He also couldn’t decide whether or not she’d known who he was all along. Her father was Presley Houston, for chrissake. She didn’t need to like hockey to know who the players were, especially the players on her own father’s team. And yet the shock on her face when she’d bumped into him outside the locker room hadn’t seemed contrived. He’d seen authentic surprise on her beautiful face. Not to mention a flicker of dismay.
No, she couldn’t have known. It wouldn’t bother her this much if she had.
He appreciated that she liked the man and not the hockey player, but that only raised another question—what held her back from getting involved with him? Was it the fact that he played pro hockey, or was it something else? Someone else, perhaps?
His jaw tightened at the thought. “What exactly is stopping you from pursuing this?” he asked in a low voice. “It’s more than Presley’s current problems, isn’t it?”
The way she stared down at the silk cocktail napkin on the table as if it were the most fascinating item on the planet deepened Brody’s suspicions.
He narrowed his eyes, unable to keep the accusation out of his tone. “Is there a husband waiting for you in California?”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Of course not.”
Some of the suspicion thawed, but not entirely. “A fiancé?”
She shook her head.
“A boyfriend?”
The blush on her cheeks deepened. “No. I mean, yes. Well, kind of. I was seeing someone in San Francisco but we’re currently on a break.”
“The kind of break where you can sleep with other people?”
Whoa, he had no idea why he’d become antagonistic, or why his shoulders were suddenly stiffer than Robocop’s.
What was up with this sudden possessiveness? They’d only had one night together, after all. Staking claims at this point was ridiculous.
“As I keep telling you, my life is complicated,” she said pointedly. “I’m in the process of making some serious decisions, figuring out what my future looks like.”
He opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the waiter, who returned with their drinks. The waiter set down Brody’s gin and tonic and Hayden’s glass of white wine, then left the table without delay, as if sensing something important was brewing between them.
“And this boyfriend,” Brody said thoughtfully. “Do you see him in your future?”
“I don’t know.”
Her tentative answer and confused frown were all he needed. He wasn’t an ass; if Hayden had expressed deep love for the other man in her life, Brody would’ve backed off. He had no interest in fighting for a woman who belonged to someone else. But the fact that she hadn’t answered a definite yes to his question told Brody this was fair game.
And nothing got him going more than a healthy bout of competition.
He lifted his gin and tonic to his lips and took a sip, eyeing her from the rim of his glass. Despite her prim shirt that buttoned up to the neck, she looked unbelievably hot. He could see the outline of her bra, and the memory of what lay beneath it sent a jolt of electricity to his groin.
“We’re not doing it again,” she said between gritted teeth, obviously sensing the train of thought his mind had taken.
He laughed. “Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of that.”
Frustration creased her dainty features. “We had sex, Brody. That’s all.” She took a drink of wine. “It was amazing, sure, but it was only sex. It’s not like the damn earth moved.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He pushed his chair closer, so that they were no longer across from each other, but side by side. He saw her hands shake at his nearness, her cheeks flush again, her lips part. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see she was aroused, and, damn, but he liked knowing his mere proximity could get this woman going.
“It was more than sex, Hayden.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips over her ear. She shivered. “It was a sexual hurricane. Intense. Consuming.” He flicked his tongue against her earlobe. “I’ve never been that hard in my life. And you’ve never been wetter.”
“Brody…” She swallowed.
He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue, then moved his head back and lowered his hand to her thigh. He felt her leg shaking under his touch. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Fine,” she blurted out. “You’re right! Happy?”
“Not quite.” With a faint smile, he slid his hand under the soft material of her skirt and cupped her mound. Running his knuckles against the damp spot on her panties, he gave a brisk nod and murmured, “Now I’m happy.”