“The doctor said I will probably lose sensitivity,” she said as they drove across the floating bridge. Now that she knew more of the risks, she was a little scared.
“For how long?”
‹iv
She shrugged. “Could last six to twelve months. Could be permanent.” She’d known about the side effects and risks, but hearing them from the doctor had made them very real.
From behind his sunglasses, Mark looked across the car at her.
“I might not be able to nurse a child.” She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. Knowing all that, she still wanted to do it. She glanced up at his profile. “My family is going to freak out,” she said, but what she really wanted to know was what Mark thought. She was too afraid to ask him. Too afraid he could get her to change her mind.
Silence stretched between them for several long moments before he said, “I love your body. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” He reached for her, and she fully expected him to tell her that he agreed with her family. “But if you’re not happy with the size of your breasts, do something about it.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Do what’s going to make you happy.”
That’s when it happened. Her heart swelled up into her throat. The backs of her eyes burned, and she fell in love with Mark Bressler right there on the first exit to Medina. Fell in love with him so hard and fast it took her breath away. Fell in love even when she knew better.
The third Monday in August, Mark jumped in his Mercedes and headed to the Chinooks’ head offices. They’d set up an appointment to talk about the assistant coach position, and he wasn’t as adamant against it as he had been a few months ago. In fact, he was starting to warm to the idea. No harm in listening to what they had to say.
He pulled out of the driveway and headed toward downtown Seattle. He needed a job. Lying around and doing nothing was driving him insane. He needed something to do, other than wonder how he was going to change Chelsea’s mind about her no-sex-at-work policy.
Which was bullshit. He’d only agreed because he figured he could change her mind. But she’d never budged from her position. Not the first week or the second week either. Not even when they’d been driving back from viewing a property in the Queen Anne district and he’d reached over and slid his hand up her bare thigh. He’d slipped his fingers inside her panties and she’d been slick and half ready. She’d let him touch her for a few brief moments before she’d pushed his hand away. Leaving him hard and fully ready. He’d fought an erection for the rest of the day, until, at five o’clock, she’d found him in the garage, putting away Derek’s stick and a few pucks. “I’m off work now,” she’d said, and practically launched herself at him. She’d torn at his pants. He’d bent her over the hood of the Mercedes, flipped up her little skirt, and entered her from behind. It had been down and dirty. Quick and raunchy.
And sweet.
But not nearly as sweet as the night she’d let him make love to her at the foot of the Stanley Cup. He’d had sex with a lot of women in his life. He’d had sex with her too, but that night had been different. He’d felt as if every cell in his body exploded. He’d felt blown apart, and when he’d come back together, he’d been changed. The way he looked at his life. And the way he looked at her.
He couldn‹m">217;t say that he was in love with Chelsea. The kind that came with a big diamond and wedding vows. He’d been in love like that
before, but this felt different. This was easy, comfortable, like sliding into a warm pool of water as opposed to a jet tub.
No, he couldn’t say that he loved her, but he did miss her when she left. Missed the sound of her voice and her clunky shoes on his tile floors.
He liked being with her. He liked talking to her and making her laugh. He liked the twists and turns of her mind and her sense of humor. He liked that she thought she was impulsive when she was clearly in control of everything around her. He liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way. He especially liked the look in her eyes when she was determined to have her way with him.
No, he didn’t like that about her. He loved that about her. He loved the way she touched him and kissed him and took control. He loved what she did with her hands and mouth and the breathy little sounds she made when he touched her. He loved looking into her face when he was deep inside her small body. The way the determination in her eyes grew heavy, drugged, as he drove into her. And he absolutely loved the tight contractions of her vaginal walls that squeezed and gripped him hard, pulling an orgasm from the pit of his soul.
When he thought back to the day she’d first arrived on his porch, he was glad that the stubborn determination that had once annoyed the hell out of him when he’d tried to get rid of her was the same determination that had made her stay. God knew she could probably get a better job. One that might pay better too.
He was not the man he used to be eight months ago. He was not a superstar hockey player. He didn’t live large. Sportswriters were no longer interested in him, and multimillion-dollar endorsement offers had dried up. He was a broken-down former athlete who woke with sore muscles and needed a cane about half the time.
He drove into the parking garage and parked next to the elevator. Chelsea didn’t seem to mind. She made him feel alive again. Like a man, but it was more than just sex. If that’s all it was about, any woman would do. It was the way she looked at him. As if she didn’t see his scars and broken life. She’d stuck with him when others had walked away. He didn’t know why she’d stayed. He just thanked God that she was still in his life.
It had been two months since he’d been at the Key. Eight months since his last game. He’d scored a hat trick that night against the Penguins. He’d thought his life was golden. He’d been on top of the world.
He took the elevator to the second floor. Shit happened. Life changed. Time to move ahead and not wallow in the past. The doors opened, and Connie Backus, manager in the benefits and compensation department, stood on the other side. He knew Connie from his numerous run-ins with her over the home health care workers.
“Hello, Mark.”
He held the door open for her. “Hi, Connie.”
“You look good,” she told him, and flattened an armful of folders against her chest.
“Thank you. I finally feel good.”
“I spoke with Chelsea Ross the other day. She said the two of you are getting along.”
She could say that. “Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good. We were a little concerned when we saw her wearing a...