Page 18 of Blocked Score

Probably not the best choice of words judging by how the lines in Lane’s face go taut and his jaw clenches so tight that the muscles on the sides of his face twitch.

I told myself that I wanted to hold back from giving into the physical chemistry that Lane and I have because I wanted to see if he’d still have any interest in me if I didn’t make it easy.

Maybe I don’t need to worry about that anymore.

8

SCARLETT

“You actually do this for fun?”

I’m drenched with sweat. It’s a ninety-degree day and the sun is high in the sky, its rays assaulting anyone caught underneath. And Lane just made me join him on an outdoor run.

“Running in hot weather is invigorating,” Lane says chipperly. His grey Brumehill College t-shirt is dark with sweat as it clings to his broad torso.

I look at him like he has an extra head sprouting out of his neck. “You’re insane.”

He just chuckles as he opens the door to the house he’s staying in with some of the other college hockey players working as coaches in his summer program.

I moan in relief when we step inside and I’m hit by the glorious feeling of air conditioning.

My eyes almost roll into the back of my head when the cool air wraps around my exhausted, sweaty-drenched limbs.

I press myself to Lane’s wide back and fling my arms around his neck from behind, holding on tight. “Drag me to the couch,” I command.

The rumble of his laughter vibrates against the front of my body as he obeys. I let my whole body go limp except for my arms curling over the cords of muscle around his neck and shoulders. My feet drag against the carpeted floor as Lane walks me to the couch.

Even though I’m exhausted, pressing myself so close to sweaty Lane gives me a whiff of his post-exercise pheromones that sends arousal rushing through my body. My nipples firm underneath my sweaty shirt.

I let go of Lane’s neck and plop down onto the couch. Having a place to sit feels good, but I suddenly miss the feeling of having my arms wrapped around him, and the musky scent of his post-workout body.

“Want a water?” Lane asks, still standing.

I nod. While he walks to fetch it from the kitchen, I let my gaze rake over him.

His athletic shorts are cut well above the knee, giving a peak of his muscular thighs. His sweat-matted shirt sticks to his body, contrasting the width of his rounded shoulders with his trim waist. When he opens the refrigerator with his right hand, I see the cords of muscle in his arm rippling, and a tight feeling winds between my legs.

I’ve finally decided to stop shrinking away from our physical chemistry. I’m just waiting for the right time to surrender to the tug that pulls between us.

When my gaze skates over his chest as he walks back with two bottles of water in his hand, and the dip between the two slabs of chest muscle gets highlighted by the fabric of his shirt sticking to it, I start to think that the right time might be pretty soon.

Lane hands me one bottle of water before he drops his weight onto the cushion next to me.

When he does, the old springs on the couch sink, and I slide into him.

In a flash, we’re pressed together. His pheromone-heavy scent surrounds me, and my bare arm slides against the sweat-slicked ropes of muscle on his.

Our thighs press together. The tightness that was winding low in my core knots to a sharp, insistent ache. Everywhere our skin makes contact feels like a jolt of electricity ripping through my body.

Our eyes lock. Lane’s jaw ticks. I pull a sharp breath through my nose. The air between us crackles and thrums with intensity. The world around us fades away.

We drop our bottles of water unopened and press our lips together.

The kiss erupts with all the suppressed lust and desire that’s built up between us ever since we sat next to each other on our flight. There’s nothing soft or gradual or tentative about this kiss. Already Lane’s lips are firm and demanding, and he’s angling the kiss deeper by the second.

His tongue sweeps across the crease of my mouth, and I open for him. He strokes past my lips, our tongues tangling and lashing together with unrestrained hunger.

I slide my hand under his shirt, finally feeling the sharp ridges of his muscles that I’ve been dreaming about. They ripple and dance under my touch, an electric current snaking from my fingertips and coiling through my body.

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