Page 4 of Ice Devil

As if bored to death with her task, she slowly turned to face me.

And in those few seconds, my body had a ridiculous reaction, one that defied logic but certainly not chemistry.

The unknown reporter was without a doubt the most insanely gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. A single word filtered through my active brainwaves that turned into a brutal, unyielding physical need.

Mine.

CHAPTER 2

Sloane

Truth or dare?

I usually asked myself that same question when forced into a locker room with sweaty, hard-bodied men who believed in their heart of hearts they were all that and a family-sized bag of chips.

The truth was brutal. I couldn’t care less about the heavy load of testosterone casually tossed around by big, burly players determined to have me drooling within seconds.

The dare was simply how long it took me to lose my plastic smile, deferring to my bitchy if not terrifying personality.

While I was used to asinine, childish behavior, mostly from the male staff at the press room where I worked, there were days I was sick of cocks and butts being tossed into my face. Did these guys really want me to rate them based on their bits and bobbles? If so, they’d be sorely disappointed.

“Ms. Winters, I located Beck.” The coach’s voice was pleasant enough, although I noted a typical hint of amusement as to what I was about to get myself into.

Forget various stages of undress. The men in the locker room enjoying being gifted the opportunity to flaunt their stuff. There wasn’t a single one of them who didn’t think they were stud muffins.

“Thank you, Coach Parker.”

If only they knew what I referred to their manhood as. Twigs. It was also the term players used to describe their sticks, but, in my mind, the term was all about the tiniest thin stick falling off a tree.

Could anyone tell I wasn’t a hockey or hockey player fan?

After turning around, I allowed my gaze to travel down the length of one of the two men I’d been assigned to interview. I relied on first impressions both regarding a person’s personality as well as his or her body language. Or in this case, hard, hulking chiseled perfection.

Rarely was I attracted to a player. I’d been there, had a brief texting relationship, and finally came to my senses.

After the quarterback had called me by the name of another reporter, including detailing the fling they’d had on top of a washing machine. Who did that kind of thing? That had been the final straw in a long list of reasons leading me to concentrate on my career above all else.

However, I would give credit where credit was due. The contours of the player’s chest were spectacular, every ab muscle so well defined it appeared chiseled as if in stone.

Rare was it that my breath hitched under any circumstances, including when a jerk had recently been stupid enough to attack me with a knife after dragging me into an alley. He learned very quickly how my interest in both pole dancing and kick boxing had become a useful weapon.

Unfortunately for me, my body’s reaction to Beck Kendrick’s could only be described as a full betrayal.

My upper lip was covered in sweat, although the instant reaction could be explained away by the excessive heat in the room itself.

And the ache sweeping directly into my core, which caused an intense throbbing pulse between my legs that had no chance of being seen given my dark trousers. As a bonus, given the massive overload of testosterone in the room, there wasn’t a chance anyone could gather a whiff of unwanted, unneeded desire.

What could come back and haunt me was how tight my nipples had become. I’d made a huge mistake in wearing a tight white tee shirt. I didn’t need to dip my head to know they were poking through the material. I could feel the ache.

The moment I’d turned around, the man’s radar had gone into overload. Beck’s eyes narrowed until they were so hooded, I wasn’t certain he could focus. Then his nostrils flared just before he took a deep, long whiff.

His sigh of satisfaction set the tone of the interview.

His reputation as a man-whore seemed to be a badge he wore with pride.

Thankfully, while half the other players had purposely stripped off their uniforms, parading around in front of me naked in hopes of causing a reaction, the man standing in front of me had some sense of decency.

Although… Well, this wasn’t going to go well. The towel he was wearing was two sizes too small and was thoroughly and unapologetically tented.