Page 7 of Ice Devil

It failed. “I think I’ll pass, Mr. Kendrick, but I do appreciate your teensy-tiny offer.” I locked my eyes on his, prepared for almost any rebuttal followed by his attempt at being vocally insulted.

Instead, his eyes burned with a fire I’d not seen in a long time, the shimmers of gold surrounding his irises captivating. “You’re missing out, Ms. Winters.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now that we’ve broken the ice, why don’t you consider getting dressed so we can finish our conversation. I’ll wait outside.”

Beck remained where he was for a few seconds before dragging his gaze down the length of me while crouching down to grab my notebook and pen. He knew exactly the level of torment he was providing, the deliberate movement snagging my attention all over again.

How could a man be so well endowed? Did his groin ever ache after a game from all the heavy swinging? The images forming in my mind were beyond utter filth.

As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, he brushed his other hand across his cock as soon as he stood. With the notebook being offered, he stepped closely enough there was zero space between us. His acts of intimidation weren’t going to work on me. I lifted my head while grabbing the notebook at the same time.

There was such a thing as chemistry or what some would call kismet. I’d just been a bridesmaid for a friend of mine. She’d met her now husband at a grocery store when reaching for the last package of a blood-red filet. The rest had been history, a true Prince Charming.

I hadn’t wanted to burst her bubble that undoubtedly the man was a red-eyed, forked-tongued, grotesque asshole underneath his fancy clothes. She’d need to learn that the hard way.

Beck chuckled, grabbing and holding onto my attention.

The moment our fingers touched, poof, I was lost, my mind one fuzzy blur of madness, sinful images popping through my brain one after the other.

His mouth on mine.

His teeth biting my aching nipples.

His cock thrust inside my pussy, filling me. Fucking me.

Using me.

Claiming me.

The pull was so strong I sensed a gasp erupting from the edge of darkness, a sweet abyss I was ready to slip and slide into as if drunk on shots of tequila.

Wow. I was lost in some erotic fantasy, but thank goodness the various disciplines I used for exercise curtailed my actions before I fell straight into a damning oblivion.

I managed to jerk my arm free. I even calmed whatever ridiculous reaction I’d just experienced and offered him a curt, as professional as possible look.

In his eyes.

He took a step away, looking down toward the goods; of course he intended I’d follow his line of sight.

I didn’t, using every ounce of control. At least he seemed disappointed.

“I’m perfectly fine the way I am. Unless of course I make you uncomfortable. I would never want to do something so ungentlemanly.”

A series of nasty barbs was right on my tongue, but thankfully, I reminded myself that I truly was a professional. I’d worked very diligently through the years to get to this position of respect. Including dealing with assholes with God complexes. This man I could handle with two hands tied behind my back.

“I’m fine. Would you like to sit or stand?”

“Why don’t we sit. I certainly want you made at ease as much as possible.” Without waiting for me to agree because why would he, Beck moved to one of two long benches spanning the locker room. So as not to be caught in a lie, I headed to the other. Of course he decided to sit like a guy with his legs spread wide open, his junk free to breathe.

Did he not understand the power I wielded in my cheap but powerful red pen?

As I sat down, I clicked the pen, exposing the tip. “This is perfect. Now, why don’t you tell me what you love most about hockey.”

* * *

“Does Beck ‘the Devil’ Kendrick live up to the hype surrounding his talent on the ice? If the performance seen tonight during the matchup between the Portland Hellions and the Phoenix Blades is any indication, then I’d say the new franchise is lucky to have him on their team.”

Sitting back, I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, debating the last line I’d written on the article. Maybe a little too wishy-washy, but as much as a part of me hadn’t wanted to admit, all true.