Pressure Point (Point #2) (17 page)

Dominic opens his mouth to respond but thinks better of it and nods before gulping back a swallow of wine. And now it’s clear why Violet is uncomfortable.

Despite Violet’s unease, the rest of the evening flows smoothly. Games are forgotten to talking and eating. Blake slips himself into the conversation, asking questions and listening politely. He offers everyone tickets to hockey and next season’s football games. He’s the kind and generous man who I’ve fallen in love with. I can’t help but watch him while he converses with my family. When he laughs, it’s with his whole body, and when he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners. At some point, he shifts closer to me, splaying a palm on the floor behind me so that when I lean, my back brushes against his taut arm.

It’s right.

Soon, Violet’s carrying serving dishes to the kitchen counter and Antonia’s helping Ben shoulder into his coat. Everyone’s getting ready to go except Blake, who rests his hip against the dark granite countertop.

“Do you want help cleaning up?” Violet says.

“I’ve got it covered,” Blake answers before I speak. Automatically, I kiss everyone goodbye and tell Dominic that I’ll call him tomorrow. When the door shuts behind him, I rest my back against it and watch Blake. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. Now what?

“You said you wanted to go out tomorrow, but there’s a game,” I say.

“There’s no need for me to attend every game. Why, do you want to go?” Blake’s back is to me because he’s washing dishes.

Yes, this fine specimen rinses dishes and scrubs sticky cheese with a sponge. His butt looks too good in a pair of jeans. The denim clings to the muscular lines of his body and I’m nearly drooly.

I’m in trouble.

“No, I…” Trail off lamely with nothing to say.

“What I’m about to say is
not
because I don’t want to be alone with you. Having you to myself is damn near the only thing that I think about, but from spending time with your family tonight, it may be nice for Ben, Dominic, and you to go to the game tomorrow. If Dominic doesn’t have seats, I’ll get some for all three of you at center ice. I probably shouldn’t be seen fraternizing for someone working for the Wings, so I’ll take you out Tuesday. What do you say?”

He almost sounds unsure of himself. Could he be nervous around me, too? “Why?”

Blake shuts off the running water and turns slowly to look at me. His brown eyes are unfathomable, impossible to read.

“Because I’m done denying what’s been calling out to me for years.”

I exhale sharply.
“Years?”

“Yes, Stella,
years.
I told myself that it wouldn’t work out; that you were my sister’s friend and I had to stay away. But I’m shutting that voice down. Now. I’ve decided that I’m not rushing this, Stella. Tried that and messed things up royally. A woman like you is meant to be treasured. We’ll date, I’ll woo, we’ll be together until we’re ready for what’s next. There’s no turning back. I’ve had a taste and it wasn’t nearly enough.”

I swallow, a noise indicating the anxiety wafting off me in steady waves. All of these sentiments sound lovely, but I can’t trust him to keep these promises. Blake studies me with urgency, obviously noticing my distress.

“And when will you have enough?”

As if he knew the question was coming, Blake has an instantaneous answer. “After years of waiting for you, wanting you, how could I let you go? Not going to happen, Stella, no matter how much you may want to get rid of me.”

I stare at him dumbfounded. It’s hard to believe that he wants me back. Nearly impossible. Despite the warning bells bashing against my skull, I ignore them. What’s life without a little risk?

We come together like two choreographed dancers who know the moves by heart. His arms band around my lower back, soapy hands splay right above my bottom and yank me against his body. I clutch the soft material of his cashmere sweater, desperate to reduce the space between us.

I want this moment more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I’m impatient for his warm lips against mine. Blake hauls me closer and then I’m not resisting anymore.

Blake tastes the same. Warm. Clean. Fresh. Delicious. Consuming.

Blake’s lips are urgent. Insistent. Greedy.

Blake smells divine. Masculine. Intoxicating.

It’s too much. I’m lost in this kiss, only closed lip, only the insistent pressure of soft, kissable lips against mine. I gasp against him, a whisper of a noise that he takes as an invitation to slide his tongue into my mouth. My fingers curl into fists to provide an anchor. Otherwise, I might slip away.

All the waiting, all the lusting, all the fantasizing, all the dreaming is worth it for this kiss. Blake’s kiss is the one that girls wish for their first. Blake’s kiss is tender but fierce, languid but passionate. All of his attention focuses on me, and I flourish under his inspection.

Too soon he pulls back, leaving me gasping again. This time for breath.

“You got me wet,” I whisper breathlessly.

A cocky grin twists his lips. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Running a hand through my messy ponytail, I take a calming step backward.

Blake notices my slight distress and changes the subject. “You’ve done a great job with this place.”

“My condo?”

Admiration flashes in his deep browns. “You’re twenty-six and a homeowner. You infused this place with your warmth.”

I glance around the very unimaginative space in confusion. “Are we looking at the same house? This whole place came from a catalog, all the furniture, and even the paint.”

“That’s not what I meant. From the second I walked in here, I felt you. Generous, giving, it’s all here.”

A blush colors my cheeks, but I don’t shy away from him. “Thank you.”

He reaches a large hand out to cup my pink skin. His thumb strokes a slow, mesmerizing cadence before he speaks. “Can you get Ben here by six-thirty tomorrow? I’ll drive to the game.”

“Okay.” I’m all breathy again and a little frightened that I will never be able to deny him. The fear’s not enough to stop me from accepting his date. No, nothing will hold me back from being with Blake.

Blake

How many dates have I been on? Too many to count. Never did I feel nervous. Never did my palms sweat. Never did I vacillate between bouquets of flowers like a chump. I’m Blake Campbell. Nothing makes me sweat. Except now, there’s one tiny, brunette beauty who does. To think, her cousin Ben will be playing the unknowing chaperone and still I’m wondering if my aftershave is too strong.

Her effect is unsettling, and I don’t like it.

Fuck it. I love the way that she makes me feel. For once, I don’t have to be completely in control and plan for every possible outcome. There’s only one outcome: Stella with me.

With the bouquet of white hydrangeas in one hand, I cross the sidewalk to the building’s front door. She buzzes me inside and I climb the stairs two at a time, like an eager kid on Halloween racing to get their candy. Yeah, Stella’s my treat—the ultimate decadence that I will savor.

I won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Wow. Hydrangeas again, thank you,” Stella beams when she pulls the door open and notices the flowers. Right away, she presses her nose against the petals to inhale the scent. “Did someone tell you that these were my favorite flower?” She cocks her head to the side, dark curls tumbling down her shoulder. I’ve noticed it before and I’ll notice a million times more, but damn, she’s gorgeous. Full stop. She’s wearing a navy cable knit sweater and tight jeans that showcase her luscious curves.
Gorgeous.

“Lucky coincidence. They remind me of you, Snow White.” My voice comes out way huskier than I intend and she notices, but it only makes her flash me a shy grin.

“
Snow White
like the Disney movie?” Ben’s cheerful voice interrupts the moment, the previous tension building between us stalling. I place my hand on her lower back, propelling Stella forward because I’m not ready to give up contact with her yet.

Ever.

I clear my throat to get rid of the sex voice. “Exactly, my friend. You have a decision to make, center ice or the box?” Yeah, I have no plans to explain my nickname for Stella to her cousin or anyone else for that matter.

“Center ice!” Ben cheers. He launches himself off the couch and throws his arms around my waist in a tight hug, nearly stealing the breath from my body. I hug him back; his happiness is contagious. From the look of adoration that Stella’s shooting my way, I hardly notice the stifling grip. All I feel is peace. She’s happy, I’m happy.

“This is a dream come true,” Ben says.

“Happy to do it, man. Anytime you want to come to the game, let Stella know.”

“What would you do with these tickets if Ben chose the box?” Stella asks once they both have coats on and we’re making our way to my car.

“Any time Dad or I aren’t using the seats, we give them to longtime season ticket holders or donate them. It depends on the game.” She nods her head in approval and I can’t help the pleasure spreading through me. I open Stella’s door for her, making sure that she’s safely inside the seat and clipping her seatbelt before I shut it.

This night reminds me of the first time that I took Stella to an event at the Chicago Center, when I hooked up with that ridiculous pop star right in front of her. Add it to the reasons why I’m stupefied that she’d spend time with me. None of it is lost on me.

Delight twinkles in her eyes as I lead Ben and Stella to our seats in the rink.

“Can I sit in the middle?” Ben asks.

I fight back disappointment and force myself to grin easily. “Of course.” Stella walks ahead of us. Now that she’s draped her heavy winter coat over her forearm, I get a clear view of her ass swaying in the tight denim. She has a body like an hourglass, a tight little waist and perfectly lush in other areas. God, how is it possible for me to be overheated in an ice arena?

“These seats are incredible! Thank you for inviting us.” Stella tosses another smile my way and my chest swells at the praise.

My own jeans are starting to feel too tight. I clear my throat and offer a pained smile. “Want something to eat before the game starts?”

Frown lines crinkle Ben’s forehead as he surveys the scoreboard, signaling twenty minutes until the game starts. “Let me get you guys the food,” Stella offers, getting Ben’s attention back with her sweet smile. “As a thank you for bringing us to the game.”

“No, I insist.” There’s no way that I’m letting Stella pick up the bill when I invited them out tonight. Not in my old-fashioned chivalry handbook. Stella shoots me a look like she wants to argue, but my tone provides no room for discussion. Not budging on this one.

As I see it, there are two options here. I could try to impress my guests with non-vendor food, something from the restaurant upstairs perhaps. Or I could toss all that pretentious crap into the air and get them pretzels and brats like true Chicagoans. When I arrive back at our seats a few minutes later with our food (Okay, line cutting may be part of that pretentious thing I’m trying to avoid, but Ben mentioned that he was hungry several times in the car, and I don’t want to keep him waiting), I know that I made the right choice.

“These are my favorite,” Stella says, accepting the hotdog bun. Pride fills my chest again. The littlest things please her, and in turn, I find my own happiness.

“The Italian girl likes German food? How risqué,” I tease.

Stella chuckles, shaking her head. “Don’t tell my parents. Got you a beer.” She tilts her head toward the cup holder on the seat in front of me and I immediately notice she ordered the amber ale that she must have seen me drink a few times. And remembered.

“Thanks.” My voice comes out gruff. No woman who I’ve ever dated has taken interest in me that way. I’m usually the one remembering details about the women, not the other way around.

Stella’s a breath of fresh air and her cousin’s a trip. He spits out stats and cheers vigorously. When the players fight, he eggs them on and when the Scrapers score, he high fives everyone in the stands. For the most part, fans leave me alone, but some stop by to ask for a picture or an autograph and Ben makes friends with all of them, his good cheer contagious. Stella’s just as exuberant, observing the game and cheering loudly after each shot on goal.

I can’t remember having this much fun at a game, except with my sister. The thought sours my mood, but Zoe’s starting to do better. She sees her therapist regularly and conceded to a dinner with me outside of the house, though I had to demand complete anonymity when I rented out the entire back room of Zoe’s favorite pizza joint.

After the game, I drive Ben back to where he lives. It’s called the Hope House, a living facility for adults and children with developmental and physical disabilities. He hugs me again, and I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I relished his affection.

It’s not until Stella and I are alone in the car that she shows the first sign of nervousness. She shifts in her seat to face me.

“Does Zoe know we’re…” Her voice falls away.

“Yes?” I prompt, wanting her to quantify what’s brewing between us. Casting a look in her direction, I find her cheeks tinged pink.

“Does she know that we’re seeing each other?”

“I haven’t said anything to her about it yet. She’s focusing on recovery. I think it’s best to hold off until she’s in a better headspace. What do you think?”

Stella fiddles with her gloved hands though she nods. I reach across the middle console and grab her cable knit covered hand in mine, wishing our skin was touching. “Are you sure? If you want to tell her, we can do it together. Tomorrow, if that’s what you want.” I weave our fingers together and squeeze her hand in mine.

“Ideally, we’d tell her now, but I wouldn’t want to do anything to hinder her recovery. Besides, we haven’t even been on a date,” Stella says.

“Hmm,” I respond.

“What does that response mean?” She swallows, a noise indicating her uncertainty.

What did I say to upset her? I clutch her hand tighter, but hers goes limp. Something’s not right, and like a chump again, I’m almost sweating.