Page 128 of Miami Ice

Then, to punctuate my point, I link my hands around the back of his neck, draw him closer to me, and give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Beckham?”

“Yes?”

“I want to promise you something.”

He looks down at me, nodding. “Okay.”

“I will never tell anyone that you secretly love maniacal nutcrackers.”

A huge grin lights up his face. “Oh no. I never said I like maniacal nutcrackers.”

“But I love them, and that should remind you of me above everything else. But don’t worry, Grumpy, your secret is safe with me.”

“There is no secret to keep. I hate your maniacal nutcrackers.”

“You protest too much.”

“You’re right. I’m done protesting. You need to be punished for telling lies.”

Then his fingertips slide around to my ribs and begin tickling me. I shriek with laughter and run away from him, but he quickly catches me. We tumble onto the sofa, landing on a pile of tartan pillows, his hands pinning mine over my head.

“Give?” Beckham demands.

Oh yes, I do.

“I give.”

His mouth captures mine, his tongue demanding access, and I melt into his kiss. Soon I can feel him growing hard against me, and a low, agonized groan escapes his lips.

“Christ, I want to be inside of you so bad, but I have to take a nap,” Beckham says.

I laugh at that comment.

“What?” he asks, letting go of my hands and pushing himself up to look at me.

“Hearing a grown man say he needs a nap over sex,” I say, putting my hand to his face.

“I play hockey. I have to,” Beckham says, punctuating his sentence with a quick kiss on my lips. “I need to eat and go to bed.”

“I know you do. It’s one of those weird facts about being a hockey player that I’m just learning about. I need a nap, too. I can take it in the guest bedroom so I don’t distract you, though.”

Beckham sits up and then pulls me to a sitting position. He plucks up a tartan pillow and smiles softly at me. “So you’ll replace this with an ‘OH-OH-OH’ pillow?” he asks, his eyes dancing mischievously at me.

I give him a narrowed-eyed look. “With a ‘HO-HO-HO’ pillow, yes. I’ll return all this and give this house the Georgie glow.”

“I think I saw the Georgie glow last night. After an ‘OH-OH-OH’ in the bedroom.”

I can feel heat radiate in my cheeks and travel down my neck.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you blush,” Beckham says.

“Stop.”

“Stop saying you’re cute or stop teasing you about the orgasm you had last night?”

“You’re so annoying when you’re not grumpy,” I tease, standing up.

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