Page 48 of Match Me if You Can

She freezes, mouth dropping open, but she recovers quickly, that chin coming up even higher, making it so that she’s somehow looking down her nose at me even though she’s a good six inches shorter. “You said you wouldn’t kiss me unless I asked.”

“I lied.” I step closer.

“Ace,” she hisses. “Stop it.”

I bite back my smirk, take another step toward her. “Don’t you want to know what it would be like for me to kiss you?”

“No.” An immediate response.

Too immediate.

I step closer, herding her toward the bed.

“Ace,” she snaps. “I mean it. Back off.”

“Hmm,” I murmur, halting with my body an inch away from hers and inhaling the soft feminine scent of her. “Don’t you think we should practice?” I lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, drop it just as lazily even though my dick is aching at the mere thought of tasting that frost-filled mouth of hers. “Just in case?”

“No.” Another immediate response.

“Why?” I crouch a little to hold those icy blue eyes and allow my smirk to escape, just to push her buttons. “You scared?”

Another flash of that fire inside her.

Then she laughs softly, shaking her head as the ice comes back faster than a flash freeze. “Fucking hockey players.”

“You love us.” She has to—why else would she work exclusively with us?

A snort. “Love to hate you, you mean.” Then she blows out a breath, derision creeping into her tone. “All right then, Ambrose. You think you have something to prove?” She tosses her arms out then lets them drop to her sides. “Then kiss me, big shot. Kiss me and I’ll show⁠—”

I don’t give her a chance to finish that statement.

I pounce, slipping a hand into her hair, hearing the satisfying plink of pins scattering and hitting the hardwood floor. The other I allow to slide around to her back, palm flattening between her shoulder blades and pressing in, drawing her against me.

Christ, those tits softly pillowed against my chest are incredible.

I take one moment to enjoy that sensation.

Then I tilt her head back and drop my mouth to hers.

My intention is to prove that she isn’t completely immune to me.

I fail.

Because the moment my lips hit hers, all my intentions are incinerated. The kiss explodes between us, a spark to dry tinder, and I’m not thinking about proving a point or teasing out a response, I’m fucking burned alive.

Her lips part and she meets the strokes of my tongue like we’ve been kissing each other for a century. Nothing is measured or thought through—it’s all instinct and her silky hair falling over my hand and those breasts against my chest and her soft, soft moan drifting from her mouth to mine. My dick is hard in an instant, wanting a fuck-ton more than a kiss.

And I don’t think about stopping that instinct.

I can’t.

My hand drifts away from her back, skating over her flesh, meandering, trailing along the side of one breast.

She shivers, another moan slipping from her mouth and into mine.

Fuck, yeah.

She’s definitely all fire beneath that ice.