Page 43 of The Pucking Arrangement

Before I can say anything—before I can act on the heat clawing up my spine—my phone buzzes.

[Liam]: Fair warning—your Russian’s a mess today. Whatever you’re doing to him, you need to stop.

My Russian.

Oh, how I wish.

Heat floods my cheeks, burning all the way down my spine.

When I glance up, Dmitri is still watching me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… Oh God, his eyes.

He knows.

He knows exactly what I’m thinking.

And worse? He likes it.

My thighs press together on instinct. One look. One look, and I need to come so badly I might combust.

“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the stairs, my voice embarrassingly uneven. “Dinner. Homework. With Ris. Before the game.”

“Of course.” Is it my imagination, or does his voice sound rougher? “I need to head out anyway,” he continues. “Pre-game routine.”

“Right. Hockey. The game. That thing you do.”

Jesus Christ, Erin.

His lips twitch. “That thing I do, yes.”

He crouches to kiss Ris’s head, murmuring something in Russian, something warm and sweet that makes her giggle. Then he stands, moving past me toward the door.

And his fingers graze my waist.

It’s the barest touch. A whisper of heat. So light it could have been an accident.

Could have been.

But the way it sets my entire body on fire? That’s real.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I exhale—slow, shaky, barely in control of my limbs.

“Erin?” Ris tugs my hand. “Can we do homework now, so we won’t be late to see Papa play?”

“Yeah,” I say faintly, still feeling the phantom press of his fingers on my waist.Still feeling everything.

“Let’s do that.”

Chapter10

Game Theory (Or How Not to Fall for Your Nanny)

Dmitri

The locker room pulses with pre-game energy, but my mind is not in the game.

It’s in my living room.

Onher.

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