Page 110 of Unmanageable

He studies my face for a quiet beat, like he’s making absolutely certain I mean it. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Something in his shoulders eases. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t make me prove it. He just believes me.

Then he continues. “I’m hitting the shower first. My skin feels like it’s fifty percent road dust and fifty percent library dust.”

“Not so fast, O’Connell,” I say, stepping into his path before he can reach the bathroom door.

Cash blinks, his hand hovering over the door handle. “What are you doing, Scottie?”

I take one slow step closer and reach out, my fingers light as feathers as I trace the hard, defined line of his collarbone, moving down the center of his chest until my palm rests right over his heart.

“You think you’re very clever…”

I lean in until my breath brushes the sensitive skin right beneath his jaw, my other hand sliding down to the waistband of his shorts.

Slowly, I hook my fingers into the elastic and slip my hand straight inside.

Cash lets out a sharp gasp, his entire body locking up like a statue.

My palm slides over the smooth, burning heat of his hip, my fingers tracing lower, skimming the dense muscle of his thigh before my knuckles lightly brush against his rigid cock stretching against the fabric.

He is already ruined for me, hard and pounding, and a wicked, triumphant thrill flares in my chest.

“Scottie, fuck,” he rasps, his head snapping back against the bathroom door.

His hand flies down, his fingers clamping around my wrist with a desperate, heavy grip, pinning my hand still against his skin before I can move another inch.

His chest is heaving, his dark eyes absolutely blazing down at me. “Stop. I am warning you. Pull your hand out right now or I am throwing you onto that bed and missing this entire skate.”

“Oh? Is the big league goalie losing his focus already?” I mock, tilting my head back to look him dead in the eyes.

I don’t pull away. Instead, I flex my fingers against him, laughing when a low, tortured groan rips from his throat.

“Where’s all that elite athletic discipline, O’Connell? One little touch and your whole focus crumbles?”

“You’re being a brat. You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“I’m managing my client,” I whisper, leaning up on my tiptoes until my lips are almost touching his. I let my breath warm his mouth, teasing him with the proximity before I twist my wrist out of his grip and slide my hand out of his shorts.

I pat his chest twice, right over his racing heart. “And right now, your schedule says you have a meeting with an ice sheet. You don’t get the trophy just because you played a good first period, Finnian. Now go take that shower. You smell like shit.”

He stands there, rooted to the floorboards, his fists clenched at his sides as he glares at me with hungry frustration.

He points an index finger right at my face, his breath coming in gasps. “You’re a cruel woman, Scottie Reed. A deeply, brutally cruel woman. I’m going to make you pay for this later. Every single second of it.”

He slams the bathroom door behind him, and three seconds later, the sound of rushing water fills the room.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, my own legs shaking slightly from the adrenaline, a victorious smirk fixed firmly on my face.

***

Hours later, the gravel of the hotel parking lot crunches under our sneakers as we climb out of the van, the cold air hitting my skin.

Cash doesn’t say a word. He just reaches across the van, grabs his duffel bag by the strap, and slams the passenger door shut with a thud.