Page 22 of Second Draft

“Until Travis comes back, you are.” He lets his hand rest on mine, gaze so intense that despite the warmth that floods through me, a shiver races down my back.

The way he looks at me makes me forget everything.

Who I am.

Who he is.

That I’m carrying his brother’s baby.

My body practically hums with need at his touch. And the protective, almost possessive way he’s looking at me right now makes my insides melt. Makes me want more. More than I can ever have.

Warning bells blare.

Danger. Danger. Run as fast as you can.

I pull my hand away, and stand.

“Thank you for letting me stay here for now.”

I don’t wait for his response, because I need to get as far away from him as possible, to clear my head.

Maybe I’m reading him all wrong. Maybe the touch, the look, is just him. There’s no denying the man oozes sex appeal. And my hormones are all over the place. Maybe he’s just trying to be the responsible brother, cleaning up Travis’ mess.

I shut my bedroom door, locking it behind me.

Yeah, that’s all it is. Nothing more. Because what man in his right mind would be interested in a woman carrying another man’s baby? Especially when that man is his brother.

Unless he’s just interested in sex.

But then there are a million women out there that I’m sure would be more than willing to jump into bed with an incredibly hot ex NHL player.

Laying down on my bed, I curl into a ball and close my eyes. But the minute I do, Carter’s handsome face is there, staring at me with those fuck me eyes.

Damn him for being so incredibly sexy – and sweet.

That was the real kicker. If he was a jackass like his brother, it would be easy, well not completely easy, but easier, not to think about him. But under all Carter’s broodiness, the dark scowl he wears like a uniform, is a man who cares deeply about others.

A man that I could easily fall for.

Chapter 7

Carter

“I’m not reneging on my contract. I just need a week to deal with a family situation that’s come up.”

“Christ, Carter. We’re right in the middle of playoffs.” My boss’ voice is near hysterical, and I can’t really blame him. “I need you here. I need you doing the damn job I’m paying you for.”

Paying me shit for.

“One week,” I barter.

“Four days. I want you in New York on Monday.”

I hang up and curse under my breath. I don’t need this damn job. I have more than enough money in savings, and even with constantly bailing Travis’ ass out of debt, I can get by on the interest.

But this job is the only thing that keeps me connected to my old life.

The magazine I write for is a piece of shit. But it gets me through the doors of pretty much any sporting event I want to attend. And it got me off the couch and out of the depression that had been my life since my injury.

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