Zack Page 11

  His thumb continues to graze my wrist and long moments turn into the past as we just look at each other, which is partially awkward, yet I can't turn away.

  I most certainly don't have the power to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but the moment is broken when Ben yells out, "It's your turn, Daddy."

  Zack slowly releases my wrist and lowers his gaze. Slapping the palms of his hands on his thighs, he gives a shake of his head and stands up from the chair. "Better get back in there."

  I scramble up from the chair, muttering, "I'll finish dinner. Thanks for the first aid, HOS."

  "Sure," he says quietly, and I turn and head back toward the tomatoes that still need chopping.

  When I reach the counter, I still feel a little dizzy and I know that has nothing to do with the blood but everything to do with Zack's magical touch. I quickly pick up the knife from the floor and lay it beside the cutting board. Placing both of my hands on the edge of the counter, I bow my head and take in a deep breath.

  Get it together, Kate.

  "Are you okay?" Zack says from behind me.

  Startled, I whip around to find him standing just a foot away. I press backward into the corner of the L-shaped counter, resting my hands back on the edge once more for support.

  "Yeah," I say shakily. "Just a bad patient, I guess."

  Zack laughs. "I've seen worse. Ben pitches a fit when I try to clean up one of his scrapes. Good thing a kiss when I'm done always seems to make it better for the little man."

  "I imagine a kiss from you would definitely make everything better," I blurt out, and the minute the words leave my mouth, I clap my hand hard over my lips. My eyes widen and my face turns beet red.

  Did I really just say that?

  Zack's eyes narrow at me and his jaw clenches. So hard, in fact, that a tiny muscle starts jumping right at the corner.

  "I-I-I'm s-s-s-orry," I stutter as my hand falls away from my mouth. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean...a father's kiss and all that. Of course it would make Ben feel better. Fatherly lips...that's all I meant."

  Zack takes a step closer to me and his hands come out to rest on the edges of the counter by my hips, effectively caging me in. His look is hard as he stares at me, and I know I've made a colossal mistake. Slowly...his eyes lower to my mouth, his thick lashes effectively hiding the fierce gaze that was staring at me just a moment ago.

  I enjoy the reprieve.

  It's three seconds before his eyes rise up to meet mine again, and they are now filled with so much heat, they're practically glowing.

  Oh, God. I'm going to start hyperventilating.

  Zack's upper body starts to lean in, his head dipping toward me. I drop my focus to his mouth, which is slightly parted, and I memorize the curve of his lips and the way they are coming closer and closer.

  He's going to kiss me.

  Holy fuck, he's going to kiss me.

  Just when his lips are nothing more than a whisper away from mine, he turns his face slightly and grazes his cheek against my own. Leaning in farther, his stubble scratches against me until his nose rubs against my temple and his breath flutters against my ear. Shivers rack my body and my breath freezes in my lungs.

  "Will a kiss make it better for you, Kate?" he murmurs in my ear.

  Shivers turn into a massive shudder and I whimper.

  Zack's body tenses and I can feel the air around us vibrating. I release my breath before I pass out from lack of oxygen, and I can't help the frustrated sigh that slides out with it. A slight rumbling sound comes out of Zack's mouth and he dips his head, causing his lips to graze my jaw and then lower, down to my neck. My head naturally tilts in the opposite direction, giving him better access.

  His mouth slides over the delicate skin of my neck, so slight I can't distinguish whether it's his lips or his breath that's actually fluttering over me.

  "Tell me to stop," Zack whispers, and I can feel frustration and need warring within his voice.

  I give my head a tiny shake and Zack curses low, "Fuck."

  His face pulls back as his hands clasp me at the sides of my head. It happens so quickly that I get only a flash of his molten eyes and soft lips before his mouth is on mine. He presses in urgently yet with gentleness, forcing me open to accept him. I do so readily, and I wait for him to do what he wants. I don't care what he does, just as long as he doesn't stop.

  Zack doesn't give me his tongue. Instead his kiss is slow, his mouth roving against mine with gentle persistence. He tastes my lips only and the world melts away. I wait for him to deepen the contact, but he doesn't seem to be in a rush.

  "Daddy," Ben calls out from the living room. "Are you coming?"

  I jerk slightly and try to pull back from Zack. His grip on my head tightens to hold me in place, but he does pull his mouth from mine. His eyes laser on to me with dark intensity. My breath all but dissipates within my lungs over the desire I see.

  We just stare at each other, both of us shocked and surprised about where this went. I want to say something, to tell him it's okay this happened, but I'm not sure it is. I want it to be. I want him to tell me this was okay.

  But then the fever in his eyes dims and confusion filters in. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

  "I'm not," I blurt back, one hand coming up to tentatively rest on his chest. My fantasy is starting to come true. I don't want it to end just yet.

  Kiss me again, I want to scream, but his hand comes up and he gently pulls my own away from him.

  "We can't," he says in a quietly assured voice.

  Why? Why? Why?

  But I know why. I'm Ben's nanny. He's my employer. He lost his love not but four months ago. He's in pain and healing. He has issues and demons. He has a son who needs him and he has his hockey career to focus on. He most certainly doesn't need a complication like me.

  It's no wonder he pulled back.

  It's no wonder that he won't meet my eyes right now.

  The timer goes off on the oven and the remainder of the spell is broken for us. He steps away and after a lingering look that's remorseful, he says, "I'll get Ben washed up for dinner."

  I don't miss the heavy sigh he lets out just before he vanishes from my sight.

  Chapter 13

  Zack

  The early-morning skate is done, but I have time to hit some weights before heading home. Alex and Garrett left to do the same, except they work out in a private club, whereas I'm just fine using the arena facilities.

  I'm going to make this a quick workout, though, as I have a shit ton of stuff to do today. The real estate agent came on Monday of this week and walked around the house with me, pointing out suggestions on things that could be done to increase the value of the house. That included repainting a few rooms and new carpeting upstairs, as well as some landscaping upgrades, since spring is the best time to sell.

  Kate and I decided to knock out the painting first, and we're going to try to make a dent in that today. She spent the last two days that I was in Chicago prepping the rooms with tape and drop cloths, but I insisted that she wait for me to do the painting, as I wanted to actually participate in the work. It was Gina's house I was leaving behind. The least I could do was man up and get it ready to do so.

  I hear laughter coming out of the weight room as I approach and hear the words "the Brick" filter out. That's clearly some of my teammates referencing the Cold Fury's newest team acquisition, Ryker Evans, otherwise known in the league as the Brick, the shortened version of Brick Wall.

  Management announced today that it had signed legendary goalie Ryker Evans to the team. The Brick is indeed an active legend and at the ripe old age of thirty-one--which is indeed old in this league--he's still damn good. He has three Stanley Cups under him as well as four Vezina Trophies for being the best goalie in the league.

  The sad part is that he's probably on his way out of the league. Although he's coming over from the starting position with the Boston Eagles, he won't be a starter here because our starting goalie, Max
Fournier, is killing it right now. No, Ryker will be our backup goalie, which is a sure sign that he's definitely on his way toward retirement.

  Still, he's a fantastically solid goalie who will add depth to our team as well as maturity, especially since it looks like we're going to have a great shot at going far in the playoffs. My guess is that Ryker will probably only be with us this season and next, but I'm excited to meet him. I've heard nothing but great things about him so far.

  "Shit," I hear Claude Amedee, one of the young defensemen on my line, say with a laugh, "they'll probably have to replace his goalie stick with a cane."

  The other two guys, Sam Larson and Mikkel Erat, both defensemen on the third line, snicker. Normally, ribbing one another is a part of the camaraderie we all have going, but knocking on a dude's age in this league is not cool. While thirty-one is pretty damn young by society's standards, it's advanced age for a professional athlete. Fuck, I'm almost there at age twenty-seven, and I'm well aware I don't have many more years left in hockey. The wear and tear on a body ages a person fast. It's not funny, because we all have that hanging over our heads.

  As I walk in, I shoot Claude a chastising look. "Don't fucking go there, dude."

  Sam and Mikkel immediately stop laughing, but Claude gives me an amused grin. "Come on, Grantham. We're just fucking around...it's not like the Brick can hear us."

  "And you're lucky he can't," I say as I walk over to the free weights. "That dude would pound you into the ground."

  Claude loses the grin and gets busy on the leg press.

  There is a reason they call him the Brick Wall. The guy is massive for a goalie, topping out at six-six and built almost as wide. He takes up most of the net just by sheer size alone, yet has the flexibility and agility of a fucking thirteen-year-old gymnast. I've always enjoyed watching him play and he sure as shit made it hard on me over the years to score goals on him.

  "We're fortunate to get him," I add on. "He's going to be a leader on this team, so you need to show him some respect."

  "Got it, man," Claude grumbles as he pushes against the steel plate with his feet.

  Yeah, I remember what it was like to be in Claude's shoes. I think he's only nineteen or twenty, but that's a baby in this sport. You think you know everything and that you're invincible. I want to shake them and tell them that life is fragile and we can never take anything we have for granted.

  It would probably fall on deaf ears, anyway. I know there was a time in my life I didn't want to hear shit like that, and it wasn't until I lost what was precious to me that I started to appreciate it all.

  --

  As I climb the stairs to the second floor of my house, I am immensely grateful to Kate that there is no awkwardness between us because of that kiss four days ago. And that is due solely to her.

  When I came down to breakfast the next morning, I expected things to be weird and tense. There's no doubt in my mind that no matter how fucking good that kiss was, it was absolutely wrong. I had no business crossing that line and confusing Kate with my actions.

  But fuck, what a kiss.

  It's been hard to think about anything else since then.

  When I met Kate's eyes the next morning as she sat at the table with Ben, eating breakfast, I tensed and waited for the recrimination from her. Instead I got a bright, cheerful smile and she said, "Good morning, sunshine."

  "Uh...good morning," I mumbled back to her as I headed toward the coffeepot.

  Kate then did what Kate excels at. She started rambling on at a hundred miles an hour about the most inane thing ever...her loathing of beets. I'm not sure if she was talking to me or to Ben, but I submerged myself into the conversation, grateful that she didn't seem bothered by what happened between us.

  Okay, grateful but also a little perturbed that she apparently had dismissed it completely from her mind. It was clearly not as shattering for her as it had been for me.

  The one thing that did make me sad, however, was Kate's hair. She had it pulled back from her face and wrapped it snugly at the back of her head. Once again, Kate had gone into hiding and the message was clear. She didn't want me looking at any part of her that I found to be beautiful. It made me have an achy feeling in the center of my chest all day.

  I reach the top of the staircase and turn right down the hall, heading toward the strains of Limp Bizkit's "Nookie" coming out of one of the bedrooms. The girl has some good taste in music for sure.

  Kate has her back to me when I turn into the doorway. Hair still completely under wraps, although she traded in a baggy sweatshirt for a baggy yellow T-shirt she wears over some old jeans. Her feet are bare, though, and just that peek of some part of her that normally was hidden from sight causes longing to sweep through me.

  I shake my head, mentally slap the thought away, and square my shoulders.

  "Hey," I say as I walk all the way into the room. Kate startles slightly, but then turns her head to look at me over her shoulder.

  She eyes me up and down. "You need to change your clothes, Petunia Peacock. You don't want to get paint all over your nice stuff."

  I look down at the jeans and lightweight thermal T-shirt I'm wearing. This does not constitute "nice stuff" in my wardrobe, although it's with shame I realize this outfit still probably cost more than what Kate spends in a year on her clothing.

  "It's fine," I tell her, but kick my tennis shoes off and flip them out the door into the hallway. I definitely don't want paint on those.

  "Suit yourself," she chirps, and then moves over to the paint I had picked out this morning. She had several paint chip samples for me to choose from, and although I told her I wanted to go with a neutral tan color, I had no clue there could be that many varieties available. I randomly picked one, which Kate said was perfect, and then I went off to the morning skate. Kate took Ben over to Michelle's, who agreed to watch him for the day while we worked, and then went off to the store to purchase the paint.

  The room is all ready and she did a fantastic job of placing the drop cloth; lining the molding, baseboards, and windows with painter's tape; and laying out the pans and brushes.

  "Ready to get this show on the road, Gooseberry Parfait?" she asks with a grin, looking at me with bright, expectant eyes.

  I give her a smile of acknowledgment so she'll move on from that nickname, but the smile feels forced. Her sunny personality shows me that she doesn't have an ounce of regret over what happened between us or what could have been, had I not drawn a line between us. She's clearly moved on, and I think she's expecting me to do the same.

  The rest of the day we work hard. We have the first room painted by lunchtime, and after a hastily gobbled sandwich and chips that Kate made for us, we start on the room that Kate is staying in. It's a little difficult to maneuver around, as we had pushed her furniture inward before covering it with the drop cloths, but we manage without bumping into each other too much.

  For the most part we're silent as we work, each of us concentrating on our tasks. But it isn't a time completely devoid of conversation. I ask Kate more about her sister and nephews, curious as to their ages and her involvement in raising them. She tells me that Kelly is two years older and she'd gotten pregnant with her first son, Jason, when Kate had just turned fourteen.

  Then Lyle had come when Kate was fifteen and Christopher when she was sixteen.

  Jesus...her sister pumped out kids fucking fast.

  Kate tells me that everyone crammed into her father's single-wide trailer. Her father took one room, Kelly took another, and then Kate gladly gave up her room for the boys. Kate was thus relegated to the couch from the time she was fourteen until she graduated at eighteen. Since Kelly had dropped out of school and gone to work so she could support her brood, Kate became the boys' primary caretaker when she got home from school and her sister went off to work a second-shift job.

  Laughing, she tells me, "See...that's why it just wasn't that big of a deal to camp out on Mark's couch, and it's also why Ben is a piece of c
ake. Try watching three boys that are all going through terrible twos and threes around the same time.

  I shudder because I can't even imagine.

  And Christ...she fucking slept on a couch for four years of her life and she laughs about it.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  We finally put on the last coat of paint and Kate stretches her neck left and right as she lowers the roller in her hand. "I'm going to be feeling that tomorrow."

  I bet she is. Even I'm a little sore from all of it, and I'm in far better shape than Kate is.

  "You did a great job," I tell her as I skirt around the cloth-covered dresser to take the rolling brush out of her hands. "I'll clean up if you want to go take a shower. You have quite a bit of paint on you."

  "I do?" she asks as she looks down at herself.

  "Yeah...right here," I say as I reach out with my free hand and brush the smudge of dried paint over her right cheek. It's an intimate move. I didn't have to touch her, just tell her she had paint on her face, but I couldn't fucking help myself.

  Kate goes absolutely still, and she looks at me with wide eyes, the blue in them swimming with uncertainty.

  "And right here," I say in a soft voice, my fingers now touching a spot on her forehead.

  Kate inhales sharply and her reaction to my touch has my body tightening. Her eyes deepen in color and a small pulse at the base of her neck starts thumping. She's affected by my touch as much as I am by giving it, and now I know...she definitely hasn't moved past that kiss the other day.

  This is so wrong.

  So very wrong, I tell myself again.

  I can't be encouraging something between us when I just put a stop to it--for very valid reasons.

  My hand falls away from her and I search for some measure of fortitude within me. With a tight voice I say, "Go on. Get in the shower and I'll clean up here."

  And Christ...that's disappointment filling her eyes. I see it only briefly, though, because she gives me a nod of acceptance and lowers her gaze. She turns sideways and starts to slide her way past me. I can't back up to give her room because her dresser is pressing into my back and a wet painted wall is just on her other side.

  I hold my arms out wide so she can ease past, and I close my eyes in frustration.