Page 101 of Ice Devil

Every act with the sexy reporter was nothing but a wrestling match. We glared at each other and to see the scratches on her face, the horrible gash on her leg reminded me just how close she’d come to dying. “Do you want to stay with me or not?”

“Will you be a good boy?”

“Oh, trust me. I’ll be very good.” My words were little more than a snark.

Her features softened momentarily. “Then fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

With an exaggerated huff, she moved to grab her bags. I beat her to it, trying to yank the straps from her hands. Of course, the brat pulled away, snarling as she did.

I tugged them closer, the momentum pulling her as well.

She tried to jerk them one more time, but I was finished playing games, tugging her even closer until she was forced to rise onto her toes. Damn it. My thoughts drifted to kissing her soft lips, holding her close and fucking her like a wild animal.

That did it. The vision of my wolf broke the wired tether.

We continued to glare at each other until the poor girl behind the counter cleared her throat.

“What?” Sloane’s answer mimicked mine or maybe vice versa.

“There’s someone trying to check into their room.” We’d terrified the young woman, her finger shaking as she pointed to someone behind us.

Sloane finally allowed me to take the bags. “Thank you.”

I yanked them into one hand and stomped toward the door. “You’re welcome.”

Just before I walked outside, I heard Sloane commenting to the girl.

“Men.”

* * *

This just wasn’t going to work.

At this rate, I’d need to head to the hospital myself and find out if someone spiked the coffee with Viagra. That’s how hard my dick had been since Sloane had slipped into the cab of my truck. I was doing my best to ignore her during the drive to my place, even turning on my favorite country music, but between her constant giggles from my attempt to sing along and her slight tosses of her long hair in the breeze, even my balls were hanging low.

No, I couldn’t sing a note. I was pretty certain birds flew to South America early when I tried, but damn it, I needed a distraction and in close quarters, there was little else.

“Stop laughing,” I growled, thanking some god that I’d turned onto the street where my house was.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m enjoying you trying to sing along with Lainey Wilson.” Sloane’s voice had a distinct teasing quality. I knew the tone, the inflections, and how strongly it affected me all too well.

“You know your country music.”

“Do you think because I’m from Chicago I wouldn’t?”

“How the hell would I know? You try singing the song if you’re so damn talented.” I twisted my hand on the steering wheel.

“Hmmm… Okay.”