Breakaway

Chapter Eight

“It’s okay,” Jason said, turning her from the photographers. He muttered under his breath. Jesus. What were they doing hanging around Navy Pier, for God’s sake? He never would have anticipated they’d be there, looking for someone to photograph. And Remi was already annoyed.

“I guess we’re done here,” he said. Damn. They’d been having such a great day.

“Yeah. I guess.”

He shot her a sideways glance, walking down the sidewalk, holding her hand, remembering the last time he’d tried to take her back to his place. “Will you come home with me?”

She stopped. They faced each other. She looked so pretty with that big scarf wrapped around her neck. “Will the paparazzi follow us there?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder. They seemed to have dispersed. “I don’t think so.”

“Will you wash that phone number off your hand?”

After a blink of his eyes, he burst out laughing. “Yes.”

She inhaled a long slow breath, then nodded and relief slid through him. “Okay.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid silently open. They stepped in and he punched a button for his floor, then as the doors closed, he lifted her against him, effortlessly, and kissed her.

If she’d been standing, her legs likely would have given out, it was such a turn-on to be held aloft like that, against his chest, his mouth hot and hungry on hers. His strength turned her on. His mouth turned her on. His everything turned her on.

They kissed like that, wet, sliding, open-mouthed kisses until the elevator opened onto his floor and he carried her down the carpeted hall to his door. Only then did he gently lower her feet to the floor and she leaned against the wall, panting, while he unlocked the door.

He shoved the door open and they practically fell into the foyer, grabbing for each other, frantic, hot, hungry.

“It’s been so long,” he panted.

“I know.”

He unwrapped her scarf, shoved her jacket down over her shoulders and she wrestled out of it as he got rid of his jacket, tossing it into a pile on the floor. Then he picked her up again, this time straddling him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked to the bedroom.

She caught a glimpse of his apartment—stunning and modern with a wall of windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline, a couple of pieces of black leather furniture and a big screen television—before it disappeared from view as he strode into the bedroom. Dark. Shadowy.

He carried her over to the bed and stood there kissing her, hands beneath her ass. She tightened her legs on him and kissed him back, threading her fingers through his soft, dark hair.

Their mouths devoured each other over and over in hot hungry kisses. She needed more. She arched against him, bumping her center into his stomach. He groaned. He shifted her higher. She wrapped her arms around his head while he nuzzled at her breast, but damn, there were too many clothes in the way, her sweater and bra. She let go of his head and reached for the hem of the sweater and he clutched her tighter, shifting his feet to balance better as she straightened and tugged the sweater off over her head.

He made an appreciative noise in his throat as he looked down at her chest. “Very nice.”

She remembered that he’d liked black lace, this one very sheer and edged with velvet. Breathless, she looked down at his head as he bent and pressed a hot kiss to her chest between the curves of her breasts. Her heart thudded madly.

“So sweet,” he murmured. Then he tipped her back. She squealed and clutched onto him tightly with both arms and legs and he laughed, holding her suspended over the bed.

“Jason!”

He held her like that for a moment, just looking at her, then dropped her to the bed. She gave a tiny bounce and he reached for the lamp beside the bed, a warm glow spreading instantly around them.

He lifted one of her feet and tugged off the sheepskin-lined boot, then did the other. Then his fingers went to the button and zipper of her jeans. “Let’s get these off,” he said, and drew them down over her legs. “Oh yeah, that’s pretty.” He gazed at her matching panties, sheer black lace and velvet too, and she lay there clad in black lace and nothing else.

He laid his big palms on her thighs. She quivered at his warm touch, her body heating under his attentive gaze as he studied her laying there sideways on his bed.

Which was wide enough to sleep on sideways. The bed was huge, but she supposed a man the size of Jason needed a king-size bed.

“Next time I’ll wear white lace,” she told him.

He grinned. “I like black, but you could wear anything and it’d be hot.”

Her nipples tingled and tightened beneath the lace, her breasts swelling and aching. Boldly, she slid a hand down her tummy and cupped her pussy, hot and damp and pulsing.

“Damn.” His eyes darkened and he yanked his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head. He quickly got rid of his clothes and fell to the bed beside her, rolling her beneath him, mouth on her again, ravishing and warm and delicious.

He kissed the side of her neck, sending sweet shivers over her body, rolled again so she lay top of him and laid a firm tap on her butt. The sting sent a wave of heat over her and her pussy wept.

She moaned again.

He patted her again with a sharp caress, one cheek then the other.

She hid her hot face against him and his hands gentled on her ass, stroking up and down, fingers trailing along the sensitive crease where cheek met thigh. Then he pushed aside the narrow band of fabric that sat over the crease between her cheeks and stroked there too, up then lower, where he found her wet center.

“Remi, God. You’re so wet.” He stroked there with his broad fingertips, over her pussy lips, between, then probing deeper inside her. She felt the slickness, and muscles clenched around his fingers. Her clit quivered, her breath suspended. “I love how wet you are. How hot you are.” And he withdrew his fingers to lay several more stinging little slaps on her ass.

God, that just turned her body liquid, flames of pleasure licking from his touch over her skin, burning her up. She’d never been with a man who’d known she wanted that, needed that. Even last time, he’d been so afraid of hurting her he hadn’t really let loose.

“I love that,” she gasped, and then he shocked her even more by tangling his fingers into her hair and tugging her head up. The pull on her scalp tingled and sharp and hot sensations sizzled from her head to the base of her spine. “Oh, god.”

“That too?” He held her head and gazed into her eyes. She looked deeply and saw what she needed to see—not hesitation or doubt, but caring and a desire to please her.

“Yes,” she moaned. “That too.” She licked her lips. His fingers tightened and he tugged her head back even further, arching her back so her breasts thrust out. He lifted up—abs of steel, that man—and kissed each curve, then licked and sucked gently on her sensitive flesh. “Like the black lace,” he muttered, letting go of her hair to reach for the clasp of her bra. “But I wanna see your nipples. Want to taste them.” He flicked it open and she sat up, straddling his hips, and let it fall off her shoulders. She sat there, fingertips on those eight-pack abs. His gaze wandered over her, eyes warm with admiration. Her breasts tightened, nipples throbbing, aching to be touched.

And then he did, cupping them, brushing his thumbs across the tight tips, and she let her head fall back, let her breasts fill his palms. Ripples of exquisite pleasure stroked over her, centering between her legs.

“So pretty,” he murmured, her sensitive nipples leaping to his touch, needing more. Again as if he knew her body, he grasped them between thumb and forefinger and gave a firm nip.

She cried out, arched more, flames shooting from breast to womb, and he did it again and again until her nipples were hot points of sensation. “Oh, Remi.”

His hands went to her waist and he lifted her—actually lifted her—off him, his big hands spanning her narrow hips. He set her on the bed, then moved over her, dragging her panties down over her thighs. She bent her legs so he could pull them off over calves, then feet, then tossed the panties behind him.

Jason stroked his hands down over her calves, her ankles, her feet, sending warm shivers over her, then back up and between her knees and he parted her legs. He kneeled before her and she bit her lip as she studied him through heavy-lidded eyes. His torso was sculpted of gleaming bronze skin and hard muscles, broad rounded muscles over his shoulders, slabs of muscles on his chest and ripped abs. Only a dusting of hair darkened between his pecs and arrowed down toward the thick nest of hair between his legs, where his cock jutted, enormous, dark and beautiful.

He was beautiful.

His lips parted as he gently pushed her thighs wider and her teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip as he studied her. She wanted to squirm, heat cascading over her body, wanted to close her eyes against the intensity of his gaze, but she kept them open.

His fingers hard on her thighs, his hands large enough to almost close right around them, he licked his lips, then bent his head and pressed a kiss to the fluff of blonde hair on her mound. “Sweet,” he whispered. He kissed his way to one side, his mouth warm on the flesh of her groin, his breath like a feather, tickling, tormenting. He pressed his nose there and inhaled deeply and she melted into the bed.

“You smell so good,” he said. He licked her. “You taste so good.”

She quivered and throbbed for more, but let him take his time. He played and touched and explored with big broad fingertips, assertive yet gentle, and with his eyes, hot and avid. When he slid one finger inside her, she arched off the bed and fisted her hands into the bedspread.

“So tight,” he whispered. “So tight and hot. You have the prettiest pussy, Remi. So tiny and smooth and pretty.”

He laid a firm, closed mouth kiss right over her clit. She quivered. Pulsed. Ached.

And then he tasted her. His tongue swiped up in a long, luxurious lick, up one side of her slit, then the other. He nibbled and sucked at her pussy lips, gently drawing her sensitive flesh into his mouth. She writhed beneath him, eyes now tightly closed, everything centered on the sensation between her legs. She had never experienced oral sex like this. He worshipped her with his mouth, with lips and tongue and teeth, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he wanted to eat her alive, breathe her in.

And then he closed his lips around her clit and sucked. She bucked off the bed again, made a low, hoarse noise in her throat, turned her head from side to side on the mattress. He sucked and sucked, gently, then more firmly as pressure built inside her, exquisite twisting pressure. Her orgasm ripped through her like wildfire in her veins, her body taut and arching, and she cried out.

“Oh, dear God.” Her body limp, she whimpered as he continued to kiss her pussy with soft, gentle purses of his lips and nudges of his tongue, so sensitive that every touch sent a barrage of sparks through her. “Stop, please.” She reached for him and tried to grab his hair. “I can’t take any more.”

“Mmmm.” He took one last little lick, then lifted his head. “Wanna make you come again, baby. You taste so damn sweet.”

“Please.” Her chest ached from trying to breathe.

“Please yes? Or please no?”

But he ignored her garbled response, probably couldn’t understand it anyway, and proceeded to lick her to another shuddering, mind-shattering orgasm.

“I want you to stay,” he whispered to her much later. “But I have an early flight to Boston in the morning.”

She tilted her head and gave him a regretful smile. “Mmm. That’s okay.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

It sucked having to get out of bed and get dressed. Once at her place, he walked her to the door.

“Good luck,” she said. “I’m cheering for you guys. You can do it.”

“Thanks.” He paused. He didn’t want to leave her. He swallowed. “I’ll call you after the game.”

“Okay.”

He slowly walked back to his Jeep. It was the middle of the night. He didn’t want to leave her.

What was happening here? All he could think about was Remi, all he cared about was her and how she was feeling. He hated it that the paparazzi had scared her. It had never bothered him before, but suddenly it mattered to someone else and she mattered to him and…

He climbed into his vehicle and sat there for a moment. Christ. He had to stop thinking thoughts like that. He’d just broken up with one girl because she was getting too serious. He was in no way ready for a serious long-term relationship. Hence the breakup.

He was going to let loose and have fun in Boston like the single guy he was. Road trips were always good for some action.

This place was killing him.

They’d won their Sunday afternoon game against the Bruins. They’d been out for dinner to celebrate and now were hanging out in some glittery club not unlike Rouge, full of beautiful people in designer clothes. A bunch of girls had latched onto the hockey players, literally in some cases hanging off their arms, and Dominic and Matthieu and the others were lapping it all up. Oh yeah, they’d be getting lucky tonight.

Jason had politely extricated himself from the clutches of a gorgeous redhead and then a hot blonde, finding himself bored and distracted. He’d had a few beers and didn’t want any more. The throbbing music was giving him a headache.

The peace and quiet of his hotel room was calling to him. He wanted out. So he left, to the surprise of his teammates.

Back at the hotel, he sat on the bed with the remote for the television and channel surfed. Nothing appealed to him. He decided to play Nintendo for a while, but when he kept screwing up, he ditched that too. He tossed aside the controller and stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head.

Remi. He’d said he’d call her to tell her how the game went. He’d wanted to call her the minute he got off the ice, jubilant and triumphant, but had to deal with the television and newspaper reporters asking a million questions about heading into the playoffs with such a dismal record lately and the much-needed win and his hat trick. He was always polite and patient with the press. It was important for the team and for the league, so he always tried to give them his best, most thoughtful answers and take the time to chat with them.

He grabbed his cell phone and punched the button that was now Remi on speed dial. She answered right away.

“We won,” he said.

She laughed. “I know. I watched it on TV.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He grinned and relaxed. “Feels pretty good.”

“I guess so. See, I told you you’d do it.”

“You did.”

Again they talked for nearly an hour.

“I wish you were here,” he said and then he couldn’t believe the words had popped out of his mouth.

“I wish you were here,” she replied in a sexy voice. Hell. They were about eight hundred miles too far apart.

“Wanna have phone sex?”

A pause. “I’ve never done that.”

“Get outta here. Really?”

Another pause, slightly frosty-feeling. “And you do it all the time?”

He laughed. “Of course not, I was just kidding.” Sort of. “Okay, get ready.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a missed penalty shot.”

She giggled.

“Come on, Miss I Just Wanna Have Fun. Let loose. What are you wearing?”

She laughed again at the cheesy question.

“Um …flannel pj pants and a long sleeved T-shirt.”

“Mmm. Sexy. Take them off.”

“Jase.”

“Right here.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Ah, hell. “Don’t tell me your sister is back again.”

“No! No, I’m alone. I just…”

“Just do it.” He put a hand over his fly, testing his erection. Yup, hard as a goal post. “I’m gonna. I’m unzipping my pants right now.”

He heard her breathless noise as he did what he was telling her.

“Okay,” she said in a throaty voice. “I’m taking my top off.”

Jason groaned.

Remi sat in her living room Monday night, papers spread out around her as she marked social studies projects. But her mind kept wandering back to Jason.

Earlier, she’d done a little additional research. About Jason. Google brought up a treasure trove of information—personal information with oodles of photos of him, including sexy photos of him shirtless, advertising for a brand of hockey equipment and aftershave, and many, many photos of Jason and Brianne. Not to mention older photos of Jason and other women. Lots of other women. But he and Brianne had apparently been together for two years.

That was a long time. What had happened?

There were articles about his family—the new “first family” of hockey with three brothers in the NHL and the fourth brother a top draft pick although he now played for a farm team. He’d be in the NHL too, one day.

She also found lots of stats on goals and penalty minutes and things she didn’t understand and salary information and—holy crap! Jason made nearly six million dollars last year! She actually felt nauseous when she read that.

No wonder he thought women were after his money.

With a sick feeling in her stomach, she dropped her pen and leaned back into the couch. She wished she hadn’t found that out. She did not want to know how much money he made. If she didn’t know, he couldn’t think she was after his money like every other woman. Because she wasn’t. Hell, she wasn’t even after him. They were just playing around. Having fun.

She felt unreasonably annoyed, irritation like a persistent itch, at the things she’d discovered on Google. He was rich. Famous. Talented.

Except the last two days she’d actually missed him. Missed him with an aching intensity deep inside that scared the crap out of her. Because she wasn’t supposed to be getting emotionally involved. Especially with someone like Jason.

Her annoyance rose, now at herself for missing him when he so clearly out of her league.

God, if Darryl had thought she was boring, what on earth was Jason doing with her?

Besides having phone sex.

Oh, lord. She pressed a hand to her tummy. She’d done a few things lately with Jason that she never would have thought of doing before. What was happening to her?

Her doorbell startled her into a straight up position and she blinked, then got to her feet.

Jason stood on her doorstep.

Her heart expanded, softened, accelerated. She opened the door to him.

“Hi.” His smile crinkled his eyes and made her melt.

“Hi.”

And then they were in each other’s arms, kissing frantically. Her arms slid under his leather jacket, finding warm, male muscles beneath his cotton shirt. He hoisted her up against him, feet dangling, and kissed her until the room spun around her.

He lowered her to her feet and she clutched his arms to keep herself from falling. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” His eyes sparkled. “What are you doing?”

“Marking projects.” She led the way into her living room and grimaced at the sight of all the papers everywhere. “Uh…sorry about the mess.”

He shrugged. “No biggie. You saw my apartment.”

“Oh, yeah.” She grinned as she picked up papers and piled them on the table, remembering the chaos she’d only noticed as they’d been leaving his place.

Jason sat on the couch and she sat beside him, but he immediately picked her up and set her on his lap and kissed her again, long, deep, kisses.

Her skin tingled and her breasts swelled. She ached between her legs and pressed into him, until sanity intruded into her lust-fogged brain and she drew back.

“Jase.” She put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thudding beneath her palm. “What are we doing here?”

“Making out.” He nuzzled her neck.

She pushed on his chest. He was like a frickin’ wall.

He lifted his head and gazed at her quizzically. “What?”

She shifted in his embrace. “I mean, what are we doing?”

“Fun. Remember?” He held her gaze, then his smile faded. “Aw, fuck.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of what I was thinking.”