Page 91 of Home Ice

The three dots flash on the screen almost instantly.

Brant: Gabriela Loveland. She's my attorney, and she's a badass. Is something wrong?

That asshole. That kind, generous, amazing asshole who I love more than I ever thought was possible.

I'm in such a hurry to get home that I forget to tell Michael about the equipment that's still in the back of my car.

It's not until I pull into the driveway and the garage opens as it senses my phone—something Brant set up for me weeks ago—that I realize I thought of this as home. My head falls back and hits the headrest. Gravity is three times stronger than it was just seconds ago. What does that mean? For now and for the future?

When I get inside, Brant is leaning against the kitchen counter like he's waiting for me. "You gave the shelter that money and didn't tell me? You're a fucking jerk," I tell him as I stomp over to him.

"I am."

"The worst person in the world." I push on his chest, and he grabs me by the wrist. His hand completely covers the snake inked there, as he holds my hand against his heart and his tattoo.

"Absolutely. Worst person in history."

I tilt my head back and fall into him. Kiss him. The instant our lips touch, everything breaks. The world I've spent years constructing. My education, my jobs, my career. I built everything so I wouldn't need anyone else. They ripped sports away from me when I transitioned, but I never stopped loving them. So I took what they told me I couldn't have, and I centered my life around that. I might not have been good enough to even make the girls’ soccer team in high school if they would have let me try out, but now, I'm working for my second professional team. I'm on the way to being named head trainer by the time I'm thirty-five. My goal. And I did it without them. I did it around them. Through them. Fuck them for ever thinking they could stop me. But all that is shattering now.

The life I created in Denver. Alone. I told myself I left behind all the baggage I didn't need to carry. Trimmed away any weaknesses I had. I didn't need anyone. I had Em for as long as she would be there for me, but I was always ready for her to leave too. And I told myself I would be fine when she did. That I was strong enough to handle life without her or anyone else. And I could have. I would have if Dad didn't die. If I didn't have to come back to Salt Lake. If I didn't make that stupid promise to him after he died that I would live in his house for a year. I needed him to know that I tried. I needed to know that I tried. I did. Even when I knew I was failing, I still tried. And when I knew it was hopeless, I doubled down.

"I love you." I don't move away from Brant to say it. I don't take my lips off his. I don't want to ever take my lips off his. I don't want to ever not feel him against me.

He squeezes my arms and spins us around so it's my back against the counter, and I think maybe he's going to lift me onto it like he did almost two months ago. I hope he will. His mouth practically attacks mine. He sucks and pulls my tongue into his mouth, and I feel myself rebuilding around him. I swore I would never let myself depend on anyone else. I would never go through the pain of letting anyone get too close to me. But I would do it for Brant. I am doing it for him. I'm opening myself right down the middle for him.

"I'm ready."

I lift a leg and hook it around the back of his thigh, and Brant moans into my mouth. The deep sound vibrates everything inside me. He thrusts his hips, and I feel just how much he wants this. I will him to slip his hands under me. Just a little boost, and I can wrap myself around him. He can take me to the bedroom, the couch, the middle of the front yard so all the neighbors can watch. I don't care. I just need to feel him inside me right now. I need him to drive this longing from me.

He leans his head back, and I attack his neck, biting and pulling his flesh into my mouth, wanting to leave my marks all over him. I want everyone on the team—everyone in the arena, everyone who watches on television—to know that he's mine. I claim him again and again. "Fucking Christ, Lily." He blows out a long breath, and I lunge for his mouth again. I need my lips to bear down on his, but he rolls away from me. "If I knew all it would take was two million dollars, I would have done this a long time ago."

The amount freezes me. "Two million?" I'm not sure if the words come out or if I just mouth them. The number is so incomprehensible that I'm not sure about anything.

His hand slips between my legs, and every muscle in my core tries to clench around him. I rock my hips from front to back, trying to ride his hand. It's not going to take much for me. I whimper. I want to stop. I don't want to come until he's inside me, but something primal is in control of my body right now. "Say it," he growls. With his free hand, he turns my head away from him and he bites my neck. Marking me the same way I was marking him. "I want to hear you say it again."

"Two million," I moan.

"Smart ass." He taps me on the cheek. "You know what I want to hear."

And I want to say it. So many more times than just once or twice. I want a lifetime of saying it. "I love you."

"Fuck." His voice rumbles into my neck. The sound fills my carotid and goes right into my brain. "It's been so hard to hold back."

I rock my hips backward far enough to fit a hand between us and squeeze his dick. "It does feel pretty hard." It throbs in my palm, and I do my best to stroke him through the joggers he has on. Joggers that feel incredibly tight over his crotch right now.

"You know I love you too." Brant's mouth moves down the side of my neck to my collarbone. "You know that. You know I wanted this for so goddamn long."

Fuck waiting on him. I clasp my hands around his neck and jump so I can throw my other leg around him. A new rush of heat rolls into my cheeks as I start to slip. My eyes go wide as I imagine myself slipping right down to the floor, where I would have no choice but to stay because there's no graceful way to come back from accidentally sliding down your boyfriend like he's a fire pole.

"Eager?" He slaps his hands under my ass—even through my jeans, it makes a clapping sound—and he lifts me up.

"It's about time."

His mouth is back to the crook of my neck and when he shakes his head, his nose tickles along my supercharged skin. "Careful, Jams. Maybe I'll make you wait like you've been doing to me." I grind myself against his dick. It's so hard it has to hurt. "On second thought, upstairs?"

I nod.

CHAPTER 56

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