Van Page 2

  "Goodbye, Etta," I drawl.

  "I love you, kiddo," she says with deep affection.

  "I love you more," I tell her back truthfully. The only woman I'm sure I'll ever love.

  When we disconnect, I put my shoes on and grab my wallet and keys off my dresser. I pocket my cell phone and open my bedroom door. When I step into the hallway, I'm almost mowed over by Simone as she drags her largest suitcase toward Lucas's room, which is just past mine on the opposite side.

  "Sorry," she mumbles as she comes to a stop, and I step back into my closed door to give her room.

  I just stare down at her, waiting for her to pass. She doesn't and stares right back at me.

  "Lucas said you're grumpy," she says with a curious tilt of her head.

  "Yup," I agree.

  "Hmmm," she says, as if she's appraising my entire personality. "I'm going to go with brooding. It's a better fit for the hotness you exude."

  "Hotness?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow.

  "Oh come on," she says dramatically, and waves her hand up and down at me. Her eyes roam over my body. "Just look at all you got going on. All big and muscley. And those deep, sensitive eyes filled with mystery. Total hotness and totally broody."

  "Whatever you say," I mutter as I try to step past her. She moves and places herself in my path.

  "I'm cooking dinner tonight for you and Lucas," she practically chirps with a bright smile. And fine, I'll admit it, those two dimples that pucker when she does so add a new level of hotness to her own package.

  But they don't sway me. "I'll pass. I'll grab something while I'm out."

  She stares at me a moment, and I can see the calculation in her eyes. She's absolutely up to something, and for the life of me I can't figure out what it could be as far as I'm concerned. Maybe she's just fucking crazy like originally assumed.

  Finally she nods her head regally and moves to the side to give me room. I lower my gaze and move past her, bristling when she murmurs, "Definitely hot and broody. I like it."

  Chapter 2

  Simone

  It must be said that I really like torturing Van. I'm not sure why, and perhaps that makes me just pure evil.

  But I can't help it. I'm insanely attracted to him, and in a way I've never been attracted to another man before.

  Maybe it's because he's a man, and I've only dated boys. My relationships have all been sweet high school crushes or noncommitment-type college flings with guys my age.

  Van is six years older than me, settled, successful, and let's not forget, all hot and broody. There's a story there, and while I'm not overly interested in finding out what it is, I am overly interested in making him pay attention to me.

  So far, I have not been very successful. My attempts to engage him have all failed. The only time he's spoken to me of his own free volition was about two weeks ago when he tripped over my purse and yelled at me. He'd followed Lucas into the house where Stephanie and I were already waiting for them after the game. The plan had been to grill steaks and have a few beers. I had really hoped Van would be relaxed enough that I could do something other than petty flirting to get his attention.

  But after he yelled at me, he'd come back out of his room less than five minutes later, announcing he was going out for the night. The real pisser of his announcement was that he said his plans were "hot and dirty."

  This sucks, because I can do hot and dirty, and he won't give me a second look. Ordinarily, I'd think it was a bro code type of thing, with two of my brothers being his teammates, but I could work around that. Although I sense that it's something altogether different with Van.

  I don't think he lets anyone get close to him at all. Over these past few weeks we've lived in the same house together, he's done well avoiding me. Granted, for some of the time he was on the road for the first round of the play-offs, but when they were home, he stayed away from the house during the day and wouldn't come back until late at night. That could totally be a normal day for him, but I just have a sneaking suspicion it has more to do with me than anything.

  That actually makes me smile.

  Leaning into the bathroom mirror, I put the finishing touches on my makeup. Another coat of mascara and a berry-colored lip stain that looks amazing because I inherited my mother's gorgeous lips, which are soft and full.

  Pulling back, I give myself a critical overview. Tonight's only my second night of work, and I hope I don't overdo it on the makeup. I want to look sexy, but not whorish.

  I hear the front door open, and then close, and based on the softness of the sound, I immediately guess it's Van. Despite the fact he's pretty much an asshole, he still moves with utter quiet and grace. It's like because he's so big he doesn't need to make a statement in any other way.

  And God is he big. I used to think my brothers were big, but Van makes them look like shrimps. I'm not ashamed to say I Googled him after our first meeting, and I know his stats.

  Six foot six, 231 pounds of pure muscle. It's needed on the ice, as he's an enforcer and his job is to impress upon the other players that the Cold Fury mean fucking business. Despite his size, though, he's amazingly graceful on his skates. I'm not saying he'd be doing figure eights or anything out there, but just that when he bashes someone's head into the boards, it's done fluidly...almost as if it's choreographed.

  Make it past that body, which I can only fantasize about what it looks like naked, his face is a complete puzzle. It's gorgeous...beautiful, in fact. His hair is dark and messy, his cheekbones cut and his jaw hard and strong. Since he's the team's tough guy, I can imagine that nose has taken a fist or two in his career, and yet the slight residual bump makes the straight slope of it more natural. His mouth looks soft, and when he's not engaged in conversation with anyone, he looks completely cool and approachable. But if you look closer at those blue-gray eyes that can go either cold as ice or impenetrable as steel, you know he's got a tight lock on himself. You know you're never going to get past his exterior.

  And fuck me, it makes him all the more attractive to me. He's a total bad boy, and I want him. I foolishly, petulantly want him. He's the type a good girl goes after so she can tame him, except I'm not such a good girl. My brothers think I am, and my mother and father think I am, but I'm really not. I'm rotten, mischievous, and completely flirty...in a nice way, of course. I could no more leave a man like Van alone than I could ignore aspirin the morning of a hangover.

  Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom and prepare to meet my mark. It's a rarity he's here, and even rarer he's here alone with me. I get the feeling he's not overly fond of my flirtatious ways.

  I find Van in the kitchen, pulling out a beer from the refrigerator. When he closes the door, he sees me standing there, and a heavy look of resignation overcomes his face. He doesn't say a word to me and gives me his back while he twists the top of the bottle before tossing it into the garbage.

  "You played great last night," I say as I lean against the half wall that separates the kitchen and the living room.

  They had game four of the series against the Florida Spartans and secured the win with some outstanding goaltending by my brother Max, and tremendous defensive play by Van. I mean, sure, other players did great too and it was a team effort, but Van was awesome. And since the game was in Miami, I had to watch it on TV, but you can be assured I watched Van like a hawk when he was on screen. I decided if I was going to have a stalkerlike lust for him, I'd spare no weirdness on my part.

  "Thanks," he mutters as he moves past me into the living room. He plops down on the couch--which is also where I sleep at night--and picks up the remote control. He sets his beer on top of one powerful thigh, which looks fantastic in the jeans he's wearing, and aims the remote at the TV.

  I step into the living room and just lean back against the other side of the half wall now. I don't sit down, because I know my outfit looks great, and I want him to get the full effect.

  Skinny jeans, high heels, and an off-the-shoulder sheer blous
e in cream that's pretty damn see-through. I put on a lacy nude bra underneath, so it's really hard to tell what's skin and what's not.

  Van doesn't spare me a glance as he flips to the national news.

  "What are you doing tonight?" I ask him genially.

  "You're looking at it," he mutters.

  Damn, it sucks that I have to work, because sitting here with Van and drinking beer could be fun. I am positive he would have no choice but to loosen up with a deadly combo of alcohol and my charm.

  "Want me to fix you something to eat before I leave?" I ask him.

  Van gives a long-suffering sigh and turns the TV off. He pushes up fast from the couch and heads toward his bedroom. I follow right along behind him, not willing to believe I irritated him that fast into retreat.

  "I could put together a quick spaghetti," I say as he walks into his room. I slip in right behind him before he can close his door, and then I flop down on my stomach on his bed. I rest my chin on one of my hands and give him a sassy smile that shows my dimples.

  They're usually irresistible.

  Van glares down at me and asks, "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

  "Just trying to get to know you," I quip. "You make it kind of hard, you know."

  "I don't want to know you," he growls. "I'm a temporary roommate to your brother. You're just a houseguest."

  I frown at him and give a petulant pout. "Now that just hurts my feelings."

  "Apparently not enough to drive you out of my room, though," he bites out.

  "Come on, Van," I cajole. "Give me a shot. I make a fun friend, and if you're interested in a benefits package with that friendship, I'm fucking dynamite in the sack."

  Van's chin actually pulls in hard as his eyebrows shoot up. "You did not just say that to me."

  I look at him innocently. "Why not? It's the twenty-first century. Believe it or not, women have a firm grip on their sexuality. Some of us even--and don't get too bent out of shape about this--"and here I drop my voice as if I'm telling a very important secret--"actually like to have sex."

  Van's mouth drops open, and for the first time I see confusion in his eyes. It's brief and flickers out as quick as it ignites, but I've rattled him.

  "I really, really like to have sex," I add, knowing I'm probably throwing him into mental overload. "And you look like you'd be fantastic at it. I mean...I'm fantastic. I'm also quite bendy in bed. My flexibility is--"

  I stop in midsentence as Van turns on his heel and bolts out of the room.

  Without hesitation, I roll off the bed and follow him. I find him in the kitchen with his head tipped back and the beer flowing down his throat as he chugs it without interruption. When he finishes, he tosses the bottle into the garbage and pulls another out of the fridge.

  I strike a sexy pose back against the half wall and wait for him to look at me.

  He finally gives me his eyes after he takes the cap off the new bottle and tosses it. With a shake of his head, he says, "You're not right in the head."

  "Of course I am," I say dismissively. "I'm just thinking you've never had a woman come on to you before."

  "Well, let's just stop this right here," he says coldly. "I'm not interested in you."

  "Simone," I say with a pointed look.

  "Simone what?" he asks, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

  "If you're going to say something like that to me, say it with conviction. It will help if you put my name on the end of the statement. So like you'd say, 'I'm not interested in you, Simone.' "

  Van's lips press tight and anger flashes in his eyes. He enunciates his words clearly, leaning slightly toward me. "I'm. Not. Interested. In. You. Simone."

  I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. "Nah...you see, that wasn't really convincing. But I do love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Try it again, though, if you want."

  For a brief moment, I'm afraid Van might stroke out. There's a vein that pops in his temple, and his jaw locks so hard I can hear his teeth grinding. He opens his mouth to what I'm guessing is to repeat the words, but I decide to give him a little distraction.

  Standing up from my sexy lean against the half wall, I pull the sheer blouse up over my head until it comes free. I drop it to the floor and bring a finger up to drag it across the top edge of the lace cup. Nudity is obviously something I'm very comfortable with. My voice goes husky when I ask him, "Do you think this bra is what I should wear with this blouse? I worry that it might be a little too risque."

  Because he's a man and I didn't expect anything different, Van's eyes drop to my breasts. The anger in his eyes is still there, but I am completely rewarded by a flash of genuine male appreciation as he doesn't give my boobs just a glance.

  He looks.

  And I mean...he looks.

  A shiver of excitement runs up my spine as I watch him taking in his fill of me, and I consider the brief possibility that I might be late for work tonight. I hold my breath to see what he does.

  Dragging his eyes up to meet mine again, he says in a flat voice, "Still not interested."

  Well damn.

  I give him a pouty look that's not put on at all. I'm really disappointed. "Oh come on, Van. I'm half naked in front of you. I happen to know my breasts are fantastic. Lucas is with Stephy tonight. What the hell is wrong with this?"

  "You're not my type," he says with a cocky grin. "I like my women a little less loose."

  I'd gasp if I were really offended, but I'm not. I'm totally acting like a hussy, but I can't help it. Remember that petulant desire I have for him. I just need to charm him a little bit more with my quirky ways--and because I can tell he did, in fact, like my breasts--more cleavage.

  I take one last stab at getting what I want tonight. I take a few steps toward him, swaying my hips. That effort's wasted, and Van's eyes come back to my chest for a moment before locking with my own.

  "Bet if I were to cop a feel right now, your body would prove you to be a liar," I murmur to him.

  He doesn't respond, but his eyes flash at the prospect of me putting my hand on him.

  "Or," I say teasingly, "I'll leave you unmolested, and you can at least just admit that you're slightly attracted to me."

  I barely get the words out before Van is backing me up with his massive size. He doesn't even touch me but walks right into me, and I'm so stunned by the quick, catlike reflexes he's showcasing that I start backing up. Right into the half wall, where the molding digs into my back.

  Van tips his head down and puts his face right into mine. Our bodies are just inches apart and I'm slightly unnerved and slightly turned on by his sudden move.

  "I'm only going to tell you this once more, Simone," he says with emphasis on my name. "I am not interested in you, so just stay out of my way. You do not want to see me pissed off."

  My breathing has actually turned into a pant, and I'm pretty sure my nipples can't get any harder. He's so close I could kiss him, and despite his words of warning, I saw the thick ridge of his cock pushing against his jeans. He can deny it all he wants, but he's totally attracted me.

  I lick my lips to wet them, and decide to try some reason. "Van...I think--"

  Before I know it, Van's got his big hand wrapped around the back of my neck, his thumb pressed under my chin. He gives me a warning squeeze that doesn't hurt, but it lets me see a glimpse of his power. He forces my head to tip back slightly, moves his face closer to mine.

  "This is the only warning," he says softly.

  And damn, those eyes. Not icy or impenetrable, but burning with anger, frustration, and God help him...lust.

  For me.

  He should have never shown me that. He should have kept that secret from me, because I'm even more determined than ever to chip through this armor he's wearing.

  God help me, because before I really only wanted to know Van carnally. But now I'm interested on a little bit of a deeper level.

  Now I really want to find out what makes a man such as this.

>   Van's eyes bore into mine, and I know he thinks he's intimidating me into being complacent, but I don't scare that easily. His fingers press into the back of my neck, perhaps as an additional warning, but all I can think is that I'd love to have him hold me down like that.

  After another moment of staring, Van releases his hold on me, and for the first time ever, I hear him stomp through the house. Gone is the grace. He's walking like a man who's pissed as hell and beyond annoyed.

  He even slams the door on his way out of the house.

  I let out a tiny sigh of defeat. I glance at my watch, and I'm going to have to leave for work soon. I plan on spending my shift concocting a new game plan, because clearly what I'm doing so far is not working.

  Chapter 3

  Van

  The front door bursts open and Lucas is crashing through, going to his knees. When he stands up, he lurches, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he's shit-faced.

  I smile in amusement, sipping my own beer. On the evenings that Simone works, I can just kick back and relax. I don't have to be on guard every damn second, keeping up a constant wall of resistance to her flirting and sexual innuendos as she comes on to me when Lucas is out of earshot.

  Lucas tries to take a step forward, but stumbles to the right, where he slams into the living room wall.

  Christ, he's fucked up.

  "You okay, man?" I ask as I lean forward from my perch on the couch. I set my beer bottle on the floor.

  His head slowly turns my way and his eyes are completely glazed over. He looks at me like he doesn't even recognize me.

  He also doesn't answer my question, but tries to walk again. This time he pitches forward and slams face first down onto the carpet.

  "Jesus," I say as I come flying up off the couch. I take a step and then go down to my knees, rolling Lucas over onto his back. I expect to find him passed out, but his eyes are open but not really seeing me. There's a small rug burn on his chin from when he hit the carpet, and he's lucky he didn't bust his nose or some shit.

  Lucas tries to sit up, and I put an arm under his back to help him. He continues to try to push up off the floor, and I help him do that as well by hauling him to his feet.

  "You okay?" I ask again, although clearly he's not. Not that Lucas doesn't drink, but I've never seen him drunk like this.