Even colder heart…
There’s an instant quick blast of energy when we’re anywhere near. I feel him radiate through me like fire and ice. He’s so far away, yet so damn close.
He’s the first man I can’t look away from. The only man I’ll take any way … on any terms.
Captain for the Dallas Blue Hawks, Rhett Gentry is unfriendly. Hard. Indifferent. Cold as a bitter wind in the Rocky Mountains. He’s loved hard. Given his everything. Lesson learned … never risk another broken heart.
Days are all the same for Rhett. Work … Promises… Obligations…
It is what it is.
Until it isn’t.
He keeps appearing out of nowhere. He knows I’m interested. I can’t hide the fact. Yet, a man like Rhett is used to women looking his way. Used to turning a blind eye.
Until he doesn’t.
“I want your trust,” he demands, his stare heavy.
I laugh under my breath at the irony of that statement. Players … Users … They can’t be tamed for anything permanent.
Rhett Gentry is the kind of beauty that has women chasing the puck to be near him. Giggling like teenagers for a simple smile or autograph. Tall, dark and handsome, the famous hockey player is hiding a secret. But I fall anyway. Our chemistry is undeniable. Unmistakable. But as much as my heart longs for his, I fear his past may very well prevent our future. My heart keeps telling me there’s only one true love in Rhett’s life.
And it isn’t me…
Someone once said, “The tragedy of life is not death … but what we let die inside of us while we live.” Hardships sometimes leave us bitter. Change our perspective. Lead us into the dark. And swallow us.
Resembling more of a special ops soldier than a trained caregiver, when Rebecca Manning, RN, walks through the door showing no emotion, the moment leaves an ugly, begrudging taste in my mouth. Other than a quick agitating exhale through the nose that’s too large for her small rounded face, she’s silent, only checking vitals and hurriedly entering something into her tablet like she can’t get away quickly enough. Her silence doesn’t sit well with me, so I do what I’ve done each time she’s walked through the door the last four hours. With an exaggerated lift of my chest, I exhale with a long breath of fuck you and hiss, “It’s too motherfucking cold in here.”
She glares at me, holding her temperament in check. “I’ll adjust the air, Mr. Gentry,” she counters in a voice far from feminine.
Another wave of enraged spite sweeping through me, I lift my good arm, giving the silver rolling table an angry push. It ends against the wall with a wrath-intended bang, the dinner tray crashing onto the floor with unmistakable green Jell-O oozing from underneath an overturned small white bowl.
Tubes and monitors are everywhere you look in this horrific place. The smell of sickness and death fills the air. Robotic doctors and nurses going through the steps to mend broken people. Prolonging lives for another day, a few minutes longer. And all I can do is sit here helpless. Hopeless. Not a fucking thing I can do to change the situation.
I detest this place.
Hate this sick world we live in.
Self-reproach fists my gut, my mind drifting to only hours earlier. Driving toward downtown, the radio blaring Guns N’ Roses. Singing at the top of my lungs. Not a damn thing on my mind but the good. The evening ahead. Tomorrow. Next year.
Nothing else to do as I return to reality, I scan through channels of shit I don’t care to watch, freezing as I listen to my own name making the local news.
This can’t be happening.
Was it something I said?
Something I did?
My chest aches. Everything hurts. My shoulder… My gut… My legs… My dick…
Minutes seem like fucking years.
And this hell … is only the beginning.
Directly across from me, which is everywhere I don’t want her to be, she nonetheless chooses to keep her distance. Avoiding what we both know is beyond the point of ignoring, her soft blue eyes beam with curiosity as I imagine all the damn places I want to explore. After several beats, she blinks, turning away from me.
“Look at me, Kass.”
She turns back to face me, a hint of pink in her cheeks that makes me want to kiss her for long drawn-out minutes until her modesty is forever gone. For a few seconds I can’t even form words as I look into her gaze that sets something off behind my chest. This urgency is unexpected and perplexing. Everything inside my head is unethical when it comes to her.
“Have you daydreamed about me touching you, Kass?” Her lips drop open at the bluntness of my question, her soft sigh telling me everything I need to know. This woman is an unwinnable war that I’m confident I’m losing.
“Yes.” Her whisper of an answer is so quiet that I only read her lips.
Blood instantly shoots through my cock at her soft response, a rumble of satisfaction pulling deep through my chest. “I’ve made myself come thinking about you and those beautiful eyes.” I ease my legs open, giving her full sight to the thickening behind my jeans and leaving her to her own speculations. Her gaze drops toward my widened legs, and she sucks back a deep, long breath that ends in another soft sigh.
That fucking sigh…
“What about you? Do you ever touch yourself, sweetheart?”
Her lips open wide, her legs shifting while the curling of her toes into the floor doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Do you, Kass?” My voice turns stern, and her heels lift even more as she swallows hard. The sight of her getting turned on nearly makes me come in my damn pants. Imagining how motherfucking hot she is naked and wet makes my cock hard as granite.
She doesn’t answer my question, but nods, her fingers slowly sweeping down the length of her thigh and lingering at her knees before sliding back up.
“Touch yourself for me, beautiful,” I groan. Her eyes widen with a weighty lust before her fingertips press deep into the insides of her thighs, a pretty pink glow rising up her neck that matches her cheeks. My dick so hard I can barely stand it, I take in a long breath smelling sweet … vanilla … female … sex.
“I want you touching me.” Her request comes out more of a plea than a demand, one I have every intention of honoring. Just not quite yet.
“Where, sweetheart? Show me where you want me to touch you.” Her hands still lingering on her thighs, she slowly eases them open just the smallest bit. Every straining part of my body throbs to drop to my knees and replace her hands with mine, but I don’t move. I stay completely still.
“Touch yourself, Kass.”
She gulps back another swallow, opening her thighs enough that I see a small damp spot on the crease of her jeans that has me wanting to reach for my aching dick.
Jesus Almighty Christ! My body tenses. I’m so hard, it’s more misery than pleasure.
Her shaky, delicate fingers lead a small trail over the fabric of her pants as her soft eyes stay glued on mine. I, in turn, reach between my legs and give her a satisfied moan as I stroke myself. She takes a deep breath, and I smile at her.
“My God,” she pleads. “Please … just touch me, Rhett.”
About the Author:
Lacee Hightower is an American writer and romance novelist, referring to her style as contemporary, sweet romance with a “twist.” Living in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, she describes herself as a foodie that can’t cook, a large lover of fashion and SHOES, and an enormous hopeless romantic. Since she was old enough to know what the word meant, she loved the whole concept of romance and happy endings. Even though she has always enjoyed writing, life got in the way and she never really thought of pursuing it seriously until she decided to write her first book after both her children were grown. Now with a nice glass of wine in hand, or not, she is learning to love bringing the characters in her head to life on paper for those who enjoy peeking into another world.
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Instagram – laceehightower8786