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They all chatted politely for a few more minutes. Where the fuck was Bennett? When Nico couldn’t stand it anymore, he announced to the room, “I will return in a moment.”
“Cugino,” Filippo warned with a huff of laughter. “Do not be gone long,” he called in Italian as Nico left the kitchen.
Nico strode deeper into the house. Touches of Bennett were everywhere, from the photographs on tables and shelves, to the running shoes by the door. A painting Bennett admired in a Milano gallery last summer. Over the last year and a half, they had blended their lives together here and Nico loved every second of it. There were bumps, of course, such as a few men who had been unwilling to accept a queer don. But Nico quickly made examples of them and the complaints dried up. He made it clear that his ability to lead and keep them all rich had nothing to do with who he fucked or lived with.
Bennett’s team mostly ignored Nico’s existence, which was fine with him. The worst of the bigots were traded, and the rest of the team quickly realized that Filippo held their livelihoods in the palms of his hands. After that, the team and management had learned to keep their fucking mouths shut in private. Publicly, no one spoke about Bennett’s sexuality. Hockey players had their own omertà, a secrecy pact every bit as inflexible as the ’Ndrangheta’s, so Bennett’s being gay remained mostly a rumor.
After taking the stairs two at a time, Nico reached the second floor and started walking toward the primary bedroom. He opened the door and found the room empty. But the bathroom door was ajar, the light on, sports highlights coming from somewhere inside . . .
He stripped out of his suit jacket on the way across the floor, then stepped into the humid bathroom. Bennett. His man was naked, except for a towel around his waist, dabbing ointment onto cuts on his knuckles. Fuck. A rush of desire hit Nico like a baseball bat and he stood in the entry, running his tongue on the backsides of his teeth. “Let me see, bello.”
Bennett started, somehow unaware that Nico had been lurking. His eyebrows lowered as he scowled in Nico’s direction. “Jesus. You couldn’t tell me you were there?”
Coming closer, Nico let his gaze travel slowly over his man’s mostly naked body. The wide, muscular shoulders. A strong chest with the perfect amount of hair that led to a happy trail on a flat stomach. Trim waist, long legs. Madonna mia, Bennett Verreault was the most mouth-watering sight Nico had ever laid eyes on. “I was admiring the view.”
“Yeah?” He dabbed ointment on another broken knuckle. “Well, we don’t have time for whatever you’re thinking. Sofia and Anthony are downstairs.”
Nico grabbed Bennett’s hand and pulled it in for a better look. “Mmm. I love when you fight and come home bloody. It gets me so fucking hard.”
“I know,” Bennett said in a low, husky voice. “But we really don’t have time.”
“We have some time. This is our house. They will wait.”
“Babe, it’s rude to—” Bennett paused, then grabbed Nico’s arm and brought it closer to the light. “Is this blood on your sleeve? Oh, my god. It is. You met Sofia’s boyfriend with fucking blood on your sleeve.”
Ah. This explained the doctor’s hesitation when Nico had offered his hand.
The afternoon had been spent persuading the head of an Albanian mob to find another Canadian city to call home. It had been a problem for six months and Nico was tired of dealing with them. His patience had run out and he no longer had Filippo to handle these kinds of things. Nico didn’t mind getting his hands dirty—it felt good. But he didn’t like coming home bloody. It was sloppy, and only reminded Bennett of the violence and danger in Nico’s world.
Nico pulled out of Bennett’s grip so he could wrap a hand around the side of the other man’s neck, holding tight. “Mi dispiace. I did not notice.”
Bennett relaxed against Nico, moving closer and resting a hip against the counter. “That tells me what kind of day you had. Now Anthony will think we’re both a pair of hooligans.”
“This is a stupid word, hooligans. I prefer professionals. And I do not give a shit what Anthony thinks.”
Bennett nuzzled into Nico’s jaw, his nose sliding across the end-of-day whiskers. “You should. He’s important to Sofia. She thinks he might be the one.”
“Stai zitto!” Nico snapped. “She is too young for this.”
“You have to let her decide, amore.”
The endearment plus the naked skin plus the raw knuckles? Now Nico was fully hard, desperate to take Bennett apart. “I need to fuck you.”
“You’ll have to wait. I told you, this is important to Sofia.”
Bennett and Sofia had grown close over the last two years, and sometimes Nico thought she loved the hockey player more than her own cousin. “She will understand. She saw you get in a fight tonight. How am I supposed to resist you?”
Soft lips trailed over Nico’s throat. “You’ll have to manage somehow. You can fuck me after everyone goes home.”
Why couldn’t Nico do both, fuck Bennett now and later? But he wanted to know something first. “Why did you hit him? What did he do?” Bennett sighed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer. Nico pressed, asking, “Did he say something?”
Bennett shrugged one shoulder. “It was nothing.”
That was too vague, and it set off Nico’s warning bells. “Humor me.”
“No.” Bennett moved away, causing Nico’s hand to slide off all that gorgeous, warm skin, and Nico instantly missed it. Unbothered, Bennett capped the ointment and put it in the medicine cabinet. “I’m not telling you. It’s just guys chirping on the ice, nothing serious.”
“Cazzata. And I want to know.”
