My terror starts to fade when I realize I recognize his eyes. They’re Ren’s eyes. Ren’s cheekbones, his long nose, without the bump from being broken. This must be—
“Frankie.” Ren collides with me, pulls me against his body, and spins so I’m shielded from the man. Glancing up, he locks eyes with the guy and mutters something that sounds remarkably close to fustilarian.
Exhaling heavily, Ren peers down at me. “Okay. You’re okay.” A gentle hug and I’m pulled closer. “It’s just my brother. Are you all right?”
I nod. “I’m sorry I freaked. I heard someone come in, and I called you, and you didn’t answer, so I went to see who it was, and he just popped up like a jack-in-the-box from the refrigerator, and I lost it.”
His brother leans a hip against the counter. Crunching on the apple, he speaks around his bite. “Ren seems to have lost his manners, but then again I’d be a little addled too, if I had someone like you in my arms with only a towel between us.”
Ren and I gulp simultaneously. I realize now that he’s bare-chested, a towel slung low on his hips. Mine is knotted above my breasts, but all our movements have loosened it considerably.
“I’m Viggo,” he says.
Ren doesn’t seem to care about an introduction. “What are you doing here?” he asks sharply.
Viggo smiles and swallows his bite. “I brought the baked goods for your next Club meeting.”
“Baked goods?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am,” Viggo says, “I’m a self-taught pastry chef.”
“He’s also enrolled in carpentry school,” Ren adds, “learning everything there is to know about bikes, and has taken up the fiddle. He has issues with commitment—”
“Attention,” Viggo corrects him on a wide grin and a wink.
Ren sighs heavily, and his hand skates over my back as he stares at his brother. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it, soothing me with his touch. “Baking is one of his many hobbies that I made the mistake of supporting.” Ren glares at him. “You know damn well it’s not tonight. I have a playoff game. Not that any of the Bergmans can be bothered with hockey.”
Shrugging, Viggo crunches his apple. “Oops.”
Suddenly, I feel fabric shifting. A squeak sneaks out of me as the towel slips past my breasts.
“Ren!” I yelp.
He spins, so his back is to Viggo again. I’m shielded with the towel pinned between us. “I’ve got you. Your virtue’s preserved.”
I snort in laughter. “My virtue. I lost my virtue in tenth grade, Zenzero.” A blush heats his cheeks. “But thank you. I didn’t want your brother seeing me naked.”
At the worst possible time, my hip gives out, and I wobble in his arms. Ren catches me, then tugs me closer, but not before the towel slips lower and now—
Ren’s eyes widen. My bare breasts smash against his chest. And for the second, but definitely most prominent, time I’m feeling… “Ren,” I whisper hoarsely. “Is that your—”
“Yes.”
“Poking my—”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “And he’s very sorry for being so assertive.”
I felt the promising outline of it during yoga this morning, but now it’s confirmed. The man is ginormous.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to be calm about this. “It’s…it’s just a bodily response. It’s not your fault but, holy shit—”
“You okay over there?” Viggo calls. Another crunch of his apple.
“When I’m out of this pickle,” Ren mutters. “I’m going to ram one of those apples straight down his throat.” He glances down at me. “I am so sorry about this.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s all me and my bum leg’s fault—”
“No, it’s not, Frankie.” He gives me a gentle squeeze that I think is supposed to reassure me but ends up just pressing all our nakedness together. I’m trying not to respond myself, but my nipples are rocks against his chest, my throat and cheeks burning with a flush. A warm, needy ache between my legs makes me feel even more unsteady.
“I have a plan,” Ren says. “I’ll just walk you backward, down the hall, and then you’ll be out of Viggo’s sightline. I’ll close my eyes and you can get to your room in privacy.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Good idea.”
Slowly, we start walking in step toward my room. Ren moves steadily, leading with a nudge of his knees that I follow as I take careful steps backwards.
He peers down at me, trying very valiantly not to look below my chin, at my bare breasts pressed against his chest. It’s his crowning feat of chivalry. Me, on the other hand, I’m shameless. I can’t stop fixating on how my nipples tighten, how they scrape across the soft dusting of hairs on his solid chest. I feel the hard planes of his pecs, the heat of his skin.
“It’s like we’re dancing.” I stare up at him, trying to distract myself. “I bet you’re a good dancer.”
Ren grins. “Why do you think that?”
“How you’re moving now. How graceful you are on the ice.”
His grin broadens. “Thanks, Frankie.”
“You’re wel—”
We freeze as Ren’s towel loosens between us. Before either of us can reach and save it, the towel drifts down, followed by mine, fluttering past our thighs.
Ren curses under his breath, holding me even closer, trying to pin the fabric somewhere around our knees.
I stare at him, wide-eyed with shock. “Did you just say carbuncles?”
“No.” He grimaces. “Maybe—”
Before Ren can say another word, I gasp as our towels drop completely. We’re naked, front to front. Ren opens his mouth, as if to say something, when a low whistle interrupts him.
“Man, brother,” Viggo says around a bite of apple. “I need whatever workout you’re doing. Those. Glutes.”
Ren’s eyes drift shut. I’ve seen that look only after Maddox does something particularly asinine. That’s Ren’s Give-me-grace-Jesus-I’m-trying-not-to beat-the-shit-out-of-somebody face. “Get. Out. Viggo.”
Peering past Ren’s shoulder, I see Viggo smirk. “I kinda want to stick around and see how this plays out.”
“Frankie,” Ren says, deathly quiet.
“Hm?”
“I’m going to pick you up, but hold you close so he can’t see you. I’ll keep my eyes straight ahead and then set you in your room.”
I nod. “Okay. Good plan.”
“And then once I set you down, I’m going to murder my brother.”
I usually hover in the corner with the other in-house PR and media folks during press conferences. Press conferences aren’t my responsibility, but they affect my work. To do my job well, I need to keep track of everything that’s going on with the team, so watching press conferences unfold live is imperative.
Rob, Ren, Tyler, and Coach sit up at the table, cameras flashing on them. They’re all in their suits, but unlike Rob and Tyler, Ren’s hair isn’t wet and curled up at the edge of his collar like normal. His cheeks aren’t flushed from the cold air and sixty minutes of hockey. He wasn’t allowed the play again with his concussion and his healing shoulder which doesn’t seem to bother him much now, but Amy said shouldn’t weather contact sports yet.