Bain (Audio or E-Book)

Bain

Parking my car a few blocks down, I walk through the posh neighborhood toward Brienne Norcross’s mansion for the team Christmas party. Although I’ve been with the Pittsburgh Titans for a month and a half, I’m still getting my social bearings. On the ice, I’ve seamlessly integrated as a defenseman onto the first line, replacing Nolan Carrier in a trade that took me from the two-time champions, the Arizona Vengeance.

The trade was a lucrative deal for me. On a personal level, I’m still not sure. My time with the Vengeance was more than meaningful as we were a patched-together expansion team thrust into a competitive league. We defied all odds and won back-to-back Cups, and within those two years, our team bonded like no other.

It was painful to leave.

But trades happen all the time and in this business you can never really set down solid roots. Your fate is mostly in others’ hands.

As I approach Brienne’s house—aglow with thousands of festive lights on the outside that give me a tingly feeling because I fucking love Christmas—I take a moment to consider the similarities between her and the Vengeance owner, Dominik Carlson.

Both owners take a very personal interest in their players. They’re hands-on in their concern for our welfare but otherwise trust the general manager and coaches to make us good. While they’re both incredibly wealthy, they’re also down-to-earth and approachable. Hell, Brienne Norcross is dating our goalie, Drake McGinn. She’s a multibillionaire CEO of an empire and while he’s important to our team, he’s just a regular guy compared to her level of success.

As I trot up the front steps to the massive double doors, I hear music and laughter from within, telling me this is going to be a fun party.

I expected no less because Brienne is just good people.
It’s three days before Christmas and I’ve been hyped up for the holiday for a while now. I decided on renting a downtown condo until I can figure out the city. Plus, my parents are coming in for a visit and to catch a game. I’ve already got my tree up and all the necessary ingredients for my mom to make her decorated sugar cookies that will ensure I have to do double duty at the gym.

I don’t bother knocking on the door but enter a cacophony of raucous laughter and a group of people singing Christmas carols from somewhere in the house. It’s hard for me to focus on anyone in particular because I’m momentarily stunned by the grandeur of Brienne’s home. I understand it was her family home, but it doesn’t fit the sleek, modern woman who is the Titans’ owner. It’s opulent in an old-fashioned way. It reminds me a bit of the Biltmore Estate I visited one summer. Dark-paneled walls and elaborate embellishments grace the ceiling, showcasing intricate designs of flowers, leaves and vines. The floor is marble, the tiles creating a round pattern in the foyer. A chandelier the size of a car and covered in thousands of shimmering crystals hangs above the sweeping main staircase. The furniture looks like the type not meant for sitting and the massive oil paintings look like they should be in a museum.

All in all, it’s far too formal for my taste but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

I’m nearly bowled over when three little boys whiz by, chasing each other with empty wrapping paper tubes. I grin as Drake’s kids hurtle past a round table holding a translucent vase, nearly hitting it with one of the tubes. My grin goes wider as Drake appears from nowhere and snatches two of the kids by their shirt collars and calls a halt to the other. They all three sheepishly hand over the tubes to their dad whose glare isn’t intimidating at all. I met the little rug rats last week when Drake brought them by the arena.

“Bain,” someone calls out, and I turn to see Stevie with Hendrix holding her hand.

I walk over to them, standing just inside what looks to be a formal parlor. I get a bro hug from Hendrix and a real hug from Stevie. I’ve gotten to know her well this past month, especially since we’ve been hanging at her bar quite a bit in our off time. I admire the spitfire of a woman who isn’t afraid to break up a brawl in her establishment.

And well, Hendrix… he’s fucking over the moon about this woman. I think his days as a single guy are truly over.

“Some house, huh?” I say, glancing around.
Stevie leans into me and whispers, “I feel like I’m in a museum.”

“Exactly my thought.” I glance around, then back to Hendrix and, in particular, the drink in his hand. “Where’re the libations?”

He points across the foyer to another large room that houses more expensive-looking furniture. “There’s an open bar. All top-shelf liquor.” He then points past the staircase. “Dining room is laid out with a buffet. Try the tenderloin. You will not be disappointed.”

“And the shrimp,” Stevie chimes in.

“I’ll hit the bar first. Catch you two later.”

I meander into the other room, stopping to talk to some players. I’ve been able to meet a lot of the significant others since I’ve been here, but not all of them. At the bar, I order Blanton’s neat and tip the bartender a twenty. She hands over my drink and I turn slightly, lifting the glass to my lips.

A thrilling zing of excitement sizzles through me as a woman walks into the room from another entrance that looks to lead from a music room. She’s tall but curvy, her body accentuated by a pair of well-fitting dark jeans tucked into black boots that come up over her knees. The heels are thin pegs of four-inch sexiness. Her cranberry sweater is one of those fuzzy ones that you know would feel like heaven against your skin, and I’m a fucking lecherous dude so I can’t help but notice how nice her breasts look in it.

Dark blue eyes scan the room casually, not as if she’s looking for anyone in particular but just checking out the scene. I’m a sucker for blonds and her long hair, ribboned with highlights, falls over her shoulders.

As much as blonds do it for me, her mouth is catching my attention more than anything. Full lips shiny with gloss, and as she smiles at someone who walks by, I see her teeth are perfectly straight and gleaming white. She could definitely pass for a supermodel and I can only assume she’s a girlfriend of one of the guys… or a puck bunny.

In either case, that would make her off-limits to me, but until such time as I confirm she belongs to someone else, I can’t help but be drawn toward her.

Winding my way through the crowd, her gaze turns to me as I approach. And she doesn’t just meet my eyes but rather checks me out. I’m talking about full-blown, slow visual roam over my face, down my chest, past my hips to my legs and then a leisurely climb back up so that by the time we’re staring at each other, she has me feeling a bit hot under the collar.

And fuck me to high heaven, she bites her lower lip just briefly, as if she’s considering something about me.
I need to know what it is.

When I come toe to toe with her, I can see she’s even taller than I first thought, although those boots have something to do with it. Regardless, I like that she doesn’t have to break her neck to look up at me as I top out at six foot seven. She has to be at least five ten herself.

Pointing upward, I say, “It must be fate.”

She appears confused as her eyes lift to the spray of holly leaves, cranberries and tucked inside… mistletoe. It’s hanging on the archway that opens between the two rooms.

The woman tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Fate?”

“That’s mistletoe.” I point upward again. “It’s good luck to kiss under it.”

Her eyes move around the room briefly before coming back to me, her expression amused. “Now how do you know that’s mistletoe?”

I take a step closer. “My older brother told me about it. Said it was guaranteed to get a girl to kiss you.”

She laughs, tipping her head back, and fuck me… those dimples. When she looks at me again, I extend my hand and she takes it. “Bain.”

“Kiera,” she replies and neither of us pulls away, and she asks, “So I’m just supposed to kiss a complete stranger.”

“We’re not strangers,” I reply, looking pointedly at our palms still pressed together. Her grip is strong, but her skin is soft. Her nails are unpainted and short but well-manicured. “You’re Kiera, I’m Bain. And now we know each other.”

With an almost reluctant sigh, she tugs her hand from mine. “While the idea has merit, I’m not sure it would go over well.”

“Are you here with someone?” I ask.

“You mean, am I here with another man?”

I just stare at her, because that’s exactly what I’m asking. I need to know whether to move on. She shakes her head with a wry laugh. “No way. Happily single.”

“You say that like it’s a creed or something,” I observe with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, it is.”

“Commitment averse?” I guess.

She nods quickly. “No one depending on me.”

“Totally get that. Able to come and go as you please.”

“Taking what I want, when I want it.”

I grin. “We’re like two peas in a pod. Relationships give me the wiggins. But speaking of taking what you want, when you want it… if you want that kiss, I’m more than happy to find a private area.”

Kiera appraises me for a long, silent moment. Then she surprises me by taking my glass from my hand, lifting it to her lips and sipping. She holds the liquid in her mouth, savoring the taste before swallowing. She licks her lower lip and hums with appreciation.

Christ, that’s sexy as fuck.

Handing it back to me, she says, “I’m going to have to decline.”

I never actually expected her to run off with a stranger for a kiss, but I’m curious about her reasoning. “I promise I’m safe.”

“Yeah… I can actually tell you’re a big ol’ teddy bear.” She’s not wrong about that. Despite being a defenseman and participating in my share of brawls, I’m quite the pacifist. Kiera gives me a sly smile, lowering her voice as she leans into me. “But in this instance, I can tell that if you and I engaged in a kiss, it would never be enough. We’d surely find ourselves naked and sweaty in some closet in Brienne’s house.”

Shouldn’t have chosen that moment to take a sip of my bourbon because I almost choke on it. As it is, I’m able to keep my surprise to a gasping cough. She stares back at me, blue eyes sparkling with humor, but I can tell… she’s not joking.

“At the risk of sounding too forward—but somehow thinking I’m safe in saying it—I’m more than willing to leave this party right now if you want to go somewhere and have a drink. Get to know each other.”

“And have sex?” she asks, one eyebrow arching high, but I can hear the teasing in her tone.

“Mind-blowing sex,” I correct her. “But whatever you want to call it.”

She laughs again, taking my glass from me. Her fingers caress mine as she pulls it free and takes another delicate sip before turning it back over. “It’s a shame I have another commitment or I’d take you up on that offer.”

Okay, shocked once again and where I thought I was on equal footing with this woman, I’m clearly not. “Are you serious or joking?”

“Serious as a heart attack.” She inclines her head, her expression genuinely regretful. “It was nice to meet you.”

I’m the guy who’s always the quick-witted flirt, but she’s reduced me to muteness. It’s only when she starts to walk away that I jolt out of it. I take her wrist. “Wait.” She smiles at me with raised eyebrows. “Let me have your number.”

“Want to sext?”

My jaw drops but I recover, offering a sly grin. “I’m really good at it. But I was thinking we’d start with dinner.”

“Kiera,” someone calls out, and we both glance to the foyer to see Brienne standing there with Drake’s kids. Brienne waves her over.

“Sorry,” she says, tugging her wrist free. “Duty calls.”

“Duty?” I ask with confusion.

“Got to get my nephews to bed. I promised Brienne I’d help since she’s the hostess of this party.”

Nephews?

Fuck… this is Drake’s sister.

“Thanks for the banter,” she says. “A shame we’re not able to scratch each other’s itch.”

And once again shocked silent, I can only watch her walk away. When she reaches Brienne and the boys, the ladies exchange words and then Kiera ushers the boys upstairs. I’m assuming to put them to bed.

Something bumps my shoulder and I see Coen standing there.

“What’s up?” I say, my eyes still on the staircase, even though Kiera is gone.

“Don’t go there, dude.”

I turn to face him. “Go where?”

“Anywhere near Drake’s sister,” he says. “He made it clear from day one on this team she’s off-limits.”

“I wasn’t here on day one,” I reply, unwilling to have this woman taken away from me before I have a good shot at her. “So I didn’t get the message.”

Coen shrugs. “Your death, not mine.”

I snort, because that’s being overly dramatic.

Still… I’d take Drake on.

His sister can’t look at me that way, tell me it’s a shame she can’t scratch my itch and not assume I won’t come after her.

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