Page 42 of Puck King
“Sláinte.” I watched her lashes as her eyes closed and she sipped the champagne. This was going to be a long six months.
“What’s next on tonight’s script?”
Script. Schedule. It felt wrong.
“There’s a driver coming to take us to my favorite restaurant in Laketown.” I checked my watch. “But he won’t be here for a while. Everleigh hired a photographer to take our photo when we get there, but there won’t be any other paparazzi.”
“Thank you.” Alison’s eyes sparkled and the relief in her body showed in her shoulders. “That’s smart. We get the photo op, but don’t have to deal with the angry mob.”
“Yeah. That, and we get to eat at the best restaurant in the state.” Bark crackled as I put another birch log on the fire.
“Ooh, it’s getting warm in here.” Alison’s cheeks were flushed.
“Where are my manners?” I wasn’t sure if her blazer was part of her outfit, or an actual coat that she’d worn underneath her other coat. “Can I hang your, uh…” I pinched the fabric on the sleeve of her jacket. “Coat?”
She unbuckled the blazer and let me slide it from her shoulders. Her skin was like silk against my fingers, and as I hung it in the closet, I tried to get my mind to calm down.
But when I returned to the living room, my mind and my cock couldn’t take it. “What are you wearing?” Her dress was low-cut without showing too much, the thin straps almost non-existent.
“Is it too much?” She set her glass on the coffee table and looked down at her dress.
“It’s…” It was the simplest, sexiest piece of fabric to ever be draped on someone’s body. Until that night, I had only seen Alison in her baggy workout clothes or casual stuff. It was obvious that she had a good body. The silky dress clung to her in all the right places, and I had to squeeze my eyes tightly to rip them away from her perky nipples. “Are you cold?”
“Cold?” She seemed confused.
“I..I…” I stammered, and felt the blood rush to my cheeks – among other places. A howl of wind shook the cottage, distracting us both from Alison’s perfect tits. “Holy shit.” I went to the window. The snow had changed. It was the wet kind that made a splat when it hit the window. “This system wasn’t supposed to come in until tomorrow,” I mused.
Alison joined me at the window, and in the light from the boathouse we saw the wind whipping the snow from the frozen lake, swirling into little funnel shapes before spinning out of sight. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
I hadn’t either, but I didn’t want Alison to be afraid. I wasn’t too concerned, but I knew that we wouldn’t be flying anytime soon. “I’m going to get the driver to come early.” I picked up my phone and dialed. Alison nodded, but seemed transfixed by the dancing snow outside the window.
My driver confirmed what I had suspected. A major storm was on its way. Alison and I weren’t going anywhere. Two thoughts rushed through my head. One, I was about to be stuck in my cottage with the best woman I’d ever known. And two, Everleigh was going to kill me.
Twenty
Alison
The snow beganto accumulate on the front deck of Colton’s cottage. I had seen plenty of storms growing up, but this one felt different.
I finished my second drink and wondered when the driver was going to arrive. The photographer was still confirmed and was awaiting our arrival at the restaurant. As much as I wanted to snuggle into Colton, thoughts were swirling around my head like the wind outside. Colton was a cheater, just like Brian. I had to remember that. I also had to remember that the only reason I was snuggled up in front of his stone fireplace, waiting for a chauffeur to whisk us to dinner, was because we had signed a contract.
But this feeling between us, it didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt real.
Colton’s cottage was easily one of the nicest homes I’d ever seen. It was hardly a cottage. It was bigger than our farmhouse, and while it looked rustic, everything was brand new and well-built.
He was changing the music from soft jazz to radio so we could listen to the forecast, when his cell phone rang.
“Shit,” he whispered. “It’s Everleigh.” He silenced the call. “We’re supposed to be all over the news right now, eating at Scaramouche.”
“I can’t believe the media care so much about your personal life.” I shook my head. “I mean, this whole situation…” I pointed between him and I, “it’s ridiculous.”
He sighed. “I know. There are serious things happening in this country right now.”
“Do you ever get used to it?” I set the empty beer can on the coffee table. After years spent trying to get pregnant and limiting my alcohol consumption, my tolerance had taken a nose-dive. “The attention?”
A few sparks escaped past the iron screen as Colton added another birch log to the fire. He replaced the screen in front of the fire and brushed his hands on his pants.
God, he was hot. His hockey player thighs stretched at the fabric of pants and when he stood, even though I’d seen it a million times, my eyes were drawn to his perfectly round ass. If my physiotherapy text books had the perfect hockey player physique in their pages, it would be a photo of this man.
