He couldn’t have scripted it better.
Her hands splayed on his chest. “Oh God oh God, we’re going to die.”
“We’re not—”
Another shift. Even Erik was worried about that one but he couldn’t let on. He gripped her arms under her elbows and held her still.
“Look at me, Casey.”
She shook her head, kept her gaze at throat-level so he was stuck with the top of her head. Those red highlights … kind of like …
“Casey, we’re not going to die. This is just the car settling after sitting for so long.”
Her eyes peeked up, gorgeous blue ones that made his pulse jump. “Really?”
“Yeah, I was an engineering geek when I was a kid. These cars are really safe.” He had no idea, of course, but this was what she needed to hear. He rubbed her arm, soothing, feeling her relax. This close, he had the oddest feeling of déjà vu.
Soft blue eyes, pleading, begging, loving …
“Casey …”
She was closer now, secure in his grip, her breaths shallow pants against his lips. Close enough to kiss, to release the pressure valve of all this tension, but he wanted something more—her respect.
Which meant he needed the truth.
“Tell me what I did.”
Her eyes darkened to a midnight-navy. For a moment, she had forgotten that she hated him. She was welcome to return to that hate-space but not before they cleared the air.
“It doesn’t ma—”
He pulled her in, his lips almost brushing hers. “Yes, it does. Just tell me. What the hell did I do to you?”
“Nothing. Maybe don’t assume the world revolves around you just because you’re a famous athlete.”
“I don’t think that.” He really didn’t. Ask any of the guys, and they’d confirm that he didn’t really rate with women, with fans, with anyone. Sure, people liked him well enough, but he hadn’t made an impact the way some of his teammates had.
He hadn’t found a mate like them either.
In Sweden they had a saying: Avund hindrar sin Herre mest, which meant “envy is its own torturer.”
Consider him tortured. He wanted what his friends had. He’d thought he had it once, but it slipped from his grasp. Now with Casey, he felt this irresistible pull toward her, which was absurd considering her obvious disdain. Why was he drawn to women he couldn’t have?
“But I recognize when someone doesn’t like me,” he murmured.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
So there was something. “Not good enough. You’ve been giving me the evil eye since the first day we met—”
“Not the first day,” she muttered. They were still standing inches from each other and he could feel the stirrings of an erection. Just the mere proximity to her got him as hard as the look in her eyes.
“Yes, the first day. I walked into the front office and I introduced myself and …” at least that’s how he remembered it. “And you acted like I’d killed your dog.”
“Well, Erik Jorgenson, that’s where your amazing memory has failed you. Because that wasn’t the first day.”
“Wasn’t the first day what?”
“It wasn’t the first day we met!”
Shock electrified his muscles and loosened his grip on her arms. They’d met before? No, he would have remembered. He would never have forgotten a woman like this. Unless …
Shit, shit, shit. He had figured out ways to get around this, so he wasn’t caught out.
“I don’t—I had never met you before that day.”
“Wrong. We met seven years ago and it was obviously so unremarkable that you blocked it from your mind. Now where the hell is maintenance?”
Seven years ago? He would have just started on the team, newly drafted in after playing his previous season with the Swedish Hockey League. It was a lonely time for him, away from home, not knowing anyone, trying to make his mark. But the Rebels accepted him into their hearts and showed him the ropes.
Ropes that often involved nights out on the town putting away the booze as only the young and clueless could. At the time, he was under the legal drinking age in the US, but fame had its perks and he was never denied entry to a bar as long as he was with his Rebel teammates.
“Was I drunk?”
“Oh, you’d had a few. Not enough to give you whiskey dick, though. Everything was in working order there.” She sounded so bitter.
“You mean we …” No … “We had … sex?”
“Ding ding ding, Mr. Goaltender. That’s right, we did. You fucked me and forgot and that’s all there is to it.”
Stunned didn’t begin to describe it. Erik didn’t have a lot of luck with women. Usually the ones he liked were taken and he wasn’t a fan of the puck bunny in a bar scene. But seven years ago … he’d been twenty, stupid, new to Chicago, new to everything. There were nights with the boys when he drank a lot and hooked up and probably acted like an idiot. It was a brief period when he went a little crazy with the novelty of it all.
Was Casey one of those nights? He had no reason to doubt her. And he could see why she would be hurt he didn’t remember.
“So still no magical jog of the old brain cells?” She waved in front of his face. “Not coming back to you? And do not pretend you remember.”
Seven years ago, he had met her. Not Casey, but the woman he had fallen hard for only to have her vanish like a Cinderella who didn’t even have the decency to leave behind a shoe to clue him in.
Wait one hot second.
A number, a napkin, a night he had stored away as a painful memory followed by an arena full of regret. But that hadn’t been Casey … that was … fuck.
“Casey, I—” The elevator jerked again, only this time it was into action, descending at an even, unhurried pace. But not unhurried enough. She took a step back, just as the car stopped and the doors opened.
Two maintenance guys stood in the lobby, one of the security people behind them.
“You okay, miss?”
Casey blew out a breath. “Yes! Fine. Just glad to be out of there.”
Erik followed her, grateful to be on solid ground, at least physically. Mentally, he was sinking in quicksand. “Casey, can we talk?”
“No,” she said without a backward glance, and walked right out the front door.
3
Seven years ago …
* * *
This was absolutely crazy.
Casey was not the kind of girl who made out with strange men in the back of a cab, but here she was … making out with a strange man in the back of a cab. A gorgeous strange man, only he wasn’t a complete stranger. He was sort of famous, actually.
Did the gorgeous and famous cancel out the crazy? She was going with yes. Because any other conclusion would have her second-guessing her reason for coming out tonight, her reason for drinking one too many Sea Breezes, her reason for throwing caution to the wind and letting this hot hunk of man help her forget that she had been dumped two nights ago by the guy she’d thought was the one.
“He can’t take his eyes off you,” Amee had said about ten minutes after they walked into the Empty Net—Amee to score, Casey to drown her sorrows in vodka and cranberry juice.