Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) Read online

  Which was why as much as he wanted to get his degree, as much as he knew that he was smart and capable of getting that degree, he’d always had a hard time reconciling what he did with what his parents did. They loved him, he’d never doubted that. It was just . . . sometimes being the jock son of two renowned professors made him feel like he was a pair of sneakers amongst a whole row of expensive high heels.

  Couldn’t measure up.

  Didn’t measure up.

  Wouldn’t ever measure up.

  Smothering that feeling, shoving it deep down where it managed to live most of the time, he slammed his car door shut and started for the arena, but then his nape prickled, and he slowed, turning back toward a row of cars on the far end of the lot.

  Because his inner Dani detector was ringing.

  He walked over to her, watching for a moment as she wrestled with a series of bags in her trunk. Then he moved closer, some part of him pleased when she froze and rotated to face him. No surprise on her face, just expectation. “Ethan,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his and flitting away.

  He’d had his mouth and hands on her, knew how silken her skin was, knew that she tasted of strawberries and cream. “Let me get those for you.”

  “Oh, no—”

  Ignoring her, he hefted the totes, surprised to find they were so heavy. “What’s in these?” he joked lamely. “Bricks?”

  “Actually,” she said, trailing off, her lips quirking up.

  “Wh—” He peeked inside one of the bags, knowing it was rude but doing it anyway, and saw that while there weren’t bricks within the sturdy canvas, there were rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

  She opened the one light bag he hadn’t managed to wrestle away from her, showing him that inside were a few bottles of paint, along with some brushes. “PR-Rebecca had a doctor’s appointment, so I offered to pick up the supplies for the newest Miner’s Club activity.

  Miner’s Club was a group for any kid thirteen and under who was a Gold fan, and the PR and Community Outreach teams worked together to have fun crafts and activities in the concourse before puck drop for every home game. The kids loved it, and they especially loved that a lot of the projects they worked on ended up in the community.

  Case in point, Dani saying, “They’re painting rocks that will line the walkway of the new senior center.”

  “Make sure to slip in a few Gold logo rocks,” he said lightly.

  “You have any doubt that PR-Rebecca doesn’t already have that planned out?”

  He laughed, waited while she closed the trunk and locked her car. “Do I look like an idiot?” A grin. “I’d never doubt PR-Rebecca.”

  Dani stopped, eyes locking onto his. “No,” she said. “You don’t look like an idiot, you look like—”

  She pressed her lips together.

  He was dying for her to finish that statement, but a muscle in her jaw was clenching, her gaze deliberately turned away.

  “What are you going to paint on your rock?”

  Her fingers played with the strap on the bag and as they approached the door to the arena, he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she did, her voice quiet but steady. “What makes you think I haven’t already painted some?” She reached into one of the bags, pulled out a rock about the size of her palm. “Here,” she said, holding it up. “This one is my favorite.”

  The pale gray stone had been painted a bright white, several turquoise and blue flowers covering its front and back.

  It reminded him of her dress from the library, the gleaming umber skin, the bright pink of her toes, the way it had felt to touch her, even if it had just been on her ankle.

  He wanted it.

  Wanted to take it from her hand and shove it in his pocket and to never, ever give it back.

  But . . . he wasn’t about to steal from senior citizens.

  “There. You see?” she asked, her hand closing around the rock and tugging the door open. “I did a mediocre job throwing a few examples together so that Rebecca wouldn’t have to.” A smile as she waited for him to pass her. “I get my gold—no pun intended—star for the day.”

  “I didn’t think techies liked arts and crafts time.”

  “Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “We love arts and crafts time, or at least this techie does.” A shrug. “Anyway, it was nice to do something that wasn’t screen-related, at least for a little bit.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he told her truthfully.

  Her stare came to his, held. “I don’t know about beautiful,” she said. “But I like drawing anyway.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Despite the bags, he managed to brush her fingers with his.

  “Eth—”

  He stepped closer, ignoring the fact they were standing in the doorway, blocking the entrance that any number of people needed to use, a doorway in which any number of those people could stumble upon them, all of whom would certainly spread the news about how they’d seen him mooning over Dani right where anyone could see.

  But he found he didn’t care.

  Not with the scent of strawberries on her skin wafting up to tease his nose. Not with her eyes on his. Not with her adorable nose and kissable lips and the heat of her body very close to his.

  The only thing he didn’t care for was that his hands were full.

  He couldn’t touch her properly, couldn’t tug her close, couldn’t stroke them over her body, couldn’t—

  “What are we talking about?” Max.

  Ethan held back a groan, shifting forward so he was out of the doorway, even as Dani all but jumped out of her skin in order to dart out of Max’s path. “We’re just delivering supplies for PR-Rebecca’s Miner’s Club project,” he said calmly before she could sprint down the hall. “She’s the brain. I’m the brawn.”

  Max chuckled, patted him on the arm. “Every once in a while, you can be amusing.”

  “And you try so hard but never actually succeed at it.”

  Dani chuckled.

  Max clamped his hand over his chest. “I’m wounded.”

  “You’d have to have a heart for that,” Ethan grumbled.

  “Oof,” Max said. “I’m doubly wounded.”

  “Liar.”

  “True.” A beat. “Except about the heart stuff. Mine is huge, some might even say big and juicy, like someone’s”—he took advantage of Ethan’s full hands to scrub one of his over the top of Ethan’s head and mess up his hair—“big, ole juicy brain.”

  Ethan managed to whack him in the kidney with one of the bags, which he considered a successful response to all the big and juicy stuff.

  “Oof,” Max groaned, hand pressing against his back. “You wound me.”

  “I can wound you,” Ethan muttered.

  “Children,” Mandy warned. “What are you arguing about?”

  “Ethan’s trying to hurt himself,” Max whined, “by carrying heavy stuff before game time.”

  Mandy glanced at the bags then at Dani, who at that moment stopped trying to melt into the wall and instead jumped into action by trying to snag the load from him. He held onto the bags, ignoring her efforts even as Mandy snorted. “Seriously?” the trainer asked. “That’s what you’re coming at me with?” She tapped her finger to her chin. “I think it’s a thigh massage for you.”

  Max paled, and Ethan didn’t blame the man. For one, Mandy’s thigh massages were strictly for medical purposes and weren’t what most of the populace would consider relaxing. Rather, they were beyond firm, beyond deep tissue, and more than a little painful—she called them physical therapy with a purpose, and that purpose seemed to be torturing. For another, the person who actually gave them—the team’s masseuse, Darby—was tiny but with freakishly strong hands.

  Hence the talk of torturing.

  At that moment, however, Mandy was doing less torturing and more snooping. She moved toward him, peeked into the bags. “Oh, is this for the rock activity?” She released them, walking next to him as they continued down the hall. “Madeline”�
�her daughter—“is all about the need to get paint everywhere.”

  Dani’s throat worked, but Ethan didn’t rush her—and to their credit, neither did Mandy or Max—each just waited as they strode through the hallways winding through the underbelly of the arena. “I put together a bag for the team kids to be taken up to the Family Suite,” Dani eventually said, gaze flicking to his, then to Mandy’s. “It’s the one with the otter on the front.”

  Ethan’s heart squeezed.

  Lovely woman.

  “Aw,” Mandy said. “You’re amazing. They’re going to love that.”

  A shrug. “I know it’s a little hard for the team kids to get upstairs sometimes, especially when they don’t want to take away from anyone else’s experience.”

  That was true.

  It sometimes put the players’ kids in an awkward situation, wanting to participate in the fun but not wanting to be seen as taking something away from the other kids.

  “Anyway, I thought they’d enjoy it, so I figured I’d make it easy for them to participate,” she finished.

  “You’re sweet,” Mandy said, reaching across Ethan and squeezing her hand. “Do you want to take the bag up yourself?” Dani’s feet faltered, and with Mandy’s arm still extended in front of him, he was nearly clotheslined. Luckily, he stopped just in time, bags swinging forward and back.

  “No,” she whispered. “I—I—” A breath as she fumbled. “No, I’ve got stuff . . .”

  “I can bring it up and give it to the babysitter who’s in charge tonight?” Mandy asked when Dani trailed off. “Would that be easier?”

  Gentle had crept into Mandy’s tone, and he watched as it flowed through the air, as Dani processed it, her shoulders going stiff, her chin lifting. “No,” she said, “I can take it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  That chin rose further, and Ethan could have sworn that he heard her teeth clack together. “I’m sure.”

  Mandy nodded, pulled her hand back, and they began peeling off—Max into the gym for a pregame workout, Mandy into the training suite.

  “Where do we need to take this?” he asked once they were alone.

  “PR-Rebecca’s office.” A clipped statement. “Then the otter bag upstairs.”

  “Do you want me—”

  “I said, I was going to take it up.”

  He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. “I was going to ask if you wanted to take the otter bag up while I dropped the other stuff off to Rebecca.”

  She skittered to a stop right in front of him, and he jerked to a halt, the bags colliding first against his body then against hers. “Oof,” he muttered as rocks jabbed into his hip.

  Dani winced. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “No, I’m sorry. You okay?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a mess.”

  “Because of me or the rocks?”

  More halting, more shaking off her head. “Because . . .” A sigh. “Of me.”

  He studied her face, not liking the tinge of misery creeping into the edges of her eyes, clouding the amber and russet with cool steel, pulling those plush lips flat. “Well, if it counts for anything, I think you’re a gorgeous mess.”

  She glanced down at herself, made a face. “I’m in jeans, a baggy fleece, and no makeup.”

  He set the bags down, tapped her temple. “I meant in here.”

  Laughter bubbled up in her throat, burst out from those kissable lips. “How in God’s name could you possibly think that I’m beautiful in my head?” She threw up her free hand, the bag on her wrist keeping her other at her side. “That mess I’m talking about is in my head. I’m so screwed up from stuff I should be over that it’s not even funny.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dani

  One second, she was standing in the hall, readying to spill her guts to Ethan, and the next, the bags were on the floor, including the one hanging on her wrist. Before she could even suck in another breath, she found herself with her spine pressed to the cool wall, Ethan to her front.

  And it was glorious.

  It reminded her of the almost-kiss.

  Reminded her of his mouth on her throat, his hands on her body.

  “You don’t have to justify the way you feel to anyone. Your past, painful or not, is what makes you Dani.” His head dropped. “And from what I know of Dani, you’re pretty fucking special.”

  Was it possible for her heart to beat its way out of her chest? Because with his silken voice in her ear, with the gruff pretty fucking special reverberating through her body like a ping pong ball zipping from rib to rib, it felt on the verge of doing so. Three words and she was ready to spill her guts—

  No.

  She’d been ready to spill her guts before.

  Now, she was ready to let him in, to allow that safety net to peel back and take up trapeze as a hobby.

  And that had her heart pounding for a whole other reason.

  “I’m just Dani,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he murmured, cupping her cheek, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Just Dani, I really want to kiss you right now.”

  Her inhale was a sharp stake driving into the ground, or maybe the gasp one takes right before letting go of the trapeze bar and leaping to the next. “I’m—”

  Voices trailed down the hall, echoing through the mostly concrete space, snapping her out of her Ethan haze—and seriously, the man was fucking dangerous to her mental aptitude.

  He didn’t move, just leaned his hips a little heavier against her, and she felt his erection, hard and unyielding and so fucking tempting, pressing into her stomach, before his mouth dipped down and and he whispered roughly in her ear, “Tell me you’re dying to have my mouth on yours, sweetheart. Tell me that you’re wet, that you’re aching for me as much as I’m aching for you.”

  Her eyes flew up, caught the storm in his, his desire lightning strikes through the deep gray. “Ethan,” she breathed.

  Because . . .

  Yes, to all that.

  The need, the aching . . . the wet.

  She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, and that was less about her and more about the invisible, persistent thread that connected them, a spool that wound tighter and tighter until—

  His hand clenched on her hip.

  His mouth came closer. “Do you want me?”

  “Yes,” she murmured and watched his features tighten, his eyes spark, his lips move—

  The voices drew nearer.

  “Fuck,” he cursed and shoved back, bending to snatch the bags up just as Blue and Coop came around the corner. Brows lifted, probably because she was still against the wall, her chest heaving, hand pressed over her heart. “Here.” He shoved two bags at Coop, another two at Blue. “Bring these to PR-Rebecca’s office.”

  Blue opened his mouth.

  Ethan pointed at him. “Not today, kid.”

  “You realize that we’re the same age, right?”

  “I’m older,” Ethan grunted.

  “Barely,” Blue countered, but then he shut up, hefted the bags, and turned around, heading back where he’d come from.

  Coop hesitated, a bag in each hand, eyes on Dani’s.

  She nodded.

  One half of his mouth turned up.

  And then he, too, headed for Rebecca’s office, the bags clutched in huge, capable hands. Ethan slipped the otter one around her wrist, patted her hip, gaze still scorching, still making her ache to have his lips on hers. “Take these upstairs before we get caught making out in the hall like teenagers.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the strap and nodded, unabashedly watching him grab the final two bags, his strong, powerful thighs stretching the fabric of his slacks, his ass perfectly accented against the thin gray fabric.

  She’d said it before, and she’d say it a hundred times more.

  Hockey players had the best asses.

  He turned, suddenly very close again, his voice the best kind of husky, his beard brushing
her jaw, teasing her skin, need coiling inside her like a taut hose refusing to stay in place. Instead, it kept bursting forward, causing her fingers to tingle, her breath to catch, her thighs to clench.

  His lips pressed . . . to her forehead. “I’ll see you after the game?”

  A shuddering breath, her bones threatening to melt.

  “Dani?” he asked when she just stared.

  She managed a nod.

  That got her a sexy smile before he turned and headed down the hall, giving her another glimpse of his gorgeous ass as he went.

  She was seeing him after the game.

  Squee!

  Shit.

  But . . . squee!

  Also, best. Asses. Ever.

  Also, she bit the inside of her lip, watched as he turned the corner, hoping he liked what she’d put in his pocket.

  She was riding high from the near kiss in the hall, the memories that normally made her cling tight to her safety net easing, fading into the background where they belonged. So much so that the anxiety that usually gripped her when dealing with people hadn’t swarmed up and overwhelmed her as she’d walked into the Family Suite.

  Kids and wives, fiancés and girlfriends filled the room with a kind of happy cacophony.

  “Dani!” Sara called as the door closed behind her. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Sara was married to Mike Stewart and was close to Brit and PR-Rebecca. Dani had met her on more than one occasion, and the former figure skater was a genuinely nice person.

  Today, Sara set down her pencil and sketchpad (she was also a talented artist) and crossed over to Dani, taking her hands. “How are you?”

  Warm.

  Sara was just really nice and warm.

  “I’m good,” she said. “I just brought some craft supplies from the Miner’s Club for the kiddos.”

  A squeeze of her hands. “You’re so sweet.” Sara’s smile had garnered many a sponsorship. “Do you want me to get it set up so you can go get ready for the game? I’m sure you have better things to do than wrangling team kiddos.”

  “Oh, um, sure,” Dani said, relinquishing the bag, a sliver of disappointment sliding through her. She’d thought to hang out a little bit. She wasn’t needed downstairs quite yet, and kids were always easy. Honest to a fault, but mostly a judgment-free zone.