Page 111 of Timelessly Ours
But when I walked into her bedroom tonight after getting dressed myself, that’s exactly what happened. Nicole took my breath away, looking sinfully beautiful in a deep lilac dress, showing off her curves beneath an iridescent tulle that just barely sweeps the floor.
She’s wearing a new scent tonight. I’m not sure what it is but it reminds me of a purple flower. I wonder if she chose it because she liked it, or because she thinks it goes with the dress.
I put my hand over hers on the leather seat. Beautiful green eyes meet mine. Her berry lips turning at the sides. “I’m okay,” she reassures, knowingly.
“We can leave whenever you want,” I reassure right back.
“No, we can’t. You have business to take care of tonight. Impressions to make to keep your title. I’m a brave girl and…I can adapt to my surroundings.”
“Okay. Just give me a signal if you’ve had enough.”
She turns away and I’m wondering if she’s upset with me because I blew off her theory about Garret. Earlier she tried to convince me that Garret Garrison, one of my most valuable players, is the culprit.
Just because he mentioned he’s trying to reconnect with the father who abandoned him. Her notion is that there is a connection somewhere but there’s no way of knowing without doing some more digging.
I told her—maybe a little too distinctly—to drop it.
“Nicole, you know I’m just looking out for you. This could go on for months, I don’t want you obsessing over it. And I don’t want anyone finding out that you’re investigating. We don’t know who’s involved.”
She shrugs. “I do. It’s Garret.”
I sigh. “Would it make you feel better if I looked into it?”
She glances back at me haughtily. “It’s the least you could do.”
“Done. Will you hold my hand now?”
She glances at it. “For now.”
We don’t hold hands when we walk through the front doors of the large venue. This year, it’s at the Golden Terrace, usually reserved for weddings and corporate gatherings. The grand entrance to the lobby is very ornate. Too ornate for hockey, but I digress. Immediately, I look for an escape. Someplace I can take Nicole if she gets overwhelmed.
Or intimidated.
But it won’t get to that. I’m making sure of it.
It feels unnatural not to hold her hand or wrap an arm around her waist, keeping her at my side all night, but Nicole is right. Tonight is about appearances and talking to the owners about the team. Not flaunting whatever is developing between my nanny and me.
I find the Coach Collins and Guest place card on an entry table, which isn’t hard considering we’re fashionably late, and extend an elbow for her. With a curt nod—which is new and un-Nicole-like—she takes it and follows me in.
Her eyes scan the crowd and I do the same. She’s likely searching for a friendly face, while I search for the ones I’d like to stay away from.
Nick and Jace find us almost instantly. Jace already has his suit jacket off, which doesn’t surprise me. The guy raised his kid sister practically on his own, but you’d never tell by the level of cockiness on this guy. It’s disturbing that I may very well be looking at my future son-in-law.
“Coach,” Nick greets us, his tone clipped when he addresses me. He glances at his sister. “Isn’t this kind of counterproductive for hiring a nanny?”
“Nick, could we not do this now?” Nicole asks quietly.
“Did you run out of numbers in your little black book? Because I could lend you mine. I haven’t used it in a while, but the age group should be about right,” he offers, glancing at his twin.
“You are so lucky my sister isn’t here right now,” Jace mutters to his friend.
Nicole starts to pull her hand out of my arm and I tighten it. “Nicole is my date. If you have an issue with it, you’re free to stop by the house tomorrow. But we’re not discussing it now.”
Nick turns to his sister, scanning her briefly. “You look good.”
She glares at him and he rolls his eyes, forfeiting—the guy never could argue with his sister. “Thanks,” she says dryly.
Jace intervenes. “So, what table are you sitting at?”