TWENTY-ONE
Harper jumped from her seat. “What? But . . . it can’t be! I mean, I know you’re not getting any younger, but surely you have at least two more years. Three, even.”
“I’m no Jágr.” The great Czech was still going strong after a thirty-year pro career, but to be honest, Remy couldn’t imagine sticking around that long. Not when some lucky lady was waiting for him to rock her world. He palmed Harper’s hip and pulled her into his lap, settling her with a soothing stroke along her thigh. “My body doesn’t have much left in the tank, minou. I’m skatin’ on fumes.”
Her eyes shone glossy. “And I almost screwed up your chance.”
“Baby, you made a business decision. You did what you had to for the team, and yeah, I was pissed at first, but I get it. No sentiment, oui?” He kissed her unsentimentally, loving that lusty moan she gave as she kissed him back.
“So.” She curled a finger in his hair. “Win the Cup. Find a wife. Knock her up.”
“That’s about the right of it.” A sudden image of Harper cradled in his body while he stroked her pregnant belly reared up so strong his heart clamped. Where the hell was this coming from? Harper as a momma? Harper as the mother of his child?
Cool yo jets, fool. He so happened to be cuddling a hot woman he wanted to impale with his dick 24/7 and they were talking cookie-bakin’ and baby-makin’. Bound to get his wires crossed.
“Back to your opposition to the holy state of matrimony, Harper. What I’m saying is that it’s easy to get spooked. Let past performance be indicative of future results.”
“Who says I’m spooked? Maybe I just don’t want to have to mollycoddle a husband because he’ll object to where my true love really lies.” At his querying frown she explained, “The team, DuPre. Most guys don’t like playing second fiddle to a woman’s career. I’ve dated guys who went into epic hissy fits because I texted them I’d be late for dinner.”
“How late?”
Averting her gaze, she muttered in the cutest way imaginable, “A couple of days. The point is I’m not going to become soft, maternal, wifey material overnight. Or ever. I have an empire to run. A team to rebuild. A legacy to establish.”
“And don’t stand in your way?”
She blasted him with a smile that felled him before tacking on the sweetest “Get the fuck out of my way.”
He loved her honesty, how it made her sound both vulnerable and strong. But Remy’s thirty-five years on this earth had taught him that people were not built to travel through life solo. Harper had to crave something more than making a losing franchise a roaring success. Once she’d done it, then what?
His phone rang in FaceTime mode with a call from his momma. He’d checked in with his dad this morning but Marie had been unavailable. He raised his eyes to Harper, a question on the tip of his tongue, but she was already scampering away into the bedroom.
I guess that answers that.
He accepted the call. “Where y’at, mon cher?” Marie asked.
“Good, Momma. Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“That’s okay. We’re just worried about you being all alone and starving in the frigid north.”
Pretty warm where he was at. “I managed to scrounge up something. Is everyone there?”
“The house is full and starving. Your father’s in the kitchen treating the turkey to some sort of wake to acknowledge all the pleasure it’s going to bring us.”
Remy chuckled. That sounded like Poppa. His heart panged, missing them, but not as much as he expected. Amazing what wonders having a sexy woman around the house will do for your frame of mind.
“Of course, if you’d just find a nice girl, I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.” Someone groaned in the background, either Martine or Josette.
“Ask him if he’s banged his boss yet.” Definitely Josie.
“Josette!” As his momma admonished his sister, he could feel his body warming and his cheeks flushing.
“How is Harper?” Which was mom code for “Have you banged your boss yet?”
“Bon, I guess.”
“Do you think—” his momma started, then was distracted by someone off camera. Two dark heads popped up, and Mignon and Colette screamed, “Hi, Uncle Remy!”
“Hi, mes chéries. You hungry?”
“Starving!”
His momma repositioned the phone so his nieces were out of the shot. “I know you plan to retire soon. This year, as long as you bring home the Cup, but I think you need to get crackin’ on the woo with a girl who’s ready to marry quick and start a family.”
Josette stuck her head over Marie’s shoulder. “We’re gonna put you on a dating site, Remy. ‘Pro athlete seeks baby factory for immediate production.’ ”
Momma was not amused. “You’re not really putting yourself in the position to meet the kind of woman who’s ready for that, now, are you?”
All joking aside, he could hear the thread of concern in her tone. She worried he’d be too old and beat up for marriage by the time his career ended.
“Puck bunnies aren’t my usual diet, Momma, and that’s pretty much all I meet.”
“Okay. Just don’t go setting your sights on anyone . . . unsuitable.”
“Like your boss!” Josette again.
Remy sat up straight. Did Marie think he had Harper in mind to be Mrs. Remy DuPre? Is that what they all thought?
The ideas women latched on to. He should never have brought her home to dinner.
Yet only a minute ago, he was imagining her carrying his kid. He was closer than two bugs in a rug with his family, and now there was some weird interstate telepathy going on.
“Momma, you do not have to worry. But it’s Cup first, femme later. As soon as I have that trophy, the other’s gonna fall right into place.”
Who would turn down a champion? He’d have his pick of the pack, not that it guaranteed a connection or even the sizzling chemistry he had with Harper.
Unsuitable Harper.
Eager to change the subject and bat away crazy thoughts of a future with his sexy boss, he said, “Hey, Momma, take me into the kitchen so I can see what this turkey wake looks like.”
Day two of the Thanksgiving Holiday Fuckfest, as Remy had termed it, and somehow they did not want to kill each other. This morning she’d awoken halfway to paradise as a gorgeous hunk lapped between her legs. Finally, an alarm clock she could get on board with! After an orgasm and a much-needed nap, she’d perked up again to the smell of bacon and coffee. Remy knew how to do snowbound right.
This shouldn’t feel so good. The sex—well, that should feel good. It was what every girl deserved (Woman’s Bill of Rights, testify). But the rest of it, the hanging out, how natural it was with him? That should have made her feel weird.
She was screwing around with a player on her team, a man whose whopping big checks she signed, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to feel wrong about it. Worse, she was resisting hard the notion it might feel a little too right.
Holed up in his apartment like survivalists (he had a fridge freezer and can-filled pantry worthy of someone expecting the End Times), she knew that this was an artificially created bubble of sex and comfort. Later this afternoon, she would return to her car, bribe someone in security to dig it out from the Everest-sized snowdrift covering it, and drive home to Lake Forest. For now, she’d pretend that this was real life. Where was the harm? It was just a fantasy.
Curled up on Remy’s sofa, Harper checked email on her phone and surreptitiously sniffed the Rebels’ jersey she’d borrowed from her host. That scent went straight to certain points south.
“Ready for lunch?”
Remy came out of the kitchen waving a spatula and wearing an apron with a blue ribbon and the slogan: Together We Can Help Fight Blue Balls.
“We just had breakfast.” Homemade cinnamon rolls and a Brie-bacon omelette. The skills were ridiculous.
“That was two hours ago. I was thinking steak tacos with cilantro-lime salsa.”
“Sounds passable.”
He grinned, knowing full well her lack of enthusiasm was a tease. The man was a wickedly amazing cook, along with all his other talents, one of which was on full display when he turned away. Nothing on under the apron!
“DuPre, hold up there a second.”
Standing still, he gave a coquettish twist of his head over his shoulder. “You see something you like, minou?” She loved how comfortable he was with his body, though if she looked like him she’d walk around naked all the time, too.
He clenched his butt muscles and she almost orgasmed. Words refused to form.
“No wow for this ass, baby?” He backed up, wiggling suggestively as he moved closer. “Come on, baby, you wanna take a bite out of this, don’t you?”
Oh, he was a cheeky one, pun most definitely intended. Forcing her goggle-eyed gaze away from the Globes of Perfection, she picked up the PS4 controller. “Think I’ll play a game while you cook.”
That got his attention. “You play the video games?”
“The video games?”
He sat, all thoughts of lunch clearly forgotten, though she was having a tough time forgetting that he was naked underneath that apron. “That’s what Jorgenson calls it. Usually when he’s getting his ass handed to him by Alamo. Now that kid can play.”
She’d heard rumors that the team spent occasional nights off over here. It did her heart good to know that Remy was taking them under his wing.
She turned on the console and asked casually, “Are you any good?”
He skewered her with a look. “Am I any good? There’s a reason Hockey All Stars based one of its characters on me.”
“You mean apart from the check they wrote you for the privilege of using your likeness and name?”
He whipped the controller from her, indignant. “Yes, apart from that. They based a player on me because they know I’m a fan and I’m damn good at the video games.” Less than a minute later, Hockey All Stars had loaded up. “You ever play this one, Harper?”
“An older version, though not in a few years. I’m sure I can get the hang of it.”
She let him show her how the controller worked while he explained the objectives of the game (uh, score more goals than the other side). She even asked a few stupid questions.
Then she proceeded to wipe the rink with him.
“Playin’ the ringer, huh? Pretty sneaky.” He regarded her with new appreciation. “I like it. I was letting some goals in there at the beginning because I didn’t want you to be humiliated, but now it’s on.”
“It’s on?”
His mouth creased into a dirty DuPre grin. “Like Donkey Kong. Let’s make it interesting.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about a game of strip PlayStation?”
“As you’re only wearing an apron, it’ll be over before I can say ‘she shoots, she scores.’ ”
“One piece of clothing versus”—he pulled at the neckline of the hockey shirt she’d been wearing like a Remy pelt since yesterday morning—“four. My shirt, your panties, and those sexy tube socks. That’s a considerable handicap, Harper. I’m already three points to the bad, which means you can lose three games and still be in with a chance of winning the war.”
Interesting. “What are we playing for?”
“If I win, you stay another night.”
“And if I win?”
“Anything you want.”
The possibilities. “Do I have to state it up front?”
He thought on that, likely seeking a trap. “You can call it in at any time.”
Did he realize what he was saying? The things she could ask of him.
Stay in Chicago. Stay with the Rebels. Stay with me.
He mistook her hesitation for something else. “I’ll even handicap myself further. You can sit on my lap, little girl.”
“Losing turns you on, DuPre?”
“You turn me on, minou. Only you.” He kissed her. Slow, sweet, a preview of coming attractions, or more likely part of his strategy to jumble her brain before they started, which was confirmed when he inched up the apron in a slow tease. Every beautiful muscle was on display, including the fast-growing one between his legs. Foxy fast, he pulled her into his lap with her back to his chest.
As her already slick center met the silky steel of his cock, he hissed. “No panties? And there was I thinking you had that extra piece of clothing to give you an edge.”
She sat back on his erection, loving how hot he already was for her. Then she peeled off her socks, one at a time, and dropped them to the floor. “I don’t need to be handicapped in games with you. Level playing field. One game. Winner takes all.”
They were already even in every possible way, and God, she loved that. How they matched each other, quip for quip, stroke for stroke, orgasm for brain-destroying orgasm.
“You think you can beat me in this position, DuPre?” He’d have to reach around to hold his controller, plus she could easily block his view if she wanted. She wriggled in his lap to let him know just how hard this position would get for him.
“Bring it, Chase.” He licked the inner shell of her ear, sending shivers through her.
A few minutes later, she realized that Remy had indeed been downplaying his skills in the first round. Practically handcuffed, blind, and under assault every moment she squirmed against him, he was still putting on an amazing show.
Time to up the stakes. She slid her damp crease along the rigid pressure beneath her. His thumb slipped on the controller—and she slipped a goal past his tender.
“That’s how it is, huh?” His voice was low. Dangerous.
“Got to use all my weapons and wiles.” She pushed back, angling to deliver further interference, but only got pleasure in return as his hardness found a perfect spot in her softness. They needed to be careful, because the temptation to let him slip a goal past her tender was near irresistible.
“Remy—”
“Got it, minou.”
At the sound of a music-to-her-ears crinkle of foil, she lifted off him to allow access. “Do I want to know where you were hiding that?”
“Seat cushions,” he rasped. “After yesterday, when we came close to fucking on the kitchen table only to have to move to the bedroom because of the condom situation, I’ve taken the necessary precautions. Here, shower, cookie jar in the kitchen . . .” And then he slipped inside her, his reach deep, his girth filling her to the point she almost orgasmed on the spot.
“Don’t forget the game, Harper.” He sucked on her earlobe, his breath a sweet pant. “See if you can beat me now.”
At what, exactly? She lifted her body an inch and pushed back down on his cock, the sensation so amazing that she did it again. And again.
Her fingers fumbled with the controller, but it was useless. Pleasure had entered the game and it was winning. “I—I can’t.” She threw the controller down on the sofa and threw herself wholeheartedly into being fucked by this god of ice and fire.
One brute hand gripped her hip, expertly controlling her penetration; the other cupped her breast under the Rebels shirt and rolled her nipple.
“Touch yourself, Harper. Show me how you like it.”
She lowered her hand over her clit, the sizzle a shock when she touched the swollen bud. In half a heartbeat, she was upended and pushed to her knees on the sofa with Remy still wedged deep inside her. His strength completely unspooled her.
Kneeling behind her, he pumped long, luscious strokes, each one designed to drive her to the edge and over into mindlessness. Sensation barreled through her, crystalline and hot, and she screamed as her vision blurred and pinpricks of light flashed white behind her eyes.
With the aftershocks of her orgasm still shuddering through her, she panted, “Who won?”
“Christ, femme, are you trying to kill me?”
Laughing, she reached over to the controller and hit the X button to shoot the goal past on-screen Remy into the opposing team’s net. “Guess I did.”
He withdrew and flipped her over, his body huge and dominant above her. Hastily, he tore off the apron, revealing his dark-flushed cock pulsing through the rubber.
“Apparently I’m not doing a good enough job if you still have enough brain cells to finish the game.”
She cupped his jaw and ran a thumb along his lower lip. She loved his lived-in face, how his zest for life showed in every crease and crinkle. She loved this world he’d invited her into.
“I’ll concede a draw,” she said, chuckling again. “One more night, Remy.”
“Love that laugh, minou.” In his eyes she saw joy burn bright. He really wanted her here, and that—just the notion of being truly wanted by someone—conjured a dangerous flutter in her chest. She knew her daddy issues made her particularly vulnerable to a man as caring as Remy, so she latched on to a life preserver in the stormy sea:
He would leave before she let him into her heart.
He nuzzled her nose, smuggling unmistakable tenderness into the gesture. “It’s not a draw, Harper. Not when we both win.” And then he took as his prize a victory kiss and orgasms for all.