Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Riggs

Her cheeks are pink as she offers me a homemade muffin and I know it's not because they're flushed from the shower, or from us burning up the sheets.

She's giving me another side of her.

I touch that stretch of pink, stroke my finger over her silky skin, but don't otherwise comment on it before I take the proffered muffin.

She nibbles at her bottom lip, tears a paper towel from the roll on the counter and sets it in front of me, putting a second muffin on top of that before turning back to the coffeepot, fussing with the lid. I know she's avoiding eye contact, avoiding me, but I let her have that.

Plus, that means I can partake in my favorite activity.

Watching Ella.

Her hair is flowing down her back in a sea of perfect curls when not forty-five minutes ago it was a mess of tangles and wild twists.

Now it's beautifully styled—though I can't lie. I still prefer the just-been-fucked hair.

But it reminds me that for as many Sierra games she's been to—watching her brother, even though I like to pretend she's there for me—I've never seen her work.

Mostly because she only recently moved to town.

But also because—and I know this makes me an asshole—I didn't really find it interesting.

Hair's hair.

Slap some product in my hands, shove it through the strands to keep it out of my face, and call it good.

Only…watching her wash the strands in the shower, drying and styling her hair after—and doing it in a relaxed, confident way that told me she could do it in her sleep, the same way I know I can shoot a puck without really thinking about it—I knew there was so much more.

This is her art.

Her passion.

The things she's worked incredibly hard to master.

The coffee starts spitting out of the machine, filling her mug, and I don't miss that she still isn't looking at me. Nor that she's giving me lots of other insights into her like?—

"Are you going to add the whole carton of milk to your coffee?"

She turns, cheeks still pink, but now her brows are dragged together, forming a perfect little vee between them that I want to kiss. "What?"

I push out of the chair, move toward her, carefully tugging the mug out of her hands, setting it on the counter to the side of us. "I asked"—I lean in, grasping the rounded edge of the counter, trapping her—"if you're going to add all of the carton of milk to your coffee."

She stills.

Shudders.

Probably because I've dropped my head, pressed my nose to her throat, inhaled the scent of her. Flowers and vanilla and Ella .

Then I realize it's not because I'm sniffing her like a dog.

But because I mentioned the milk.

"I—" Her throat works. "Did you want some milk?"

There's no missing the guilty tone in her question.

"I think there's still a little left in the carton." A breath, eyes flicking up to mine—and yup, guilty. "Or you can have my cup," she says in a rush. "I just thought I've heard you say that you like your coffee black, otherwise I would have?—"

I kiss her, long and slow and deep. "I don't want milk, chérie ."

A blink. Then another. "But?—"

My mouth tips up. "I was just teasing you, baby."

She exhales, shakes her head slightly, one of her curls catching on the cabinet pull behind her.

I reach up and untangle it, not missing when she leans slightly toward my hand, instinctively wanting me to touch her.

I like that.

I fucking love it.

Something she likely reads on my face considering her slightly befuddled expression fades and her eyes sharpen.

I don't want her sharp and focused and scheming.

I want her soft and melting and mine.

So, I slant my lips over hers, and I taste her.

Spice and cinnamon from those homemade muffins. The barest earthy note of coffee. Nails biting into my nape, a lush body pressed to mine. A hand on my chest, lightly pushing.

"Air," she gasps.

"No," I murmur, taking her mouth again, but just for a second, just for a quick taste, but as much as I want to lift Ella up onto the counter and kiss her thoroughly, to strip her naked, muss those curls, and fuck her senseless…

She has a client in a half hour.

And she loves what she does. I'm not going to fuck with that.

So I satisfy myself with that small taste, that caress of her tongue against mine.

Then I'm nudging her toward the table, into my chair. I tug the napkin with the muffin—the last one, I hadn't missed—in front of her. "Eat," I order softly, turning for the counter, snagging her mug, bringing it back over to her.

"I—"

I plunk the cup in front of her, order again, more firmly this time, " Eat ."

"Riggs."

"Christ," I mutter, leaning down and wrapping my arm around her middle. I lift her enough to drop my ass in the chair then tug her down into my lap. "Eat, chérie . I know that you have a long day ahead of you."

And my day is free, minus meeting up with Knox later today to do some off-ice.

Which sends my mind reeling forward, an idea forming…scheming maybe.

Taking a page out of Ella's book.

I grin, sweeping her curls aside and baring the slender curve of her neck.Bending, I press my lips to the soft skin there, inhaling the scent of her, loving that she trembles.

She likes that.

She's given me another piece of her.

And I've caught it. I'm holding it close.

Going to continue to catching those pieces until I have them all.

"How do you know I have a long day?" she asks a moment later.

I nudge the muffin closer, don't miss her sigh…nor the way she reaches for it a moment later, starts unpeeling the paper wrapper. "I know you have a long day," I say, "because Nova and Knox have both mentioned that you've been working nonstop."

And because I've driven by the salon late at night more times than I'll admit, have seen the lights on and only a couple of cars in the lot—hers being one of them.

Not that I tell her that.

Instead, I press my lips to the back of her neck. "Tell me about your clients today."

She stills. "Why?"

It's a quiet question, as though she can't fathom why I'd want to know what she has happening.

I snag her mug, lift it toward her mouth. "Is it a multiple cup of coffee day?"

She shifts in my lap, her eyes hitting mine before she greedily snags the mug and sips deeply. "It's always a multiple cup of coffee day."

I chuckle. "Isn't that the truth?"

"A hockey god such as yourself would dare to defile his body with something as terrible as caffeine?" she teases.

Lightly tugging a strand of her hair, I steal her muffin, take a bite of it. "Trouble."

"And proud of it," she says, setting the mug down and stealing it back.

But then she does something wonderful, something completely, totally Ella.

She breaks off a piece and feeds it to me, and then…

She tells me about her day.

"First I have a new client for a consult, then I have a full-head highlight, a root touch-up, and an all-over color?—"

I see that I'm going to have to do some Googling.

Because I know those words belong to the English language but put together in that order and she may as well be speaking Greek.

"—and then I have a couple of other clients before Donna comes in for her weekly appointment to finish out my day."

"Who's Donna?"

Her face softens.

My heart starts to thud against my rib cage.

And then Ella gives me another piece of herself.

Because she tells me all about Donna.