Page 58 of Pucked In Vegas

"Where are we going?" I straighten in my seat. "I thought you were starving."

"I am." His voice drops an octave, eyes darkening with intent. "Just not for food."

I recognize our route through the foggy windows and the town's iconic hockey stadium comes into view.

"The arena? Seriously?"

"Figured it's time you sawmyfavorite room in the whole damn place."

"We've been through the entire arena," I remind him. "Multiple times. I planned three events there last month alone."

I still can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually like being here now. Not because I've suddenly become a hockey fanatic. God knows that ship has sailed. But because Jackson's face lights up every time he steps onto that ice.

When he scores and searches the stands for me, that little wink he gives before his teammates tackle him in celebration.

All of it makes my heart do stupid things.

Icehawk Arena isn't just a hockey stadium anymore. It's where Jackson lives his dream, where I watch him fly across the ice with that determined look I fell in love with in Vegas.

And somehow, against all odds, it's becoming my happy place too.

Jackson pulls into the players' entrance, flashing his ID at the security gate. "You haven't seen this room."

As he parks in his reserved spot—HOLT #87—I raise an eyebrow. "You've got that look in your eye. This going to involve taking my pants off, isn't it?"

He kills the engine and turns to me with that wolfish grin that still makes my toes curl.

"Obviously."

With a laugh, he leads me through the dimly lit corridors, his fingers laced with mine. My heels dangle from my other hand as I pad barefoot beside him, trying to keep up.

"Are you seriously bringing me to the players' lounge? At ten o'clock on a Thursday?" I whisper, though, as far as I can see, there's no one in the entire arena that can hear us.

"Best time." His voice echoes slightly in the empty hallway. "We're all alone."

"Yeah. Okay. Like we wouldn't be alone at home inourapartment?" I tease, but Jackson just ignores me and keeps moving.

He swipes his keycard, and the door to the players lounge clicks open. Jackson steps aside, letting me enter first.

And. Holy. Shit.

I've seen photos of professional NHL players' lounges before… but nothing,nothing,prepared me for this.

The Icehawks' players private sanctuary sprawls before me. Exposed wooden beams, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the darkened practice rink, and plush leather furniture in deep forest green. A massive stone fireplace anchors one wall, while a professional pool table sits under soft pendant lighting.

"Okay. You brought me here to seduce me with... man cave energy?" I laugh, dropping my shoes by the door. "Know your audience, Jax."

"No," he says, crowding me against the gleaming bar. His hands bracket my hips, lifting me onto the cool surface. "I brought you here because you make every part of my life better. Even this one."

His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. His hips start to move and I can't help but claw at his back, drawing him closer, savoring the way his muscles feel beneath my hands.

"Even when I'm exhausted from practice, all I think about is getting home to you."

"Is that so?" I gasp as his hands slide under my skirt.

"You have no idea how many times I've sat on that couch—" he nods toward the plush leather sectional "—thinking about bending you over it."

My laugh turns into a moan when his fingers hook into my underwear, tugging them down my thighs. "Such a romantic."

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