He’s a fighter in the rink, but he’s about to learn that playing nice can help you score…
As team captain and enforcer, Patrick O’Doul puts the bruise in the Brooklyn Bruisers. But after years of hard hits, O’Doul is feeling the burn, both physically and mentally. He conceals his pain from his coach and trainers, but when his chronic hip injury becomes too obvious to ignore, they send him for sessions with the team’s massage therapist.
After breaking up with her long-term boyfriend, Ari Bettini is in need of peace of mind. For now, she’s decided to focus on her work: rehabilitating the Bruisers’ MVP. O’Doul is easy on the eyes, but his reaction to her touch is ice cold. Ari is determined to help O’Doul heal, but as the tension between them turns red hot, they both learn that a little TLC does the body good…
Yoga was all about living in the moment, and focusing one’s attention on the body. Ari found herself suddenly very motivated by both the moment and the body.
All the pent-up stress of the last few hours was like dry tinder for the sudden spark of Patrick’s kiss. She gripped the lapels of his jacket and dove right in. He was warm and solid against her. A sudden thunderclap of lust blossomed between the two of them. She ran a hand down his chest, over the buttons of his shirt, wishing she could touch more of him.
When her palm came to rest on Patrick’s tight stomach just over his belt buckle, he shivered. When he softened their kiss, she found herself holding her breath, waiting to find out what he’d do next. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, their foreheads tipped together. Then he palmed the back of her head and began kissing a path down her jaw and onto her neck. When his tongue touched her collarbone, chills rose up on her chest. And there was nothing on earth she wanted more than his hands and his mouth on her body.
There was no doubt in her mind that they’d be naked and on her bed before she could say impulsive much?
Not all impulses were bad.
Patrick’s hands skimmed down her back, cupping her derrière. He yanked her hips against his body. Then his mouth was back on hers, kissing her so deeply that she tasted only him. He made a needy, hungry grunt from the back of his throat, and the sound caused her pulse to jump again.
“Tell me to stop,” he said between kisses. His hand traveled downward still, lifting her thigh and tucking it against his leg, opening her body to him. That naughty hand slipped under the hem of her dress, the heat of his palm searing her as it traveled across her bottom. “Tell me to stop,” he repeated.
She did not tell him to stop.
Instead, she took a half step back, then hooked two fingers in his belt and towed him toward the bed until the backs of her thighs hit the mattress. She sat down, lifting her eyes to check his expression.
The heat in his gaze as he shrugged off his suit coat could burn the little house right down. “So I’m staying?” he asked, his voice pure gravel.
Instead of answering, she grasped the fabric of her dress and lifted it over her head, leaving only a lacy black bra and the tights she was wearing.
His lustful expression said, challenge accepted.
He tossed his jacket onto a chair without a glance, then leaned over to kiss her, his hand landing on her breast. The rough pad of his thumb stroked the sensitive skin just above her bra. She wanted more, and she wanted it right away. With hands made shaky be eagerness, she tugged at the knot of his necktie, loosening it. When it went slack, she went to work on the buttons of his shirt. He broke their kiss to help her. And those icy blue eyes bored into her own as he whipped the tie off, then wrestled the shirt off of giant shoulder muscles.
Wow. Patrick O’Doul removing his suit, ladies and gentlemen. It was not a sight to be missed. She stared at his eight-pack as thick fingers flicked the shirt to her bedroom floor then moved to his belt buckle. Slowly he unhooked it. His gaze was weighty on hers, asking for her permission. But there was no way in hell she was going to change her mind. She wanted that body on top of hers. Right now. And if tomorrow it all seemed like an awful idea, she’d just deal with the consequences then.
The sound of his zipper lowering sent a fresh zing of excitement fizzing through her belly. And when the trousers fell away, all that was left was a pair of black boxer briefs, stretched to their limits by a generous erection straining against the cotton. He reached one weather-beaten hand into his briefs just to adjust himself, straightening the thick column until the tip was visible above the elastic.
It was as good as an invitation. Ari leaned forward, her nose brushing the surprisingly soft skin of his belly. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of him, filling her senses with the scent of recently showered skin, tinged with the salty tang of desire. Nuzzling in, she brought her lips to his tip and kissed him softly.
He tasted as good as he looked.
She lay down against the pillows again, and he came down on top of her, his mouth just beside her ear. “You ready? Because you are going to get it so good.”
Hard Hitter is the 2nd book in Sarina Bowen’s sexy, sweet, and fun Brooklyn Bruisers series. Hard Hitter releases January 3rd. My review will post January 4th.