Page 67 of Irresistibly Risky

He’s Wynter’s father, but she calls him Joe, and Gary Hathaway, Dad. She hates him, and I’m starting to need to know why more and more. Hiding my situation with Wynter, as well as Mason, is risky for me. It could mean the end of my career here if he found out.

Boston, this team—they’re everything to me.

But so are Wynter and Mason.

I push that off and congratulate my teammates—because that’s my job now that he’s done berating them.

After showering and changing—thank God for hot water and dry clothes—we climb onto the team plane and end up sitting on the tarmac due to thunderstorms back in Boston.

I’ve avoided it all night. All day. I haven’t pulled up the video apps once, but now that we’re sitting and it’s dark and stormy outside and I have nothing better to occupy my thoughts than my big guy and my ice queen back home, I no longer resist. The video feed immediately comes in, and there he is on his back in his crib, arms splayed out on either side of his head.

A hard swallow sticks in my throat.

Good night, big guy. Sweet dreams. I love you. I’ll see you when you wake up.

I continue to watch the feed, still mesmerized by my son and knowing that will never change. I’ve missed so much. Ten months of his life. Ten months of growing and changing. I hated leaving him, even for a couple of nights.

I tap my screen and pull up my text message thread with Wynter, debating if I should write anything. I put all my cards on the table with her the other day, and since that time, I’ve given her space. It hasn’t been easy.

I’m a bull. I charge in and dominate any situation with horns and a lot of snuffing, using my weight and size when necessary.

But that’s not what she needs. She needs to know she can rely on me. That my words are genuine. I need her trust the way I need oxygen. Hell, I simply need her. Body, soul, mind, and spirit. I want to do this. I want to see where it can go. I’ve never met anyone like her, and I can’t stop thinking about her.

It’s constant and pervasive, and I love it as much as I hate it.

I tap the screen some more and then start writing, only to immediately delete it. It’s after ten now, and if she’s asleep, I don’t want to wake her. Joe wasn’t happy about her not accompanying the team to Cincy, but she held firm on her stance about not going, and he relented. I don’t even know if she knows I’m coming home tonight. I told her I’d see her Monday because we don’t land until late. She’s living with me, and I know she sets limits on us for reasons I understand, but I don’t care.

I think she’s it. The real deal.

Now I just have to prove it to her.

The plane finally kicks off the runway, and I settle in for the short flight, my eyes closing only to snap back open when we have a bumpy landing. Rain is coming down hard in Boston too, along with rumbles of thunder and streaks of lightning. I drive home, pull into my spot in the underground garage, and park next to Wynter’s car.

Her car is old. And not my first choice for her and my son. I know she must make good money as a surgeon, but I also know how Wynter’s mind works, and I know she’d view a car as a frivolous purchase. She’s pragmatic, whereas I’m adventurous.

We are opposites in so many ways.

Still, I wonder if she’d agree to allow me to buy them one if I said it was in the name of safety and not bestowing gifts. Gifts I’m dying to shower her in.

With a yawn, I get in the elevator and shoot up to my place at the top, ready to crawl into bed and then spend tomorrow with my guy since I have a day off. Only as I reach the edge of my room, I stop dead in my tracks.

Squinting against the thick darkness I take in the form under rumpled blankets and the dark hair spread across my white pillow.

Wynter is fast asleep in my bed.

My groin tightens, making my slacks uncomfortable, so I take them off along with my shirt. Unmasked desire rages through me, and I climb on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight as I move in toward her.

Her body stirs as I climb beneath the covers, and then I roll her until she’s on top of me. She’s not wearing a lot. I can’t see much of anything, but I can feel, and my hands rove her curves of their own volition. A thong and a T-shirt—my T-shirt, if the size and smell of it are anything to go by. She’s so sexy, I can hardly stand not thrusting straight into her.

Her in my clothes, sleeping in my bed like a sneak. Like a thief. It makes me impossibly hard, and I know she feels it since I’m doing nothing to hide it from her.

“Look at this sweet surprise I found waiting for me in my bed.”

She pushes up, planting her hands on the bed on either side of me, her eyes wide in shock. “I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.”

I grin. “That doesn’t explain how you got here.”

She licks her lips, the outline of her features barely visible against the streetlamps that filter through my blinds. “I had a nightmare. A bad one and I woke up, and then it was storming.”

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