The dress she’d chosen was a silky-soft material with a cinched waist and a playful neckline that pulled some of the skirt fabric forward and up, almost in a vertical bow. The hemline, which was a ripple around her legs, started above her knees. As the top slid down around her luscious tits, the skirt’s hemline also dropped to her ankles. Her pink toenails peeped out from her low heels, also in white.

  She’d pulled her long hair back into a coil at the back of her neck. Already some strands pulled free. She wore makeup because her lashes were darker than their normal light brown, but she’d kept it natural. Her lip gloss was a soft pink that gave her lips a subtle and kissable shimmer. Best of all, her cheek was healing, and her eye was open, thanks to the reduction in swelling overnight.

  “You look fucking hot,” I growled.

  She smiled, but there was hesitation in her expression. “You look quite spiffy yourself.”

  I tugged at my suit coat sleeves even as I puffed out my chest. “I wanted you to be happy looking back at the pictures.”

  She blinked rapidly, as if assimilating for the first time that this was real.

  “I—my face?” Her expression was filled with vulnerability.

  I strode over toward her and grasped her hand, twisting her ring that I’d placed on her finger the night before. I bent down and kissed her knuckle.

  “Trust me, Ida Jane. We’ll get some nice photos.”

  She stared up at me for a long moment. “Okay.”

  I held out my hand, and she placed her smaller, cooler one in my grasp.

  Chapter 14

  Ida Jane

  It was 9:22 in the morning, and I was married.

  In the multitude of shopping bags, Maxim had got me a pretty white dress and clean lingerie, so I wasn’t married in shower-rinsed panties like I thought I’d be. I’d combed my hair in a swoop to hide part of the sickly bruising at my temple that no amount of makeup—not even the fancy new stuff that was in one of the bags Maxim purchased for me—would hide.

  Maxim settled the swollen, yellow side of my face against his suit jacket and tucked a few wisps of hair behind my ear.

  “Smile,” he rumbled. I felt the vibrations against my battered cheek. They felt good. He felt good. I lifted my lips but couldn’t quite manage any genuine happiness.

  The past few days were a blur, and I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up in this quaint brick building with a beaming justice of the peace peering over his spectacles as he snapped photos of Maxim and me.

  “Now, hold up the rings,” Justice Ingram said.

  I did as he bade me, still too shocked to do more than follow directions.

  I was married.

  My name was Ida Jane Barlow Dolov. My husband was a professional hockey player. And I barely understood the sport. I barely knew the man.

  Panic took hold. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “Ida Jane Barlow…Dolov! Do not cuss in front of an officiant,” Mama scolded from Maxim’s pocket.

  “Sorry, Mama,” I said, the response habitual. Then I tipped my head back and stared up at Maxim’s face. “They heard the whole ceremony?” Maxim knew how important my family was to me, so for him to include them—I gulped, those emotions pushing forward again.

  “Of course,” he said, as if he hadn’t done something sweet. He looked like he wanted to squirm, so I rose on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Justice Ingram chuckled again. “All right, you love birds. You’re all documented.” He handed me my phone, which I gave to Maxim. I didn’t have pockets or a purse.

  “Let me finish up your papers so it’s legal and not just social media legit,” the justice of the peace said.

  Did the sixty-year-old just talk about social media status? I felt like I’d fallen into an alternate universe. None of this could be real, could it?

  I stared down at the gold band encircling my finger while Maxim spoke to my parents.

  And now I was married. With a gorgeous wedding band in a simple but lovely service where Maxim kept his gaze fixed on me the entire time. He never wavered, not in saying his vows, not in slipping on the ring, not when it came to signing the document. I was a complete mess after he seemed so sure.

  He offered me his phone, and I spoke to my parents, who told me that Maxim had promised another ceremony where they could take part.

  Again, I stared up at the man I was legally bound to, shocked by his thoughtfulness. When I’d first met him, I’d seen his tenderness—his worry for me. He’d gotten me ice, contacted me to make sure I was safe.

  Realization hit: Maxim wasn’t sure how to show others his love…or ask to be loved.

  Realization two was a bigger bomb: I was already halfway in love with him.

  Maxim

  The gold band on my finger made me want to both vomit and cheer, a combination I hadn’t felt since my first professional game. Ida Jane made me lose my ever-fucking mind.

  I hated taking it off. I’d only been wearing it mere hours, but I felt its weight. With great care, I ensured it was secure in my wallet. No way was I losing it.

  “Why weren’t you on the flight?” Cruz asked. I turned to find him, Stol, Naese, and Cormac at my locker. Their expressions were all inquisitive, some—like Cruz’s—seeming murderous.

  “Coach gave me dispensation to travel with Ida Jane last night.” My chest puffed out, and I grinned—wide and proud. “We got married this morning.”

  “Holy fucking shit. What’s your face doing?” Stol asked.

  “He’s smiling, numb nuts,” Cruz snapped.

  Naese shifted. “He looks scary. Like you.” He elbowed Cruz, who didn’t seem to notice.

  Cormac tipped his head. “Because of the Green Card situation?”

  My expression slid into a scowl. Why’d he have to bring that up?

  “What Green Card situation?” Naese asked.

  “What’s going on, Maximum?” Stol asked.

  “You got troubles?” Cruz asked.

  “A lot,” I said. With a long sigh, I gave them the gist of the situation.

  “So, you got married?” Naese said.

  “Would have been nice to see that,” Cruz mumbled. “I love weddings.”

  “He had to get married. ICE or some shit is breathing down his neck,” Cormac said. “He just told you that.”

  “So, it’s not real?” Stol asked.

  “It’s fucking real,” I growled. “Now, stop talking about my wife. My love life. Me.” I met each of my friends’ eyes. I held Cormac’s the longest, until he dropped his gaze, his cheeks turning ruddy.

  “You’re right, man. Sorry,” he said.

  I silently dressed for the game. Once I was ready, I headed over to Coach and asked for some time on the ice to clear my head. He glanced at Cormac, clearly aware of the tension building there—because Coach knew everything—and nodded.

  When I headed up to the ice, I noted Ida Jane, my tiny blond vixen, already in the stands. She’d changed from her wedding gown and taken her hair down. She looked relaxed as she read something on her phone. I called out her name, and she looked up and smiled, waving at me.

  She was a vision sitting in the seats, one row up and two rows over from the bench. They were my team seats, something I rarely used. In fact, up to this point, I’d let the Wildcatters give my tickets to each game to veterans and first responders. There was no sense for them to go to waste, and I wanted those groups of people to know I appreciated them.

  I shifted my weight, unsure I’d be able to tear my gaze away if I glanced back. She looked gorgeous. The bruises were barely noticeable from here. Her top clung to those glorious tits—the ones I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the past couple of days. She rose from the chair, and I noted her legs looked sleeker in the skinny jeans she wore. Nothing would make them look long because she was tiny, but she worked those petite curves to perfection.

  I was desperate to peel those jeans off her later. And I wanted to tuck her under my arm and glower at any man who dared to so much as glance in her direction.

  “Stop scowling,” Cormac muttered out of the side of his mouth when he skated past me. “You’re gonna scare the kids.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I deserve that.” He remained quiet as we took another loop around the ice. “I’m happy for you, man,” he said, patting my shoulder.

  I shrugged off his mitted hand as I stopped.

  “No, you’re not.” I wasn’t one to back down from a fight, and Cormac should know that.

  He sighed even as he nudged me into a lazy skate around the perimeter of the rink. “I am happy. I just…worry about you, too. You’re often so deep in your head, I can’t pull you out. And I know you feel a lot,” Cormac continued when the silence got to him. “And I know you don’t like to process it. So, yeah, I’m worried about you. I just…I want you to be happy.”

  Well, fuck. How did I stay mad at him after all that? I slung my arm around his shoulder. “I appreciate you clarifying. I didn’t…” I frowned. This talking shit out was harder than fifty sprints across the ice after a full practice. “I needed to hear that.”

  “You, Maxim Dolov, are one of my closest friends. I care a lot about what’s going on with you.” He patted the back of my helmet. “Don’t make me do this heart-to-heart again, though, you hear me? Just know you matter and stop making me worry.”

  “Yeah, Mac. Back at you.” I shifted my shoulder into his side as I shoved off the side of my blade. “Now, let me focus on the game.”

  “You got it, Maximum.” He chuckled as I sped away.

  Once we were in line for the national anthem, I looked back up to Ida Jane. She was chatting with an older man, who hung off her every word.

  My scowl felt hot enough to burn the ice, and Mac nudged me.

  “You look scarier than Cruz,” he whispered.

  I tried to rearrange my features, but all I could think about was Ida Jane. I’d never been so consumed by another person, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about her taking up all this space and emotion.

  I just knew I couldn’t fathom a time when she hadn’t been there, doing that to me.

  I was in so much trouble.

  The game proved physical, which engaged me mentally. I lowered my shoulder and pushed off hard with my skate, nailing the opposing player into the boards. His breath rushed from him in a painful grunt, but he raised his stick and ground it into the back of my knee.

  I rammed him again, harder, for the cheap shot before pulling back in time to see Stol slap the puck deep into the net. I roared, raising my arms as I powered toward my teammates. The final whistle blew, and the game ended. Thanks to the last-minute goal, we added a win to our stats.

  Not a bad showing against the third-best team in the league. We ranked number two even though few pundits expected the Wildcatters to pull out another season like last year’s—the one that landed the coveted Stanley Cup in our front office and made Cormac, Stol, Cruz, Naese, and even me household names for the hockey fandom.

  With one last pat on Stol’s shoulder, I skated toward the bench. My gaze returned to the seats where Ida should be. She was gone. Disappointment slammed into me harder than the opposing player’s stick.

  “Good game.”

  I whipped around toward her soft voice, the anger and bitterness of a moment ago sliding away, much like the sweat that dripped off my chin.

  “It’s even more brutal than football, and I thought that was a take-your-chances sport,” she said. “I’ll have to get more pointers.”

  She blinked up at me, those big brown eyes.

  “I’m so glad you were here. I hate that I have to fly out with the team, leaving you alone for the rest of our wedding night—”

  She shook her head. “You do not know how football-obsessed my family is. We understand that sports come first…always. Go shake hands and shower.”

  “You’ll come to the locker room? I want to talk to you again, kiss you before we have to leave.” I wanted to do more than that, but I didn’t have time.

  “One of the staffers will bring you down,” I said, waving one of our staff over and introducing him to my wife.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Go do what you need to do.”

  Before I could respond, she’d turned and headed back up the stairs. Those toned legs pumped up each step and the globes of her ass jiggled a little. I swallowed hard, trying to ease the dryness in my mouth, the need burning in my chest.

  Stol threw his arm over my shoulder and we skated to center ice, telling our opponents good game, as expected. Stolly kept his arm around me, too close for comfort, making me more aware of the sweat dripping from my skin, chafing against my compression shirt under the pads.

  “You have to admit, it’s nice to have a pretty lady tell you how awesome you are after a game,” he said, waving at a teenager, who immediately hopped up and down and squealed.

  “That comment, when you make it while smiling at a young girl, is disturbing,” I said.

  “Nah, man, I don’t give a shit about that girl—just glad she bought a ticket. That’s why I smiled at her.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re really holding out, saving yourself for Ida Jane’s friend?” I asked.

  “I would, if she’d have me.” He skated off, defeated. “And you know her name is Millie. Stop trying to piss me off,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Hmm, that was interesting. Maybe Ida Jane would have some thoughts.

  And I was right back to thinking about my wife.

  Ida Jane would fly home tomorrow and stay in my house. We would share meals, laughs, snuggles on the couch, each other’s bodies.

  I wanted a wedding night. Badly. But it would wait until we were home. My house was now our home. And by the time I arrived there tomorrow, we’d be the proud owners of a furry guard dog.

  Chapter 15

  Ida Jane

  Maxim picked me up from the airport instead of my suggestion of taking a rideshare to his place. The mid-afternoon sunshine filtered through the tinted windows, and I noted the faint signs of exhaustion lining Maxim’s eyes. Last night, he’d kissed me goodbye at the arena after eleven just before he boarded the bus to head to the airport with the rest of the team.

  I’d appreciated the time to myself, which I’d used to think—and panic. When the anxiety sizzling through my blood grew too large for me to sleep, I’d opened the video stream with Millie, who hadn’t answered. This morning, after tossing and turning, wishing Maxim was there to hold me again, I called Keelie. She didn’t answer either, but at least she had called me back during her lunch break. I’d already been on the plane, flying home.

  Millie still hadn’t responded, but that was a worry for another day. Crazy that last week I’d been scrimping to save enough for a deposit on a halfway decent apartment, and now I lived in one of the swankiest neighborhoods inside the Beltway.

  “Are you glad to be home?” Maxim asked as he settled into his car.

  I fiddled with my wedding band, comforted by its weight, dazzled, still, by its sparkle.

  “Sure.” I turned my head, looking out the window, my hands clasped together in my lap. “Keelie left me a message, inviting me over to her place to watch the next game.”

  “Good. Great. I’m glad you get along with the CATS.”

  “Why CATS? I thought the name for partners of professional athletes was WAGs—you know, wives and girlfriends.”

  Maxim smiled. “Our owner’s more progressive. I guess so is Coach Whittaker and the rest of the team. CATS stands for comrades, allies, teammates, and spouses.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. “I like that. A lot.” I looked out the window, trying to gather my thoughts. “Should I tell Keelie we’re married?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

  Maxim shot me a questioning frown. “Of course. Cormac knows—I told the guys before the game yesterday, so my guess is Keelie knows already.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t want people to know?” Maxim sounded hurt.

  “No! That’s not it at all.” I wrapped my arms around my waist and squeezed. “It’s just…we’re unconventional. I don’t…how do we…they may not understand.”

  “That milk is spilled, Ida Jane.” Maxim reached over, prying my fingers from where they dug into my waist and clasped my hands. “Plus, yours is the only opinion I care about.” He paused, seemed to consider something. “Well, yours, and Coach Whittaker, some of my teammates, and your parents.” He grunted. “That’s more people than I’ve worried about…ever.”

  He held my left hand, so I was able to enjoy the fiery sparkle of the small diamonds lining my ring. It was so beautiful. My gaze shifted to the thick gold band taking up nearly half the area between the two knuckles on his ring finger. I’d noted he played with it after I’d slipped it on his finger, making me wonder why he’d chosen such a sturdy option.

  “You look good in that,” Maxim said, tone gruff.

  I licked my dry lips. “I’m on birth control.”

  Well, I could have said that more elegantly, but it was out there now. I’d hurt Maxim’s feelings before our wedding, and on the plane ride back, I’d concluded that we deserved to enjoy our time together. We were married, for goodness’ sake. Of course we were going to have sex.

  I wanted that to be part of our relationship. Craved it. And hoped it would settle my growing fears about my impulsive decision.

  He slid to a stop at the light as the silence between us seemed to expand. He glanced over, eyes burning with desire.

  “That’s good to know.” He shot me a smoldering look. “Because I hope to fuck you often with no barriers.”

  I shifted, trying to ease the sudden pulsing warmth in my core. Often, huh. I liked the sound of that. Until Maxim, I considered the idea of orgasms without clitoral stimulation hooey. But that first kiss and every single one since, even the chaste ones on my cheek, temple, and over my wedding band, made my body light up with desire. Hell, he’d looked at me across my office the other day and I’d gotten wet.