Bound

Ryke

Ryke

Kate blew me away at dinner. Her shyness disappeared and she dazzled everyone at our table with her gorgeous smile and infectious laughter. I tried not to think of Maggie, but she crept in anyway. I remembered the way she'd sit with her back perfectly straight at these things, sipping mineral water and turning her nose up at all the food. So different from Kate, who'd proposed a toast to the upcoming season and grinned as she clinked glasses with Jean and Steve Naughton.

Yeah, it was Jean and Steve Naughton, not Steve and Jean. Jean Naughton wore the pants, and we all knew it. She was shrewd and calculating, pinching every penny of her family's old money. But even Jean, who made me break out in a cold sweat the first time I'd met her, seemed charmed by Kate.

"Do you like hockey?" Jean asked, her steely gray gaze assessing Kate. Though she had the plump look of a grandmother, Jean wasn't the warm type. I held my breath, waiting for Kate's answer.

"I do," she said. "I'm still learning all the rules, but so far I find it more straightforward than other sports. More honest."

"How so?" Jean asked.

"Well, in baseball, if the pitcher gets mad at someone, he hits him with the ball but pretends he didn't mean to, right? And players get ejected if they fight. But in hockey, if they get mad, they just throw down right there. Then they both get a timeout and everyone moves on. I like that."

Jean roared with laughter, and after a second everyone else at the table realized it was okay to laugh, so they did, too.

"A timeout!" Jean cried, her eyes sparkling. "They really are just a bunch of little boys, aren't they? Ryke's spent some time in the sin bin himself."

Kate glanced my way and I grinned at her. "The penalty box. I try to stay out, because if I'm in the box, I can't score. But sometimes . . ."

Jean shook her head and a smile crept across her lips. "Shit happens."

She was more involved than a lot of owners, because she loved the game. I liked that about her, but a lot of the guys got pissed about a woman in her sixties cussing them out after a bad game.

The dinner passed too quickly. I wanted to keep ahold of the Kate who had emerged at this table. Her confident smile was so beautiful. Every time her brown eyes met mine, they were filled with warm certainty.

We didn't get smashed like we'd planned. I had one beer and we both had a couple glasses of champagne. But when we got up from the table after dinner and Kate paused, looking up at me over her shoulder, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to take the lead and touch her, which was weird since she'd jumped away when I put my hand on her back earlier in the night.

I let my hand glide over the smooth, firm curve of her ass and rest on her hip, pulling her close to me. Jean and Steve got up to leave and Jean met my gaze across the table, raising a brow. I knew what she was saying. I like that girl, Ryke. Don't screw this up.

I nodded, silently agreeing with her. But my track record with anything that lasted more than one night wasn't great. I didn't want to have a fling with Kate and lose her as my assistant. Though it wasn't everything I wished I could have with her, I got to see her every day.

And even worse, I couldn't stand the thought of hurting her. She was still fragile, and I was afraid I'd shatter her to pieces. The season was starting soon, and I'd be on the road a lot. I'd learned my lesson about what my grueling schedule did to a relationship the hard way. But why was I even thinking that? Kate and I weren't in a relationship and I knew she didn't want one. And I sure as hell didn't, either. Did I? I hadn't even considered it since Maggie died.