Before I can say anything—before I can even move—Bea flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They’re rimmed in a melted chocolate smoke, highlighting the golden flecks.
“I’m just going to find a loo—uh, bathroom—and take a minute, because…yeah.” Her voice dies off lamely, and she spins on her heels. With determination, she keeps her chin raised as she works her way through the crowd, now all vying for her attention over Gus’ stunt. Dumbfounded, I watch her go until I realize she’s not turning down the hall for the restrooms, but is making a break for the exit. I hitch my step and follow her. All I’ve wanted tonight is to see Bea. To talk to her. To maybe even hold her. But now she’s fleeing, and I command my legs to move.
It takes longer than I’d like to catch up, my teammates all having a joke about the mistletoe I’m still carrying. Finally, in the atrium of the building, I close the gap. Bea ducks into the coatroom, and I follow.
“Don’t go,” I say, just as her fingers close over a black wool coat on the rack. She freezes, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Please, don’t go.”
A sigh escapes her, and she tips her head back to look at the ceiling. It exposes the long line of her neck, pale skin that looks too delicate to touch. But I want to do just that. I want to domore. I want to know if it’s as soft as I think, testing the theory by placing kisses all along the column.
Instead, I step closer, the room growing smaller as everything else falls away. Except Bea. Lowering her head, she has a sad half smile on her face, and I want nothing more than to wipe it away.
“That was humiliating,” she finally admits when she looks at me. “I tried to stop him when I realized what he was going to do.” Her hand falls away from the coat, and she shrugs. “I love Gus, he’s always good for a laugh. But if this is what I missed out on as an only child, it’s probably the only thing I’ll ever thank my parents for.”
“Cal and Ava are both talking to him right now,” I offer. I’ve dealt with Gus’ antics a lot longer than Bea has. Sometimes, he goes too far, but it never comes from a bad place. And my quandary about whether to punch him or hug him is settled when I take another step forward, and Bea mirrors me. As childish as his efforts were, they led to me being alone with Bea for the first time since the elevator.
Realizing I’m still holding the headband, I lift it slowly. With my eyes locked on hers, I slide it onto my head, the mistletoe swaying gently between us. Bea gives a throaty giggle, the sound shooting straight to my cock with its richness. Her eyes focus onthe red bow tied to the top of the sprig, and she taps it, sending it bouncing. The headband pinches slightly behind my ears, but I’d trap my head in a vise at this point to be this close to her again. With Bea watching the mistletoe, I slip a hand around her waist, pulling her gently toward me, mindful of the half-chub I’m sporting from her proximity. I like feeling her breath catch and how wide her eyes go when she switches her gaze to my face when she brushes against me.
“He did go through all that effort.” I let the words slide out, low and teasing. Slowly, I bring my other hand to cradle Bea’s flushed cheek, my thumb grazing her full bottom lip. “I’d hate to waste it.”
In slow motion, I turn and lower my face to hers, giving her plenty of time to pull away again. I see her eyes fall shut, and her lips part for a moment before I capture them with mine. They’re pillowy and pliant as I press harder, slanting my mouth with tightly restrained hunger. I want to devour her, consume her physically the way she’s consumed my thoughts. Instead, I allow my hand to move from her face to the wavy, silky tresses of her hair, tangling in them without care.
Bea fists the lapels of my coat when she arches her neck and moans into our kiss. Tracing the seam of her lips with my tongue, I seek permission. It’s granted on the next motion, her lips opening and her tongue sliding through to meet my own.
The taste of her is unlike anything I’ve experienced with others. There’s the surface-level hint of mint and a sweetness I can’t place, but it’s everything underneath that has me pulling her to me. I angle her head to kiss her deeper, chasing the flavor that feels like magic. Home.Mine.
With a gasp, Bea leans back. I glimpse her blown pupils and plump lips, before keeping her close by dropping my forehead against hers.
“Chto ty so mnoy delayesh? Kak ya teper smogu stat prezhnim?”I whisper. It’s not fair to ask her how I’ll ever be the same in a language she doesn’t speak, but I don’t care. Delicate hands glide up my chest and neck, shoving the headband off before threading through my hair. I chase her touch, and the echo of the atrium and party beyond begins to filter through the haze kissing Bea has left me in. Returning to the party is not what I want to do. I want to keep her here, kissing every part of her she’ll let me, while I learn every secret sound she can give me. But familiar voices call our names, and I know it’s no use trying to hide away. She knows it, too. With a quick press of her lips against my own, Bea pulls back and offers me a full, beautiful smile.
“We should probably go back,” she tells me, disappointment bleeding through her words. I groan, bringing her tight against me again, and drop my face to the crook of her neck when she intentionally rolls against my now-fully-hard cock.
“Killing me,” I whisper, finally testing my theory about the skin along her neck with a soft kiss. “Don’t want to go back in there.”
“Well, not in the state you’re in.” Bea giggles, her shoulders shaking under my lips. “Let’s just take a minute, and then we’ll go.”
“Think they’ll know?” I lift my head to gaze down at her, fingers teasing her cheek and the wispy strands of hair at her temple. She smiles.
“Absolutely. But if Cal’s done his job, they’ll be too scared to say anything. I think our secret will keep for the night,” Bea reasons.
“Good,” I tell her, squeezing her hip and brushing a chaste kiss across her lips. “I don’t want to share you with anyone.”
CHAPTER 11
BEA
Russian Daddy
I’m never going to hear the end of this. How did I let you talk me into it?
You are not the first one to do it, and I doubt you’ll be the last.
The screen shifts, a photo coming through the text messages. Nicky sits on the bench in the locker room, shirtless in his hockey pants. The camera is angled above his head, looking down on his serious and handsome face before leading my eye to his long, muscular torso and defined abs. He’s sweaty but relaxed as he gets ready for the game.
“The jump from ‘Nikita Baladin-Goalie 28’ to ‘Russian Daddy’ as a contact only took one kiss? Must have been a good kiss,” Violet muses from over my shoulder before she comes around the edge of the seats in the suite we’re using for tonight’s game. She gives a low whistle as she takes my phone and opensthe picture to full screen. I scramble to take it back, highly aware that Natalia is a few feet away at the glass overlooking the rink.
“I told you it was good?—”
“A ‘bloody fantastic kiss,’ I think you said,” she interrupts, accent and all.
