"What are you doing now that your team is out of the running for the Stanley Cup?"
Forget.
I need to forget. I need an escape.
Only one person isn't falling for my reputation as the NHL's Golden Boy; she captured my attention the minute she called me out for snooping through my best friend's house. She didn't want to hear my reason--she only wanted to playfully give me a hard time.
Adalyn is bold, sassy--and the perfect escape.
She's everywhere. In town and in my dreams, and suddenly I need to spend every waking moment with her.
And I do, making this summer the best off-season I've ever had.
But in the midst of getting lost in Adalyn, what I don't expect is to get her pregnant.
And what I definitely don't expect is having to fight for her affection.
Tentative at first, we explore, our lips light, our mouths not quite nipping, but not fusing together either.
We probe, we search, we delve into each other.
Her hands to my face.
My fingers tangling in her wavy brown curls.
Mouths open.
A gasp.
A moan.
A tightened grip.
The lightest touch of tongues.
Scooting closer, she wraps her legs around the back of mine, linking them together.
Tangling, molding, becoming one, the sweet taste of her mouth on mine . . . I’m lost.
Falling and falling fast, our kiss so deep, so intense with each thrust of our tongues, with each mingling of our lips, with every intake of desperate breath.
Tender, the way she moves her lips across mine.
Shaky, the way her hands tentatively explore the crevasses and divots of my broad and built chest.
Fearful . . . of the unknown, of what this means.
But so goddamn electrifying because the craving I’ve harbored for this woman is finally being sated.
Eyes closed, hands lingering, I slowly pull away and rest my forehead on Adalyn’s trying to catch my breath, taking a second to steady the jittery, wobbly feeling in my legs.
“Wow,” I mumble. “That was—”
“Unforgettable,” she finishes for me, her nose rubbing against mine.
Exhaling, I say, “Yeah, it was.”
My hands venture to her sides, memorizing every contour of her body in their path. “Where’s your bedroom?”
Her eyes light up and she hops down from the counter, taking my hand in hers in the process. “This way.” She practically skips down the hallway, light and giddy.
The dark hallway leads to another white, clean, and crisp bedroom. Smooth lines, monotone colors of whites and creams, with one light blue throw pillow on her plush white bed that looks like a cloud floating in the middle of heaven.
Angling in my direction, she reaches for the hem of her dress, but I stop her, gripping her shoulders and standing her upright. Confusion laces her eyes and I take no time in easing that confusion.
“I want to take this slow, Adalyn.” I let out an unsteady breath. “That kiss back there, fuck . . .” I press a hand through my hair. “That rocked my goddamn world.”
Shyly, she peeks up at me through her eyelashes. “It rocked my world too.”
Unable to keep my hands off her for too long, I tip her chin up and press my lips against hers, my mouth smoothing along hers, lush and delicious, just as I expected. She sighs into me, holding on to my waist. I press my tongue against hers again, loving how she gives as much as I take.
Slowing down, my lips brush hers, the fiery passion we have for each other simmering like a pot ready to boil, but never getting hot enough.
I don’t want it to get too hot. Not right now.
I need to know more about her. I want more time with her. I don’t want to jump into this—into a physical relationship—when I know there is so much more I can share with this woman.
There is time for this connection to go beyond the physical, but for now, I need to not get wrapped up in the sensation of her being so close to me and rather seduce her mind instead. I. Want. Her. I want what Calder and Rachel have. I want the depth of trust and friendship I’ve seen in my parents’ marriage . . . How is that possible so soon? God, I want inside her, but I think I need inside her heart more than in her body.
Yes, I’m certifiable.
Completely.
“Can we agree on something?”
“Depends on what it is.” Her fingers trace up and down my spine.
Tracing her pattern, matching it with my fingers, I say, “Can we both acknowledge this unimaginable pull between us? Can we admit to ourselves that the physical is there, that we both would have no problem taking this relationship to the bed?”
“Easily,” she breathes out heavily, her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt.
“Can we also agree to wait?”
Sighing heavily, she rests her head against my chest, knocking it a few times with her forehead. “You’re killing me, Hayden.”
“I know but there have been too many times where the physical has taken the lead in developing a relationship and the communication has lacked. I don’t want that with you.”
“I can understand that.” She bites her bottom lip, her thoughts running a mile a minute in that pretty head of hers. “But what about . . . you know . . . when you have to leave, go back to Philly?”
I nod. “This is for then. So when I do go back, we’ll be okay. Because I can see a future with you, Adalyn, and that’s why I want to build something solid with you, something that can last. I want that chance. With you.”
“So when you return to Philly, you want to stay in contact with me?”
“Fuck yes, I do. And I’m going to have you sitting front and center at as many games as you can get to, especially since I’m trying to make hockey your favorite sport.”
“I don’t know.” She smiles. “That’s going to be one hell of a task to accomplish. Think you can handle it?”
“I know I can.” I press a quick kiss against her lips and then slap her ass, making her squeal. With a wink, I say, “Go get changed for bed, we have some making out to do.”
“Making out?” she asks, adding in a lift of that well-defined eyebrow of hers.
Acting stern and pointing my finger at her, I say, “Just making out. If you start with your wandering hands, I’m going to jet out of here, taking my body warmth with me.”
“That’s just cruel.”
“Then keep it in your pants, Adalyn.” Smiling wickedly, I go to the living room to grab my overnight bag, reprimanding myself with the same warning.
Keep it in your pants, Holmes.
For the love of God, keep it in your pants.
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
