Page 74 of Body Check

Her blue eyes, on the other hand, are pure liquid fire, molten and hot and eyeing me up like she’s considering the miniscule bathroom behind us.

I tear my gaze from hers. “Turns out, Holly here thought my car belonged to the team’s goalie, who gave up four shots on the net. She’s always been passionate about hockey, andthat’sofficially the craziest thing a fan has ever done.”

“I wasn’t a fan,” she quips, her ass now in my palm and her fingers digging into the seat in front of mine.

“Nah, you weren’t.” I feather my touch down the back seam of her yoga pants. “Yet.”

Shaking her head, she chokes out a raspy laugh. “You’re trouble.”

“Always have been,” I husk. “Now take a seat before Matt has something to say about you holding up the plane from landing.” Folding up the aisle-side arm rest, I stretch my long legs out so that Holly can scoot past me. “I promise I won’t bite.”

A snort greets my ears as she bats my legs out of the way, calls out a quick, “Carmen, Adam, take a seat!” before settling into the window seat beside me. I don’t even have the opportunity to appreciate her close proximity before she’s whipping toward me, index finger stiff and at the ready to do some serious damage to my bicep.

“You,” she growls, and it’s such a cute attempt at being all aggressive and feisty that I grab her hand in mine and press a kiss to her palm. Then murmur, “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to throw me out of the plane right now?”

Her nose scrunches in deliberation. “Twelve.” She tugs on her captured hand to no avail. “I’m at a twelve, which is the equivalent of someone’s mood after being force-fed anything you’ve cooked for at least three days in a row.”

Amusement spreads like wildfire through my veins. I love it when she’s all about the quick comebacks. Gently, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and touch our foreheads together. “Low blow,” I mutter, “but well-deserved. Payback officially has been served.”

Her blue eyes dart from my gaze down to my lips and then back again.

Christ.

My grasp tightens ever so slightly, and my slacks feel incrementally tighter in the crotch than they did two minutes earlier. I open my mouth, voice rumbling out, “No crime in these guys knowing how we met. They’re family and you’re . . .”

She tilts her head to the side, as though silently daring me to finish that thought. “I’m what?”

Beautiful. Funny.

Mine.

“You’re the kickass queen of Carter Photography, wielder of cameras and the sole heiress to—”

Her small fist collides with my bicep.

It barely registers.

“What?” I fold up the armrest between us, eliminating the remaining barrier. “I thought you’d appreciate that more than what I was going to say, considering that you’re still in yourthinking about usphase. Plus, I know how much you secretly love your fantasy books.”

The pressure in the plane increases as we make our final descent into Washington. I’ve tried to avoid thinking about what Dr. Mebowitz said earlier this week in the lead up to tomorrow’s game. Today, I feel like Beast of the Northeast—the relentless pounding in my head has eased, and my muscles feel limber and ready to put the Capitals into an early, hockey-induced grave.

And then there’s Holly, leaning back against the drawn-shut oval window, one knee raised so that it rests lazily against my left thigh. She watches me like I’m the man she’s always known: the hockey player who can make magic happen out of nothing; a team captain who’s at the height of his game and shows no sign of slowing down; a guy who, once upon a time, she loved more than anyone else.

She watches me like I’m capable of anything, and sees nothing of the fears, the pain, the increasing worry that fate might have other plans for me aside from taking the Cup and memorializing my name one more time in hockey history.

The heat and familiarity in her blue eyes gives me a more addicting high than any win on the ice ever has.

The seat belt signsping!and Matt’s voice echoes through the cabin. “Looks like we’re about to land, ladies and gents. I hope you’re ready to take on the Capitals—between us, I can’t wait to see their smug faces go slack the minute you guys step on the ice.”

I clap and shout, along with the rest of my teammates, only to feel Holly’s fingers dig into my thigh. At the slight pinch of her nails, my hands land on the seat back and I raise a brow in question.

She licks her lips. “What were you going to say? A minute ago, before Matt . . . you were going to say something.”

My gaze flicks between hers. In the last week, I’ve tried to give her time to think, more for her sake than mine—because that’s what she wanted. I know that we can’t jump into things and expect them to go back to the way they were before we went our separate ways—nor would I want them to.

A year ago, I divorced a woman who I loved but who felt like a stranger all the same.

No, I wouldn’t want a repeat of what used to be. But I sure as hell want the chance to reconnect and build something new. Something better.

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