Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(48)

"Because, Ami, you're not ready for that," he paused, his eyes on my body and then my face again, "someone took something very sacred from you, and if I did what I so desperately want to do right now, how does that make me any different?"

"Uh, because this is willing…" I gestured between us trying to point out the obvious. "I want this...with you."

"I know it sounds like I'm trying to be some kind of saint here, and take things slow, but I'm not. It's a constant battle not to just give in and see just how far you'll let me take things when you kiss me. And believe me, I wanna see just how far I could push it. But sex..." He shook his head and a huffed breath came out, "...after what happened, it's important for us to slow down. I don't want it to be something that just happens one night and it's no big deal. With you it's a big deal. You're too important," he whispered, trailing his index finger down the length of my throat, trying to comfort me, and then drifting it across my collarbone. "I'm afraid that if we don't slow down, I'll push you before you're ready, and I'm afraid that you won't stop me, even if you're not ready."

Well Christ, he had me pegged, didn't he?

"What are you? Some kind of mind reader?" I fell back against his couch, huffing and a little angry that I was so frustrated and consumed by this stupid knight in shining armor hockey player that took my heart and wouldn't let go of it.

I wanted to knock him in the head with a puck.

"No, not a mind reader," he said in a low, thoughtful tone as he placed a hand on my thigh, turning me a little until I was facing him. "Just a guy looking out for a girl."

I scrunched my nose and pretended to glare. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. What seemed playful and flirty with teasing wasn't; the kiss was intimate when his warm hands, that were gently resting on my thighs, moved to cup my face. He pressed a little harder, making the kiss a little deeper, like he wanted to leave the mark on my forehead.

And then he got up and took a shower.

A little while later we were lying together, watching the rain sliding like a waterfall over the windows in his living room, the condo completely dark.

He had taken off his shirt, and though it wasn't the first time I had seen him without his shirt on, I paid more attention, wanting to burn the image in my head. The muscles of his torso were lean and sculpted, evidence of his lifestyle as a hockey player. He wasn't completely ripped like some of the guys on his team seemed to be, but he was big and solid. He looked like an athlete, one that spent a lot time in the gym and used his body as his tool. There was a small dusting of hair scattered over chest and lower on his stomach leading to where his lounge pants started. The hair on his stomach was what tempted me to follow its path. Damn it if I didn't want to slip my hand inside there to where it disappeared into the thin strip of black cotton that stuck out from his pants.

But none of that happened. Just like every other time in his arms, against his bare chest, my mind emptied, and I was able to forget and drift off to sleep.





Light the lamp – To score a goal. A light above the net turns on when a goal is scored.




This girl was going to be the f*cking death of me and my frequent need for cold showers. Never in my life had I one, enjoyed a cold shower, or two, had to take care of my own needs as much as I had to once she moved in with me.

I was dying. It was pretty much official.

Saturday morning I left Ami sleeping in my bed to go get some breakfast. I got her donuts, which she said she loved, and coffee.

When I walked into my condo, thinking she would still be asleep, a few things caught my attention.

My cat had moved and was on my couch, a place I had specifically told him he wasn't allowed to be, the little bastard. The second, Led Zeppelin's "D'yer Mak'er" was blasting, and Ami was dancing around in my old junior hockey jersey and a pair of my sweatpants rolled up just to fit. The combination suited me just fine.

When she saw me, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Dance with me, Evan!"

There was no telling her no, not with my jersey on.

Being that close was a problem for me. A big problem.

Ami was carefree and happy to be alive right now. The energy radiated from her, and I loved that about her. It was what made me so comfortable around her.

When the song ended and I needed another shower, she smiled.

"You're wearing my jersey. It's hot."

"You can't tell me you've never had a puck bunny wear your jersey."

"Goddamn that Leo. Stop talking to him. Give me that phone," I teased, reaching for her phone. "I'm deleting his number."

We wrestled around on the couch for a minute, and then I looked over at the cat glaring at me. "Get off my couch, you little jerk."

"If you hate cats, why do you have one?" Ami laughed, removing herself from the couch and reaching for the coffee.

"I don't know. He showed up here, and I couldn't get him to leave." I tried to reach down to pet him, testing the waters, but his hiss proved my theory. "The thing is, he hates me, too, but he won't leave."

I later found out the cat didn't just show up. I'll give you one hint as to who's to blame for that. His name starts with an L and he's one nasty motherf*cker sometimes. Yep. Leo.