Alex (Cold Fury Hockey #1)(75)

"What are you doing?"

As I glance at him over my shoulder, he looks stunning in the blue light of the moon coming through my windows. He is all hard angles and rolling valleys of muscle. His nakedness, while beautiful, makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason.

I don't answer but bend over once again for my jeans. Just as I grasp them, I feel him behind me, pulling at my shoulders until I straighten up. Then I'm wrapped up in his arms, the heat of his skin almost burning in nature.

"Why are you getting dressed?" he murmurs in my ear, and his sexy tone causes a ripple of longing to run through me.

"I just … I thought maybe you were heading home," I tell him, although I have no clue why I was getting dressed. Clearly there was a need for escape, because the emptiness he left behind in the bed was freaking me out.

"Home?" he asks in confusion. "Why would I do that?"

I shrug my shoulders in response, completely unwilling to tell him all of my insecurities.

He's not accepting my silence. Turning me around so that I face him, he wraps both of his large hands around my neck and props his thumbs under my chin. Then he tilts my head up so I have to look at him.

"What's wrong?" he asks, worry evident in his tone and expression.

My fear tells me to keep my mouth shut, that any confession of my feelings will send him scurrying. But the part of me that is still wise to the world and has handled things a lot scarier than this urges me to be honest.

"You bolted out of bed pretty quickly," I tell him in a firm voice, even though my stomach is tightening with unease.

"I had to use the bathroom," he enunciates emphatically, as if he's talking to a child that needs reassurance, even as a hint of guilt flashes in his eyes.

I know without a doubt he's lying to me.

I open my mouth to call him out on it, but it's suddenly filled with his tongue as he crashes his mouth down on mine. His hands remain around my throat, thumbs under my chin to hold me in place. He plunges deeply into me, carnally invading my mouth, even as one thumb snakes up and strokes me along my jawline. The frantic nature of his kiss, along with the tender stroking of my skin, causes my head to spin and lust to course through me. 

It's coursing through Alex too, because I feel him grow hard against me.

He's distracting me-I know it. He doesn't want to talk about the reasons he bolted out of bed. I decide not to pursue it because I'm immensely grateful he didn't bolt out of my house. He's back … in my bedroom, in my arms, and he still very much wants me.

Well, he wants my body.

Alex is so skillful in the way he kisses me-and my body is so reactive-I let him have me.

I let him distract me, and I choose not to worry about all of the ways that Alex still is not opening up to me.

***

As we lie in each other's arms, I immerse myself in the feeling of security Alex is making me feel at this moment. Our bodies have quieted from our last round of sex, which showcased a very in-control Alex who was intent on making me remember the glory of frenzied lust.

He growled the dirtiest things in my ear while he pounded into me. He kissed me roughly, biting and sucking at my tender skin. After an orgasm that almost lifted my entire body off the mattress, even with Alex's heavy weight on me, I almost cried out in relief when he pulled me into his arms and held me close.

He didn't run, and maybe I was just imagining the cold shoulder from earlier in the evening.

I was getting drowsy but I didn't want to fall asleep. We may have caught up on the sex we had missed out on, but I wanted to talk to Alex.

"Thanksgiving is coming up," I tell him as my finger traces circles around one of his nipples. My head is resting in the cradling valley between his shoulder and chest, with an arm holding me tight.

"And this means what to a Canadian?" he teases.

"Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving," I tell him firmly.

"Yeah, but not in November," he argues.

"Did you celebrate it this year?"

"Nope," he says. "Not my kind of holiday."

"And why is that?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he says, "It's a family holiday and I'm not close with my family."

"Well, Thanksgiving isn't just about family. It's also about spending time with friends. So, you are coming to eat Thanksgiving dinner with my family next week."

"I can't," he says with what I'm grateful to note is actually a bit of sadness. "We have a game on Thanksgiving Day."

"I know. Jim-Dad noticed that when my mom suggested you come and she said we'll just do Thanksgiving on Friday instead of Thursday."

"No way," Alex says suddenly. "You are not moving a family holiday to accommodate my schedule."

"Shut up," I tell him firmly. "It's a done deal and if you want to argue about it, you need to call my mom and argue with her."