What the hell am I doing? I’m towel wrapped, still dripping on the recovery-room floor, hand curled around the bicep of the man who won’t leave me alone. The real question is—do I even want him to?
I told him to stop pursuing me, but from the flicker of defiance in his eyes, I’ll have another package on my doorstep tomorrow morning. When he withdrew his presence, it… stirred something inside me, something that put us where we are right now.
I inch toward him, and he steps away, his back colliding with the door I didn’t let him escape through.
My gaze skims every inch of his face. His wavy hair covering his forehead, his questioning,tauntingcreamy brown eyes, his tanned skin, even the way his breath slides effortlessly through his nostrils.
Dios mío. I need to pull myself together.
Sexy nostrils?
Get the fuck out of here.
Of course security let him back here—Xavier Martinezcould charm frost off the ice. He probably told them he left something here after his last game.
We’re locked in a battle of wills. Xavier, pressed against the door and me leaning into him. Our breathing has synchronised, our hot stares unmoving. If I wanted to, I could close the inch or two distance between our lips and kiss him.
But I don’t want to.
The surge of heat in my veins is deafening, but I can’t pull myself back from him to make space.
Fine. Maybe I do want to.
“What do you want, Xavier?” There’s a heaviness in my words I didn’t expect, a longing that’s masked by frustration. “I have enough going on in my life right now, I don’t need…” I jerk my chin at him. “Whatever fuckery this is.”
He snorts. “Funny, fuckery is exactly what I think you need.” He tips his head again, teasing light dancing in those milky brown eyes of his. “But what do I know?”
This dude will be the death of me.
Breathing gets harder the more our chests compress each other’s. He eyes my lips like he’s thinking about kissing me too.
Fuck, it’s hot in here.
I take a step back, but he’s there, in my space, shaking his head like he’s not letting me escape any more than I let him escape.
“I’m not going to be the butt of some kind of joke, Xavier. No pranks, no mind fucks, no games, no clowning around, just leave me alone and go back to whatever the fuck it is you do.” My breath spears into my lungs in sharp bursts.
He doesn’t back down, his lazy, heated stare slides across my features, assessing, gauging. He walks his fingers along the tattoo inked under my left collar bone. “For a man with such a deep, philosophical tattoo, you seem to have quite the habit of running away from the now.”
His touch scorches, leaving sizzled skin in its wake, and no amount of blinking erases the vision that is Xavier Martinez touching my bare skin.
“No pranks.” His fingers feel steadier as he walks them up the column of my neck making me suck in another harsh breath. His eyes spear mine with precision, and a flutter in my stomach sees something real in those brown depths.
“No mind fucks.” He tangles his fingers in the thick, still-damp hair at the nape of my neck.
“No games.” He shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave my lips.
The air crackles around us. He smells faintly like cinnamon. Fuck him for that.
“What’s your angle, Xavier?” My voice is rough, like it’s been through a cheese grater.
Still watching my mouth, his lips quirk. “I like how my name sounds like a prayer on your lips, Artemis.”
A shiver slinks down my spine leaving goosebumps blooming over my cold skin. With his free hand, he brushes the pad of his thumb over my lips, prising my lower lip back from my teeth before letting it go.
Self-control slips between my fingers like sand through a timer. I swallow, reminding myself of the quiet commitment I made to myself, my siblings, my team this year. Grounding myself in mywhy, struggling to ignore the growing hardness between my legs.
If stubbornness were cardio, I’d have Olympic lungs. I splay my palm out on his chest, pushing him back hard against the door. He grins back at me, those fucking eyes provoking me as his head rattles against the glass pane behind him.
