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"I…." She cranes her head back to meet my gaze. Even with her mask on, I see the color creeping into her cheeks, painting them with the evidence of her shame.
Fuck. She's not here for a story.
"You're here to meet someone." Jealousy burns through me, hot and fast at the thought.
"My friend talked me into coming. I…I don't know why I agreed," she finally whispers. Her eyes drift across me, probingand curious even with the mask casting shadows across them. "I didn't expect to see anyone I knew."
"You know who I am," I say, even though I know damn well that she does. She already said my name. But I need to hear her confirm it for reasons that don't even make sense to me.
"Jonas," she whispers, shaping my name like a kiss.
Here lies Jonas, murdered by his publicist for thinking with his dick.
Fuck my life. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place…part. Like my cock. Jesus. The bastard is hard enough to pound steel.
I wonder if she'd say my name like that while I ate her from behind to enjoy the sight of her round ass in my face?
Christ.Focus, man. Focus.
The woman of my literal dreams is standing in front of me in a goddamn sex club, here because she's eager to explore. But I can't do a damn thing about it because the fact that I'm here at all is the story of a lifetime for her, and we both know it. There isn't a reporter alive who would pass up breaking the news that one of the hottest players in the NHL spends his downtime trolling luxury BDSM clubs. I wouldn't if I were in her shoes.
Come tomorrow, I'm fucked. And I don't mean in the same way every other motherfucker in this fine establishment is. I mean, my ass, as they say, is grass.
The little devil on my shoulder whispers that if I'm going to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride. And fuck, I want to give into temptation and listen to the little evil genius. I want a taste of her. Just one to work her out of my system and give her whatever she came here seeking. I don't want her to be untouchable. I want to put my hands all over her perfect body.
Unless I miss my guess, she wants it too. She's trembling in my arms, those pretty eyes eating me alive.
"Let's go," I growl, holding out my hand in a demand for her to take it.
Her tongue skates across her bottom lip again, wetting it as she eyes me, deliberating. Five seconds tick by in silence. Ten. Twelve.
Her hand hovers in the air above mine before falling neatly into mine.
"Okay," she whispers.
My dick throbs.
Chapter Two
Jamie
Jonas Michaud is abeast. He's also one of the hottest men I've ever met. And he clings to my hand like it’s a lifeline as he pulls me throughDionysus, leading me…somewhere. I didn't ask. I just gave him my hand, blindly agreeing to follow him into the dark.
What am I doing?
Only what I've wanted to do since the very first time I set eyes on the hulking giant when he took the ice my first time covering the Predators eleven months ago. There's a wildness about him that fascinates me, an indomitable, untamed fierceness that makes my soul tremble in recognition. He's a wildcard. Thecrazy man just as likely to steal a Zamboni or leave blood on the ice as he is to score a short-handed goal or kill a penalty.
Fans love him because he never takes anything seriously. He's always laughing, always cracking jokes, and causing chaos. And yet he's the exact opposite right now. Tension radiates from him as he pulls me through the club, his eyes focused straight ahead. His gaze doesn't deviate. Nor does his jaw unclench.
Is he angry that I discovered him here?
The thought stings. But can I really blame him if he doesn't trust me?
No, a little voice whispers.
To him, finding me here is probably his worst nightmare. I know what he and his teammates think about me. And I don't blame them for that. How can I when my stupid job has caused them all sorts of grief? But I never set out to report on sports gossip. My big dream never included spilling the secrets of athletes to the world.
I wanted to report on real sports news like my dad. Except I've got what he didn't have: Boobs and a sexist boss. In Darren Smith's opinion, real sports reporting is a man's job. So I got stuck chasing rumors.
