Page 54 of Hockey Wife

Yet she’d never forget that feeling of waking in that vise of a grip, the scent of him in her lungs, the heat of him warming her through. And here she was within fingertips’ reach—she could have all that again. She could take something for her own.

She turned. He was close but not quite as much as she’d expected. Giving her space, perhaps, to make some bad decisions all by herself.

“You think I’m going to admit I wanted this to happen? That this marriage isn’t a fluke?”

“Wouldn’t expect you to admit a thing, Peaches.” He placed an arm at her side, hand on the counter, barely an inch from her waist.

She jumped at the opportunity to deflect. “You called me that before. Why?”

His mouth twitched. “That’s what I thought the second I saw you. Princess Peach.”

“From the video game?”

He nodded. “Then you said your name was Georgia. And your skin, damn, it felt as soft as the skin of a peach.”

His fingertips on her arm as he guided her down the strip …

“But you usually defer to princess.”

“Formal title, your majesty.”

He was closer now. She could feel him everywhere and he had yet to touch her.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.” His whisper was a seductive cajole.

He’d held her hand, callused against her peach-soft skin, and she’d tripped into that marriage license office, giddy as a schoolgirl.

This is crazy, she’d thought.

Go with your gut, Dani told her.

Her dead sister’s fault. Of course.

In the breath-stealing space between them, she placed a hand on his chest. He said no one had ever kissed her so good. Maybe that explained it.

“You really think your mouth made me see God, Banks?”

He smirked. Oh, she would show him angels weeping!

Her hand stroked up, heading for his neck, needing to get a grip because her knees were already starting to falter. Something preternatural in him acknowledged this; his hand curled around her hip and pulled her close. For a moment they stared at each other while realization dawned.

She was too short. He would have to lean down or?—

Scoop her up and onto the counter. With a quick pivot, her ass landed softly on the granite, the surface cool to the backs of her thighs but not enough to bank the fires within her.

A sultry gasp escaped her as his palms splayed on her thighs and forced them apart. One hand curled around her bottom and pulled her close. In this position, she looked down on him; he peered up at her.

Still his lips refused to meet hers. Infuriating.

“Worried you can’t take me to the stratosphere again?”

A squeeze of her ass cheek was her punishment for that cheeky query, and then he moved in and brushed her lower lip with his mouth.

“I’ll take you there, Georgia.”

Please. This was what it felt like that night. This was the fizzy sensation she was trying to replicate.

Better this dangerous feeling than none at all.

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