Page 38 of Coach's Temptation

I blink at him, certain I've misheard. Or maybe the jet fuel coffee has finally melted my brain.

"You'd offer to be in an enclosed space with me for more than five minutes?"

His jaw ticks as he stares at the ceiling. "I regret it already. But yes. Do you want a ride or not?"

I've got my own car. But saving on gas might help the incoming repair bills that are certain to drain my savings account any day now.

"Thank you. No take-backs, though." I hop off the stool, already planning my escape before he changes his mind. "Give me fifteen minutes to get ready."

"Ten."

"Twenty, got it." I dash toward the stairs, calling over my shoulder. "And put a shirt on, Coach. Your abs are distracting."

A string of creative curses follows me up the stairs, and I grin all the way to the guest bathroom. The heated floors warm my feet as I dig through my overnight bag for something professional enough for work.

I settle on a fitted black sweater and my favorite jeans—the onesI knowmake my ass look fantastic. Hunter might have his 'no touching' rule, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remind him exactly what he’s missing.

Twenty-two minutes later, because I'm nothing if not consistent in my inability to be on time, I bounce down the stairs to find Hunter waiting by the door.

He's wearing a crisp white button-down that does nothing to hide the muscles underneath, and suddenly I regret suggesting he put on a shirt at all.

His eyes do a full-body sweep before locking onto mine. "You're late."

"I'm fashionably on time." I wink and adjust the bag on my shoulder. "Ready when you are, Coach."

I follow Hunter outside, squinting as brilliant morning sunshine spills across his driveway. The mist still rolls off the peaks, wrapping his mountain estate in an fairytale-esque glow that belongs in some romantic movie scene.

Then I stop dead, my coffee nearly sloshing out of my travel mug as the garage door rolls open.

"Hunter - no way." My jaw drops at the gleaming Ferrari tucked safely inside, its cherry-red paint job practically glowing in the early light. "How have I not been blinded by this at the arena?"

Hunter's lips curl into that infuriating smirk as he clicks the key fob. "Probably because I've got under cover parking."

I roll my eyes. Again.

I feel like that's all I've done since I've walked into Richie Rich's world last night.

"Of course you do."

Hunter grins and steps around to hold the door open for me. I mutter to myself, sliding into soft leather seats that feel like a giant cuddly teddy bear. The new car smell mingles with Hunter's cologne, and it's a dangerous fucking concoction that has my nipples suddenly paying attention.

"Jealous?" His smirk widens as he watches me take in the pristine interior.

"Absolutely not." I click my seatbelt, eyeing the way his hands curl around the steering wheel. "You drive like a serial killer, don't you?"

"Buckle up, princess." He shifts into gear, the engine purring to life.

We wind down the mountain road, trees blurring past as Hunter takes the curves with more speed than I care for.

The sun catches on the chrome and glass, making the whole world sparkle as we race by. Below, Iron Ridge spreads out like a postcard, the arena's dome rising above the skyline like a crown.

For a moment, suspended between mountain and valley in this ridiculous car with this impossible man, I feel like I'm living someone else's dream. I sink deeper into the Ferrari's leather seats, trying not to hyperventilate at how surreal this all feels.

Here I am, a small-town physical therapist, home grown and damn proud of that, riding shotgun in a car that's probably been paid for with cold hard cash.

My cramped apartment with its leaky ceiling and ancient radiator feels like it belongs in a different universe. One where I shop clearance sales and calculate if I can splurge on name-brand coffee.

I sneak a glance at Hunter, all controlled power behind the wheel. Even his presence feels larger than life - like everything else in his world.

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