Page 40 of Coach's Temptation

Our fingers brush. Just a whisper of contact. But it's enough.

Enough to send electricity shooting up my arm. Enough for his breathing to stop. Enough for my body to spin into a frenzy with excitement and adrenaline I haven't felt since the steam room incident when I last had his strong, beautiful hands on me.

"Sorry."

Hunter goes completely still, then grabs the bottle. "Here. Let me."

I can see his chest rise and fall with each careful breath, the way his jaw clenches. His eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity in that steel-gray gaze makes my stomach squeezetight.

I can't look away. Can't move.

Hunter's hand is steady as he pours, but I can see his forearm tensing. The wine splashes dark and rich into my glass and the enormous kitchen suddenly feels too small.

My skin prickles with awareness of how close we are, how easy it would be to reach out and trace that vein running up his forearm.

God, I want him.

Strong, demanding. He's everything I need. He knows exactly where to touch me.

My body remembers every moment, every kiss, every growl against my neck.

But his rules echo in my head like a broken record.

No flirting.

No touching.

No lingering.

I grip my wine glass tighter, trying to pull myself together. The stem feels fragile between my fingers, like it might snap at any second.

Then, like a lifeline for us both to cling to, his phone buzzes against the granite countertop, shattering the moment.

Blake's name flashes across the screen.

"Shit. I gotta take this." Hunter's voice comes out rough, like he's been holding his breath.

Right. The playoffs. Vancouver.

The reason he's been drilling the team so hard all week. The reason he's been cooking elaborate meals and obsessing over every detail.

The reasonwecan't be… anything.

I watch him grab his phone, his shoulders squaring as he shifts back into coach mode. He won't meet my eyes now, won't even glance in my direction as he answers.

"Blake. Yeah, what's up?" He stands, pacing toward the window. "No. I told you already. We need to adjust the power play."

The sound of his voice talking strategy, all business and authority, sends the excitement in my veins racing back where it belongs.

Buried. Somewhere deep. Somewhere dark.

Somewhere where we're not allowed to talk about what the hell this is going on between us.

But sitting here in his kitchen, wine glass in hand, the remnants of dinner shared between us…

It brings it all back.

He's Coach Brody. The man who turned the Icehawks from underdogs into playoff contenders.

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