I cover my face with one hand. “You are....” I shake my head.
He chuckles low. “You fed me your milk, Doc. Kind of intimate for our first date.”
I drop my hand and glare. “Oh, please. If this were a date, you’d be unconscious by now — and not from the punch to the head.”
That earns a quiet, genuine laugh from him, the kind that makes his shoulders shake. “Okay, fair. But in my defense, you didn’t label it.”
“In my defense, I had one glass of champagne at the game and pumped and needed to dump, but there were dishes to be done. You shouldn’t drink something when you don’t know what it is.”
He raises a brow. “You’d be surprised what hockey players consume on instinct.”
“Clearly not,” I mutter, cleaning the last of the blood and pressing a bandage to the wound.
When I’m done, I step back, folding my arms. “Try not to reopen it. You need rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Claudia.”
“Claudia,” he repeats it like he’s testing the taste of it. “Claudia,” he says again, slower this time. “Goes better with warm milk than I expected.”
“Get out,” I say, but I’m smiling, despite myself.
“I may exit this room, but Doc, you and I have unfinished business. I’m not gonna let you get away that easy this time.” I feel my face catch fire, and I do not embarrass easily. He stands, “Looking at your girl, can’t say you made the wrong choice,because that would feel a lot like wishing that little one away, and that’s never gonna happen.”
“I need you to just,” I shake my head. “Not.”
“You think I’ve forgotten those messages? Videos? Nights we got off to each other?”
I stand straighter. “I’m not that girl anymore.”
“No, Doc, you’re a fucking woman.” He steps toward me, and I step back out of the bathroom altogether. “You just need to be reminded how good that can feel.”
My pulse spikes before my brain even catches up. The space between us shrinks too fast — the bathroom feels too small, the air too thick. His voice rolls over me, low and certain, the kind that vibrates more than it sounds.
He’s not coy about it, not cute — both of which are types of manipulation all on their own. The practiced charm, the too-sweet smiles, plenty of us women fall for, and I learned the hard way what it looks like when a man hides arrogance behind confidence. Kyle was that man. Conceited. Controlling.All air and no weight.
But Deacon Moretti isn’t that. He’s not performing or pretending. He’s just… male. Solid. Heat and muscle and quiet dominance wrapped in the calm of someone who doesn’t need to prove a damn thing. And that? That might be the most dangerous kind of man there is.
I should say something to shut it down, something that cuts through the tension and reminds him who he’s talking to.I’m a mother, a good one. But all that comes out is a shaky exhale that betrays me completely.
Every rational thought screamsdon’t, but my body is already reacting. Heart racing, breath shallow, skin prickling inawareness and need. I know that he sees it. Acutely aware that he knows. Because for one heartbeat, before I stepped out of that bathroom, before sense drags me back into the hallway, Iremember what it feels like towant.To be wanted. And that scares the hell out of me.
He steps forward and places his palms flat against the wall, on either side of my shoulders, “I need you to let me be the man who shows you how good that can feel.”
“Clearly I’m no virgin,” I say, but it doesn’t come out as intended; it’s too breathy and not steady enough to sound like the warning it’s supposed to be. My voice shakes, caught somewhere between defiance and a plea.
He’s too close, his breath warm against my temple, the scent of soap and darker notes, like ice, leather, and heat.
I tell myself to move, to push past him, to reclaim the space he’s stolen with nothing more than proximity, but my fingers curl against the wall instead, gripping air.
“Doesn’t mean you know what it’s supposed to feel like,” he murmurs, bending his head, his hair tickling my neck, as he inhales up my neck, lips so close I feel their shadow, “And after tasting what comes out of you perfect tits,” he groans. “I can’t wait to taste what I can pump out of the rest of your hot as hell body.”
And then, he steps back, turns, and heads to the couch.
