Chapter 5
My first Christmas overseas and I’m gazing at the Northern lights in Iceland. You may not think Iceland in the winter is a great idea, but due to weather patterns, it’s about as cold as New England is this time of year. And it’s peaceful. Bundle up and meet me at the Arctic Circle. Think Santa will find us?
~ Adventurous Amanda, December 2011
She was getting pretty freaking tired of this line of questioning. Why was his playing such a damn secret if other guys in the league were known to play the guitar? It’s not like his hobby was outside the norm, but she’d keep his secret.
“I don’t have an angle for the article, and for the last time, I’m not going to out you,” she said, her teasing gone, and exasperation clear in her tone. “I’m just hoping to help tourists find new things to do. Make them feel like locals instead of tourists with boring guidebooks in their hands and cameras slung around their necks.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t be too careful.”
“Man, someone did a number on you.” At least, that’s how his insane need for privacy came across.
He straightened his shoulders. “That has nothing to do with it.”
She’d hit a nerve, and she wanted to pry, but held back.
“For some reason I doubt it, but I cannot do more than promise you that I won’t betray your confidence,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Can we talk about something else? I’m surprised you don’t let the world know about your musical talents. I bet the bunnies would be all over it.”
“So much for you not teasing me again,” he said.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist. But before you say anything else, I’m going to say this for the last time. I’m not going to tell anyone. Got it?” She didn’t bother hiding her frustration. He was going to make her insane, and the poor horse was truly dead at this point.
“I know, I know. I don’t mean to come across as egotistical, but it’s just something I like to do for me.”
“I get it. I’m not going to blast your musical ability on social media. Promise,” she said, holding out her hand. His gaze darted between her outstretched palm and her face a few times before he reached out and grasped her hand in his. She would not focus on the warmth that shot through her. No, she wouldn’t.
His palm engulfed hers, his thumb running along the back of her hand, shooting bolts of awareness that had no business firing through her body. Stupid bolts.
She needed to get control of herself, but his whispered thank you did her in, and a sigh floated between them. A sigh that had come out of her mouth as her concentration fled.
She shook her head, and reluctantly pulled her hand back. She missed the warmth immediately, and resisted the urge to link her fingers with his again.
A blush tinted his cheeks, and she didn’t miss the hitch in his breath. She held back her grin. It was nice to know that he wasn’t unaffected by her—aside from the anger she stirred in him. She could work with that. Dammit. She shouldn’t want to work with that, but she did. There was something, she didn’t know what, but she wanted to tease him. To chase him. She wanted him. That was clear. And his kiss told her he wanted her, too. She usually didn’t have this much trouble reading a guy.
And the chase was always the fun part. It was the settling down that messed everything up. You couldn’t get your heart broken if you bailed before it started beating.
Whoa. Where the hell had that come from? There were no hearts involved.
“How long have you been playing?” Time to get this train back on the tracks and not think about his plush lower lip. She was definitely going to nibble on that in the near future.
She bit the inside of her cheek to resist the urge to inform him of her intentions. She’d just scare him off. For such a beast on the ice, he was like a scared kitten off it. His gaze darted around the bar before he looked back at her.
“What’s the next article about?” he asked, and she grinned. Most public figures enjoyed talking about themselves.
“Fine. We’ll play it your way. It’s a review of a few adults-only spots,” she started.
“Like sex clubs?” he blurted out, and she barked out a laugh. Holy crap, his cheeks were bright red now.
“Umm, not like sex clubs. Not sure what kind of magazine you think I write for.” She eyed him, her curiosity continuing to ramp up and it was his fault. Now she was thinking about sex clubs and why that was the first thing he thought of. Like when people blurted out their first response on a Family Feud question. You could learn a lot about a person that way.
“Okay, not sex clubs. I’m not even sure where that came from,” he muttered.
“No. No. Let’s go back to this. First responses are usually for a reason. Explain please,” she said, her grin so deep, her cheeks were starting to hurt.
“Could you stop? So, adult only spots, then.” He shifted in his seat and she resisted the urge to rub her hands together.
“I still want to know why that was your first guess.” She tilted her head, waiting for his response. She saw a small tick in his jaw. Her grin widened.
“Do you get off by baiting me?” he asked, and she snorted a laugh.
“We’re talking about sex clubs and you want to talk about getting off?” She was enjoying his pain a little too much, but he’d started it.
He groaned. But not a sexy groan. More of an exasperated one, and her shoulders shook.
“Please stop. I didn’t mean it that way.” He broke her gaze and looked around the bar, probably searching for the quickest exit. She trailed her fingers along his knuckles and a slight tremor rocked under her touch. Yep, she was definitely getting under his skin. She should probably cut him a break. Probably.
He cleared his throat and knocked back the rest of his drink. A drink she was pretty sure was just ginger ale, but she’d bet her next paycheck that he was wishing it was vodka instead.
“Put me out of my misery and just tell me what you’re writing about?”
“But your misery is such an entertaining place to be, Cheese.” She drew out his nickname, and he bristled.
“I should probably go.” His chair legs scraped along the floor and he gripped the edge of the table.
She laughed. “Okay. Okay. I promise to behave.”
“Why do I doubt that you’ve ever said that before, let alone meant it.”
“You are so not helping your cause right now,” she fired back.
“Seriously, Amanda,” he groaned.
Groaning her name wasn’t helping, either. What would he really sound like? She focused on the task at hand, putting him out of his misery.
“Fine. It’s about activities you did as a kid, but now they include booze. There’s a bar where you can enjoy over one hundred craft beers and play arcade games like skeeball and foosball. I found another bar that has a 9-hole mini golf set up and each hole is a replica of local landmarks. I’m finalizing two other spots. They are great for first dates, too.”
“Sounds interesting. I’ve never played skeeball.”
“Seriously? How is that possible?”
“I didn’t spend a lot of time in arcades growing up. Too busy with hockey practices. Most of my spare time was on the ice in between practice.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t missed out on just being a kid, just going to arcades and playing with his friends. From her minimal hockey research, i.e. talking to Penny, Amanda knew that it took a shit ton of practices and ice time for guys to make it to the professional level. Their lives were hockey, even in the off-season. Her heart ached for his missing childhood. As disruptive as hers had been, she’d still enjoyed everything a kid should.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love it. Ever since my dad put me in my first pair of skates when I was three. And I get to live out my dream, playing the sport I love, so it’s okay that I missed out on skeeball.”
Dammit. That dimple peeked out again, his cheeks still slightly flushed. Even his hair was adorably ruffled. Her hands did not itch to sink into the most likely soft strands. Nope, no they did not.
Stupid hands. She gripped her glass, taking a healthy swallow.
Why couldn’t he be missing a few teeth? What kind of hockey player had all his teeth?
“You should come with me Thursday night. I’m a skeeball expert,” she said, bringing the mundane conversation back so she could stop thinking about all of the things she wanted to do to him. The list was extensive.
“I have a game,” he said.
She ignored the thrill that rolled through her when he didn’t immediately say no. That was progress, right?
For the first time, Ben wished he didn’t have a game. And that was ridiculous.
She grinned at him, still playing with the straw in her glass. “Good luck at the game, then. But, if you’re up for mini golf, I’ll be at City Putt on Saturday. You’re welcome to join.”
He didn’t have a game on Saturday, but he didn’t jump to agree. He was still wary.
“So, does it bore you to write these articles? They’re quite different from your typical travel pieces,” he said, and she smiled at him, her eyes now resembled a stormy, almost silver-blue under the dim lights in the bar.
“Did you read my blog posts, too?” she asked slowly, her cheeks pink. He enjoyed bringing that flush to her cheeks. He had a feeling she didn’t get embarrassed all that often.
“Maybe. Tell me about your favorite place to visit?” he asked. This was a subject he could handle—since it had nothing to do with him.
“Not sure I could narrow it down. I did travel for four years. Left right after college graduation. No cubicles for me.” Her laugh came out as a scoff.
“Life doesn’t always follow the lines we want it to.”
“No kidding. Favorite spot.” She paused, tapping her finger on her lip. That plump lower lip.
Rein it in. Rein it in.
“Kayaking around New Zealand was stunning. But my favorite place was this park in Austria. It’s up in the mountains and you can hike the trails during the winter, but in the summer, the ice melts and the park is submerged completely. Park benches and trees under water. I went a few years ago when you could still go diving in the lake. They closed it off to divers last year, so I’m glad I got to see it before they did. You can still trek through the park in the fall and winter when the water recedes.”
“That sounds amazing. I think I saw a video about that place online.”
“Yes. It’s been popping up. A few photographers took stunning underwater pictures. I’d go back in the winter just to walk around again.”
“Too bad that’s hockey season.” He had no clue why he’d said that. It’s not like she’d invite him.
“That is true,” she said softly, taking another sip of her drink. “We can talk about my travels anytime, but I want to hear more about your playing. You say hockey is your life, but here you are, in a bar, playing with a band.”
“I’d much rather hear about your top spots to visit,” he said, annoyed that she’d turned it back on him.
“Nope. So, your dad got you a guitar when you were a kid. And no professional lessons?”
He shrugged. “Not really. He showed me a few things, and I guess I just picked it up easily. I can usually hear a song and start playing it.”
“Really? That’s super hot, you know.”
His cheeks heated again. Jesus, he had to get control of himself around her. “Umm. It’s just something I’ve enjoyed doing. I bet your grandfather played a lot for you?” He needed to get the focus off of him. To get her to stop looking at him with desire in her eyes. Desire that probably matched his no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Even remembering the way he blundered around her didn’t dim his need. And that was a problem.
Her light laugh punched him in the gut.
“Stop spinning this back on me, but yes, he did. He’d play and my grandmother would sing. I remember her singing in the kitchen while he strummed along in the living room.” Her melancholy tone wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Sorry to keep bringing up sad memories.”
“Those aren’t the sad ones. He’s the reason I finally came home eighteen months ago. My mom and I lived with my grandparents on and off when I was growing up, and when he got sick,” she trailed off, shaking her head, and he didn’t hesitate in reaching out, his thumb brushing over her hand in comfort. “I should’ve come back sooner.”
“My dad used to play for my mom. When I was thirteen she was killed in a car accident. He’s never been the same. Except when I’m on the ice. I get a glimmer of the old him every time he comes to a game.” Why the hell had he told her that?
She turned her palm up and linked her fingers with his. “I’m so sorry Ben,” she whispered, her pained smile echoing his.
He cleared his throat. “Well, that got a lot heavier than I’d intended.” His laugh sounded brittle in his ears.
Her smile was soft. “No kidding. Let’s go back to talking about your guitar playing.”
“I want to hear some stories about your grandparents. I caught you and Oscar laughing at the bar while I was playing earlier,” he said at the same time.
“Watching me, were you?” Her grin was back, and the weight in his chest lifted.
“I always scan the crowd when I’m playing,” he said, trying to shrug it off, but her smirk said she wasn’t fooled. “Fine, I spotted you. This place is a dive. I never expected anyone I know to walk in.”
“I’m sorry about your mom,” she said, her hand still resting in his.
“Thanks. And your grandparents. I bet they were a sight on stage together. What did Oscar tell you?”
“A handful of stories. My grandparents actually met here. He tried to buy her a drink and she rebuffed him, saying she could buy her own, thank you very much. She was pretty feisty.”
“A trait you obviously inherited.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” he replied.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Definitely not,” he stated, biting back a smirk of his own. She brought this out in him. A side he wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. And damn, if he didn’t want to explore it, regardless of how disastrous it would probably be.
***
Before he knew it, another hour had passed. They’d shared stories back and forth. Mostly about music and what she remembered her grandfather playing, and the bands that they both enjoyed. He was surprised at her love of old blues initially, but she’d clearly cared deeply for her grandfather. One would’ve thought the man had hung the moon for Amanda. Her gushing was adorably sweet, a characteristic he’d never associated with the spitfire in front of him.
Their chairs had inched closer to each other, and he was next to her instead of across the small table. The conversation had flowed easily. When she wasn’t trying to bait him, they actually got along quite well. Oh, who was he kidding? He liked it when she baited him. Her teasing made him forget about any ulterior motives she might have, and he strongly suspected she didn’t have any.
Of course, that line of reasoning had almost destroyed him the last time. Trusting women, especially women in the media, wasn’t his strong suit.
“Holy crap, it’s late. I should probably go,” she said, pulling him from the depressing direction of his thoughts.
Oscar had just flashed the lights to announce last call, it was edging close to two in the morning.
“Do you need a ride? I’ve been nursing ginger ale for most of the night.”
“No. I’m good. I switched to water over an hour ago, so I’m fine to drive,” she said.
“Are you sure? I can drop you off at home and we can get your car in the morning.”
“We? Quite presumptuous of you, isn’t it? Inviting yourself over,” she said, her grin clear, and he choked out a laugh.
“That’s, umm, not what I meant. I could drop you off and then take you to get your car tomorrow, after I went home and slept by myself and then came back to your house in the morning.”
She knocked her shoulder into his. “I’m kidding, Ben.”
He loved when she called him Ben. He shouldn’t. But he did. He also shouldn’t be intrigued by the sides of her he’d never seen before tonight. He shouldn’t…hell, he shouldn’t do a lot of things and right now he couldn’t give two shits about what his brain was telling him. If she’d invited him home tonight, he would’ve gone willingly and with a hop in his step.
“I’m fine to drive, but thanks for asking,” she said, scooting back from the table.
His hand immediately went to the small of her back when he stood, and he didn’t miss the small shudder that rolled under his touch.
They said a quick good night to Oscar, and Ben shook his head at the knowing smile on the old man’s face. Ben would definitely get an earful from Oscar the next time he was in the bar.
“This is me,” she said, pointing to a car a few spaces over.
He nodded, continuing to follow her as she grasped her keys and buzzed the door.
“So, umm, thanks for keeping me company tonight.” The hesitation in her voice caught him off guard, and his eyes locked with hers, the dark sky masking the pale blue he knew was there.
“I had fun, and luckily Carl didn’t give me too much grief for not getting back up on stage.”
“You should’ve gone. I wanted to watch you play some more.”
“Maybe another time. Now that you know where to find me,” he said.
She huffed. “Yes, I get it, and I won’t mention it to anyone.”
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her soft gasp washing over him as he leaned closer. His head told him to stop. To pull back and walk away, but he told his head to shut the hell up, as he lowered his face to hers.
“I wasn’t even going to bring that up,” he whispered before brushing a kiss across her cheek. He’d ached to press his lips to hers, but had stopped himself at the last minute. It was better this way. As enjoyable as the night had been, he still had his reservations and he wasn’t ready to let them go just yet.
“What was that for?” she asked when he stepped back, his hand still at her waist, as if he wanted to hold her for just another moment.
“I should go,” he said, moving away from her.
She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I think you missed,” she said before she pulled him down and planted her lips on his.
Desire quickly overrode his shock, and he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her tight. She sunk into his embrace, her soft petite curves molded to his hard body. She fit against him perfectly and he couldn’t fight his groan as she deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing along the seam of his lips.
After an endless moment, he broke away. “Amanda, we really shouldn’t.”
“You started it,” she said, her voice breathless, her chest rising and falling in a fast rhythm that matched his.
Feisty to the end.
“I should go,” he repeated, pulling back, but he squeezed her hand one last time.
“Don’t trip on your way to the car,” she said, her shaky smile turning into a grin, like she had him and he just hadn’t come to terms with that yet.
Hell. She probably did.
“Goodnight Amanda,” he said, nodding at her car door, willing her to get inside and shut it between them before he gave in and took her home with him and pressed her against any available surface in his condo.
He was doing an inventory of surfaces when she finally slipped into her car.
“Goodnight Ben,” she called back. “And if you’re up for mini golf, maybe I’ll see you next weekend.”
His response was unintelligible as he nodded at her and headed toward his own vehicle.
She was going to be the death of him. But when she was wrapped up in his arms, he wasn’t sure he could find the will to care.