My eyes move back up his body and there's no doubt I woke him up from a sound sleep. His eyes are barely open, slightly glazed, and his hair is sticking up all over the place.
"Jesus Christ, Simone," Van mutters as he drops to his knees to peer at me under the fridge lying atop the broken table. "Are you okay?"
"I think a spray bottle may have fractured my spine," I groan as I try to roll over in the small space to get off it.
"Don't fucking move," he orders me, and I obey without question. "If you've got a spine injury--"
"I don't," I assure him as I start to wiggle.
"Stay the fuck still," he bellows at me, his expression a mask of acute worry.
I go absolutely still, not because I have a broken back, but because as much as Van has yelled and cursed at me over the last few weeks, I've never heard him do so with a tinge of fear in his voice.
I watch mesmerized as every muscle in his body contracts and strains as he single-handedly pushes the refrigerator up and back into place. He immediately spins and drops back down beside me.
"Okay, do you hurt anywhere?" he asks as his eyes roam over me. I was so worried about Lucas this morning I didn't even bother to wear something sexy. In fact, I've got a baggy Dartmouth T-shirt from a former boyfriend and a pair of sweatpants on.
"There's a spray bottle under me," I murmur. "Otherwise I'm completely fine."
Van's eyebrows draw inward. "A spray bottle?"
"I was trying to clean the top of the refrigerator and the wall behind it," I explain, and because I know he'll want the details, I continue. "I was trying to put my knee inside the freezer to haul myself up, and well...it's a chain of events that led to me being down here on the floor."
"Of all the fucking stupid idiotic things," Van mutters under his breath as his arm slides under my shoulders to help me sit up.
"Your white knight skills suck," I mutter back, not needing or appreciating the way in which he's making me feel like shit.
"I'm not your white knight," he says as he helps to pull me to my feet.
I wince as I straighten my back, knowing that there's probably a bruise in the middle in the exact shape of a spray bottle.
"What's wrong?" he says as he turns me around, and before I can even tell him, he's pulling up the back of my T-shirt. He hisses slightly between his teeth and his fingers touch my skin ever so gently. "You've already got a bruise forming."
My breath catches in my throat, not from the promise of a bruise, but just from that tiny touch of his fingertips to me. Feather light, but feeling like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of me.
I want more, and the part of Simone Fournier that is devious and plain trouble with a capital T says, "I think I might have cracked my ribs."
"Where?" he asks with concern as he gently turns my body.
I have to keep the smile off my face as I pull my shirt up at the side and flat-out lie. "Here, on the side...and to the front. It hurts worse in the front."
Van bends to peer at my ribs, his fingers tracing the skin there. I pull my shirt up higher in the front until the underside of my breast is exposed. I hold my breath as his fingers skim closer, but as I look down at him, his face is clinically worried as he looks for a broken rib or something.
He presses tentatively on my top rib just under my breast. "Does this hurt?"
Only between my legs, I think unabashedly.
I shake my head and whisper, "Maybe a little higher."
For a brief, glorious moment, his fingers actually start to drift higher and are within an inch of feathering across the bottom of my breast, but they pull up short and his eyes lift to mine. I try to look at him as if I might be in pain, but he's having none of it as understanding dawns clear in his eyes, which look more like the steel gray of a cloudy day right now.
"God, you're fucking shameless," he growls as he straightens and jerks his hand away from me.
I give him a mock guilty expression. "Sorry?"
"You are totally not sorry," he mumbles.
"No, I am," I say as I turn to face him and take a step closer. My hands go to his naked chest...nothing more than a light laying of my palms against his warm skin. I can feel his heartbeat thundering madly, and I wonder if it's because of the crash that had him tearing out of bed or the fact I'd almost had him caressing my breast.
Van stands his ground, though, and doesn't dislodge me. I press the advantage by moving in just a little closer.
"It's just," I say softly as I let my thumbs gently stroke the skin and crisp hair of his chest. "I can't help it, Van. I'm so damned attracted to you. You make me crazy."
It's not lost on me that this is the first time I've been completely and utterly honest with Van, without some cheesy pickup line or come-on.
Van's nostrils flare wide as he looks down at me. His eyes darken, every bit of the blue leeching out until they look like orbs of charcoal.
"Give into it," I beseech him softly, sliding just one hand up and over his shoulder. I go to my tiptoes to put my mouth closer to his as he stares stonily down at me. I let the other hand drift down his abs with no particular destination in mind.
I have no motive at this point, only a very insane and hopeful wish that he would just merely kiss me. I've never been this close to him before. He's never let me get this close to him before, and I'll chastise myself thoroughly and much later, but I'm not giving up this advantage right now.
My fingers skim the edge of the elastic waistband of his briefs, and Van actually stops breathing. My breath catches in my lungs, knowing that this could go either way, and not wanting to make the wrong move. I hold my ground and we stare at each other with an intensity that seems to create almost tangible arcs of electricity between us.
For a moment, everything just freezes in place except my own galloping heartbeat...
Then Van's hand locks around my wrist so fast and hard I gasp. I'm filled with disappointment as he starts to pull my hand away from the edge of his underwear, but then I'm completely bowled over when his other hand clamps onto the back of my neck and he jerks me into him.
His eyes go darker and I can see actual distaste in them for what he's about to do, and then he does it.
His mouth hits mine, crushing in its force, full of anger, desire, and loss of control. I involuntarily push my hips into him, my body not having any control either. I can feel he's thick and hard, and a shudder ripples through me at the knowledge.
Van spins me, pushes me back into the fridge, and it rocks as I hit it. He thrusts his entire frame into me, pinning me there so I can't move.
Not that I want to.
This kiss is everything I imagined it would be on that one day I'd find a man who could really push my buttons. It's something I never expected from Van, as he doesn't seem like the kissing type. If I had to bet, I'd say he's more of the ripping-clothes-and-taking-what-he-wants type.
When his tongue touches mine, not hesitantly but absolutely claiming, a deep moan tears free from within me. It rumbles so hard, is so harsh and abrasive because of the need behind it, that Van goes utterly still for just a moment before he's actually pushing away from me.
My palms go to the fridge to hold me upright because he has rendered my legs completely weak. He stares at me hostilely and I can't help it. My eyes drop momentarily to see his thick erection straining against his briefs.
My fucking mouth actually waters, but when I look back up to him, I'm dismayed to see him put the back of his hand to his mouth and give it a quick wipe, as if he can't stand the taste of me.
It's a clear indication that he's done.
This is proven when he spins on his heel and storms back to his bedroom, slamming the door resolutely behind himself.
Chapter 5
Van
I have got to fucking get my own place.
Now that Stephanie broke up with Lucas, he's around a lot more. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but he has become a mean son of a bitch lately and he's drinking a lot. Sim
one is constantly riding him to get his head out of his ass, which he doesn't like one bit. This means they are both fighting like cats and dogs, or maybe that's just how siblings fight.
And then there's Simone, who is still driving me batshit crazy. My warning to her three nights ago fell on deaf ears apparently, because she hasn't changed her wily ways one fucking bit.
I'll have to admit, when I heard that refrigerator crash and caught my first glimpse of her lying on the floor, I about had a goddamn heart attack. Not because I held any affection for her, or because I didn't want to clean up brain matter after the vomit and tomato sauce of the day before.
Rather, I didn't want to see someone like her--with such a life force filled with vitality--extinguished from this earth. No matter how much she drives me nuts, and how much I am struggling to fight my unholy attraction to her, I'd take her harassment every fucking day for a millennium for her not to be dead.
That was my initial thought.
It changed after her hand started straying down my stomach and I found myself drowning with a perverse need to take her. Throw her on the floor, spread her legs and just fucking take what she's been begging me to take.
That thought nauseated me, so I obliterated everything by just fucking kissing her. It's not a favorite pastime for me. Too intimate and all that shit, but damn if it didn't make me feel immediately better.
Until her moan.
Then I was done.
I just couldn't.
So I left the house and ended up working out at the gym.
A lot.
We had almost the entire week off after winning the first round of the play-offs against the Spartans in game five, so other than light practices, I pretty much spent my days in the gym or tooling around town. If Simone was working, I'd lounge at home. If she was home, I'd go out.
This worked pretty well until I thought she'd left for work tonight but didn't.
I'd been talking to Lucas, which I'd done more of in the last three days since he and Stephanie had broken up than probably the entire two months we'd lived together. He wasn't complaining, wasn't sharing, but he was just needing a connection to something solid, I think.
So we talked about hockey, of all things. We told each other about our respective careers and goals. Not surprisingly, we both took the offers from the Cold Fury because we wanted a Stanley Cup under our belt and they offered the best chance this year. I had another very important reason for coming to the East Coast, but I didn't share that.
The conversation has been easy and light, and I actually don't feel corralled into being something to someone that I'm not feeling. One might even say it's the first real, tentative friendship I've had, and that's probably only made possible by the fact that Lucas is so deep into his misery he really doesn't want or need anything more.
He left tonight to go hang out at Max and Jules's. We have game one of the second round tomorrow, so everyone on the team is trying to relax as much as they can.
For some, like Lucas, it means being with family.
For others, like me, it usually means sitting by myself in a dive bar or a strip joint, nursing a few drinks and enjoying the solitude that you can only get from such a place.
Just as he was leaving, I casually asked where Simone was. He'd given me a distracted, "Work, I think." Yes, it was distracted, but I didn't think it wasn't true. He's just been scatterbrained lately, and as far as I knew, Simone either worked or she was here annoying the fuck out of me.
The minute Lucas left, I went into the sanctity of my little bedroom and turned on the TV I'd gotten out of storage a few days ago. I had my laptop hooked up through the HDMI cable, and I'm a dude, so I put on some porn, turning the volume down low because I hate the fucking cheesy music and terrible acting.
I was two minutes in, stroking a raging hard-on, when I heard the front door open and froze with my hand gripping my dick. Rather than deflate at the intrusion, it got fucking harder, as I realized it was Simone walking in. I could tell by her light footsteps, and then I could hear her rummaging in Lucas's room where she kept her suitcases. Another moment passed, my dick was still in a stranglehold, and I heard the shower turn on.
Leaning back on my pillow, I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned. I also let my cock go and shut the TV off. I couldn't be in the house with her, so I quickly rolled off the bed and got dressed.
I was out of the house before the water even turned off.
I drove around without any idea of where the fuck I should go, but then pulled into a new bar called Lulu's that opened a few months ago. I'd heard it was a loose play on Hooters, except the girls were actually more scantily dressed. This sounded right up my alley, because perhaps what I needed to do was just fuck someone so I could have at least some time to myself where I wouldn't be thinking about Simone.
I'm on my second drink and I just finished a burger with some fries. My waitress--a cute blonde named Billie, the name written on her right breast with a marker--comes to clear my table. The outfits these girls wear are so fucking skimpy you can't even pin a name tag on them, so they write their name on the swell of their chest. I have to say, I'm never going to Hooters again. You cannot beat the miniscule bikini tops they wear, which are the tiniest swatches of triangular fabric in neon pink. Their bottoms are something between short shorts and underwear, riding low on their flat bellies and high up their ass cheeks. Fucking sexy as hell.
"Want another drink?" Billie asks with a flirty smile. She's pretty and not overt, but if I wanted to push something with her, I think she'd be into it.
"I'm good," I tell her with a smile. I don't give those often, but she's been unobtrusive, and that's what I need tonight.
"Well, okay," she says cheerily, but she leans in a little closer. "I'm going to get your check as I'm off duty soon. If you need anything at all, just let me know."
There's enough emphasis on the anything at all I totally get her drift. Now I just have to determine if I want anything at all from her or not.
"You got it," I say noncommittally.
Her smile falters a tiny bit but I ignore it, concentrate on finishing my beer. She brings the check back before I do, though, so I hand her enough cash to cover the meal and tell her to keep the change. I just can't seem to muster up enough interest in her to take advantage of what she's offering.
I dawdle over my beer, taking my time. I'm not ready to leave, yet I don't want to stay. The women all look the same to me; besides, they're all busy working. It's not like a strip joint where they're putting on a show for our enjoyment. I consider hitting my favorite place and yeah, sounds like a good idea.
I drain the last of my beer, grab my keys, and stand from my chair.
And that's when I see her.
Fucking Simone, and she's wearing the same tiny pink top, except her breasts look a million times more fantastic than the other women here. Full, round, and fuck-me-standing nipples poking hard through the material, which gives me dirty thoughts of her twisting them erect before she came out here. Her skin is tan, silky looking, lickable. Flat stomach, almost cut, and flared hips. Tight ass.
She's every man's wet dream.
Been mine on a few occasions.
I stand, frozen in place as she leans over a high-top table where three guys sit, ready to take their order. Placing her forearms on the table, her breasts push together, making her cleavage totally fuckable.
All three men leer at her.
My feet are moving before I can even understand what I'm doing. I cut through the tables, my eyes pinned not on Simone's ass and not on her breasts. Through the haze of red, they're pinned on her face and that killer fucking smile she's got leveled at those men as she flirts with them.
The minute my hand touches her elbow, she turns to look at me with surprise.
The minute my fingers curl around her arm, her eyes go half-mast with naked sensuality when she sees it's me.
Fuck me, but that appeases me somewhat.
"What in the fuck do
you think you're doing?" I grit out.
Simone straightens and leans into me. Her voice is husky and low when she says, "Fancy meeting you here."
Christ, I'm going to kill her.
I pull her away from the table, through the restaurant, and out the front door. She doesn't resist in any way, and I can't tell if that makes me happy or pisses me off. I take her through the parking lot, into the second row of vehicles, where I release her beside my Range Rover.
She just stares at me with a smirk on her face.
"Talk fast, Simone," I growl at her.
"Not sure what you want me to say," she throws back at me.
"Let's try this," I say as I motion to her scantily attired body. "Do your brothers know you're working here?"
I see a flash of guilt in her eyes and I have my answer. Still, she defends her job. "It's none of their business what I do. Besides...I need to make some money."
I ignore that comment and say, "They would not like this."
To my consternation, and to add to the lust I already have for her, she cocks a hip out and puts her hand on it. She then thrusts out her breasts and asks, "Why not? Do I look bad?"
"You look like you're ready to get fucked," I snarl at her, refusing to let my eyes drop to her tits. "I know for a fact they would not like that."
"But you do," she points out.
Truth.
And a lie.
I like it, but don't like other men liking it.
"Tell me what the problem is, Van," she purrs at me, taking a step into my personal space. Christ, she smells good. "Is it that I'm displaying something you want, or that I'm displaying something you don't feel like you can have?"
Both. It's totally both.
But I refuse to take the bait, preferring instead to just glare at her. It's what I do best where she's concerned.
She takes another step into me, her hand going to my belt, where she just dips her fingertips in to hold on to me. Tipping her head back, she parts her lips and whispers, "It's yours if you want it."
A wave of lust sweeps through me. An intensely erotic ache forms low in my groin.