THE NEXT DAY, Jamie pulls up to the hotel in Whistler, and I gape at the elegant, chateau-style building. It’s the highest-rated luxury hotel in Whistler, where all the celebrities stay, and with the whimsical winter lights and snow-topped trees, it looks like something out of a fairy tale.
Anxiety weaves into my mind, because Zach’s going to be there tonight. Maybe he’s even staying in the hotel. My stomach tightens. This morning, my phone buzzed with an unknown number, but I ignored it. They didn’t leave a voicemail, but I have a cold, sinking feeling that it was Zach.
I really, really don’t want to run into him, but more than that, I don’t want to bail on Jamie. He bought me a gorgeous dress, we arranged for Donna to watch Daisy all weekend, and this feels like our first trip together. I don’t want my dickhead ex to get in the way of that.
“Welcome, Mr. Streicher,” the valet says, taking Jamie’s keys when he steps out of the car.
Jamie thanks him, and when the valet walks around to open my door, Jamie shakes his head. “I got it, thanks.” He opens my door and lifts his eyebrows at me, the corner of his mouth tipping up.
I climb out and give him a shy smile. “Thanks.”
His eyes are soft. “Don’t mention it.”
“We’ll take your bags,” the valet says. “I hope you and your wife have a wonderful stay.”
I open my mouth to correct him.
“Thank you,” Jamie tells him, guiding me to the front door. I look up at him in surprise, and he just winks at me.
Wife?
I’ve never even considered that word. I’m only twenty-four, but hearing that word in Jamie’s vicinity makes my breath catch. Wife. Jamie’s wife. My mouth pulls into a smile and I bite it down. The warning thoughts at the edge of my mind jump around for attention, but I pretend I don’t see them.
After we check in, Jamie leads us upstairs to the top floor, and when he opens the door of our suite, my jaw drops.
“Wow,” I say stupidly, staring at the cavernous lodge-style suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, cozy decor, and an incredible view of the snowy mountains. The fireplace is on, adding to the cozy vibe, and in the room off the living room, a king-sized bed with a fluffy white duvet begs me to flop down onto it.
The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitches, and his eyes are full of amusement.
“Is this the kind of place you stay in when you travel with the team?” I ask.
He huffs. “No. I’m usually rooming with another player. I upgraded once you said you’d be my date.”
Something sweet fizzes in my chest, and I cock a teasing look at him. “There’s only one bed.”
His eyes flare with heat. “Mhm.” He steps toward me, and his hands come to my upper arms. “Is that okay?”
Our eyes lock, and it’s hard to get a full breath under the intensity of his sharp green gaze.
“Totally okay.” I bite back a grin and gesture at the giant L-shaped couch. “The couch looks big enough for you.”
A laugh bursts out of his chest, and I get one of those rare, intoxicating Jamie Streicher smiles. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed since the day of the recording session.
His phone buzzes, interrupting us.
“Hi,” he answers, pausing a moment to listen. “Ready anytime. Thanks.” He hangs up and lifts his eyebrows at me. “The massage therapist will be here any minute.”
Oh. I didn’t realize he had booked himself a massage. A hesitant feeling flares. “A woman?”
His snort is derisive, like it’s obvious. “Yes.”
I hate the idea of a woman touching him. I know she’s likely a professional, and that he’s sore and in pain after yesterday’s game. A massage will make him feel better.
I still don’t like it. Jamie’s gorgeous and ripped. Head to toe, he looks like a god. I don’t even like the idea of a woman thinking horny thoughts around him.
He glances at me, gaze falling to my chest. I’m wearing one of his hoodies; it’s huge on me, but he stares at my body like he did earlier this morning in the shower.
“I’m a patient guy, Pippa, but I don’t want another guy touching what’s mine.”
My face screws up in confusion. Does he mean, like… his dick? We’re at the nicest hotel in Whistler. I doubt they’ll give him a rub and tug.
“Jamie, a professional massage therapist isn’t going to give you a happy ending,” I blurt out.
He stares at me, equally confused. “I fucking hope not.” His eyebrows knit. “The massage is for you.”
“Oh.” I let out a high laugh, and my face burns. “Sorry.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing.
“What?” I ask, turning to hide how red I’m going, but his hands land on my shoulders and he turns me back around.
“You’re jealous,” he says, studying my face with a twitching mouth.
I roll my eyes. “Stop it.”
“You are.” His eyes are so bright. Smug. So fucking smug. “You’re jealous because you thought a woman was going to give me a massage.”
I shrug, and he pulls me against him.
“So fucking cute,” he mutters. “Like I have eyes for anyone else.”
A moment later, there’s a knock at the door, and Jamie opens it to let her in.
“Hair and makeup arrives at four,” he tells me as she sets up, dropping a kiss onto the top of my head. He smiles at my baffled expression, stepping away to gather his things for a light gym workout. “Just wanted you to feel special.”
“I do,” I tell him truthfully. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He’s at the door but doubles back to me, kissing me again like he can’t help it. “If I don’t leave now, I never will.”
I smile against his mouth, gently pushing on his chest while laughing. I’m overflowing with delight, and I can’t stop smiling.
He leaves, and later, as the massage therapist works on my traps, I let myself replay the past few weeks with Jamie.
Something thrashes in my chest, desperate to get out. What if I told him how I felt? The damage is done; I’m in love with the guy. I’ve been telling myself that keeping it a secret will keep me safe. It’ll hurt less if it ends.
Is that true, though? Or will not telling him how I feel be one of my biggest regrets?
I think about how he’s encouraged me over the past few months. What’s the point of learning to push myself out of my comfort zone if I don’t do it for the things that matter?
Jamie matters. I think he might matter more than almost anyone.
Touching what’s mine, he said earlier, and something stirs in my chest.
Floating in this blissed-out, happy, in-between zone is starting to not be enough for me anymore.
I need to tell Jamie how I feel.
Jamie gets back just as I finish putting the undergarments on that Miranda provided for my gown.
Okay, I wouldn’t call them undergarments.
They’re lingerie. I’m wearing lingerie. Lacy, expensive, seductive-as-hell lingerie made in France. My hair is loose around my shoulders in polished waves, and the makeup artist did a soft yet sexy look that makes me look like a Victoria’s Secret model.
I’ll admit it—I look insanely hot.
“Pippa?” Jamie calls, and I hear his footsteps.
“In the bedroom.”
Until moments ago, I was the only one here, so I didn’t bother closing the door. Jamie appears in the doorway and stops short at the sight of me.
“Hi.” I smile at him, embarrassed that I’m standing here alone, staring at myself in lingerie. “I was just getting dressed.”
“Fucking hell, Pippa.” His eyes darken, gaze moving from my face down my body, and then back up. “Stay right there.”
“What are you—”
He strides over, sinks to his knees in front of me, and yanks my panties down.
“Oh—” My words cut off as he licks a firm line up my pussy. “Do you, should I…” My eyes roll as his tongue swirls around my clit in fast circles. Wow. It’s hard to think when he does that. I’m already wet. “Do you want me to lie on the bed?”
“No.” He groans, burying his face deeper between my legs. He hooks a big hand around the back of my thigh, pulling it over his shoulder, and my hands fly to his hair for balance. “Don’t want to mess up your pretty hair. We should probably do it like this.”
“Okay,” I sigh, eyes falling closed as he slides two fingers inside me.
Later, after I come all over Jamie’s mouth, I happily reciprocate.
“You’re going to wear this again,” he says, catching his breath, nostrils flaring as he runs his fingers over the strap of my garter.
“Fine by me.” I kiss him and rake my hands through his thick hair. “We should probably finish getting dressed.”
After I’m finished getting ready and Jamie’s showered and dressed, I walk into the living room in my gown. My breath catches at the sight of him standing by the big windows, gazing out at the snow-covered mountain with his hands in his pockets, looking so handsome and strong in his tux. He turns at the sound of my footsteps.
“Pippa.” He says my name like a prayer, taking me in. He blinks at me like I’m a dream. “You’re so beautiful.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket, holding a small black box. “I got you something.”
He flips it open, and my lips part. On a delicate silver chain, a blue-gray stone catches the light, sparkling brilliantly. It’s the same color as my dress. Something warm floods my chest and it’s hard to get a full breath.
“It’s beautiful.” I glance up at Jamie, and he’s watching me with interest. “It’s too much,” I tell him, because my heart is exploding into confetti right now.
“Do you like it?”
I nod, gazing at the necklace. I can’t help but smile. It’s gorgeous. “I love it.”
“Then it isn’t too much.” He gently lifts the necklace out and unlatches the clasp with impressive dexterity. It’s so funny, seeing his big hands hold something so dainty. He tilts his chin at me. “Turn around, songbird.” His voice is low, and a shiver runs down my back.
I do as I’m told, and Jamie drapes the necklace over me. More shivers run down my spine as his fingers brush the back of my neck.
“There,” he says, and I turn. His gaze drops to the necklace, and when he gives me that small, serious smile, my stomach does a slow, warm roll forward. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I bite my lip, looking down at the necklace, running my fingers along the fine chain. “I love it.”
“Good.”
My smile is shy as I glance down at my dress. Everything about today, about my life right now, feels like a fairy tale. The princess goes to the ball in a beautiful dress, swooning over the handsome prince.
It’s not just the dress, or the necklace, or the lingerie, or the hair and makeup. I feel beautiful around Jamie. I never felt more special and beautiful than I did sitting on Jamie’s lap the other morning, with no makeup, with wet, messy hair, wearing his old hockey hoodie. The confidence he’s helped me build over the past few months has seeped into my veins—every time he said you can do it or I believe in you or you’re so talented, songbird—and now it’s a part of me.
I give Jamie the brightest smile I have. “Let’s go, handsome.”
He laughs in surprise, and I can tell he likes that nickname.
