Page 101 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
The way he says 'my wife' sends heat straight through me, low and demanding. "Very diplomatic."
"I'm feeling diplomatic today." He moves closer, that predatory grace that makes my pulse skip. "Want to know what I'm really thinking?"
"Tell me."
"I'm thinking about how fucking incredible it's going to feel to beat Boston in Game 1 while you're watching from the observation box, taking notes on how a man performs when he's playing for everything that matters." His voice drops to that gravelly register that makes my knees weak. "I'm thinking about coming home to you after we win and showing you exactly how celebrating feels."
"Dax..." I breathe, suddenly hyperaware of how alone we are, how the tension in the room has shifted from professional to something much more dangerous.
"I'm thinking," he continues, backing me against my desk, "about how every time someone asks if I regret choosing you over Boston, I get to remember what you look like when I make you come. How you sound when you say my name. How it feels to wake up next to the woman who makes me want to be better at everything."
My hands fist in his practice jersey, pulling him closer even though every rational part of my brain is screaming about professional boundaries and people who might walk in.
"You're playing a very dangerous game, Mr. Kingston."
"The only game worth playing, Dr. Bennett." His mouth is inches from mine now, his hands braced on either side of me against the desk. "Boston thinks they can psyche me out by making this personal? They have no fucking idea how personal this already is."
"How personal?" I whisper, completely lost in the storm-gray intensity of his eyes.
"Personal enough that I'm going to score a goal in Game 1 and look directly at their bench to make sure they know exactly what they lost when they couldn't convince me to leave Chicago. Personal enough that every save, every hit, every play I make is going to be a love letter to the woman who chose me right back."
Before I can respond, he's kissing me against my desk, his mouth claiming mine with the kind of intensity that makes rational thought impossible. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his practice jersey, and when he lifts me onto the desk, scattering papers everywhere, I forget about professionalism entirely.
"Fuck," I gasp against his lips as his hands grip my thighs, positioning me exactly where he wants me. "Anyone could walk in."
"Let them," he growls, his mouth moving to my throat. "Let them see exactly what Boston couldn't take away from me."
The possessive edge in his voice sends liquid heat straight through me, and when his teeth graze that sensitive spot below my ear, I arch against him with a soft moan.
"You're going to get us both in trouble," I breathe, even as my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.
"We're already in trouble, baby. Might as well make it worth the scandal."
A knock on my door makes us spring apart like teenagers caught making out. I slide off the desk, smoothing my skirt while Dax runs a hand through his hair, both of us breathing hard.
"Dr. Bennett?" Jamie's voice comes through the door. "Martinez wants to see you about media protocols."
"Coming!" I call out, proud of how normal my voice sounds despite the fact that I'm still vibrating with want. I look at Dax, who's grinning like the smug bastard he is.
"Rain check?" he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
"You're terrible," I whisper back, but I'm smiling.
"You love it."
"I love you, you impossible man."
The look he gives me could melt steel. "Hold onto that feeling, Tessa. Because in forty-eight hours, the entire hockey world is going to be watching me prove that choosing you was the best decision I've ever made."
Game day hits like a freight train, but somehow I sleep straight through until nine. When I finally roll over, the bed’s empty—Dax already at morning skate. All he’s left behind is the warm scent of his cologne and a note on my pillow:
Today we show them what real love looks like. See you after we destroy Boston.
- Your devoted husband
The term of endearment makes my heart do stupid gymnastics, even though we're still technically getting that annulment.Eventually. When we get around to it. Which seems less and less likely as time goes on.
My phone starts buzzing before I'm even fully caffeinated. Text after text from reporters, colleagues, family members who've apparently just discovered that their quiet daughter/friend/whatever is married to one of the most recognizable athletes in Chicago.
