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I held his gaze, not knowing what to say next, but also sure I didn’t want this to stop.

“That was even better than I imagined it would be.”

He kissed me again.

This time there was nothing tentative about it. I threaded my fingers through his hair, marveling at the softness. We fit together without either of us having to work at it. His hands found the hem of my flannel shirt, fingertips brushing against the skin of my back, and I shivered at the contact.

When we finally broke apart, his eyes were wide with hunger. I hadn’t kissed anyone like that in… maybe ever.

“This furniture can wait,” I said firmly. “All I want is to kiss you.”

“Thank God,” he said, and pulled me into his arms.

Outside, snow fell past the workshop windows. The Christmas lights Jake had strung around the door frame danced at the edge of my vision. Inside, there was only Jake. The careful weight of his hands, one on my neck and one flat against my lower back. He’d already figured out exactly how I needed to be held. I could stay in this embrace forever.

I’ve spent ten years learning to read material through my hands, and I relished reading him. The muscles of his back were drawn tight under my palms. The fingers of his left hand flexed against my spine, then flattened, deliberate, like he’d caught himself. He spent his nights moving large men off a puck. Every bit of that strength was here, and all of it held me in a way that made me want more.

I moved my hand between us, up his chest, exploring him until I pressed my palm flat over his heart. It was pounding. His body was telling me what he hadn’t said out loud. That this mattered.

He eased back, just far enough to look at me. I’d gone still, caught off guard. He’d felt it and stopped to ask without asking. I answered by curling my fingers into his shirt and bringing him to me.

All that size and strength I’d been so aware of was being spent on being gentle with me. I stopped counting the reasons this was too fast. I stopped counting anything but the low, rough sound he made when we kissed.

When we finally separated, Jake rested his forehead against mine.

“So,” he said. “This is happening.”

“It is.”

“What do we do now?”

I looked around the workshop—our workshop—and at all the projects that were waiting for us.

“We keep building,” I said. “And see what we create.”

Jake grinned as he came in for another kiss.

Seven

Jake

We destroyed them.

Five to two, and it was our game from the beginning. I’d played great, with a couple of assists and a plus-three that was what my stats needed. Performances like that helped me earn my no-trade clause.

As good as all that was, none of it mattered as much as the fact that I was driving home to Nico.

The adrenaline was still pumping when I pulled into my driveway at quarter past midnight. Post-game interviews had run long, and then Tommy insisted on a round of drinks to celebrate. All I’d wanted was to get home, but I did the team thing.

Had Nico watched tonight? Could I steal more of those soft kisses that had been driving me crazy?

I wasn’t surprised to find the workshop windows lit. Of course, Nico was still working. Deliveries were coming up for his remaining holiday commissions.

I loosened my tie as I moved across the yard. Game-day attire was part of the job, but I wasn’t a suit guy. I was ready to be comfortable, but instead of going into the house to change, I headed to the carriage house.

I opened the workshop door and stopped dead.

Nico was bent over my dining table. It lay on its back across his workbench, with three of the legs in place. He was easing another into its joint, coaxing it home with the heel of his hand. But that wasn’t what stopped me.