Page 82 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)
Eleven
Cas
I shouldn’t be kissing her.
But, goddamn , was it good.
The moment our mouths touched, I’d said fuck all to every boundary and inch of distance she’d erected.
Instead, my mind was focused on the way she felt in my arms, how sweet she tasted, her lush lips pillowing against mine.
I was focused on how her face had softened when she’d looked up at me, my arms full of Sparky.
I was focused on the way she’d stared at me in the hall, eyes hot when my mouth was at her neck. I was focused?—
On the way she kissed me back.
Right then.
Her fingers wove through my hair, short nails biting into my scalp, making me want her to score them down my naked back, to dig into my ass as I fucked her deep.
My hand slipped under the hem of her T-shirt, just brushed the silken skin of her belly?—
The door flew open, slamming into the wall behind it.
Jules jerked, tearing her mouth from mine, but I didn’t have it in me to let her go, not when she still had her fingers in my hair and her body was all flush against mine and?—
“Jules?” Matt said.
I didn’t like the other man, didn’t like the way he looked at Jules, didn’t like how close he was.
Yes, I was fully aware that was because I was a dumbass considering that Matt wasn’t even straight, but I hated that she smiled at the other man, that she touched his shoulder or arm or occasionally hugged him.
She was mine to protect.
She was mine .
She—
Slowly, her fingers slid from my hair, her body inched back.
Yup. I hated Matt. Most of all for interrupting.
Especially as I watched her lick her swollen lips, blink her heavily lidded eyes. As I watched her press her hands to pinkened cheeks, and?—
As I watched her…back away from me.
Moving toward the door.
I tucked away my temper, glanced up at her boss. “You have a first aid kit?”
Did my voice sound like I’d scrubbed down my vocal cords with steel wool? Maybe. But I wasn’t letting Jules get away from me. Which sounded bad, I knew. The problem was that my dick was controlling too much of my mind at that moment. I just didn’t have it in me to make it sound good or smooth.
And I needed to make sure she was okay.
Needed to make sure I hadn’t just fucked up all that had begun to grow between us.
And maybe I needed to kiss her again.
Focus, Castillo .
I inhaled silently, let the breath out just as quietly.
Then lifted my brows at Matt, wondering if the fucker was going to answer me.
A long, searching look from the other man before he glanced back at Jules, and I knew the moment Matt spotted the scratch marks on her arm because his jaw went tight, a muscle began ticking in his cheek. His gaze flew back to mine, disapproval evident.
Which killed me.
Because that disapproval was well-earned.
My fault the psycho kept showing up here. My fault that Jules was hurt.
“I’ve banned your woman,” Matt said icily.
Your woman.
That stung, but it also had my temper spiking, as stupid as that was. I didn’t have the right to be pissed, not when I was the cause of this situation. I opened my mouth to grit out some gratitude, but Jules spoke first.
“She’s not his woman,” she said softly, stopping at the door, her escape pausing, at least for the moment. “And”—she waited for Matt to look at her—“none of this is Cas’s fault. We’ve all heard him make it clear that he’s not interested. So, it’s not his fault Chelsea can’t get a clue.”
Considering that I didn’t believe the reassurance myself, I didn’t hold it against Matt when the other man’s face didn’t soften, when he didn’t ply me with a bunch of bullshit about this situation being okay.
It wasn’t okay.
My drama had bled into Jules’s life.
Literally.
Jules had bled.
Because of me.
Clenching my jaw until my teeth practically groaned in protest, I strived for calm. “Where is she?” I asked.
Matt’s brows dragged together. “Last I saw, she was screaming at security, and they were threatening to call the cops.”
“Don’t threaten,” I said. “ Call the fucking cops.”
Jules took a step back toward me. “I?—”
Finally, a glimmer of approval. Not that I cared.
“He’s right,” Matt said, tugging his phone out of his pocket.
“It’s time to stop fucking around with this.
” He shot a glare in my direction. “I’ll get security to detain her.
” His glare intensified. “Get Jules cleaned up and then her ass into a chair.”
“But—” Her blond ponytail swung behind her as she started to shake her head.
Matt turned to her, speaking in a way that was far too familiar for my peace of mind.
I didn’t like that Jules and her boss could communicate with a glance.
I wanted to be the one she turned to, the one who was staring into those dark brown eyes, sharing the inner thoughts that were currently clouding her gaze.
“I’ve got a friend on the force,” Matt said, the words soft.
“We’ll get you home as soon as possible.
” His voice dropped until I had to strain to hear him. “I’ll pay you for the extra time.”
Home.
To her kid.
More guilt ravaged my insides.
A soft sigh, but she nodded and then Matt left (though not before the fucker squeezed Jules’s arm).
She turned, started to follow her boss.
My question was a burst of sound as I closed the distance between us. “Is Ethan all right?”
Jules’s head jerked, brows forming a tight V as she spun back to face me. “Yeeesss,” she whispered, dragging the word out and making it almost a question.
“But it’s late,” I said stupidly.
Those brows lifted. “ Yes .” Still drawn out. Still a question.
“And he’s little.”
Then clarity slid onto her face, relaxing the lines, sending the confusion to the wayside. “My neighbor watches him while I’m at work. If it gets too late, she goes to sleep on the couch.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “Okay.”
Somehow, my stupidity had her face gentling further. “Ethan’s okay,” she said and laughed softly. “Sometimes I think he likes Mary more than I do.”
That couldn’t be right.
Jules was the most fascinating woman I had ever met, the most beautiful, the most?—
And I needed to get my shit together.
She had paper towels wrapped around her arm, was probably still bleeding from wounds that my ex had inflicted on her, and…I wasn’t doing jack shit about it.
Pulling it together, I gently touched my knuckles to her cheek, relief sliding through me when she held still, when she leaned into me for a fraction of a second. Then, of course, she was straightening, retreating, and her skin no longer against mine.
“Where’s the first aid kit?” I asked, shifting around her, tugging the door open.
“I’m fine. I can?—”
“Where’s the kit, gorgeous?”
Eyes on mine. Her lips parting slightly on an exhale. “In the kitchen,” she murmured.
“Okay,” I said, sweeping an arm forward, silently gesturing for her to proceed me out. “Bandages. Sprite. Talking to the police. Then home and sleep.”
She stared at me, not moving, not saying anything, so I dared to slide my arm around her shoulders, dared to touch her again, was thankful that she leaned in again, when she allowed herself to be tucked against me.
I led her down the hall.
Into the barroom, which was now empty, the lights dim.
Guided her forward, led her into the kitchen, and propped her up on a stool. Thankfully, the kit was bright red and mounted to one of the walls (thus, easy to spot) so once I was sure she was steady, I opened it, started to pull out some bandages.
But when I went to put on the first one, she placed her fingers on my wrist, the touch scorching up my arm, burning a path right down to my cock.
“Wait,” she said.
My tending or my cock?
One was a little easier to control than the other.
“They’ll need to take pictures,” she said softly, answering the question.
“There’s no point in covering them.” She forced a smile, but it wasn’t real in the least, not when her eyes were full of dark, of shadows, of pain.
“Plus, I like my arm hair,” she said, still smiling, still faking, making the light tone she’d adopted ring all too false. “I’d like to avoid waxing by Band-Aid.”
“Don’t,” I whispered, setting the bandage down and carefully linking our fingers together.
Her brows in that adorable V again. “Don’t what?”
I brushed my thumb over the inside of her wrist. “You don’t have to pretend with me, gorgeous.”