Page 33 of Pucked In Vegas

My breath catches. That word again—married.

"So tell me, Cassie. Are you a liar?"

My jaw clenches. "No. I was working."

"You hate hockey." His voice wraps around me. "I haven't been able to forget you, Cassie."

His palm skims the curve of my waist, lingering as if memorizing the shape of me. I swallow hard, my pulse racing.

"Look, about the other night—"

He moves closer, the heat from his body radiating between us, his chest brushing my back. "Tell me,Cassie Hawthorne, what's a hockey hater doing poking around the Draft?"

I frown, confusion cutting through the desire. I should be asking him the same fucking thing. But all I can feel is his fingertips drifting lower, ghosting just beneath the hem of my blouse like a wicked promise.

I shake my head, breath shaky. "This was a mistake. Coming here."

His hands suddenly find my hips and he hauls me into place with a growl. I feel the thick press of his arousal against my ass, and heat surges between my thighs. He bends me gently at the waist, his palms sliding down to mold over my ass, possessive and slow and so fuckinggood.

My nipples tighten beneath my blouse, aching with how turned on I am. My breath stutters.

"Tell me to stop, Cassie."

"I—"

"Tell me you don’t want this."

"I shouldn’t," I breathe. "I really shouldn’t—"

"But you do."

He spins me around with a firm tug, one hand gripping my ass, the other slipping up my spine. I gasp as our bodies press flush, the heat of his bare chest against my thin blouse igniting every nerve ending.

His mouth hovers over mine, so close our lips almost brush. My hands flatten against his chest, his muscles tensing beneath my palms like coiled steel.

"This doesn’t fix anything," I whisper, my voice trembling with need.

"Not trying to fix it." His lips skim mine, just once, cruelly soft. "Just trying tofeelit again.To feelyouagain…"

And that’s when I break.

The kiss explodes, so hard and hungry, all teeth and heat that swallows whatever argument I was preparing.

I fist my hands in his damp hair as he lifts me effortlessly, spinning and pressing me hard against the door. My legs wrap around his waist like instinct. His mouth leaves a trail down my jaw, nipping my throat, tasting the hollow of my collarbone.

"Fuck, Cassie," he mutters, his voice hoarse as he grinds against me. "You have no idea what you do to me."

His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks like I’m fragile. His hips say otherwise, thrusting slow and hard through his sweatpants, dragging fire straight across my aching core.

Every rational thought is incinerated.

My hands slide up his back, nails dragging,digginginto his skin, just to hear the hiss of his breath.

I should be asking questions. I should be demanding answers.

Instead, I kiss him deeper, letting the heat drown me. Letting him claim me like I already belong to him.

At least this time, I’ll remember his touch.

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