“It’s called Sugar Blossom. I post about things that appeal to me—pretty things, like clothes or makeup. Food. Things for the home. I take pictures for it.”

He’d seen her with her camera. “Are you a good photographer?”

She made a face. “I’m decent. I took some photography classes in college. It was always a hobby of mine.”

“I’ll have to check out your blog.”

She smiled, her hand on his shoulder, fingers idly brushing his skin. “It probably won’t be very interesting to you. But yeah, you can look at it and see what I do.” He picked up on the pride that laced her voice, but also a hint of nervous hesitation. The obvious love of what she did and pride in it, as well as her uncertainty, made something swell up inside his chest. He had misjudged her. She’d known that, had never defended herself…until now. Now she was telling him because she wanted him to know more of her. The real her.

And again, the feeling of connection tugged at him.

“Don’t tell Duncan, okay?”

“I won’t. But—”

She lightly set her fingers on his lips. “I will tell him, eventually.”

He removed her hand gently. “Telling him might get him off your back.”

“Maybe. He doesn’t get it. He was always good at what he did. Everyone knew he was going to make it big, achieve his dreams. I didn’t even have a dream.”

He made a rough noise in his throat and his fingers tightened on her.

“It’s true. Growing up, nobody paid much attention to that. It was fine. I was happy, even though sometimes I wished I had some super talent that would make everyone proud. But now I’ve finally figured out what I want to do, something I’m good at, that will make me happy. I want to do something that I love, not just work so I can get paid every two weeks.”

That he got. He totally got that. “Then that’s what you should do.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes glowed at him. “I wish my family felt the same. Duncan’s always on my back about something.”

“Hence the lesbian thing.”

She giggled. “Yeah.”

She rolled into him and his hand slid around to the small of her back, pulling her tight up against him. “I feel good.” Shit. Why’d he say that?

“Mmm. Me too. I’m glad you feel good.” She tipped her head back to peer at him. “Did you not feel good before this?”

“Not really. It’s kind of been a crap week.”

“Oh no.” Her eyes became shadowed. “Why? Wait. Let’s get under the covers.”

A minute later they were settled beneath his duvet, her body curled up in his arms. And he found himself telling her of his worries about Dale, and how his behavior was impacting the team and how he felt responsible for getting them out of this slump. He couldn’t admit to anyone else the sense of failure he felt, the worry that he wasn’t good enough or strong enough to get them through this. He had to be a leader to the group, give off confidence and strength, not doubt and worry.

Lovey listened and asked questions and stroked his shoulder and neck again as they talked. “Have you told Coach your suspicions about Dale?”

“No. I don’t want to rat him out.”

“It’s not ratting him out.” She paused. “This is what Mom used to tell Duncan and me when we were kids—if you’re telling on someone to get them into trouble, it’s squealing. If you’re telling on someone to get them out of trouble, it’s helping. When I told her that Duncan was planning to climb up to the roof of the house and jump off with a homemade parachute, he was mad, but I only did it because I was terrified he was going to die. Mom told me it was okay I told on him that time. But the time I told her he was the one who’d put the dent in the fender of Mom’s car…that was just to get him in trouble.”

Marc laughed. “That’s good advice.”

“So maybe you should tell him. And anyway, I bet you anything Coach has his own suspicions.”

“You could be right.”

The door to the condo opened and closed with a thump.

Their eyes met, Lovey’s wide and panicked.

Shit. Army.

They’d completely lost track of time. Not that they’d had any idea when Army was coming home anyway. Mother of all fuckers! Now what were they supposed to do?

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I closed my bedroom door. He won’t go in there, and he won’t come in here. Uh, right?”

“Right, he won’t.” He hoped.

He clicked off the lamp so the room was dark and Army would assume he was asleep, and they stayed very still and quiet. Except he had a warm, soft, naked woman in his arms, and it was dark and warm and…sexy. And apparently Lovey felt the same because her face turned into his and she found his mouth with hers.

Their kiss was long and deep and slow. And…risky. They heard Army moving through the condo, doing something in the kitchen, then his steps in the hall as he went into his bedroom. Then he came back out to do something. Then went back in. His bedroom door closed and the noises became faint.

Marc almost forgot to listen, getting lost in Lovey, in her taste, her scent, the feel of her in the dark. He licked into her mouth, and his body responded, hardening. Christ. This was a mistake. She had to get out of there and into her own room—now.

“Lovey.” He managed to draw back and whisper her name. “You have to go to your own room.”

“I know.” She kissed his jaw. “I will.”

“You should get dressed.”

“I can’t find my clothes in the dark.”

She had him there. “If we wait too long I’m afraid I’ll keep you here all night.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

He chuckled. “I would too, if it weren’t for your damn brother across the hall. Christ, Lovey. This is all kinds of messed up.”

She sighed against him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I told you, it’s not all on you. I wanted it too.”

“I know.”

He had a hard time stopping the laugh that wanted to burst out of him.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said. “To make sure he’s in bed. I’ll just run to my room.”

“I’ll put the light on so you can find your clothes. Get dressed. If he sees you coming out of my room naked, we’re both fucked.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

He wanted to laugh again. How could she be making him laugh when they were in so much shit here?

They stayed in bed and he resolutely stopped himself from kissing or petting her. His dick was half hard and didn’t need any encouragement to get harder. Finally, Lovey said, “Okay, I think it’s safe. I haven’t heard anything for a while.”

“Yeah.” He turned the lamp back on and watched her get out of bed, the lovely curve of her back, the taut cheeks of her ass, her red-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back.

She quickly pulled on her yoga pants and sweater, then turned to him. “I’ll leave my bra and panties here,” she whispered. “I’ll get them some other time.”

Fuck no! She could not leave her sexy little under things in his room! Never mind Duncan, he didn’t need to see that. It would make him fucking nuts.

But she was already at the door, silently opening it a crack, peeking out, then slipping into the hall. And she was gone.

She didn’t even say good night.

Christ, he was thinking like a girl, miffed that she didn’t say good night. He flopped down onto his pillow. What was she doing to him? Making him do things he knew he shouldn’t. Okay, not making him, but…enticing him. Making him feel so good. Making him confess things he couldn’t tell anyone else.

He was going to have to do a better job of controlling himself. He was known for staying in control of his emotions. You couldn’t win a hockey game if you let your emotions get the better of you. It was all about control. Focus. Determination. Qualities he’d developed to a high level. He could totally use them to stay away from Lovey Armstrong.