Page 134 of Ice Devil

With my hands.

Lips.

Fingers.

Tongue.

Her phone rang just as I was walking closer. A feeling of dread pooled in my stomach when she wrinkled her nose in looking at her iPhone screen.

“Sloane Winters.” She lifted her gaze, taking a shallow breath. “Yes, Tom.” Her laugh floated into the air and I was drawn to her even more than before. “I know. I can’t believe the response to the article myself.” She was all smiles until he said something else.

Then her face fell and the lump in my stomach was the size of a basketball.

“Wow. I am floored and honored. Absolutely. I would love to. Yes, we’ll definitely talk in a couple days. Thank you so much.” As she was ending the call, she kept her eyes locked onto mine. Another smile. Another lick of her tongue across her bottom lip.

And another swagger as she moved closer.

“Who was that?” I asked innocently enough.

“Tom Banyon, who is the current editor in chief of the Portland Herald, but he’s retiring in a couple weeks.”

“Bad news about the article.”

“Oh, no. They have the highest circulation they’ve ever experienced, the numbers on the internet amazing. He called to tell me he filled his position since he’s retiring.”

“And?” My stomach was doing flipflops.

“He offered me the job?”

“Well, I guess that means there’s no turning back. You belong to me.”

This time, she beckoned me with her finger. “Prove it. Devil man. Prove it.”

I glanced toward the sky, chuckling as I did. If only she truly had any idea what she was asking for. And I was eager to show it.

All. Night. Long.

EPILOGUE

Sloane

Vancouver Times: The Hottest Show on Earth Really is in Portland

Seattle Sentinel: The Kendrick Brothers are Ready to Shine Again

The headlines were all over the place. My favorite?

The Portland Herald: The Kendrick Brothers Versus the Masters Brothers: Who Will Come Out on Top?

Screams drew my attention, people stomping their feet creating an extreme echoing sound in the building. I glanced at the clock, sucking in my breath. Why was it that everything seemed to come down to the last couple of minutes of the game? At this rate, I was going to throw up.

Holy shit.

My pulse was in my throat. Wasn’t that the expression? Whatever the case, I was at the point of being unable to breathe. The arena was also pulsing with energy, every single person in the twenty-thousand-seat stadium on their feet.

Every seat had been sold and at a premium price. All going to charity.

People had come from several states. I’d even heard that many had come from different countries from Canada to England, even Mexico.