Page 48 of Hat Trick

If there were any photos of Gwen in Mark’s house, they weren’t in the areas company visited. His desk at my high school was similarly bare of personal items. In passing, he sometimes mentioned a daughter, but never could I have put the two and two together until I’d turned around from paying my respects and saw her standing there, tears welling in her eyes and uncertainty slouching hershoulders.

In one moment, Gwen James had rendered me speechless all overagain.

That day, I offered her all the comfort I could—and she never asked me why I was there or how I knew her father. I need to tell her at some point, but the worry has always lingered that I’ll make her feel even more shitty about the situation with her dad. That a guy like me had considered her father one of his greatest mentors . . . when she hadn’t even seen the man inyears.

Sometimes, I can’t help but feel as though she’d rather not know of my connection to her father since she’s never once brought itup.

With a deep breath, I shove my fingers through my hair and then climb out of my truck, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder after grabbing it from the backseat.

Her smile is slight, unsure, and it takes everything in me not to lift her up and stamp a hard kiss on her mouth. After years of waiting, though, I’m not claiming my first kiss on mydoorstep.

“Sorry I’m late.” When I step directly in front of her, I offer my hand and hide a grin when she accepts the offer to help her up. “A few mutual friends of ours are the reason for the holdup.” I unlock the front door and push it open, then step to the side so Gwen can enter first. “Seems as though you have some fairy godmothers looking out foryou.”

She scrunches her nose, and it’s cute as hell. The minute we step inside, she shrugs out of her trench coat and slips it over one of the hooks by the front door. With her red hair down around her shoulders and her cream-colored dress snug in all the right places, she’s also the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Then I notice a stain by her armpit, and I quirk a brow. “You weren’t kidding about the lasagna swimming, wereyou?”

“What?” Jolted out of the moment, she stares down at her dress and releases a soft sigh. “I thought I escaped unscathed.” She fingers the stain and then lets her hand fall to her side. “My mother had anaccident.”

“Sounds saucy.” I wink at her, and she rewards me with achuckle.

“You have no idea,” she says with a shake of her head. “My mom is . . . I don’t even know how to best describeher.”

Knowing now that Mark’s ex-wife is Gwen’s mother, it all makes sense. Mark’s choice words about his ex-wife tended to stay in the colored, four-lettered variety. From what I gathered, The Former Mrs. James was (and is) a littletemperamental.

And that’s putting itlightly.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell Gwen as we move into my kitchen. I flick the lights on and nod my head toward the counter, so she can put the pie down. “Not if you don’t want to, Imean.”

Gwen sets the pie on the counter and then lingers there, hands on the rounded lip as her shoulders draw up by her ears. “Do you have someone in your life that you don’t particularly like but you still can’t help yourself—you want to make themproud?”

Knowing it’ll make her grin, I hold up my hands, spreading them wide. “You may not have noticed, honey, but my coach isn’t the most likeablefellow.”

“Hall?” She turns around and presses her butt to the counter so she can meet my gaze. “He’s a total sweetheart. I’ve never had an issue withhim.”

“Toyou, maybe.” It’s not exactly P.C., but I go for the truth anyway. “Anyone with a dick is usually on his shitlist.”

She brings her thumb to her mouth and nibbles on the pad. My own dick rises to the occasion, wanting to be included in the conversation.Go down, man. Not yourturn.

“Anyway,” I mutter, moving past her to open the cabinets. I pull down two plates, grab utensils, and set them on the marble kitchen island that’s more like its own separate continent, it’s so big. Whoever owned this house before me either had a Napoleonic complex or was a mammoth—there’s no in between. “Tell me what happened with your mom. Then I’ll make you feel better with pie andwine.”

“Andkisses?”

I whip around at her sassily issued question. With her arms bent just so, and her hands perched on the counter behind her, her breasts are thrust forward. Her dress is demure, with a conservative neckline and a slim line that cuts off at her knees. But the look in her blue eyes is anything but demure and it takes every inch of my self-control not to toss the pie to the floor and hike her up onto the counter. The things I’d do toher…

My eyes screw shut as I struggle to even out my breathing. “We’ll get there, trustme.”

“Tonight?”

Opening my eyes, I find myself with my hands on her hips and pressing my hard-on against her belly. She’s inches shorter than me, even in her heels, and she tips her head back to brush her lips to the underside of myjaw.

At the sensation of her lips coasting over my skin, I almost sayfuck itand take what I want. Pull up her dress. Pop her up on the counter. Strip off her underwear and pump into her slickheat.

It’d be easy to dothat.

But we started on this path because I wanted to be sure she was in this for the right reasons—listening to her talk about her mom, showing that I care about more than what’s between her legs . . . that matters tome.

My control snaps when she loops an arm around me, her palm resting on myback.

I nip her to put her in place—a gentle bite to her earlobe that pulls a yip from her mouth and has her dragging her nails down my back. “Be good,” I whisper as I move my mouth lower, to the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder meet, “or I’ll be forced to up thestakes.”

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