Once again he’s making my heart ache. He turns it over and stares at the lights twinkling off the metal.

“People don’t buy me things,” he mumbles softly.

I look around at the sparsely furnished apartment. There’s a sectional, an ottoman, but no chairs, bookcases or pictures. The nook for his bedroom only contains one three-drawer dresser. His bedside lamp is on the floor beside the bed because it doesn’t have night tables. “You don’t seem to like things.”

He shrugs and those deep blue eyes find mine. “I don’t have a lot of things from my past worth holding on to.”

Oh this man…I reach up and gently cup the side of his face. He reaches up and grasps my hand and I think he’s going to pull it away but he doesn’t. He holds it to his face and pushes into it. He’s like a puppy looking for love and I want desperately to give it to him. But he won’t let me. “And you seem to want to throw away things now that are worth holding on to.”

I force myself to step back and start walking toward the front door because if I don’t leave now I’ll let things happen that are going to mean more to me than they should. Than he wants them to. But he speaks and his words stop me in my tracks.

“I don’t know how to be a boyfriend, Brie.” The look of pure confusion on his face would be comical if we were still talking about dishwashers. But we’re talking about feelings here. “The only thing I’ve ever committed to was hockey and even it tried to reject me. Hell, in a way every time I get traded I feel like it still is. But it’s a thing, not a person, and I can force hockey to stay in my life simply by working harder and finding my niche. Right now I’m a third line center. Then I’ll be a fourth line. Then I’ll find a coaching job somewhere. Hockey is staying in my life whether it likes it or not. It doesn’t have a choice, but you do.”

I start to walk back into the kitchen as he turns away from me to look out the window. “People who have had the choice to keep me in their lives never have.”

Thank God he’s turned away because I actually press my palm to my heart at that statement to keep it from cracking. Holy shit. I have no idea how anyone would walk away from him—the man and his big, broken heart—because what I want to do is run to him. “Give me that choice and I’ll change that track record.”

He grunts at that and turns back to face me. His smile is weary, his eyes filled with disbelief. “You’re this amazing, stubborn, gorgeous woman who wants more than the one thing I know I can give. And as much as I suddenly, for the first time in my life, want to try and give more, I’m also so fucking clueless as to how.”

I walk right up to him so we’re toe to toe. “You want to know how? You just do it. You let me in. You take the chance, like you do every time you step onto the ice. You don’t know if you’ll win or lose, but you play the game anyway and you take the shots on net even if you don’t know if you’re going to score. So tell me you want this. Take the shot.”

He nuzzles my hand and but then turns his face and kisses my palm. When he turns back to me he looks so serious it’s startling. “I want this.”

I feel my smile from my toes to the roots of my hair. “Game on?”

He smiles back, raw but darkly playful. “Game on.”

I step into him and up onto my toes and then I use my hand to guide his face down to mine. When our lips connect again it’s as perfect and sensuous as it was last time. Except this time, he has no hesitation. He quickly takes control and uses his lips to open my mouth and slip his tongue inside.

He holds my head, hands tangling in my hair and pushes me until I’m pressed against the island. All I feel is his hard, warm body pressed into me, the urgent push of his tongue against mine and the gentle but forceful tug of his hands in my hair.

But I also feel the hesitation start to seep back in. His tongue pulls away, his lips start to leave mine and his fingers start to slip out of my hair. I circle his neck with my arms and hold him in place. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I’m not just going to kiss you.”

“Good.”

The next several minutes we’re like horny teenagers in a dark corner of the prom—making out, groping, grinding. He grabs my hips and lifts me like I’m made of paper, dropping my ass on his island. He pushes my knees apart as his perfect and skilled mouth finds its way to my neck. Holy shit, the roughness of his stubble and the softness of his mouth together, at once, are sending direct pulses of pleasure to my clit.

I tip my head to give him better access. My God, I had no idea someone’s lips on my neck could feel like this. I feel his teeth gently tug my earlobe. I reach for the bottom of his shirt and start undoing the buttons as fast as my fingers can. I’m quaking with anticipation. I want to feel his skin against mine. With every button I undo, I pause and touch the skin exposed. His stomach is warm and hard and my fingertips graze over his treasure trail. It makes him suck harder on the skin just above my collarbone, which then makes me arch my back.

He moves his hands around my lower back and under the hem of my sweater. I feel his palms splay out across my back, warm and strong. He yanks me closer, to the edge of the counter and I panic he might be pulling me off the counter and to my feet—and be ending this. So I wrap my legs around his waist, keeping both of us in place. I manage to get the last button on his shirt undone and slip my hands inside it, wrapping them around his back

We’re hugging now—tightly—and it feels overwhelmingly right. I’m flooded with warm contentment, security and affection. But also lust. The feel of his skin, pressed against me, even through my sweater is intoxicating. I need more of it. I pull away only enough to be able to take off my sweater. I drop it to the floor next to the island and cup the back of his head and claim his mouth again.

His hands slide down my back, stopping to unhook my bra, and then continue lower to cup the top of my ass and hold me on the edge of the counter. His hips shift forward, pressing into me, and I can feel he’s thick and long and so incredibly hard. “You want me.”

I didn’t mean to say it and I definitely didn’t want it to sound so damn surprised. He pulls back and covers the side of my jaw with his palm and says in more of a growl than a whisper, “I want you.”

“I want you too.” I move my shoulder, my bra straps slipping down my arms. His gaze slips with them, from my face down to my bare breasts. The weight of his stare makes my skin prickle and my nipples raise. He cups them, running his thumbs over them before he kisses and sucks each. My hands curl in his hair and my head falls back.

He’s worshipping me, there’s no other word for it, and I get why this man has women swooning. He is pure desire, lust and sex. Everything he does makes me feel sensual and sexy and fills me with hunger.

I slip my hands over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off him and onto the floor. He lifts his face from my breasts and covers my mouth with his. His hands move to grab my ass and, because my legs are still hooked behind his back, he easily lifts me off the counter and starts walking us back to his bed. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck so our torsos are pressed into each other and I can feel all his delicious skin. I can’t get enough contact. I want to touch him every second, everywhere. So I tell him.

“I want to touch you too,” he confesses. “Everywhere.”

The idea of him everywhere…oh God. I swear I’m on the edge of an orgasm just thinking about it. As soon as we enter the bedroom nook, he reaches out with one hand, still holding me up with the other, and hits a panel on the wall. All the lights in the apartment turn off but his nightlights kick in. Between those and the lights twinkling in from the cityscape beyond the curtain less windows it’s still easy to see everything. I’m grateful because I don’t want to miss anything.

He climbs onto his bed and lays me down in the middle of it. He slowly, forcefully grinds his cock between my legs as he comes down on top of me. It’s powerful and instinctive. I have never felt so visceral about a sexual connection before. I’ve had good sex, loving sex, hot sex, but this…this is a whole new level.

He’s kissing his way down my body and by the time he reaches my belly button, his fingers have managed to do undo my jeans and are pulling them down—along with my underwear.

His mouth follows his hands, nipping my hip, kissing the inside of my thigh, the side of my knee. He tugs everything fully off, removes my socks and drops them at the foot of the bed. And then, kneeling between my ankles, he starts to undo his own jeans. He’s not wearing underwear and his cock is on full display before his pants make it halfway down his thighs. It’s long and thick, and suddenly all his swagger is justified. The man is well endowed, to say the least. He stands up at the foot of the bed to kick off his jeans and his left hand wraps around his cock. I’m sure his eyes are roaming my naked body but I don’t look up to find out. I’m glued to the way he grips himself, slowly stroking, almost absently.

Before he realizes what I’m doing—hell, before I fully comprehend what I’m doing—I’m on my knees in front of him, my hand curled around his and my lips at the tip of his cock. I lick away the droplet of desire there, then slide down his length. I feel his whole body tighten instantly and his legs quake.

“Brie…baby.”

I slip my mouth back and forth a few times, swirling my tongue around him as I go, but that’s all I get—a few quick moments—and then he’s stepping away from me.

“Was it not…?”

“It was too good,” he tells me. “I won’t let this end before it begins, ma belle. I can’t.”

He turns away from me, toward the dresser and that’s when I see the tattoo for the first time. It starts at the base of his spine and climbs all the way up stopping just below his neck. A tree. It’s got gnarled roots, curled, crooked branches and it’s barren—leafless—except for the very tip of the top branch on the left, just over his shoulder blade. There’s one, small leaf dangling off the end of the branch.

It’s beautiful, in its design and detail but it’s also sad. Haunted. He turns from the dresser leaving the drawer open and holds up the condom, tearing it with his teeth as he walks toward me. And then we’re kneeling, inches from each other, face-to-face on the bed. As he slips his hands between us, he leans forward and kisses me. It’s hard and yet needy. He must have the condom on because now his one hand is on my hip and his other is between my legs. A finger slides slowly across my opening.

“So warm and soft,” he whispers against my lips. He pushes two fingers inside me curling them toward himself and I instantly gasp. “You’re going to feel incredible.”

“You already do,” I pant as he pulls his fingers out a little and pushes back in curling them again at the right moment, the right way, so I see stars.

“Lay back,” he demands pushing into me so gravity helps me obey his command. I’m flat on my back now and he’s still kneeling between my legs, his fingers still working magic. When he pulls them out I whimper. I watch wide eyed as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes me. He closes his eyes and makes a sound of pure satisfaction that sends heat crawling up my face. No man has done that with me before and it’s so fucking erotic it makes me hotter.

He lies on top of me, one hand beside my head the other somewhere lower. Then I feel him slipping over my opening. I open my legs farther and reach up and grip his shoulders.

He’s inside me in one long slow push. I feel deliciously full, like every nerve ending is suddenly short-circuiting. I twist my hips and arch my back, my hands stretching out above me. He drops his full weight onto me and immediately begins moving his hips. His pace is unexpected—slow, rough and deep. He grabs one of my legs under the knee and pulls it up, twisting his hips a different way and that spot he was hitting with his fingers he’s now hitting with his cock, and I moan out his name.

He likes that and lets out a growl before he bites my shoulder. Every thrust his cock is creating shoots stars of heat through my entire body and then finally, I’m falling too, just like a star, cascading into orgasmic oblivion. I am not a loud partner. I’ve honestly never let out more than a coo. But tonight—here with this man—I am moaning and panting and begging him for more even though I can no longer feel my body.

He pulls himself up on his knees, yanking my ass into his lap and holding me still by my hips as he pushes harder, faster, deeper and then a groan rumbles out of him as he comes. His fingers grip my hips so tight I’ll probably have marks, and I like that idea. That his fingers will leave their imprint on my body the way his soul seems to be leaving an imprint on my heart.