Seductively: Playing for Hearts Book 2 (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

Diana never left his side. Instead, she urged him with gentle pressure against his back toward the house. In the kitchen, he opened the cabinet above the fridge and removed a bottle of tequila. Like everything else in his life, tonight had ended up differently than he’d expected.

She held out her hands. “Here. Give it to me. I’ll pour you a drink.”

He passed the bottle to her. She carried it over to the counter, found two shot glasses, poured liquid into each cup, and carried the drinks back to him. He tilted his head and looked at her. Really looked.

She’d accepted the change in plans without snapping his head off or causing a scene. Outside, she’d stayed away from the crowd rather than fly to his protection the way she did at the game or on their pretend date. Yet, she’d tried to protect him against Nomora.

“Thank you.” He clinked the glass against hers.

She smiled softly. “For what?”

“Just being here, and not walking away. For keeping your cool when I was losing mine.” He stared down into the shot and swirled the clear liquid. “It means everything to me.”

“I want to be here for you,” she said.

He raised his gaze and caught her licking her bottom lip. What he saw endeared her to him. She was strong and independent but when it mattered, she stuck by his side.

They raised their glasses at the same time. He swallowed in one gulp. The burn hit him instantly and he blew out his mouth. Diana reached out and gripped his forearm, held her breath, her eyes watering.

He grinned. “Breathe.”

She let out her breath in a big rush and coughed. “Oh. My — ” She coughed again. “God, that burns.”

How pathetic they’d turned out. Hiding in the kitchen, dragging down tequila, and pretending everything about tonight was normal when it definitely was not.

“One more.” He moved over and brought the bottle back with him. “To our first official date.”

“But we haven’t gone out.” She laughed.

He held up the glass. “I’m not admitting defeat yet. I won’t let anyone ruin tonight. Drink up.”

Diana handled the next shot better. He took the glass from her hand and led her into the living room. He stood her in the middle of the room, and motioned for her to stay there. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move an inch.”

He had no experience with dating or trying to impress a woman, so he ran on instinct. He docked his iPod into the sound system and turned the music on low. A melody filled the house, and he smiled. Perfect.

What else? He studied his room. Date. Date. Date. Crap.

He had no idea what normal people expected to do when they stayed inside together, except have sex and he wasn’t ready to press Diana too fast. They’d already danced on their first pretend date. That was fun. Well, more than fun. He wanted her in his arms again, but dancing was too obvious. No, he had to come up with something much better than dancing or cooking her dinner.

“Dominic? What are you doing?” she called from the other end of the condominium.

Groaning and out of time, he grabbed two hockey sticks leaning against the corner of his room and one of the folded jerseys off the top of his dresser. Halfway down the hallway, he remembered sports socks. Prepared to do the only thing he was confident in, he returned to the living room with his arms full.

Diana eyed him curiously. He tossed her his jersey. “Go change your clothes. I’m challenging you to a game of sock hockey.”

“What?” She laughed. “Never heard of it.”

He smiled. “I’ll teach you how to play, but I don’t want you ruining your beautiful dress. I want you to wear that when I can take you out properly and show you what normal is.”

“I have my own clothes. I don’t need your shirt.”

“No.” He lowered his voice. “I’m skins.” He slapped his bare chest. “You’ll be shirts.”

“Does this have to do with your kink of seeing me in your clothes?” She covered her mouth to hide her grin, but failed. Her eyes twinkled with laughter.

He sat down on the couch and began to untie his shoes. “It has everything and nothing to do with what I want. Now hurry. Five more minutes and you forfeit the game.”

Her laughter followed her through the house and out of sight. He took off his dress socks, and put on his sports socks. Then he got busy clearing the room and shoving all the furniture up against the walls. Last, he rolled the Persian rug and stood the bundle in the corner of the room.

He looked at the area, himself, the white socks sticking out from under his black slacks, and had a second thought about his plan. God, he hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

Diana cleared her throat. He turned, and the room swayed.

Wearing his jersey and nothing else, she posed at the edge of the room. His shirt hit her above the knees. Normally the short sleeves covered his biceps but on her, the T-shirt covered her down to her wrists. The V-neck plunged between her breasts, and he knew she had something on underneath because her black bra peeked through the mesh. He dropped his gaze and all the blood in his body pounded. The thinnest black strap along her hip showed through the white material. He had no idea if she was aware of how transparent the breathable material was, but right now he was thankful he played for the San Jose Sharks and gave her one of the jerseys he wore on away games.

“Is this how you wanted me?” She walked on bare feet into the room.

He failed at swallowing. Unable to voice an answer, he stood there staring with his mouth open.

Her own lust reflected back to her in Dominic’s gaze. She would never get used to seeing him bare chested and looking at her as if the very touch of her would set him on fire. He gave her confidence to go through with wearing his jersey. She knew he could see through it when she stood with the light from the hallway behind her.

“You’re not saying anything.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “Should I go change?”

“Hell, no. Please don’t.” He seemed to snap out of staring at her. “Come in.”

She walked slowly, enjoying the way his gaze followed her legs across the room. His reaction made her daring and bold, suddenly glad she’d skipped the sweats and decided to risk it all.

“Sit down.” He held her hand and lowered her to the floor.

He followed her down and pulled her foot onto his lap. “You need the right equipment if you’re going to play with me.”

“Play with you?” she whispered, clearing her throat. “I give you the green light and you don’t hesitate, do you?”

“I’m not stupid,” he whispered back.

The thick white tube socks Dominic pulled over her toes tickled her feet. She squirmed, and glared at him when he laughed.

“I’ve found your weakness.” He slid the socks slowly up her leg, past her knees. “Mm … ”

She shivered. The contrast of such a big man who fought on the rink for a living who was able to handle her with tenderness appealed to her.

His almost boyish fascination with the female body confused her. He acted as if he’d never seen a woman’s bare skin before. She flinched as he worked the other sock onto her foot, then relaxed as he reached her ankle. If she met him today, and had no idea about his rather unique lifestyle, she’d swear he was some normal guy who got lucky in the looks department. And the body department. She sighed. Personality department too.

“There you go.” He left his hand on her knee. “You’re ready for sock hockey.”

“What in the world is that?” She pushed off the floor and stood.

“It’s how I learned to play hockey.” He grabbed the extra pair of socks and pushed himself to a standing position. “Back in Russia, when I was little, my father would take me down to the basement where he’d cleared out the whole room. He’d hand me an old stick, usually a broken broom, that he’d taped a book onto the end — ” He held up the rolled pair of socks. “Then we’d use a taped ball made out of old socks as the puck. It was in that basement where I spent my childhood, playing hockey against my father.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

His mouth softened. “My mother would sit on the stairs and keep score. Sometimes, she’d make us sosika … um, hotdogs, and splurge on kvas, which is like your soda. She liked to make a big show of me winning.”

“It’s a happy memory for you.” She smiled. He’d lapsed back into a thick accent.

“Very much so. A time in my life I bury deep in my heart, because my parents were my life and I keep those times hidden and untouched.” He shrugged. “I usually never talk about my childhood to others.”

“Why not?”

He inhaled deeply and breathed out his nose. “It’s a memory for me alone. My family brings me comfort, and I keep them to myself so no one can ruin my happiness.”

“Why did you share it with me?”

He leaned over and kissed her lips. “Because I wanted to.”

She blinked rapidly. Touched that he thought so much of her to share a part of him he kept heavily guarded from others, she cleared her throat. “You miss them.”

He nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want to go home. I love America, and I get to help my family more if I am playing hockey here. That’s important to me.”

“You send them money?” She waved her hand in the air. “Never mind. That’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay for you to ask me anything. Yes, I give them money, but that only brings me comfort in knowing I’m making their lives more enjoyable. The real reason I stay here and play is that it brings pride to my family name for them to have a successful son. It’s how they become the richest family in our village. It’s not about money, but that I have succeeded in America that brings honor to them,” he said.

“That’s why you hired me, so you can be happy here while making sure your family stays proud of you.” She pushed the sleeve of the jersey higher.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Everything about Dominic made sense. His reluctance to have a meaningful relationship in the crazy life he found in America. His hatred for the disturbances from all the women who threatened his livelihood, and in a way, his family. She blinked away the moisture gathering in her vision. He really did need her. He wasn’t lying.

“Okay. Let’s get playing then.” She clapped her hands together and shook off the sentimental feelings welling in her chest. “What are the rules?”

He walked over and picked up the hockey sticks, handed her one, and dropped the makeshift puck on the floor. She eyed the plastic casing on the bottom of the stick, glad to see something along the edge. She wouldn’t want to mar his wood floors.

“If I get the puck to the hallway, I get a point.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “You must get past me and have the puck hit the couch for you to score.”

She eyed the playing field. “That’s easy enough.”

He laughed and shook his head. She crossed her arms. Hockey might not be her sport, not that she had one to call her own, but she knew how to play against men.

“You’re so going down,” she said.

“Keep your stick low to the floor. We don’t want your legs getting bruises.” He dropped the bundle of socks, and pushed it into the middle of the room. “Besides those rules, anything goes.”

“Anything?” She grinned.

He arched his brow. “Bring it on, sweetcheeks.”

A challenge. She posed with her stick beside the puck the same way she’d seen him do it many times during practice and games. He might have a skill and be bigger than she was, but she wasn’t without tricks of her own.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

He hit the sock between her spread feet, moved around her, and hit a long shot into the hallway. She remained in position, gazing over her shoulder. He was fast. She’d give him that much.

Chekovsky 1, Spenner 0. He grinned.

“I wasn’t ready.” She pulled the front of the jersey away from her body and leaned over when he returned. Without looking, she knew her shirt hung low and open. If he wanted, he could look straight down her body.

She stayed bent over at the waist and peered up at him. “This is fun.”

His gaze dropped. She almost laughed. It was too easy.

“Three, two, one,” she blurted, hitting the puck to the left.

He hesitated and she beat him to the bundle of socks. She squealed as he bore down on her and lost control of where the puck went. He swung and she watched the white blob sail into the hallway as he made another goal.

She’d have to step up her game. It was time for operation sexy.

Without missing a move, she stretched her arms over her head, holding the stick in the air. She twisted side to side at her waist. The material of the jersey skimmed her butt, and going by Dominic’s state of hypnosis, he got a peek of her underwear.

“Go!” She lowered her arms, flicked the sock to the right, and swung. The puck bounced off the couch. “Score!”

She stuck the stick between her thighs, held out her arms, and performed the chomp, chomp, chomp. To rub it in, she then danced around in a circle.

Dominic groaned and pointed to the floor in front of him. “You want to play tough, let’s make the stakes higher. I get the next point … I get to kiss you.”

“Fine.” She tossed her hair. “And what do I get if I win?”

He winked. “Anything you want.”

“Deal.” She widened her stance, positioned her stick, and wiggled her ass. “Do it.”

He dropped the puck.

A clattering of wood against wood commenced as they dueled with their hockey sticks. She laughed, gasping when he nudged her back with his hip. She wrapped one arm around his waist without giving up. Her breath came in pants through her laughter.

Dominic shifted and hugged her face first into his chest. Blinded, she dropped her stick. She stepped on top of his feet, and he walked the length of the room with her riding along and hit the puck down the hallway.

“I win.” He dropped his stick and tilted her face toward him. “Pucker up, sweetheart.”

She stared at his mouth, at his lips, and realized she’d thought about kissing him again at least a hundred times since the last time they touched. In an instant, everything fell away, including her socks that slipped down her legs and puddled around her ankles.

He captured her lips, pulling her body to him. My God, he was delicious. Powerful, endearing, and satisfying.