“I don’t know.”
“I do. After what’s already happened between us, you’re drawing a line here?”
“What if I touch your wrist by mistake and hurt you again?”
“You a thrasher?”
“Not usually.”
“Prone to nightmares?”
“Only the one I’m living in right now.”
He grinned. “I think we can risk it. We’ll both be a lot more comfortable in there.”
What a fucking liar he was. Sleeping less than a foot from Pepper was going to be the opposite of comfortable. But he’d go with it for now because he really didn’t want to sleep on the sofa. When he broke his wrist last year, he’d mistakenly napped on the sofa once—and woke up on the floor.
Not nice.
So for the sake of the body that paid his bills, he’d sleep in the same bed as Pepper Calhoun.
As for the body that had a permanent hard-on for this woman, he’d deal with that later.
18
How could a luxury lake house feel so small?
Pepper almost preferred when Bast wasn’t talking to her. When he was just mad and taking it out on her with his tongue. That she could deal with (well, not really, but she could learn to appreciate it). What she couldn’t deal with? This gorgeous, charming version with apologies and kind words.
The sexual tension should have been a thing of the past. Orgasm provided, check. Forgiveness dispensed, check. That should have been enough to move them past the thick sizzle of want that was coursing through her in his presence.
However, it had only intensified. She knew what he could do, how his mouth felt between her thighs, his tongue licking and delving, the evidence of desire slicking his lips—
Damn Reid and Kennedy. This place was gorgeous, but couldn’t they have added a guest room? Then again, they probably didn’t want any guests. Reid had always struck her as the surly, anti-social type. He wouldn’t want to share Kennedy.
There was something appealing about that, even if it was caveman behavior. Not unlike Bast’s defense of her earlier. Maybe he and Reid were more alike than she’d previously thought. They seemed so different, yet there had to be some deep bond there as brothers, some affinity in values.
With all this swirling in her head, Bast came out of the bathroom, his mouth twitching at seeing her sitting stiffly on the side of the bed. He had already set the fire, and it was crackling away, providing light, heat, and romance.
“I don’t have anything to wear to bed. My overnight bag was in my car at Rebels HQ.” Also, she needed to call someone to make sure it didn’t get towed.
With one hand, he grabbed his duffle bag and hauled it onto the bed. “Could you …?” He gestured to it.
“Oh, right.” She unzipped it.
“There should be a T-shirt in there. Also, there are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom.”
She grabbed a tee without even looking and headed into the bathroom, where she used her phone to provide light. The T-shirt had Bast’s number at the Hawks on it. Number 10.
God help her but she sniffed it, hoping against hope that the top note was laundry detergent. But it wasn’t. It was the scent of Bast, and it was divine.
She pulled it over her head. It was extra-large, but not that roomy because she wasn’t a Barbie doll. Her thighs looked—well, strong. Not slender, Pepper was fit and healthy, especially since she’d put on weight after her failed engagement. No more dieting or pressure to be WAG perfect. She didn’t miss it.
Rummaging around in a drawer, she found a blister-packed toothbrush. Business done, she hauled in a deep breath and opened the door.
He was already under the covers on the right side of the bed, with his braced wrist propped on a spare pillow on the opposite side of his body. As she closed the bathroom door, she felt his eyes on her.
She pulled back the covers, trying not to pay attention to the fact (a) Bast was clearly shirtless and (b) he was closer to the middle than he should have been because he needed more room on the edge for his arm.
And she had thought the lake house was too small. Was this bed a full-sized one? Maybe any bed with Bast Durand in it looked minuscule.
“It’s a queen,” he said.
“What?”
“You seem to be measuring the bed, so I’m telling you that it’s a queen. You getting in? Not that I’m objecting to the view.”
His tee, which was very soft after multiple washings, stopped at the top of her thighs. The strong ones she’d been admiring earlier but didn’t feel so proud of now. Was he making fun of her?
Quickly, she climbed in and pulled the covers up to her neck, noting he’d added another comforter.
Reality was settling into her bones. He was too close, impinging on her side, and she was about to sleep in the same bed as Bast Durand after he’d given her a wonderful orgasm and she hadn’t returned the favor. How in the eff did they get to this point?
She checked her phone. 3:30 a.m. and she was now wide awake. Where was all that yawning when she needed it?
She made a point of fluffing her pillow, anything to distract her from looking his way. When she settled, she found him focused on her, his eyes gleaming in the firelight, though now he’d put his uninjured arm behind his head. A tuft of underarm hair that should not have been erotic made her mouth dry. Then water. Then dry again.
She swallowed, looked at the ceiling.
“I thought you were tired,” he said.
“I am.” Or she was, but now every nerve was strung tight.
“You seem tense.”
If tense meant turned on, then yes, she was exceptionally tense. She’d already had one mind-blowing orgasm today, and now she was wondering about him. About how she wanted to return the favor. Touch him, bring him pleasure. But he had already refused.
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the presence beside her, tried to pretend his steady breathing wasn’t driving her insane with desire. How could standard inhaling and exhaling be sexy? She couldn’t even see him, so that should have helped her get past this.
But it didn’t because she knew what he could do. How, even one-handed, he could bring her off because she had been oh-so-helpful, spreading herself like a buffet for him—
“Could I ask you something?” she said to the firelit dark.
“Shoot.”
She turned her head slightly. “Why were you at Jimmy’s Tap where people might recognize you? Probably the worst place to be an incognito superstar hockey player.”
His smile was rueful in the half-dark. “It was Reid’s suggestion to meet there, and I actually thought my disguise was top notch. I wasn’t in a great place that night, and I just wanted to be in the mix. If I couldn’t play, I could watch with people who love it.”
She understood that need to be part of something greater.
“Except for one person,” he added.
That made her lips curve. “What torture for you, sitting beside the one person who couldn’t appreciate your art.”
“Right?” He grinned. “Of all the girls in the world. Anyway, I still had a good time.”
Left unspoken? Until he found out who she was.
“You said you weren’t in a great place that night. Because of your wrist?”