Page 170 of My Lucky Charm

He looks down.

“But you helped me see that I’m more than just a hockey player. And that hockey can be fun. I had forgotten that. You helped me see that I need to let people in more. And man—” He shakes his head— “the way you loved Scarlett right from the start . . .” He trails off like the sentence will finish itself.

Somewhere during his speech, he took the throw pillow away from me, took my face in his hands and robbed me of every last line of defense I stupidly thought might protect me from these feelings.

“I don’t want you to be my assistant anymore,” he says quietly. “I want you to be my girlfriend. And you’ll have a new job with a new title and you’re going to be crazy good at it.”

He brings his lips to mine, but our eyes are still open. He’s got that same hungry, intense look he had at the gala, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“What will my new title be?” I ask, and then softly kiss him back.

“I think ‘Princess Eloise’ was discussed,” he says, kissing me again. “And Lady Hart was another possibility.”

I smile through the kiss. “What about ‘Your Honor’?”

He shakes his head. “Too stuffy.”

“I can’t believe you remember all of this,” I say.

“When it comes to you, I don’t want to miss a thing.”

I study his face, eyes snagging on that scar, one of the first things I noticed about him. I reach up and touch it. “What happened here?”

“Stick to the face,” he says.

“I feel like there’s a story there,” I say.

His gaze dips to my lips. “Can I tell it to you later?”

I decide, at this moment, to dive in headfirst.

“Talking really is overrated.” I pull him close, and when our lips meet, all of my fears fade away, and I practically melt into a puddle right here on my couch. It’s a mix of relief and elation and a revelation that all these feelings I’ve been fighting, I don’t have to fight anymore. And this person I’ve been trying to be?

I don’t have to be her anymore either.

If I get hurt, I get hurt. Because this—the fact that it feels so different and real and honest—is worth the risk.

Gray’s lips are strong and full, and I have to think that I’m reaping the benefit of his no-dating rule because he’s so intentional and careful. But there’s a quiet desperation there too, like he’s been holding back for so long and only now gets to finally—finally—give in.

There’s something to be said about delaying gratification.

He pulls me closer, our bodies tangled together, and I’m hopelessly aware of all the places where we’re touching. We fall back on the couch, and I laugh, looking up into his stormy eyes and thinking that whatever story they tell, I want to be the first person to hear it.

He places a trail of kisses across my neck and chin, then his lips are back on mine, the perfect balance of strong and sweet.

I wrap my arms around him and pull my head into his chest, tight. He wraps his arms around me, and then suddenly pulls away. “Oh wait. I have to tell you one more thing.”

I look up at him.

He smiles—a real one—and I’m pretty sure it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I think you’re pretty.”

“Oh?” I grin.

“And your sisters are terrifying.”

Another kiss. Another smile. Another somersault in my stomach. And then, I pull back and ask, “Do you want to explain where you got the mattress?”

“You’re not the only one with connections,” he says.

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