18. The Forbidden

EIGHTEEN

THE FORBIDDEN

CAM

"W

e should go in." I don't even know how I form the words in a gravelly voice after Becca blows me away with a kiss like that. My brain is solely responsible for the statement, because my cock has other ideas. Even having said it, my ass doesn't move out of my seat.

"If you say so," she replies, gazing at me through half-lidded domes. She retreats to her side of the car and reaches for the door handle.

"Wait." Something tells me to clarify, to get on the same page, to not lead her on. I desire it to happen again, as my twitching cock testifies, but for all the reasons I'm too dumbfounded to think of right now, we can't do this again. "Um, look?—"

"Don't ruin it for me, Cam. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. I took from you what I needed in the moment, so let me have it. Okay?" She blows me away with that.

"Damn, woman. When you show your confidence like this, it's a fucking turn-on."

"Hm. Is it? Maybe I'm changing. If you're lucky, you might see more of it." She reaches for the door handle again.

"Wait, I'll come around."

When I hold her door open for her and offer my hand, she takes it. She elegantly places her feet on the ground, showing off her sexy legs, then standing. She straightens her dress and flips her hair back. The entire image and demeanor, hell, her aura, has changed, and it's like I'm not seeing someone's little sister anymore.

Instead, a beautiful, confident woman hooks her arm through my elbow. I walk a little taller next to her as we enter the club, knowing I'm walking into a situation where men will be eyeing her. It'll take all my patience not to snap at the first man who dares buy her a drink or the man who dances with her.

My protection instincts kick in, only this hits different. Like I'm protecting what's mine.

The VIP lounge rocks with several of my teammates and other celebs showing up for this opening night, too. Calista's mouth glues permanently to the floor, starstruck for at least the first hour as people I know stop by our booth to greet us and chat. Her guy, Danny, clearly is a hockey fan, too, his hands shaking every time I introduce a teammate. While Becca seems to take my status as a hockey god in stride.

She's also noticeably not drinking, sticking to water with lemon. I admire her lean body in the revealing dress she wears—as do many men, which annoys me when it shouldn't. Another five or ten pounds on her wouldn't hurt though, adding to her delicious curves, but I recall Hayes saying how paranoid she always was about her weight with dancing.

I think she needs a good nutritionist and trainer to help her find that balance. I catalog that thought away for now, along with others that have plagued me all week since my lips touched hers to warm her up. Since I kissed her senseless. Since I lost myself in her for one moment in time.

Doesn't mean anything. Can't mean anything. I'm not the guy she needs.

I'm the one with needs. Since coming into my life, she's all I can think about, and nothing I do makes thoughts of her go away. I've tried. Gone out with teammates after practices and games to clubs and parties, caught the eyes of a few women, then nothing happens. Like Becca has stripped me of my swagger. My playboy reputation could be in serious jeopardy.

Beside me, she sits, one long sexy leg crossed over the other, completely in the dark about what she's done to me. My arm rests casually behind her on the booth, impressed by her. She's fucking beautiful, with her silky chestnut hair falling around her shoulders, the blue of the sequins complimenting her dazzling hazel eyes. And those plump lips with red painted on them show off the white of her teeth when she smiles, which she does plenty of at this club.

Becca looks totally fuckable. For someone. Not me. I need to get that through my thick skull that it won't be me.

Each time a teammate comes by, I introduce her as an old friend for lack of a better term. She smiles and nods, all quietly classy. I can see it in their eyes that they believe there's something more to us, and if there isn't, I'll bet they'd like to have a go at her.

No, they cannot. Only because her brother isn't here to protect her, but I am. And I'll be sure to spread the word this week in the locker room. She's like a little sister to me and therefore falls into the Forbidden Rule among hockey players. There are certain women we don't touch. Like sisters of teammates. Daughters of coaches. Nieces of owners. Mothers, too. Basically any female in the family tree of anyone on or affiliated with the team is off-limits.

But the way she leans over to talk with Calista, putting her bare back into my view, the lowest part of the scoop of fabric sitting just above her fine ass, works my last hold on sanity.

My cock twitches under the table and reminds me she's not actually in my family tree, thank you very much. He's also wondering why I'm doing this hero shit and not plundering her the first chance I get. I have no answers right now.

She empties her water glass again, eyeing the dance floor. It doesn't escape my notice.

"You're not drinking," I state loud enough over the music for her to hear.

"Neither are you." She points at my empty tea glass.

"I'm driving. What's your excuse?"

Calista pipes up, sitting on the other side of her. "Girl, I told you drinks are on Danny. Stop worrying about money for one night and enjoy yourself."

I groan and should have known. It's not like this is a date, and Becca's too proud to allow anyone to buy for her. "Hey, I should have made it clear. I'm picking up the tab tonight for us all," I say to clarify.

Danny grins and nods. "Thanks, man. I can't believe I'm in the company of great hockey players. Wait until I tell the guys at work next week."

Before the beauty in blue next to me gets too pissed, I add, "About time you get out there and shake your thing, don't you think?"

"I'm waiting for you to come with me. Are you ready to show me your moves?" The curve of her lips ambushes me, and rushes all kinds of moves through my thoughts. Many in my playbook don't involve dancing, though. And that's enough of that.

We've sat here long enough, and I want her to have fun. She's not having that here in this booth. I need her to have a good time, and I don't even know why it's so important to me, but it is.

"Come on," I say, and lead the way down the stairs to the dance floor.