Page 49 of Hat Trick

Her head lolls to the side. “Sure, whatever—oh!”

I tug down her dress, just enough to press a kiss to her collarbone. “Whatever, what?” Another kiss, this one just above the swell of her breast. “I’ve waited a long time for this, honey, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the moment exactly how I’ve envisioned it all theseyears.”

Her fingers dance around to my front to hang onto me by the belt loops of my jeans. “Are there rose petals involved?” she asks in a slyvoice.

“No.” My voice isn’t sly—it’s an honest-to-God rumble that sounds deep even to my own ears. “No rosepetals.”

“Candles?”

“I think I’ve got a lightersomewhere.”

“No rose petals,” she mutters, her fingers sinking into my hair, “no candles. What in the world have you been thinking of all theseyears?”

Hell, it’s going to sound stupid. I ignore the rapid tempo of my heart and pull back, letting her dress go so that can I cup her face. Pulling a deep breath into my lungs, I go for broke. “We’re going to pretend this is the best idea you’ve everheard.”

She turns her face just far enough so she can press a kiss to my palm. “I’m good at pretending—for aprice.”

She wouldn’t be Gwen James if she didn’t challenge me every step of theway.

And I wouldn’t be me—the NHL’s best power forward—if I didn’t take risks every day in mycareer.

“Deal accepted,” I tellher.

She blinks up at me. “You don’t even know what the priceis.”

I shrug. “Considering the topic of conversation, I figure I’m going to like it no matterwhat.”

“I could suggest bondage,” she says, throwing it out there like she’s brought something scandalous into the conversation. “Tie you up orwhatever.”

Laughter floods my chest, and I move my hand to the nape of her neck. My thumb brushes the shell of her ear and I don’t miss the way she shivers and her lids flutter shut. Which makes it the perfect time to admit: “Honey, I’m not scared of a little bondage. So long as I’m tied up to the bed and you’re riding my face, I’ve got nocomplaints.”

18

Gwen

Pop!

There goes an image of me grinding on Marshall’s face, and let me tell you, it’s what fantasies are madeof.

The man of the hour just throws back his head and laughs at what I assume is myoh-yesexpression. I don’t know how he manages to have such tan skin all year around, especially since it’s just days before Christmas. Mild winter or not, I’m the equivalent of a milk carton and he’s just . . . masculine perfection. His tattooed arms bind me to him, and his broad chest grazes mine. I’ve never met a man with a chest as powerful and as hard as Marshall’s, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he works out even more than what the Blades require ofhim.

“Have you, um . . .” I wave my hand in his general direction, not even knowing how to finish off that sentence. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . .” Once again, the words don’t come and I’m left floundering like a besottedidiot.

Marshall’s gray eyes warm as he glances down at me. “You’d be my first, Gwenny, and I’d be more than willing to let you pop my bondagecherry.”

Pophis. . .

Cheeks flushing, I roll my eyes and give a push to his chest. “You’reridiculous.”

“Nah,” he says, letting me go. From the way he eyes me as I sashay out of his embrace, I’d venture to say every foot I put between us is one that he regrets. “You can be too serious at times,” he adds, “and I’m making it my responsibility to lighten you up. Aren’t you glad you got with a youngerman?”

It’s a sore spot and he knows it. But, strangely enough, it’s been days since I’ve thought about our difference in age. Back in college, the gap seemedinsurmountable.

Standing here with him now, I can’t help but take in my surroundings. It goes without saying that Marshall has made something for himself. For a man who grew up in the system, he has more opportunities at his fingertips than I ever will. Call me crazy, but that makes me happy—he deserves every bit of good that comes hisway.

As for his house, the Tudor-style home is massive. The wood-paneling details throughout the entryway and kitchen are beautiful and not so heavy-handed that it looks like something out of the seventies. And I won’t lie—from the moment I stepped into the house, my jaw did a little drop at the sight of all the stonework. The kitchen is completely new with big appliances and an even bigger kitchenisland.

I guess it makes sense because Marshall is no small man—not in height and definitely not in the downstairsdepartment.

---