Page 3 of The Pucking Arrangement

Focus, woman. Focus.

“You are very,” his voice drops an octave, rich and dark, vibrating through me like the low hum of a string section, “confident.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Perhaps.” His mouth curves, slow and sinful. His gaze flicks up, tracing the curve of my shoulders, the slope of my neck, like he’s savoring every inch. “Or perhaps you simply need someone to?—”

“Papa!”

Amneris tugs on his sleeve, yanking us both back to reality. “Can I learn to play the cello? Please? I’ll practice every day!”

The moment shatters, and I want to scream in frustration.

Someone to what, Dmitri?

Worship me? Wreck me? Pin me against the nearest wall and make me forget my own name?

I need help. I need Jesus. I need a cold shower, a change of underwear, and possibly an exorcism.

Dmitri blinks, like he’s just waking up from something he wasn’t supposed to be lost in. He takes a step back, the shift so abrupt, it leaves me dizzy. The stern father mask slides into place so fast, it’s almost like the last thirty seconds never happened.

“We will discuss it later,” he says firmly, taking her small hand in his. “Now we must find our seats.”

He pauses, though, looking back at me. His dark gaze softens just a fraction. “You are coming to the game tonight? It’s the last one before playoffs.”

The question catches me off guard. “I...what?”

“The game. Against the Kings.” His accent wraps around the words carefully, and I can’t tell if he’s nervous or just deliberate. “Your brother mentioned you have not been to many games recently.”

“Liam talks about me with you?” I blink, trying to gain some time to sort out my whirling thoughts.

“He mentioned you are finishing school. Music performance.” A slight smile tugs at his lips. “Very different from hockey.”

“Not as different as you’d think,” I say, testing his reaction. “Both require practice, dedication, perfect timing?—”

“Then come see our perfect timing tonight.” It’s not a question. More like…an order.

I swallow, my pulse skittering. What the hell is happening right now?

I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, needing something to do with my hands. “I haven’t really decided?—”

“Come.” His tone is light, but his eyes—his eyes are anything but. Dark, steady, holding me in place. “Captain will like to see you in the family box.”

Right. My brother. Of course that’s why he’s asking. Not because he wants to see me again or anything.

Not because of the way his gaze keeps finding mine, like he’s waiting for something.

Not because he wants me.

Right?

“Papa!” Amneris tugs at his hand, more insistent now. “We’re going to be late!”

Dmitri straightens, the slow-rolling storm in his eyes flaring hot for a split second before he buries it beneath a mask of indifference.

“Thank you for your…patience, Miss O’Connor.” His voice is measured, but there’s restraint beneath it

“It’s Erin,” I say quickly, but he’s already turning, guiding Amneris through the crowd.

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