Oh god, this isn’t happening. I came in here for Fritos. I didn’t even want to come. I lost a coin toss with Sanford. Now I’m standing here with a gorgeous naked woman, and she’s going to kiss me.
She pushes lightly off the island with her hip, closing the distance between us. I’m 6’1”, which is pretty average for a pro hockey player, but the other Rays are all giants. Hell, Kinnunen is a literal bear at 6’5”. Skating next to him, I feel almost puny.
Not now, though. Glancing down, I see that Tess’s forehead just barely clears my chin. It’s the perfect height to give her brow a kiss. But that’s not the kind of kiss I want. I want those pouty lips.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, heart pounding.
“I want to,” she says, her gaze still so soft as she steps in. “Hands behind your back, Ryan. Grip your wrists.”
I move without hesitation, doing as she says.
“I have to warn you,” she says, that soothing voice coiling deep inside me. “I’m covered in sand.”
“Me too,” I reply. “That shit gets everywhere.”
“Mhmm.” She steps an inch closer. “My hair, my boobs, the crack of my ass.”
I grin. “You’re still gorgeous, Tess.”
“Oh, I know. I might just taste a little gritty. Don’t hold it against me?”
“Never,” I reply, heart in my throat. “I may taste like blood.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, you cleaned up good. Not a drop in sight.”
I sigh with relief. That could have been a major mood kill.
“You wanted a kiss,” she says, stepping in until her bare tits brush against my chest.
I groan, fighting the urge to touch her. Instead, I grip tighter to my wrists. “Yes,” I say on a breath.
She brushes against me with her sun-warmed skin until I’m pressed up against the doorjamb. She lifts her hand, two fingers trailing up my sternum before she cups my cheek. “One kiss,” she whispers.
“Just one,” I repeat, bending down to breathe her in. She smells like suntan lotion and sea salt and some kind of coconutty shampoo.
We breathe against each other’s mouths, our lips parted. Her eyes are so beautiful. A thousand freckles dot her face. Some are hiding under the bright pink of her sunburn.
“One kiss, Ryan,” she murmurs. “For the rainy days to come.”
“One kiss,” I repeat. Making my move, I drop my face down to hers, my parted lips meeting hers. We both breathe in as we kiss.
This isn’t a peck or a chaste brushing of lips. No, it’s a searing. A supernova. Our mouths open, and then she’s moaning into me. It’s the sweetest sound of aching need. She wants me. Wants this. The realization has me ready to break our agreement. I want to haul her against me, sling her onto this counter, and bury myself inside her. I want to worship her, please her, make her scream my name as we come together.
She’s pressing into me, and I press right back. Both her hands cup my face, her full breasts bare and warm against me. Our mouths stay open as we tease and chase. She sucks on my bottom lip, biting with her teeth, and I taste her with my tongue.
It’s enough. It has to be. Because just as soon as the kiss started, she’s pulling away.
“Mmm.” She makes the noise low in her throat, eyes closed, lips wet with my kisses. It’s enough to have me getting hard in my swim trunks. If she looks down, she’ll see it. You can’t hide anything in these damn things.
Then she steps away, her hands leaving my face, taking all my air with her. Smiling up at me, she raises a hand to her mouth, two fingers brushing over her lips. “That was lovely, Ryan. You’re a good kisser.”
“So are you,” I say, surprised I remember how to form words.
“I have to go,” she says, her gaze darting to the clock above the stove. “And you have chips to deliver.” She points to the mess on the floor between us.
I nod, still feeling dumbfounded.
“Oh and—please don’t tell Rachel about this,” she says. “I’m not ashamed of you or anything,” she adds quickly. “You’re her friend, her patient. I wanna respect that.”
I nod again. “Yeah, cool. Anything.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Ryan.” She says it so casually, as if she didn’t just deliver a kiss that rocked me to my foundations.
“Yeah…nice.”
“Well…bye, Ryan,” she says, shifting another step further away.
“Bye, Tess.”
She turns, snatching up her phone from the end of the island. Then she’s walking away, wholly unashamed that she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. Her sweet curves sway—her hips, those thighs. I watch, heart pounding, as she turns the corner and disappears.
Now I’m standing here, alone in Jake Compton’s kitchen, with one thought echoing in my mind: This is only the beginning. Because there is no way I’m letting her just walk away.
Tess Owens is my dream girl…she just doesn’t know it yet.
1
“Rachel!” I shout, taking another sip of my champagne. “Come on, girl. I’m growing a beard out here!”
“Hold your horses,” she shouts back. “The freaking zipper is stuck. I’m afraid I’m gonna break it—shit—”
“Well, get out here, and I’ll fix it for you,” I say, hopping to my feet.
This night has been a total whirlwind. Rachel just had to drop the gauntlet with her sexy little taunt, telling Ilmari she’ll marry him if their game against the LA Kings was a shutout. Well, joke’s on her, ‘cause now I’m standing in her mother’s bedroom, waiting as Rachel hunts through her mom’s couture gown collection, looking for something suitable to wear to a wedding. Her wedding.
That’s right, I’m about to be a bridesmaid at my best friend’s surprise midnight four-way wedding. God, I love L.A. In true rock ‘n’ roll fashion, her dad is busy setting his house up as party central. Her brother Harrison is coordinating food, while her mom is downstairs inviting guests and frantically calling in favors to have flowers delivered.
Meanwhile, I’m on dress duty. And I mean to take this job seriously. It’s not every day the girl you thought would never settle down decides to marry three men at once. This dress needs to be one for the ages.
I slap my champagne glass down on the dresser. “Rach!” Just as I’m about to dive inside the massive walk-in closet and drag her ass out, Rachel sweeps around the corner and my mouth drops to the floor. “Ohmygod,” I gasp.
“Well? What do you think?” she says, dark eyes wide as she takes in my expression.
She stands before me in a floor-skimming, shimmery gold slip dress with barely-there straps. The bodice dips low between her breasts, clinging to her like a second skin. If I was a cartoon, I’d have big hearts in my eyes.
“This is as close as we’re getting to a wedding dress,” she says, smoothing the dress over her hips. “I’m sorry, but I’m not wearing pink, and all the black ones felt too austere.”
“Rachel, is that runway Versace?” I say.
She does a little half-turn, glancing at herself in the mirror. “Umm…no, I think it’s custom, honestly. Mom wore this to the Grammys back in the 90s. I tried it on once or twice when I was a kid.”
Her only jewelry is a pair of heavy pearl drop earrings and the stack of thin gold bracelets she habitually wears. Oh, and her dainty septum ring of twisted gold. Her dark hair is tied up in an artfully messy bun, showing off the delicate curve of her neck. Her makeup is just a little bit smeared under the eye.
She looks perfect.
“Well?” she says with a huff, arms flapping as she does a little half-turn, peeking over her shoulder again.
“Oh, honey,” I say on a sigh. “You look so beautiful. They’re gonna die.”
She smiles back at me before gasping. “Oh—the jacket!” Then she’s disappearing back inside the closet. “Get in here and help me,” she calls. “Tell me if you think this is too much.”
I step through the doorway into the huge walk-in closet to see Rachel fiddling a silver beaded jacket off its hanger.