Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hudson

We arrived at Keeper's Bookstore early and met with the events manager, Pam, at the door.

"Whitney, so glad to see you again." Whitney and the woman clasped hands. "Congratulations on your marriage. What a surprise!"

"You could say that," Whitney muttered through a smile.

I covered a laugh with a cough.

"This is my husband and assistant for the evening, Hudson Talbott."

I shifted the box in my hands to carry it under my arm and shook Pam's hand. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine—my husband's a Blazers fan. I'm going to need an autograph." She grinned.

"No problem."

"Well, let's get you set up, Whitney."

She led us into the store, winding past the registers with Whitney's books on display behind them, weaving through aisles of tables stacked high with nonfiction, and meandering through shelves of genre fiction. The warm scents of paper, ink, and worlds to explore fragranced the air.

We arrived at an empty space in the back corner of the store. Rows of folding chairs sat on either side of an aisle, facing a bare table. Pam left us, and Whitney and I got to work. We covered the table with a cloth emblazoned with Whitney St. James and stocked it with glossy bookmarks, a few pens, and a tabletop poster of Bluestocking . I set up a vertical banner picturing the models from the book cover.

The more I saw, the more I grew in awe of Whitney. I had nothing to do with her success, yet pride filled my chest.

Women—and a few men—began trickling into the room and taking seats.

I hooked a thumb toward the bookshelves. "I'm just going to hide in the back while you give your talk."

Whitney frowned. "Why?"

"It's your time to shine." I didn't know if there would be any hockey fans among her readers, but I didn't want to take the chance that someone would recognize me and take the spotlight off Whitney.

"Sit with me when I sign books?"

"I'd love to." I couldn't resist leaning down and pecking her on the lips. Her eyelids drifted shut, and she hummed. I grinned and melted into the background as fans filled the seats and stood in the back.

Whitney took her place before the table, smiling widely at the audience. The crowd snapped photos, and an electric excitement sizzled through the crowd as conversation buzzed.

Whitney raised her hands, and a hush fell. "I'm Whitney St. James—" The group exploded in thunderous applause, and Whitney laughed. When the clapping subsided, she pressed her hands to her chest and continued. "Thank you for being here and reading my books. It means more to me than I can say." More applause followed, including my own. " How many of you have read my new release, The Dangerous Duke and the Bluestocking ?"

Approximately half of the audience raised their hands.

With the previous night's game, that morning's practice, and team meetings, I hadn't yet finished it. But the book had me hooked, and I didn't see how the duke could?—

"For those of you who don't know what it's about, you could read my carefully crafted blurb that I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into."

A few audience members turned over the books in their hands to read the back cover copy.

"Or I could just tell you what it's about." She smiled, and chuckles rose in the air. "The heroine, Daphne, is a bluestocking—a woman who longs for a career as a writer in a male-dominated world. Her books are sentimental, and she's a romantic at heart. But the hero, Charles, is a widower who has sworn off love after losing his beloved wife."

I rubbed my chest. Was that stabbing pain from indigestion? Sweat beaded on my brow. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten such a quick dinner.

"But Charles needs an heir—and an infusion of cash. When Daphne's father proposes an arranged marriage, Charles agrees." Whitney's gaze met mine. "Daphne's trapped in a loveless marriage, even though she's a romantic." Whitney's face fell, as if feeling Daphne's heartache.

Or was that Whitney's heartache? I nearly doubled over from the gut-punch. What have I done?

"Daphne falls for Charles. But can Charles open his heart again?" Whitney fell silent as we stared into each other's eyes.

But then Whitney's expression changed, and I saw something in her gaze that made my stomach twist. Was it longing? Or was it just my own insecurities playing tricks on me? Whatever it was, it hit me like a slap in the face.

Amidst a chorus of " Ooh s," my heart plummeted. I couldn't offer Daph—Whitney—what she wanted. I couldn't risk my heart again. But I cared about her. Letting her down was a 97-mile-per-hour puck straight to the chest without padding. I was laid out flat on the ice, bruised and bleeding.

Whitney's eyes broke away from mine, and she asked for questions from the audience. She spent the next half an hour holding the rapt crowd spellbound, wrapped it up with profuse thanks, and announced that she'd be signing books. She found my gaze and beckoned me forward.

I weaved my way through the milling crowd to the table and took a seat in the folding chair next to Whitney's. "You did a great job." My voice was low, for her ears only. I squeezed her thigh beneath the tablecloth. "You. Are. So. Awesome. "

She ducked her head, a soft smile spread across her lips, and a blush stole up her cheeks. When she met my gaze again, her eyes twinkled in the lights. "Thanks," she whispered.

Then she grinned playfully and waved a pen in the air. "Let's sign some books!" she called. The throng responded with cheers.

One fan after another came forward, their eager faces and outstretched hands a blur as Whitney tirelessly signed books, posed for pictures, and engaged in conversation with each person. The air vibrated with enthusiasm and love for Whitney.

A woman stepped up to the table, clutching a copy of Bluestocking against the Blazers logo on the jersey she wore. Her gaze flicked between Whitney and me. "I'm a huge fan of you and the Blazers. Can I have your autograph and Hudson's?"

I leaned forward. "What's your name?"

"Trudy."

"Nice to meet you, Trudy." I nodded. "I'm flattered, but today is Whitney's day." This evening should be unforgettable for her. I wrapped my arm around Whitney's shoulders. "But if you follow me on Instagram, I'll keep you posted on my appearances. I can give you an autograph then."

Trudy held up her phone. "Can I at least have a picture of you two?"

I turned to Whitney, my eyebrows raised. It was up to her.

She met my gaze and smiled. "Sure." She leaned into me.

Trudy raised her phone.

"Wait!" I snagged a copy of Bluestocking off the table and held it up for the picture. "Okay, now you can take the picture."

Trudy took a couple of snaps, and Whitney signed her book. Trudy left with a smile on her face.

"Thank you for that," Whitney said to me, low. "But you could have signed an autograph for her."

I shook my head. "This is your show. You're the star here."

She smiled gently, her eyes soft, then turned to the next person in line. "Hope!" Whitney jumped up from her seat, and the two women leaned over the table and hugged. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it! Gotta have my favorite author sign my book." Hope held up a copy of Bluestocking . Beck wandered to Hope's side, a stack of books in his hands.

I stood. "I see you brought your boat anchor, Hope."

She squeezed Beck's bicep and smiled up at him. "He's my anchor, all right."

Beck rolled his eyes, but he smiled down at Hope. Whitney sighed dreamily, and I pretended to gag.

Beck met my gaze. "Asswipe." We tapped knuckles, grinning .

I nodded to the books in his hands. "Where's your copy of Bluestocking ?"

He turned the spines my way so I could see them. "I only read thrillers."

I propped my hands on my hips, challenging. "What's more thrilling than a hot sex scene?"

Beck choked, a pink flush creeping up his neck. Hope laughed, and a few women in line tittered.

Whitney playfully swatted my arm. "Hey! My books are about romance , not sex!"

And life was imitating fiction. Our previous night had been more intimate than just fucking. I'd let my guard slip, and allowed my growing feelings for Whitney to show.

Panic churned my belly, and my chest heaved. I had to shut that shit down, and fast. I couldn't fall for Whitney. Experience taught me I'd end up with a broken heart.

"…okay?" Whitney's voice broke through my thoughts, her gaze concerned. She placed her hand on my shoulder and shoved me into my chair. "Sit down. You're suddenly white as a sheet."

"Dude." Beck frowned. "You took a puck to the mouth without blinking. But now…what the hell? Should I call a trainer?"

I waved him off. "I'm fine. Just…probably dehydrated from my workout this afternoon," I lied.

"Sit tight. I'll get a bottle of water from the café." Beck hurried away.

Fuck.

Against my better judgment, I'd opened my heart to my wife.

Early in the afternoon, I let myself into our apartment and dropped my duffel in the entryway with a thump. It had been a brutal road trip to Las Vegas, and I was thankful to be home. We'd lost both games in Vegas, and needed the home ice advantage. Although that hadn't helped us during our second game at home. The series stood at three to one in Vegas's favor, and they only needed one more win to knock the Blazers out of the playoffs.

The losses weighed heavily on my shoulders. I'd allowed five goals the previous night, and my teammates hadn't scored. The game had been a shutout for the opposing goalie. Fuck .

Whitney emerged from her office, pushing her glasses up her nose. A messy bun barely contained her thick, brown hair, and wavy strands escaped to frame her smiling face. "Welcome home!" She approached, stood on her tip-toes, pecked my cheek with a kiss, and stepped back.

It wasn't enough.

After four days without Whitney in my bed, it wasn't nearly enough. "More," rumbled through my chest. I gathered her willing body into my arms and captured her mouth with mine. She opened on a gasp, and I took advantage, deepening the kiss. She tasted like dessert—of coffee and chocolate—and I indulged in the decadent treat. Our tongues danced, stoking a hunger in my veins. Whitney hummed into my mouth and wrapped a leg around my calf. My blood ran hot and my groin tightened.

I ended the kiss with a nip on her bottom lip. "Now, that's a welcome home."

She grinned, but it died quickly. "I'm sorry about your road trip. You okay?"

I sighed, released her, and raked my fingers through my hair. "I can't believe we're a game short of elimination. "

She squeezed my bicep. "You never know. The Blazers have a history of coming from behind."

"We'll see." We had to get our shit together and play like a team in synch. But for now, I needed a short break to relax. I'd start fresh in the morning. "Want to do something fun?"

She pursed her mouth. "I'd like to, bu-ut." She drew out the word. "It's not going well. I can't figure out the…" She blushed. "Choreography."

I frowned. "Is it a ball? Are they waltzing?"

"Um…no. I mean, the position."

I raised my eyebrows. Was she talking about?—

"I might have an active imagination, but there are just some things that are better…acted out."

"I could—" My throat tightened and my voice squeaked like a teen boy's. I cleared my throat and lowered my tone an octave. "I could help you with your research." My heart raced, and my cock stirred.

"Would you?" she asked, breathless.

I nodded, unable to speak.

She took me by the hand and led me to her computer. "Let me show you what I have in mind."

With a few clicks of the mouse, she opened an illustration that widened my eyes. I tilted my head this way and that, puzzling it out. I'd never tried that before. But it certainly looked like it would provide some stress relief. Just what the doctor ordered. "I think we should try it." I loosened my tie. "Right. Now." I turned on my heel. "First one to the bedroom comes first." With my long legs…

Whitney darted past me, giggling. "You snooze, you lose, old man."

With a few strides, I caught up, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her off her feet. She squealed, laughing, as we crossed the threshold into the bedroom at the same time. " Hmm…I guess we're coming together." Just the thought of her inner walls throbbing around my dick as I came hardened my cock painfully in the confines of my pants.

Whitney escaped my arms, and she quickly shed her clothing along a path to the bed. She tossed her glasses onto the nightstand. Her luscious tits bounced as she hopped onto the mattress, and I groaned.

My hands flew as I stripped off my suit, tie, and shirt. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my boxer briefs and freed my aching cock. Grabbing a condom from the nightstand, I quickly rolled it on. I climbed onto the bed, lying beside her with my hands behind my head. "Now what?"

She sat up and her gaze raked me from head to toe, lingering on my engorged cock. My dick pulsed.

"Direct me," I rasped.

"Sit up and brace yourself on your arms." She ran her hand from my shoulder to my wrist, raising goosebumps in its wake. "Good. Now raise your knees." She tapped my leg, and I complied. "Great."

"Now, I'm going to…" She kneeled between my spread legs. "Wait…" She cocked her head. "How am I supposed to…"

I raised a hand and twirled a finger. "I think you need to free your legs and sit on your bottom."

"Oh, right." She maneuvered in the tight quarters between my thighs.

"Watch where you're putting that foot, or this will be over before it starts."

"Sorry. I'll just put this leg…there, on the outside of your thigh. And that leg… oof …there." She frowned. "Is that right?"

"I think you need to inch toward me. "

She grunted as she scooted forward, placing her feet on either side of my hips. "Okay, now what?"

I grinned. "You tell me."

Her brows drew together. "Our…fun bits…are nowhere near each other. How does this work?"

I chuckled. "I don't think it does."

Her eyes widened. She blinked.

Then she threw her head back and laughed in great musical peals that drew laughter from deep within my chest.

I straightened up, my shoulders shaking with my dying chuckles. "I'll tell you what does work." I took her hands and pulled until she sat upright in my lap, her legs wrapped around my hips. Her warm, wet core met my eager cock.

"Oh." Her voice was husky. "Yes, this does work."

"Lift up. Let me show you how our fun bits fit together."

She snickered, grabbed onto my shoulders for leverage, and raised far enough for me to slip my tip into her slick heat. She lowered slowly down my dick, her core hot and tight around me, and we both moaned when she bottomed out.

I braced myself on my hands and thrust up as she rocked her hips. Our pace started slow, but sped up as we lost ourselves to sensation. We barreled toward orgasm, out of control.

"This position hits me…just…right." She ground down on my cock one last time and pulsed as she came with a keening cry.

My thrusts became erratic. I planted myself deep and shuddered as I came, sparkles of color exploding behind my eyelids.

Whitney clung to me, both of us perspired and panting. "Oh, yes. The duke and the governess can do that ."

I rolled us until I hovered above her reclining form. " Maybe we should try other positions, just to be sure." My voice rumbled through my chest.

She grinned. "I have a whole web page of them."

I nuzzled her neck. "Give me a few minutes, and we'll try a couple more."