“No,” he said. “No way. We don’t know when Duncan’s coming home and you have to be in your own bed when he does.”

She pouted even though she knew that was true. She glanced at the alarm clock next to Marc’s bed. Nearly two in the morning. Duncan could be home anytime. Damn.

“Fine. I am tired. You wore me out, big guy.” She dropped the covers and wriggled across the bed and off it to stand. Naked.

Her towel was still on the bathroom floor where they’d left it hours earlier. She’d never been particularly proud of her body, but nor was she ashamed of it. She didn’t mind what she saw in the mirror, though it seemed like nothing special to her—average boobs and hips, a small enough waist. She could wish her stomach was a little flatter and her thighs a little thinner, but other than Victoria’s Secret models, probably every girl did.

But now as she walked out of his bedroom, she found herself aware of her body and how it looked, because she really, really wanted Marc to like it.

She hurried to the bathroom, where there were still bloody marks on the mat and tile, albeit now dry. She wrapped the towel around her again, scrubbed everything clean, then paused to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a hive, she had whisker burn pinkening her jaw, her lips were puffy. But damn, she looked happy.

Three orgasms.

And not just wussy little climaxes. Three amazeballs, stupendous explosions.

Her pussy clenched just remembering.

She let out a shaky little sigh.

She tried to push aside the guilt at putting Marc in an awkward position with Duncan. She reminded herself she wasn’t totally to blame. It wasn’t like she’d jumped him and forced him to have sex with her. There really was something between them, something hot and amazing. And Duncan would never know about this, so there was that.

Things would just go on as they had before. It would all be fine.

She headed into her bedroom, where she’d left a lamp on. She’d just changed into her cami and boy shorts and climbed into bed when she heard Duncan come home. She clicked off the light and snuggled into her bed. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Marc she was tired. Her eyes dropped closed right away.

As she drifted off to sleep, her body satisfied and relaxed, her mind wished she wasn’t alone.

—

The next week was super-busy, which was good because she didn’t want much time to think about Marc, and she also didn’t want much time where she had to actually be with him, because she was pretty sure she might not be able to resist touching him. In fact, she might just jump him and force him to have sex with her.

The guys were busy too, with practices, games, and some promo work the team was doing. She found a yoga studio nearby and started going to classes. She learned how to make spring rolls. She worked hard at her business. She met with another potential client, not as big as Panache, but pretty darn good, a growing company that produced natural bath and body products. She went out with her camera and took pictures for her blog, Sugar Blossom. Traffic to her site was growing and she spent some time analyzing data to see if she could charge more for advertising.

She made arrangements for the rest of her belongings that were in storage to be shipped to her new apartment for January second, since nobody was working on New Year’s Day. She went out for dinner and to a movie with Jillian and Leigh one night, and they made plans to buy tickets for the Aces home game the next weekend. She didn’t expect Marc or Duncan to give her free tickets all the time.

Of course, busy as they all were, there was no way to completely avoid seeing Marc. When she ran into him in the kitchen Monday morning, their eyes met and sparks snapped between them. Her insides did a little flip and her skin tingled. But they both acted nonchalant and went about getting their respective breakfasts, with Duncan sitting on a stool reading the newspaper and cursing the article some sports reporter had written about their latest loss.

“Don’t read that shit,” Marc told him.

“He’s speculating all kinds of crap about Ronner,” Duncan said. “He’s injured. He’s a drug addict. Next they’ll be saying he has a brain tumor.”

Lovey’s eyebrows lifted at Marc’s muttered “Fuck.”

She ran into Marc a few other times, always with that little jolt of heat and electricity, which they both tried to ignore.

Thursday night she found herself home alone. She didn’t know if Marc and Duncan were out together or separately. She made herself a bowl of popcorn and decided to watch a movie. She found a recent release on Netflix she’d wanted to see in the theater but never had, and settled in with her popcorn to watch.

When Marc walked in an hour and a half later she was sobbing into her half-empty bowl of popcorn.

“What’s wrong?” He walked into the living room and took in her tear-wet face. He came at her with purpose, concern etched on his face.

“I’m okay,” she sobbed.

His eyebrows slanted down as he sat beside her on the couch and slid an arm around her shoulders. “No, you’re not. You’re crying.”

“I’m watching a movie,” she sobbed. “It’s really sad.”

His eyes went wide. He looked at the television and then back at her. “Seriously?”

She frowned a little and plucked a tissue from the box on the coffee table. She dabbed her eyes. “Yes. Shhh. They’re in love but they can never, ever be together.” She focused on the movie. He went to move away, but she liked his arm there, so she grabbed his hand and snuggled in closer against him, her legs curled under her.

“Where’s Duncan?”

“I don’t know. Out. I thought maybe he was with you.”

“Nope.”

“Then I have no idea. Watch the movie.”

A while later she muttered, “This movie better have a happy ending.” It wasn’t looking too good for these characters.

Marc’s lips twitched.

They watched the rest. When she started crying again, Marc sighed and put his other arm around her.

Wow, that felt really good. She absorbed the feel of his big body and his strong arm holding her. He handed her another tissue. “Thank you,” she murmured, as the heartbroken star-crossed lovers were reunited in a most satisfying way, which made her cry even more as the credits rolled.

“Jesus,” Marc said. “It ended happy and you’re still crying.”

“These are happy tears.” She let out a long sigh of pleasure. She looked at him with one eyebrow lifted. “Don’t you feel anything?”

“I only saw the last half hour.”

“But still…haven’t you ever cried at a movie?”

“Fuck no.”

She laughed. “Come on, even as a kid? Disney movies never made you cry? I cried at The Lion King.”

The smile he’d been trying to repress broke free. “The Lion King? Seriously?”

“Yes! When Simba fights with Scar and learns that his father’s death was Scar’s fault, not his…I totally cried.”

“Soft-hearted,” he murmured.

“I fully admit to that. It’s better than having no heart at all. Which I would think about you…except I know you have a heart. You have to be passionate about hockey to play like you do.”

He shrugged. But she saw the flare in his eyes.

He had a lot of passion inside him.

She’d seen some of it last weekend, in his bed. She wanted to see more of it.

“I have feelings. I just keep them under control.”

She laid her palm on his stubbled cheek and looked in his eyes. “I know you really do have feelings. Even though you seem like you don’t. Always so unemotional. In control.” She leaned forward and brushed her mouth over his. “I’d like to make you lose control.”

“Lovey.” The word sounded strangled. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not? I thought we agreed—we won’t tell Duncan.”

“He could walk in that door any minute.”

“True. Which is why we should move to your bedroom.” She kissed him again, this time letting her tongue glide over his bottom lip. He groaned and his hands shifted to her waist. She tilted her head and went in again, opening her mouth on his, and yes, yes, yes, he kissed her back. Expertly. Wetly. Meltingly.