Page 98 of Across the Boards

“Absolutely not,” I say with mock seriousness. “I was planning to go home, set my alarm for 5 AM, then sneak back over here to cook breakfast before you wake up. Much more respectable than simply staying.”

A laugh escapes her, the sound warming something deep in my chest. “That’s quite the commitment to breakfast service.”

“What can I say?” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “I’m very dedicated to customer satisfaction.”

Her eyes darken slightly at my tone, and something shifts in her expression—a decision being made, caution giving way to desire.

“In that case,” she says, her voice dropping to match mine, “it would be more... efficient if you stayed.”

“Efficiency is important,” I agree, my heart racing as she shifts closer on the couch. “I’m all about maximizing productivity.”

“Are you now?” There’s a new boldness in her gaze that I haven’t seen before—a confidence that makes my mouth go dry.

“Elliot,” I start, wanting to be sure, “we don’t have to?—”

She cuts me off with a kiss that erases any doubt about what she wants. This is intention, decision, desire. Her hands frame my face, holding me exactly where she wants me as she takes control of the kiss.

I respond immediately, my arms circling her waist, drawing her closer. When she pulls back slightly, her lips still brushing mine, I can feel her smile.

“I thought hockey players were supposed to have quick reflexes,” she murmurs.

“Give me a second to catch up,” I breathe. “I’m still processing the fact that Elliot Waltman is taking the initiative.”

“Too much?” Uncertainty flickers across her face, and I rush to erase it.

“God, no. I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in the stands,” I murmur against her lips, hands sliding beneath the jersey to find warm skin. “Wearing my name.”

My jersey. On her. In public. The memory of how she looked in the stands, proudly wearing my name while Jason glared from the ice, sends a surge of possessive heat through me.

Something shifts in her expression—a decision made, hesitation replaced with determination. She rises from her spot beside me, and for a heart-stopping moment I think she’s ending this, stepping away. Instead, she moves with deliberate grace to stand directly in front of me.

“Show me,” she says simply.

I reach for her hand, ready to pull her back down beside me, but she has other ideas. With a confidence that steals my breath, she places one knee on the couch beside my thigh, then the other, settling herself directly on my lap, facing me.

“Is this okay?” she asks, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her boldness.

The new position puts us eye to eye, her weight settled perfectly where I want her most.

Her weight on my lap, the subtle scent of her perfume, the closeness of her—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. When she leans down to kiss me again, I meet her halfway, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair.

The kiss deepens immediately, her tongue brushing against mine, drawing a groan from somewhere deep in my chest. Her hands aren’t idle either—they move from my shoulders to my chest, exploring with a curiosity that makes it hard to think straight.

“I like this,” she murmurs against my lips. “Being able to control the angle.”

“I like everything about this,” I reply honestly, my voice rougher than I expected.

I capture her mouth again, unable to resist the pull between us any longer. My hands slide down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, learning the shape of her. When I reach her hips, I hesitate, not wanting to push too far.

She makes a small sound of frustration against my lips, then takes my wrist and deliberately places my hand on the curve of her ass.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” she says, her breath warm against my ear. “I’m not going to break.”

“Noted,” I manage, giving her a gentle squeeze that makes her breath catch. “But I am going to be sure. Every step. Because you matter, Elliot. This matters.”

I trail kisses along her jaw, down the elegant line of her neck, finding a spot that makes her gasp and arch against me. The movement brings our bodies into closer alignment, and I can’t suppress a groan at the contact.

“You like that spot,” I murmur against her skin, not really a question.

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