“This thing is fucking killing me,” I muttered to myself, tugging at the claustrophobic bow tie that completed my tux as the limo rounded the corner to Shea’s apartment building.

I couldn’t wait to see her. We’d been on the road for four days for pre-season games, and every cell in my body craved the simple sight of her.

My phone buzzed, and I swiped it open as I took it from the inside pocket of my jacket, hungry for any contact with Shea even though I was only minutes away.

The text message glared up at me.

Natalie: Who is she?

A screenshot from a tabloid accompanied it. The picture was of me, arms full of slippery fish, laughing with Shea, our eyes locked. The affection between us was palpable.

The headline was bold: Who is the pretty little fish swimming with this Shark?

“Fuck,” I mumbled. I found the tabloid online as we pulled up to Shea’s building, quickly scanning through to make sure it didn’t mention her name. They also hadn’t published a picture of Elliott or alluded to her presence, but I was pissed all the same.

Natalie: I’m serious, Hud. Who the hell is she? Does she know you’re taken?

My thumb hovered over the respond button.

But what was the point? The shit that had gone down with Natalie had driven me from Ontario, but everything had worked out in a way I could only be thankful for.

And no, I’d never responded when she reached out, but I’d still left the path open. Why? What the fuck was I holding on to when everything I’d ever wanted was here?

“Mr. Porter, we’ve arrived,” the chauffeur said through the partition.

“Thank you,” I answered.

A sense of peace came over me as I hit the reply button.

Hudson: Be happy, Natalie. Find someone to love. Real love. I know I have.

I hit send, and opened the door to find Shea already coming through the glass door of her building.

“Holy fuck,” I said before I could stop myself.

Shea walked forward, her head held high, looking like she’d stepped off a runway. Her curves were wrapped in a black dress that showed off her killer figure while still being the classiest, strapless number I’d ever seen.

Her collarbone needed to be bitten. Desperately. Especially since her hair was up and twisted and curled, and left that smooth expanse of skin bare. I wanted to drench her in jewelry, but there was something even sexier about how simple her little gold studs were.

In truth, the woman didn’t need a single piece of glitter to make her shine.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She grinned, motioning to my tux.

“I was coming up to get you. You didn’t have to come down.” It wasn’t like I was going to honk at her from the curb.

She shrugged in that easy way of hers. “I was ready early, thanks to the small army you had sent over.”

Stylists, designers, hair and makeup...it had been easy to do once I’d called Connor to get Ivy on the job.

“You’re always beautiful. I just wanted to relieve some of your stress about coming with me.” She’d had a flat-out look of panic when I’d invited her to the black-tie gala.

“Well, thank you.”

I ushered her into the limo, noting the smile on the chauffeur's face as he shut the door between us.

Shea looked around the stretch limo and shook her head. “Feels like a waste.”

I just stared at her, taking in the details I’d missed these last few days. I’d never felt like that during a road trip before—this clawing, desperate need to get home—to get back to Shea.

“What?” she asked next to me, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress.

“You’re exquisite.”

Her lips parted.

“To the gala?” the driver asked through the partition.

“Yep. Just knock when we’re there,” I answered. “Thank you.” Then I used the button on the door to shut the screen, leaving me alone with Shea.

“Seriously, you didn’t have to get a limo,” she said quickly, her voice high with nerves.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

I leaned, gripped her hips and lifted her over me, sitting her on my lap. “Because I knew the second I saw you, I wasn’t going to keep my eyes on traffic.” My thumb stroked her lower lip, and she drew it in her mouth, gently scraping the flesh with her teeth.

“I missed you,” she whispered the admission like it cost her soul.

“I missed you, too,” I answered. “So damn much. It’s killing me not to kiss you right now.”

“Hours of preparation,” she reminded me with a teasing smile. “Hold very. Very still.” Then she leaned forward, engulfing me in her citrus and vanilla scent, making my head swim with her nearness, her warmth, her simple existence.

Then she brushed her mouth over mine lightly. Our breaths mingled, and the millimeter between our separated mouths hummed with electric tension.

“Shea,” I pled, nearly laughing at the fact that I was once again in a position of begging with this woman.

She answered with a light, barely-there kiss, a brief suction of my lower lip as her soft hands framed my face.

“Hudson,” she sighed, coming in for another, then another.

She purred when her hips nudged my instant erection. I should have been a science kit or something. Instant hard-on: just add Shea.

“God, woman.”

“Just kiss me,” she said. “I can redo the makeup.”

Temptation twisted my gut, every primal piece of me demanding to claim what she’d offered. But she’d never had her makeup done by professionals before. Never gone to a black-tie gala. I knew she wore that professional makeup like armor, and I wasn’t going to fuck with it while she felt she needed it. She’d never dated an NHL player and been thrust into his world of tabloids. Hell, she hadn’t dated except for the asshole who had miraculously given her Elliott.

Fuck. I needed to tell her.

“Mmmm, you taste like peppermint,” she whispered, sliding her tongue along the seam of my lips.

“Shit.” I shifted my grip and put her back in her own seat, then slid to the other side of the bench.

“What the hell?” She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“You stay there,” I pointed a finger at her and adjusted my pants, silently making a deal with my cock that I’d be inside Shea tonight if he’d do me a solid and just deflate while we walked the red carpet.

Otherwise, I’d be getting more than one call from Langley about my PR.

Shea’s lips parted in a shocked O, and she moved toward me.

“Not kidding, Shea, or we’re going to be late.” My eyes raked her body, where her creamy breasts rose above her neckline to meet in the most mouthwatering cleavage I’d ever seen. I wanted to fuck those tits. Ugh. Down, I reminded my dick.

“How late?” Her eyes took on that sheen of desire that made me shift in my seat.

“Very.”

She followed me, slipping over the middle seat of the limo. “What if I don’t mind being late?” Her lips caressed the shell of my ear.

“You’re going to find that dress around your fucking waist and my dick inside you if you keep it up,” I warned her.

“You don’t scare me,” she teased. “Besides, that sounds like heaven, not a threat.”

My head hit the leather headrest as I groaned. “Have some mercy on me.”

“Did I mention that Elliott is spending the night at a friend’s?”

My head snapped toward hers. “You’re staying with me in the suite tonight.”

The limo slowed, and a quick glance told me we’d entered the line for the red carpet.

“I didn’t pack a bag,” she answered.

“You won’t need any clothes,” I promised.

That tension was between us, crackling again.

The driver knocked at the partition, and I lowered it, not taking my eyes from Shea’s. God, I was falling for this woman. Everything about being around her was utterly addictive but in the best way. Like being hooked on something healthy.

Shea was like a decadent fudge brownie that actually burned calories.

“Sir, you’re two cars away.”

“Thank you,” I told the driver, reminding myself to tip him well.

“Okay, we’re going to get out at the red carpet. We’ll walk up the steps to the path that heads into the gala,” I told Shea.

Her skin paled. “Steps? Have you seen this dress? My general lack of athletic ability?”

“I can carry you,” I offered, completely honest.

“What? No. That’s...I’m not a damsel. I can walk.”

“Okay,” I answered, biting back a smile at her frustration.

“But maybe keep an arm around me or something in case.” Her nose crinkled.

“In case what?” I teased.

“In case I...become a damsel,” she ended with a huff, blowing out her breath through very kissable lips.

“I can do that.” Hell yes, I’d keep my arm around her all night. Because she was mine.

Mine. Fuck. I’d gone there.

But where was she? I’d opened myself up like a book to her, and she was still closed up like Fort Knox.

Great, now you’re a high school girl, wondering if you’d just been used for sex.

Not that I was against being used.

“One more car,” the driver called back.

“Thank you,” I answered again. “I’ll get out first,” I told Shea, whose fingers had turned white gripping her little hand-sized purse. “Then I’ll reach for your hand, and you can slide out. Remember to pivot your whole body, then put both feet on the ground. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I’d never let her fall. Not now, not ever.

“Oh, God. You can’t put your arm around me. Not in front of the press. There are going to be pictures!” Her eyes flew wide, panic sending her pupils to nearly consume those gorgeous gray irises.

“I guess now is a bad time to tell you that the Chronicle published a picture of us from Pike’s Market this morning?” I cringed, knowing this could go either way.

“They what?” she shrieked.

“They didn’t mention your name,” I promised. “And it’s not like we were kissing or anything, just looking at each other...but you can tell there’s something between us.”

She stared silently ahead of herself.

“There is something between us, right?” I prodded.

“You want to do this now?”

“No, I’d rather dance with you, then take you to bed and make love to you until you can’t move, but this seems to be where the discussion has led us. That picture is out there, and we’re about to step in front of about twenty different press organizations, all snapping pictures.”

“Oh, God. Elliott. Did they get a picture?” Fear slid across her features, icy and stark.

“No.” I slid to her, taking her cold hand. “No, baby. They didn’t get a picture of Elliott. I’ll call them tomorrow and make sure they don’t publish any, either. Okay?”

“There can’t be pictures of her out there.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.” Something twisted in my gut, wrong and heavy. “Elliott’s father is still out there, isn’t he?” He wasn’t in jail. Wasn’t serving time for whatever had led to the scar on her collarbone. Or what I guess caused the other scars I’d found on her body.

Her eyes flew to mine, and I knew I was right.

“You’re up,” the driver called back.

“I need two minutes,” I barked.

He relayed the order somewhere.

“You can stay in the limo,” I told her. “They can take you around back. Or hell, we can both skip the red carpet. I don’t talk to the press, anyway. I actually get fined for skipping post-game interviews.”

“You don’t talk to the press?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No. Anything they need to know about me, they can see on the ice. Nothing else is their business. This ball is in your court, Shea. I would never force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

The fear drifted from her eyes, replaced by something softer. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do just about anything to make you happy,” I admitted, the words rougher than I intended.

Someone lightly knocked on the window.

I ignored them.

“Your choice.”

“I just didn’t realize there would be a red carpet,” she blurted, her words coming faster and faster. “I should have known, or guessed, but it’s not like I do this a lot.”

“Of course.”

“I…” She looked beyond me to the line of photographers. “Please don’t be mad, Porter. I just...It wouldn’t be safe for Elliott.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Okay. It’s absolutely fine. We’re skipping the carpet. Take us to the rear?” I called up to the driver.

His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he nodded once, relaying the information out of the driver’s door.

Within a few seconds, we were rolling.

Shea clutched her stomach, rocking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I gathered her to me, putting her on my lap. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Shea. Not one damn thing. Whatever you do to protect Elliott is fine by me. I just hope you know that I’ll do whatever I can for you—for her. I’d never let anyone get to either of you. Hell, I can put security on you both.”

“No! Absolutely not. She’d feel like she was in a fishbowl. I’d...I’d feel like that, too.”

The car kept going, circling the hotel where the event was being held.

“You know there will be photographers in there, too, right?” I asked gently.

She blanched.

“I can’t skip the event. Not since it’s been advertised that I’d be here, when I bought the seats. It’s not the cost, but it would be seen as a snub to the charity, and no one likes to snub sick kids.” I stroked her arm.

She bit her lip, oblivious to her makeup, and her eyes darted back and forth, making a choice as we pulled up to the back entrance.

“We’re here, sir,” the driver called, then exited the limo to walk toward my door.

“He can take you home, Shea,” I offered, hating the words as they left my mouth. “Or you can head to my place, and I’ll meet you after.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I can do it. I’m sure the majority of the pictures used are from the red carpet, right?”

“Yes,” I answered truthfully.

She nodded. “Then let’s do this.”

Ten minutes later, we were surrounded by Sharks and their wives and dates. As I looked around at Gage, Warren, Rory...hell, all of them, it struck me what a marrying group we were. Most Sharks dated short-term and married quickly.

Guess we knew when we had a good thing.

“Can you believe she brought him?” Lukas seethed, glaring toward where Faith danced with her boyfriend.

“He is her boyfriend,” I reminded him.

“They look good together,” Noble added, sipping on his drink.

“Fuck you,” Lukas snapped and threw back the rest of his champagne.

Noble just grinned. “Shea looks hot tonight, Porter.”

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Noble,” I answered without changing my tone. I brought my glass to my lips and took a sip. Ginger Ale always kept the questions at bay. Sure, it was fizzy but it had that light amber color that let everyone assume I was drinking.

I met Shea’s eyes across the floor, where she chatted with Ivy and Pepper. She halted in conversation, tilting her head in silent question. I answered with a smile and a shake of my head. She was so attuned to my emotions, like we had our own wavelength.

“Where’s your date? Or dates?” Noble asked Lukas, smirk firmly in place.

“I came alone,” Lukas grumbled, his eyes locked on Faith as she laughed at something the college boy said.

“Oh?” Noble prodded.

Lukas didn’t answer, but his eyes narrowed, and he grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing server. “Took some stupid advice, apparently.”

I scoffed. “I didn’t say you’d get instant results. Are you seriously that impatient?”

Now I was the recipient of his glare.

“Does Gentry know?” Noble asked, still nursing his first glass of champagne. I liked the guy. He wasn’t a draft pick like the rest. He’d gone to open tryouts his freshman year of college at the W, and then spent five years in the minors, working his ass off before getting called up.

His work ethic was unmatched on the team.

Lukas pinned him with a look that had Noble’s hands in the air. “Gotcha. Okay. Backing off now.”

“And your date?” I asked, hoping to break the tension before Lukas released his Faith-related rage on him. The guy had gone from watching her ass last year to being borderline obsessed. He had it bad. I just wasn’t sure if he even realized how bad.

“No time for women,” Noble said with a shake of his head.

“Men?” Lukas fired back, eyes still on Faith.

Noble laughed. “Nope. I just have to work twice as hard as you guys. Always have. Always will. I’m good with it.”

Shea motioned to me with her head, and I walked away from the guys without another word.

“Nice talking to you, too,” Noble called after me.

She stood waiting for me at the edge of the dance floor, her hands at her sides, a soft smile on her face that nearly stopped my damn heart. Depositing my glass with a server, I swept her into my arms and onto the floor as one of John Legend’s slow songs came on.

“Why yes, I’ll dance with you,” she laughed, the sound bright and so welcome after our moment in the limo.

Even in her heels, she barely came to my collarbone.

“I just wanted to get you in my arms for a minute,” I admitted, swaying to the beat.

“And he dances,” she mumbled, looking up at me with a bemused smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the perfect man.”

“Hardly,” I scoffed. “But I’ll take whatever compliments you want to give.”

“You are a little tall,” she said, squinting. “It’s hard to see you from all the way down here.”

I shifted my grip from the hourglass dip of her waist to her hips and lifted so her feet were off the floor and our eyes were level. “Better?”

She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I guess that gives all new meaning to being swept off your feet, right?”

Her eyes dropped to my lips.

We were scant inches away.

I could almost taste her from here.

I needed her under me again, or maybe on top of me this time, riding me with all that exquisite auburn hair flowing down her back like fire. Or maybe I’d take her from behind, gripping that firm, round ass as I stroked us both to orgasm.

“Hudson,” she whispered.

“I need to kiss you,” I told her. “Really fucking kiss you.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” she replied.

Though I was half tempted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off, I set her on her feet, then took her hand, gently tugging her through the crowd toward the giant glass doors that led to the patio.

The crowd thinned as we approached the door, and I spotted a dark alcove built into the side of the wall, as if the architect knew I’d have Shea here—as if it had been built precisely so I could kiss her.

“Your makeup,” I warned her as I backed us into the small, dark space, obscured from other guests by the long, navy blue curtains.

“Don’t care,” she assured me.

I lifted her again, gripping just under her ass to support her weight, knowing that dress wasn’t going to let her wrap her legs around my waist.

She threw her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine, opening instantly.

I groaned, sinking my tongue inside her mouth, needing to be within her in any way I could. My weight pinned her to the wall as I took her mouth over and over, drinking her in as though I’d been starved for days—which I had.

With each flick of her tongue, each little whimper she let free, I came more alive. Felt more centered. If I was adrift, then she was an anchor in the best of ways, holding me at harbor when I needed it most.

Her fingers skimmed the base of my skull and came up empty. I’d cut my hair before the road trip and now regretted it. I wanted to feel the bite of her nails, her grip when she lost herself.

“Hudson,” she moaned softly before dragging me under again until there was nothing outside her mouth, her body, her soft sighs as our tongues dueled and tangled, stroked and supplicated.

“I want you,” I growled. God, did I want her. Not just in my bed, but in my life. On my arm, at my back, at my side. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would betray or cheat. She was the kind of woman who would love fiercely, who would be just as fierce in her defense as she was in her passion.

I wanted her for mine—for always.

God, this feeling was what I’d been missing. How close I’d come to wasting it all on a lie, on never knowing Shea’s touch, never exploring her heart.

“Then take me home,” she whispered.

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, resting my forehead against hers, our breaths harsh pants against each other’s lips. “I want all of you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her forehead puckering beneath mine.

“I mean I don’t just want you in my bed, Shea. I want to be with you.” The confession came naturally. Why hide something I felt with such intensity?

“Be with me how?”

I blinked. Was there a communication breakdown somewhere? “I would like to date you, to be with you, in a relationship, committed, exclusive, all that.” Was that clear enough?

She shoved at my chest, and I gently set her feet back on the floor, putting a little space between us.

“Is that...not what you want?” Holy crap, I was nervous. I didn’t get nervous before Stanley Cup games, and here I was sweating bullets.

She looked up at me, stunned. “I...I don’t know. I mean, I love being around you, and there’s no doubt we have some serious chemistry, and you’re great with Elliott, but…”

“But what?” I asked, exasperation leaking into my tone.

“But you are literally famous, Porter.”

Great, the last name was back.

“And?”

“And you play hockey. You’re paid to beat people up on the ice, and I swore I would never let that kind of violence into a relationship. Not ever again.”

Nausea hit my stomach. “You think I’d hurt you? Have I ever given you a sign that I’d lay a hand on you?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. Her eyes fell away, and I lost that precious contact, that window into what she was thinking. “But you said it yourself—these things don’t start overnight. They develop over time, and with you using your fists to settle disputes on the ice, it would only be a matter of time…” she trailed off, her eyes focused somewhere near her feet.

“Until what, Shea?” I hissed. “Until I used them to settle fights with you?” Holy fuck, I was going to be sick.

“I…” she took a deep breath. “I don’t think you would...but I didn’t think he would, either, and he never had any warning signs.”

“And mine are just flashing,” I snapped.

“I haven’t been with another man since him. I just...God, Porter, if you ever...you wouldn’t just hurt me. Look at you—” she gestured to my frame, which towered over hers.

“You could at least look me in the eye while you accuse me of being a fucking monster, Shea.” I bit out every single word.

Her gaze jumped to mine. “I didn’t say you were a monster. You’re not.”

“It’s just that I could turn into one.”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times.

“Please, don’t hold back now. Continue to tell me how I’m good enough to kiss, to fuck, but not safe enough to have an actual relationship with. Let it all out, because you and I are on two different pages, hell, two different books, and it would be nice to get it all out there.”

She swallowed. “I never meant to sleep with you.”

Now I was the speechless one. It took a good minute to wrap my head around that. “So that wasn’t you, dropping your robe, standing there naked, and exposed, asking me to fuck you?”

“Of course, it was!” she snapped out in a pleading tone like she was the victim here. “I wanted you. God, I still want you. Wanting you is pretty much all I think about right now. I just wasn’t planning on it—planning on you. I figured I’d meet someone, and we’d have a pleasant relationship, and then move naturally toward marriage one day, and then I’d have sex with him. Sorry if having a kid at sixteen kind of screwed up my sense of sexuality.”

“I’m sorry you don’t tell me things about your past. You don’t tell me shit, Shea. You’re like trying to put together a puzzle that’s missing the box, and it’s all shades of one color, and backward and shit. And I’m standing here telling you I want you, not in spite of the way you frustrate me, but because of it. I want you because of your complicated past. I want you because you’re a survivor. You’re not some green little girl who runs when it’s tough. You stand your ground and fight for what’s yours.” My shoulders sagged. “I guess I just hoped you wanted me to be yours.”

“I do!” she cried. “I just don’t know if I can. I made such horrible choices before, and Elliott paid for them. I paid for them with more than a pound of flesh. I lost my whole life—my friends, my parents, my security. It took years to feel safe again. I can’t just give that up because you barged into my life.”

“You still don’t feel safe,” I reminded her. “You have a tracker on Elliott. You won’t walk a red carpet with me. You have an alarm system that’s worth more than the rent you pay. And none of that is on me, none of it.”

“I know,” she whispered. “God, Porter, you’re surrounded by beautiful women. I’m sure there are twenty in that room you could take home tonight.”

“More like fifty,” I shot back.

She blanched.

“But I. Want. You. What’s your next excuse? The violence? Because I can give you my ex-fiancée’s number and you can call her up for a character reference. You can ask her if I put a finger on her when I found her fucking another Ontario player in our bed. You can ask if I so much as touched him. She’ll tell you I calmly packed a bag and left. I went straight to the front office and asked them to trade me, specifically so I wouldn’t go after him. So I wouldn’t have to see her.”

“You were engaged?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Yes. I thought I’d found that perfect, easy relationship you just aspired to. We’d get married, have some kids, and it would all be...simple. But then she decided I wasn’t enough. It wasn’t good enough to marry the highest-paid defenseman in the league, she wanted someone with more fame. More sponsorships. More interviews with the right people. I wasn’t enough for her, and apparently, I’m too much for you.”

“Hudson,” she whispered, reaching out to touch me.

I backed away another foot until we ran the risk of being seen. “No. You don’t get to use your touch on me. I’m so fucking sorry he hurt you. If I could go back and save you from that, I would. I would give up everything if it meant you never had to experience that. I’m not sorry he gave you Elliott—she’s amazing. I do wish I had been there when you were alone, that I could have spared you some of that. I’m even more sorry that you judge me based on someone else’s actions when I sure as hell don’t judge you by my ex’s. I don’t group all women together the way you do men, but I get it. In your mind, I pose a serious threat to your safety, your body, because you’re wired for flight-or-fight, and you’ve chosen flight. But damn it, Shea, you pose a serious threat to my heart.”

“Hudson,” she whimpered again, but I stepped back, almost fully in the light now.

“No. I can’t right now. I just can’t. You’ve got me raw and bleeding. Please don’t think you’re weaponless just because you’re smaller, Shea, because your words are fucking sharp. I’m going to go for a walk. Let me know when you find another excuse not to be with me, or when you want me to take you to bed, because the truth is I’ll probably still let you fuck me and walk away like I’m your dirty little secret. That’s how badly I want you. Yeah, I’m bigger than you. I can’t do shit about that. But you’re the one with all the power here. You always have been.”

I left her standing in the alcove and immediately took my ass outside, letting the cool air brush over my heated face. One more second with her, and I would have done something I regretted, like let her touch me. Or kissed her. Shown her with my body why we were good together. Why I was worth the risk.

Why I was worthy.

She’d stripped me down to a six-year-old boy, asking for simple love and not understanding why it came in the form of verbal—then physical—abuse.

I looked at the moon’s reflection on the ocean and laughed at the harsh irony of my life. I’d only ever fallen for two women. One, I was too good for. The other...I wasn’t good enough.