Bound (11 page)

I couldn’t help la
ughing.  And even though we’d just talked about our deep losses, I felt like it was okay. Ryke got it. I wasn’t over the loss of my baby, and he didn’t tell me to suck it up, move on or get over it.

“You wanna get shitfaced?” He arched his brows in question and I thought about it. I never did anything spontaneous anymo
re. I was an old 22-year-old: I vacuumed under my bed, made sure I got enough calcium and faithfully switched out my mascara every three months.

I missed the old me, who laughed all the time and didn’t give a shit about the shelf life of mascara.

“Kind of,” I said, grinning. Ryke pulled on my hand, but my feet stayed planted on the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry, okay?” he said. “We can take a cab home. You can stay in one of my extra rooms or I’ll carry you to bed at your place if you need it. No funny business. Just two friends getting sloppy drunk at a fundraiser.”

His words –
I’ll carry you to bed
– sent a shiver of excitement through me. I wanted to get so drunk I’d let him touch me without feeling the crippling anxiety that had driven me out into this muggy night air. Part of me wished I could flirt with Ryke, the way I used to be able to with guys. Maybe alcohol would give me the courage I needed.

I couldn’t resist his inviting expression, so I let him lead me away from the wall and back around to the front door, which we had to walk through again. The crowd had thinned, and I wondered if the event was starting.

The room we followed a few people into had a high ceiling and was decked out with bright tropical flowers. There were hundreds of people clustered around round tables covered with linen tablecloths and sparkling china. I clutched Ryke’s hand as we wove between tables. He had to stop to shake hands a couple times, and we’d almost made it to the table some other players were at when a hand gripped his shoulder.

“There you are!” a
slim, balding man said as we both turned to look at him.

Ryke grinned as he reached for the man’s hand. “Steve, good to see you.”

“Jean wants you two with us,” Steve said, his brows arching up over his glasses.

“Of course.” Ryke turned and we followed Steve up to the front of the room. I wished we’d stayed with his easygoing teammates I’d met earlier.

Ryke pulled my chair out when we reached the table at the front of the room, his voice warm against my ear as I bent to sit down.

“Team owners,” he said in a low tone. He took the seat next to me, his hand brushing lightly over my thigh as he sat down. I was pretty sure we wouldn’t be getting shitfaced with his bosses. But it was probably for the best anyway. Lowering my inhibitions around this dark, sexy and surprisingly sweet man would only get me in trouble.

***

Ryke

Kate blew me away at dinner. Her shyness disappeared and she dazzled everyone at our table with her gorgeous smile and infectious laughter.
I tried not to think of Maggie, but she crept in anyway. I remembered the way she’d sit with her back perfectly straight at these things, sipping mineral water and turning her nose up at all the food. So different from Kate, who’d proposed a toast to the upcoming season and grinned as she clinked glasses with Jean and Steve Naughton.

Yeah, it was Jean and Steve Naughton, not Steve and Jean. Jean Naughton wore the pants, and we all knew it. She was shrewd and calculating, pinching every penny of her family’s old money. But even Jean, who made me break out in a cold sweat the first time I’d met her, seemed charmed by Kate.

“Do you like hockey?” Jean asked, her steely gray gaze assessing Kate. Though she had the plump look of a grandmother, Jean wasn’t the warm type. I held my breath, waiting for Kate’s answer.

“I do,” she said. “I’m still learning all the rules, but so far I find it more straightforward than other sports. More honest.”

“How so?” Jean asked.

“Well, in baseball, if the pitcher gets mad at someone, he hits him with the ball but pretends he didn’
t mean to, right? And players get ejected if they fight. But in hockey, if they get mad, they just throw down right there. Then they both get a timeout and everyone moves on. I like that.”

Jean roared with laughter, and after a second everyone else at the table realized it was okay to laugh, so they did, too.

“A timeout!” Jean cried, her eyes sparkling. “They really are just a bunch of little boys, aren’t they? Ryke’s spent some time in the sin bin himself.”

Ka
te glanced my way and I grinned at her. “The penalty box. I try to stay out, because if I’m in the box, I can’t score. But sometimes . . .”

Jean
shook her head and a smile crept across her lips. “Shit happens.”

She was more involved than a lot of owners, because she loved the game. I liked that about her, but a lot of the guys got pissed about a woman in her sixties cussing them out after a bad game.

The dinner passed too quickly. I wanted to keep ahold of the Kate who had emerged at this table. Her confident smile was so beautiful. Every time her brown eyes met mine, they were filled with warm certainty.

We didn’t get smashed like we’d planned. I had one beer and we both had a couple glasses of champagne.
But when we got up from the table after dinner and Kate paused, looking up at me over her shoulder, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to take the lead and touch her, which was weird since she’d jumped away when I put my hand on her back earlier in the night.

I let my hand glide over the smooth, firm curve of her ass and rest on her hip, pulling her close to me.
Jean and Steve got up to leave and Jean met my gaze across the table, raising a brow. I knew what she was saying
. I like that girl, Ryke. Don’t screw this up.

I no
dded, silently agreeing with her. But my track record with anything that lasted more than one night wasn’t great. I didn’t want to have a fling with Kate and lose her as my assistant. Though it wasn’t everything I wished I could have with her, I got to see her every day.

And even worse, I couldn’t stand
the thought of hurting her. She was still fragile, and I was afraid I’d shatter her to pieces. The season was starting soon, and I’d be on the road a lot. I’d learned my lesson about what my grueling schedule did to a relationship the hard way. But why was I even thinking that? Kate and I weren’t in a relationship and I knew she didn’t want one. And I sure as hell didn’t, either. Did I? I hadn’t even considered it since Maggie died.

“You wanna go out?” I
said, looking down at her. She smelled so sweet, and I wondered what her perfume would smell like mixed with the scents of sweat and sex.

“To a bar, you mean?”
she asked, her voice rising. She was nervous, I could tell.

“Yeah, or . . . you know, whatever you feel like. We don’t have to drink.”

A second passed as she considered. “I should probably get home. My DVR gets moody when I ignore it.”

I smiled, though I was disappointed. We saw each other five mornings a week for our ritual
. When she came in, I was waiting at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee. But Mimi was always there, and Kate and I just talked about my schedule. If she was there when I got home in the evening, she’d update me on the day and rarely stay. Tonight we’d delved a little deeper, and I didn’t want it to end. I finally had her to myself and it would just be for a drive home.

She was quiet as I drove, and I didn’t know if it was a peaceful quiet or a sad one.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” I said, shifting in my seat. “Everyone loved you.”

“It was fun.”

I cleared my throat and drummed a thumb against the steering wheel. “You know, if you ever want to hang
out, we can. I like being with you.”

She
leaned her head against the back of the seat and smiled at me. “I’m boring, Ryke. I like watching reality TV in my sweats and reading.”

“I like those things, too. What do you think I do for fun?”

She laughed, and the sound made me warm all over. “Practice underwear model poses in front of a mirror?”

“Funny,” I muttered, but I was laughing, too. I’d pulled onto her street, and I slowed as her house came into view.
Parking in her driveway brought me right back to high school. I was just as nervous as I was at the end of a date back then, too.

She was already out of her door by the time I made it around the car to open it. I stuck m
y hands in the pockets of my pants as we walked up to the front porch.

“Oh . . . here’s your wallet,” I said, reaching into the pocket of my jacket for it.

“Thanks. Don’t want to lose my $5,” she said, grinning.

“Am I not p
aying you enough?” I felt my eyes bulging as I looked at her. I’d been out of the loop of normalcy for so long that I didn’t know what was good or bad in terms of salaries.

“No!” she cried. “I mean, yes! I didn’t mean anything by that.
You’re paying me more than enough. I’m just paying off my debt right now, and I don’t carry cash anyway.”

Her cheeks had darkened and I laughed awkwardly.

“If you ever want me to pay you more—”

“No! No, not at all.” She looked down and I couldn’t help rea
ching out to cup her face. My huge hands engulfed her ivory cheeks as I tipped them up so our eyes met. Her big brown eyes weren’t  just certain now; they were full of longing. I knew what she wanted, and it set me on fire. She parted her pink lips slightly and I leaned down to kiss her.

I hadn’t even known her for a full month yet, but I felt like I’d been waiting so fucking long for this.
She stiffened at first, and I reminded myself to be slower and gentler than I was feeling. Her lips tasted sweet, like the champagne she’d been drinking. God, this was good. My heart was pounding when she relaxed into me, her tits pressing against my chest.

I instinctively wrapped my arm around her, letting my fingertips skim beneath the fabric of the dress near her tailbone. Her warm, silky skin and the way her tongue tentatively met mine made my cock stir eagerly. I wanted so much more than this. She did, too; I could tell by the way she moaned when I tightened my hold on her.

“No,” she said, breaking away and pushing a hand against my chest. “No, Ryke.”

Her eyes were brimming with tears and the arm she held out between us was shaking. I felt like a complete asshole.

“Kate, what’s wrong? I didn’t—”

She let out a deep breath and the tears slipped f
rom her eyes onto her cheeks. “It’s nothing you did.”

I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. Her strained voice and mascara-streaked cheeks were more than I could stand.

“No, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not you!” Now she sounded almost angry, and I didn’t know what to say. “It’s me. I’m sorry. I just can’t . . . I can’t feel this.”

Her eyes were pleading, and a lead weight settled in my chest. I’d pushed her too far. I wasn’t sure how, or what she was so upset about it, but I knew it was different this time. Would she quit being my assistant? Just the thought tore at my heart.

I wished for words to soothe her, but I didn’t have any. I was a hockey player, for Christ’s sake. My favorite words were fuck and fucking. I could only soothe her with tender touches that would grow so sensual she’d forget her sadness, and she didn’t want that.

She opened her lips so say something and I waited. Was she going to quit the job? What would I say to make her change her mind?

But she didn’t say a word. Instead she reached for the door handle and slipped in the house, and I stared at the gray front door for a few seconds. I rubbed my face and turned to leave.

I could shoot a tiny puck across a hundred feet of ice into a net, run ten miles in about an hour and dead lift 500 pounds. But women? I was fucking worthless at that. I could fuck with the best of them, but something real, with someone amazing? That was one thing I’d never get right.

Chapter 6

Four weeks later

Mimi was cheerful as always when I walked into the kitchen, smiling and bumping the fridge closed with her hip.

“Good morning, Mr. Ryker,” she said. I grunted in response. What was so good about it? My shoulders ached from the drills I’d done at the rink the day before. And once again, I’d had to rub one off in the shower to get rid of the raging hard-on I started every day with now.

Mimi hummed to herself, arranging apples in a glass bowl on the table. “What sounds good for dinners I can make you this week?” she asked, looking my way.

“I don’t care,” I grumbled,
pouring coffee beans into the grinder. She turned away and I sighed deeply.

“I’ll think of some things,” she said brightly.

“Sorry, Mimi. I’m in a bad mood.”

She wav
ed a hand in my direction. “It’s okay.”

I rubbed my face and leaned against the counter. Things with Kate had been awkward as hell since the night I’d kissed her. Now I was careful to
keep my distance, because I didn’t want her to quit being my assistant, and I sure as hell didn’t want to make her cry again.