The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(34)
“You’re going to be affectionate with me?” Saying that out loud didn’t make it any better.
“If you seem nervous, everyone will understand that. But try not to pull away from me. Just… go with it.”
Mica being physically affectionate in front of all those people was a terrifying prospect.
“Go with it,” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He reached up and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. “Just go with it.”
*
We walked into the bar hand in hand. When a hundred pairs of eyes turned to look at us, closing the gap was no longer an issue.
The thought of Mica showing PDA in front of his friends? Terrifying.
The thought of facing all his friends without Mica by my side? A thousand times more terrifying. My other hand wrapped around his big forearm, and I leaned against him as we faced the cheers and the clapping as a couple.
The first ten minutes of the party were a nightmare. Complete strangers overwhelmed me with their hugs and excited congratulations. Each time I got hugged, I got separated from Mica. And each time we got pulled apart, he found my hand and yanked me towards him, so I could once again glue myself to his side.
Someone placed a drink in my hand, and I did what Krista told me to do. I closed the gap so hard, there was always part of us touching. He either held my hand, had his arm around my shoulder, or I wrapped my hands around his big forearm and leaned against him.
I met players, their wives, trainers and a constant stream of friends. Most of the people had a long-standing friendship with Mica. So when they came over to talk to us, they greeted me, congratulated me and then talked mainly to Mica. So I did what Krista told me to do. I plastered a smile on my face and stared up at him like he was a lifeline and I was the raft.
He talked, laughed, and frequently looked down at me until I blushed.
Those brief moments felt like a private reprieve from the surrounding chaos. When he held my gaze before dropping his eyes to my mouth, it felt like the entire bar faded away. My eyes clung to his face, allowing myself to drink in the essence of him.
Two long years of avoiding him, ducking eye contact and pretending I didn’t notice him, and now, I had full license to study him. I took in his sharp angular cheekbones and his straight nose. I stared into his blue eyes that were decorated with thick black lashes. And that mouth. I could not get enough of looking at his mouth. I drank in all of him until I was drunk on his beauty.
A clanging echoed through the bar, and everyone fell silent.
“Mica and Charlie,” Mark Ashford said from the front. “Will you do me the honor of joining me up front?”
Mica took my hand and led me up to the front to stand beside Mark.
Mark Ashford began his speech. “I’ve known Mica since the day he got off the plane from Russia. I’d like to say he was just a kid, but even at 19, he was built like an ox and had one of the fiercest competitive natures I’ve seen in a hockey player.”
The crowd laughed.
“He’s been an integral part of our hockey family for seven years, and he’s been like a wild son to me. I’ve tried to tame him, but I had to concede that Mica is untamable.”
More laughter.
“But that is what makes him such a phenomenal player. He’s got a wild side, and that fierce energy helps us win games and strikes terror in all our opponents’ hearts.”
The crowd cheered.
He looked over at us. “But I won’t lie, the fact that he’s married and settling down makes me not only relieved and proud, but it also makes me immensely happy that he’s found love. And now, I’m honored to invite his young wife, Charlie, into our family fold.” He lifted his glass to me. “To Charlie. For taming this wolf when no one else could.”
The crowd raised their glasses, cheered and stamped their feet in approval, before someone from the back yelled, “Kiss.”
Someone else echoed that request. “Kiss your wife, Petrov.”
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss, the drunk crowd chanted.
Mica turned and looked down at me. I tried but couldn’t read what he was thinking. I felt his big hands gently hold my neck, tilting my chin up towards him. Our eyes met as he lowered his mouth to mine.
Oh my God. Mica was about to kiss me.
At first, it was a chaste kiss. Lips only. My eyes fluttered shut as his warm mouth moved against mine. It tasted of beer and drowned out the wild cheers. I clutched his forearms, reveling in the sensation of his mouth moving against mine. He lifted his mouth and my eyes fluttered open.
“You taste so good,” he growled.
He spun me around, so his back was to the crowd, sheltering me from everyone. I was dimly aware of the growing, deafening cheers. One of his arms snaked around my back, yanking me hard against him, holding me tight while his mouth came down again on mine. This was no chaste kiss. This was Mica-style passion that short-circuited my brain. His kiss was pure lust, hot temptation and a wicked promise of what he wanted to do to me.
When he lifted his mouth off of mine, he still held me tight against his body. I was breathing hard, and my libido had skyrocketed to the point of self-combustion.
And then he smiled, one of those fucking fabulous smiles that changed his face. It was at that moment that I knew I was officially in over my head.
The drunk guests were still cheering at a deafening decibel. He stepped beside me and lifted my left hand to kiss my ringed finger for the entire room to see. Then he put his arm around my waist and tugged me hard against him.