TWENTY-THREE
Harper threw a Memorial Day cookout every year, but it was usually held postseason and poorly attended by the players. Iz said that they were invariably sick to death of each other and their failure of a season.
But this year was different. The boys were Western Conference champions! Two nights ago, the Rebels had won game seven in LA. All the players and the WAGs were here, enjoying that moment when they were winners before the next stage when they might lose it all. The day after tomorrow, they would fly to Boston for the first game of the Stanley Cup finals.
Violet might not be a fan, but even she knew it was a huge deal. Throughout the early rounds, the Rebels were the underdogs, which was exactly how they liked it. From this point forward, there was no slipping under the radar. They’d proved they deserved to be here. Boston would be ready.
Under the big Congrats, Western Conference Champions sign strung between two oak trees (Cade and Erik had nearly broken their necks hanging it up), the party partied on. Large metal tongs in hand, Remy hovered over the Weber grill as big as a Cadillac, wearing an apron that said: Your Opinion Is Not Part of the Recipe. Love was in the air, happiness was all around. Even Gretzky tried to get in on the action, wooing Gordie Howe, the yappy little pom belonging to Mia, Vadim’s sister. It felt like the official start of summer, like only good days lay ahead.
Near the large picnic table set up for the salads and burger fixings, Harper cast her gaze about frantically. Violet waved a hand in front of her. “What do you need, Fearless Leader?”
Big sis rolled her eyes, pretending she didn’t like the moniker, but they all knew better. Harper was born to run this former shitshow of a team. The same might be said for the family.
“I need a spoon for this potato salad.”
“On it.”
Charged with her task, Violet walked into the kitchen at Chase Manor to find a very pretty sight: Cade and Dante in a lip-lock. They still hadn’t seen her, and the big serving spoon was right there on the kitchen island . . . She reached for it, but a noise behind her put her on notice.
Franky stood there with her head cocked curiously, as if the boys were a couple of slugs in her care.
“Are they allowed to do that?” she asked Violet loudly.
“Sh—shoot!” Cade pulled away from Dante. “Didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“Clearly not,” Violet said cheerfully, then to Franky, “They’re allowed. Boys can kiss other boys.”
Franky folded her arms. “I know that. I mean because Dante is everybody’s boss.”
Oh, good question. “Cade, care to explain the murky politics of workplace relationships to Franky here?”
“Well, Francesca”—he always called her that and it always made her smile—“sometimes bosses need to be kissed. Right, Vi?” He winked at her. She scratched her nose, giving him the middle finger. After seeing that Facebook video, he’d finally forced from her the truth of her ongoing fling with Bren. Needless to say, he was enjoying this information immensely.
“So, honey, you need something?” Violet asked Franky.
“I just came in to get my backpack.” She headed off to another room in the house.
Cade shook his head. “It’s a different world.”
Dante had remained silent this entire time, but now he leaned in and kissed Cade’s lips lightly. “Later.” Passing her by, he said, “Vasquez.”
“Moretti,” she said with mock gravity to equal his. “Here, do me a favor and take this spoon out to Harper.”
They both watched him leave and join Harper outside. “So, sneaking away for stolen kisses, Alamo?”
Cade smiled. “Dante’s an ass grabber, so we figure we should keep that for special.”
She didn’t smile back.
“Vi, I’ve already told you how we’re handling this. Most everyone on the team knows or suspects, so it’s not really a secret. We just don’t want to shove it in everyone’s faces.”
She still didn’t like it. It felt disrespectful. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to have him claim you in front of everyone.”
“He did. The day I went public, he kissed me in the Rebels’ front office!”
“And then everyone was sworn to secrecy until he’s ready to talk about it.”
Cade crossed his arms. “What’s this about? Yeah, I know you care and I know you’re nosy—a pretty lethal combo—but I also know that you’re not the kind of person to dictate how other people conduct their sex lives.”
She squirmed, aware that she was projecting her own past hurt on Cade’s situation. “I just don’t like secrets, especially ones that have the capacity to make people feel disrespected or unloved or small. You’ve come so far these past few months and I don’t want to see your wings clipped at this stage.”
Cade pulled her into his arms. “Thank you.”
“But you’ve got this?”
“I do. All the same, thank you.”
Still holding each other, they went back to looking out the window. Bren stood off to the side, a Coke in his hand, nodding at something Vadim was explaining with dramatic hand gestures. He still managed to keep one eye on Franky, who was on slug watch in Chase Manor’s flower beds.
“Made any travel plans yet?”
“What?”
“That’s what you said you wanted to do,” Cade continued. “As soon as the season was over, you were heading out, around the world, and no hot Scot was going to get in your way.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Stop fishing.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “Wouldn’t dream of it! I mean, it’s not like you ever stick your nose into my business. Just curious about your plans.”
“You think they involve a hot Scot?”
“I think he hasn’t taken his eyes off you in the past nine months and he’s not going to let you go easily.”
Did Bren want her in that way, a more permanent part of his life? She assessed the scene in the yard, all these people loving and laughing and living. Maybe she could do this. Accept the love that people wanted to give her.
She sought safer territory. “Is Dante pissed because Remy’s doing all the cooking?”
“Yep. But he brought a vat of pasta salad to save face.”
“Hey, why you hiding in here?”
Violet jumped at the sound of Bren’s voice as he stepped into the kitchen, promptly spilling half a glass of white wine down the front of her Bitch Please T-shirt. “Shit!”
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to startle you.” He took in the situation. “Are you hiding in here to have a drink?”
“Of course not—no—” She threw up her hands. “Okay, yes! I’m secretly imbibing because I’m aiming for solidarity and failing miserably.”
This woman. “Vi, I’ve told you that you don’t have to do that. I would never have you change the habits of a lifetime—”
“Hey!”
He grinned. “You don’t have to sneak off to have an adult beverage because your boyfriend is an alcoholic. I’ve tasted alcohol on your beautiful lips before and it didn’t turn me into a raging hulk. Were you planning on not kissing me tonight?”
“No,” she grumbled. “I thought I’d gargle so you never knew.”
“I remember that trick. There was a time I was as expert in brands of mouthwash as I was in whiskey.” He wrapped his arms around her.
“You used the B-word,” she said.
“Beverage?”
“Boyfriend.”
He had. “Just popped out of my mouth, all natural like. How did it sound?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He remained silent, leaving her to think on it. Violet’s mind tended to run a mile a minute and she often needed time to hash things out.
“Let’s not rush anything,” she finally said. “Take it slow.”
He wrapped his hand around hers and dragged her through the kitchen and down a hallway until they reached a door that led to the laundry room.
“Bren, we can’t—”
“But we can.” He closed the door and pinned her against it, his hardness finding the perfect welcome against all her softness. His hand slid up the back of her thighs, one finger brushing over the thin scrap of material between her legs. “This slow enough?”
She dropped her forehead to his shoulder and closed her eyes, trusting that he would alert her if someone crashed the party. “Slow . . . enough?”
“You said we should take it slow.”
Her ass in his hands was a miracle. Her mouth against his was divine. He should question this hot burn of lust, how it inevitably led a man to damnation, but the heaven of her kiss was crowding out all other considerations.
Her hand cupped his cock, the heel of it rubbing hard against his growing erection. He liked to think he had more stamina now that he’d been getting some semiregularly—but with Violet, everything was so urgent. So needy.
He wasn’t sure if it was lust driving them or something else that smacked of quiet desperation, a realization that their time was counting down to a conclusion. One he would not like. He might be a champion at the end, but it would mean nothing without her in his life.
She fisted his T-shirt. “Bren, I need—”
“I got what you need, mo chroi.” My heart. That’s what she was and that’s what she owned. He could bargain with her. Stay. Be mine. I’ll worship you with everything I have. My mouth, my body, my soul.
It was either the worst or the best time to initiate this.
He decided it was the worst. Maybe his dick was running the show. More likely, his heart was afraid of what it would hear. That she might not want him.
“Turn around, baby. Show me that ass.”
He whipped her away from him and dragged her hips forward. She placed her hands on the wall while he took a moment to appreciate her form. That high, well-rounded ass, the cleft between that he wanted to drive into deep and true. A slide of his fingers under her skirt put him back in familiar country.
She moaned, a little loudly. He placed his palm across her mouth and leaned in over her shoulder. “Maybe this is a bad idea. ’Cause you like to scream and I like to hear it.”
“I ca—” Something muffled.
He released his hand. “What?”
“I can be quiet,” she rasped.
“If you can’t, someone might hear.” He continued to stroke through that soft, receptive flesh between her thighs, drawing new moisture that made the slide so slick and hot.
She grabbed his hand and placed it over her mouth. “Do it. Please.”
This was crazy and dangerous, but Violet made him like this. Reckless and wild. He’d thought it was the worst of himself coming to the fore, the slippery slope to Bad Bren, but he realized now that it was the best. Violet made him want to be a better man, one who was good enough to hold her.
He would fight to keep her. Burying his body inside her would be a good start.
He unzipped and released his cock, already primed and seeking her wet heat. She was swiveling her hips, teasing him, begging him to take her. Securing the condom took a few seconds longer than he would have liked, but then it was done and he was sliding into her tight, hot channel.
Jesus. She gripped and pulsed the moment he entered and screamed against his hand. She was already coming, milking him to bring him up to speed. But he could last a little longer and coax another orgasm from her.
He moved his lips to her ear. “Couldn’t wait, huh? That greedy pussy of yours is already taking its due before I’ve had a chance to make it better for you?”
Slamming hard into her, he sucked at her neck. “Going to fuck you harder now and you’re going to take everything I’ve got to give you. You’re going to beg me for more and then you’re going to make me beg.”
“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh.” And then nothing but their ragged breaths, their booming heartbeats. Nothing but them.
“Love it when you go all quiet. That’s when I know you’re close. You’re right there on the edge.”
She was panting now, and then her legs were buckling, and she bit down on his hand as she fell apart in his arms.
“Dios mío!” The words were raspy, barely grated out, as he thrust into her over and over. With every pump, his heart responded with this, this, this. On the descent, he felt like nothing would ever be the same again.
He hugged her tight to his body, cradling her close while he sought the right words to win her. “Violet, I’m not a big talker. I don’t have one iota of charm and I rarely know what to say when I need to say it. What I said before about being your boyfriend, it might have sounded like a slipup, but it’s what’s on my mind. In—in my heart. I know you have things you want to do, places you want to visit, a big inheritance you want to blow.
“But when you’re ready, I’ll be here. Waiting with my girls for the one person who made us whole again. Who gives me hope and makes me smile.”
Rather than wait for her to second-guess him or say something he couldn’t bear to hear, he zipped up, covered her exposed rear, and left her to think about what he’d just said.