Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, burst out from those kissable lips. “How in God’s name could you possibly think that I’m beautiful in my head?” She threw up her free hand, the bag on her wrist keeping her other at her side. “That mess I’m talking about is in my head. I’m so screwed up from stuff I should be over that it’s not even funny.”

Chapter Eleven

Dani

One second, she was standing in the hall, readying to spill her guts to Ethan, and the next, the bags were on the floor, including the one hanging on her wrist. Before she could even suck in another breath, she found herself with her spine pressed to the cool wall, Ethan to her front.

And it was glorious.

It reminded her of the almost-kiss.

Reminded her of his mouth on her throat, his hands on her body.

“You don’t have to justify the way you feel to anyone. Your past, painful or not, is what makes you Dani.” His head dropped. “And from what I know of Dani, you’re pretty fucking special.”

Was it possible for her heart to beat its way out of her chest? Because with his silken voice in her ear, with the gruff pretty fucking special reverberating through her body like a ping pong ball zipping from rib to rib, it felt on the verge of doing so. Three words and she was ready to spill her guts—

No.

She’d been ready to spill her guts before.

Now, she was ready to let him in, to allow that safety net to peel back and take up trapeze as a hobby.

And that had her heart pounding for a whole other reason.

“I’m just Dani,” she whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, cupping her cheek, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Just Dani, I really want to kiss you right now.”

Her inhale was a sharp stake driving into the ground, or maybe the gasp one takes right before letting go of the trapeze bar and leaping to the next. “I’m—”

Voices trailed down the hall, echoing through the mostly concrete space, snapping her out of her Ethan haze—and seriously, the man was fucking dangerous to her mental aptitude.

He didn’t move, just leaned his hips a little heavier against her, and she felt his erection, hard and unyielding and so fucking tempting, pressing into her stomach, before his mouth dipped down and and he whispered roughly in her ear, “Tell me you’re dying to have my mouth on yours, sweetheart. Tell me that you’re wet, that you’re aching for me as much as I’m aching for you.”

Her eyes flew up, caught the storm in his, his desire lightning strikes through the deep gray. “Ethan,” she breathed.

Because . . .

Yes, to all that.

The need, the aching . . . the wet.

She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, and that was less about her and more about the invisible, persistent thread that connected them, a spool that wound tighter and tighter until—

His hand clenched on her hip.

His mouth came closer. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” she murmured and watched his features tighten, his eyes spark, his lips move—

The voices drew nearer.

“Fuck,” he cursed and shoved back, bending to snatch the bags up just as Blue and Coop came around the corner. Brows lifted, probably because she was still against the wall, her chest heaving, hand pressed over her heart. “Here.” He shoved two bags at Coop, another two at Blue. “Bring these to PR-Rebecca’s office.”

Blue opened his mouth.

Ethan pointed at him. “Not today, kid.”

“You realize that we’re the same age, right?”

“I’m older,” Ethan grunted.

“Barely,” Blue countered, but then he shut up, hefted the bags, and turned around, heading back where he’d come from.

Coop hesitated, a bag in each hand, eyes on Dani’s.

She nodded.

One half of his mouth turned up.

And then he, too, headed for Rebecca’s office, the bags clutched in huge, capable hands. Ethan slipped the otter one around her wrist, patted her hip, gaze still scorching, still making her ache to have his lips on hers. “Take these upstairs before we get caught making out in the hall like teenagers.”

She wrapped her fingers around the strap and nodded, unabashedly watching him grab the final two bags, his strong, powerful thighs stretching the fabric of his slacks, his ass perfectly accented against the thin gray fabric.

She’d said it before, and she’d say it a hundred times more.

Hockey players had the best asses.

He turned, suddenly very close again, his voice the best kind of husky, his beard brushing her jaw, teasing her skin, need coiling inside her like a taut hose refusing to stay in place. Instead, it kept bursting forward, causing her fingers to tingle, her breath to catch, her thighs to clench.

His lips pressed . . . to her forehead. “I’ll see you after the game?”

A shuddering breath, her bones threatening to melt.

“Dani?” he asked when she just stared.

She managed a nod.

That got her a sexy smile before he turned and headed down the hall, giving her another glimpse of his gorgeous ass as he went.

She was seeing him after the game.

Squee!

Shit.

But . . . squee!

Also, best. Asses. Ever.

Also, she bit the inside of her lip, watched as he turned the corner, hoping he liked what she’d put in his pocket.

She was riding high from the near kiss in the hall, the memories that normally made her cling tight to her safety net easing, fading into the background where they belonged. So much so that the anxiety that usually gripped her when dealing with people hadn’t swarmed up and overwhelmed her as she’d walked into the Family Suite.

Kids and wives, fiancés and girlfriends filled the room with a kind of happy cacophony.

“Dani!” Sara called as the door closed behind her. “It’s so good to see you!”

Sara was married to Mike Stewart and was close to Brit and PR-Rebecca. Dani had met her on more than one occasion, and the former figure skater was a genuinely nice person.

Today, Sara set down her pencil and sketchpad (she