Page 2 of Total Shutdown

I roll my tongue across the roof of my mouth, ready to tell her that she’s brattier than I expected, but stop short when I register what she’s doing.

Collins pulls the side zip on her dress over her full hip and then reaches up to her shoulders, dragging each thin strap down in turn.

Time slows as the dress falls to my wooden floor, leaving her in only a strapless black bra and a matching thong that sits high on her hourglass figure.

She’s tattooed. A mermaid with an elegant fishtail wraps around the right side of her rib cage. I can only see the back of the mermaid and her face is hidden beneath her long, dark hair, but it’s exquisite and so fucking hot on her perfect skin.

Unlike mine, it’s the only tattoo I can see on her body, and I wonder if it has meaning.

My eyes then drop to her navel piercing—a black stone set on a silver bar. Her body is all woman and curvy. Even better than I imagined.

There isn’t a flicker of doubt or hesitancy when she brings her attention back to my face, looking me straight in the eye.

I can’t deny this woman intimidates me, but I maintain eye contact, mainly because that was the first thing that drew me in—her eyes and the way they shone beneath the lighting at Lloyd’s Bar. Like two mugs of black coffee. I still can’t work out where her irises begin.

I take a determined step toward her, shrugging off my torn shirt.

Her pale complexion flushes further when I reach out and wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, toying with her hair.

“You don’t need to pretend like you aren’t attracted to me.” I’m a second away from kissing her when I stop, remembering what she said. “You knew the first time we met, when I offered to drop you home, that I wanted you, and you knew it again tonight, when you let me touch you while no one was watching. Let’s not play around.”

I still cringe at the memory from last November—of what happened after she randomly met Kendra in the bar restroom. Turned out, Collins was there to meet a guy, but when he didn’t show and her phone got drenched from a drink, she needed a spare to call a taxi home. As I sat in the booth, watching her call for a ride, I got this overwhelming urge to do something completely out of character—spend the night with a woman I barely knew. I don’t know whether it was the immediate attraction, fascination, or the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in so long that made me ask the question. But when she shot me down in flames, I instantly regretted it.

Yet here I am. Eleven months later. Still into her. Still just as fascinated by her zero-fucks-given attitude.

Way to torture yourself.

“Oh, Sawyer.” She pats me mockingly on the shoulder, eyes diverting—very briefly—from my face to the tattoos painting my chest. “If I didn’t want to play, I wouldn’t be here. It’s been a while, and, well …” She moves one of her hands from my shoulder to my back, trailing her fingernails down my skin.

I shiver, fighting to hide its effects.

“I figured, what’s just one night? I don’t usually go for hockey boys, but some are cute to look at, I guess, and all of them have fine asses.” She bites down on her bottom lip, slipping her pointer finger beneath the waistband of my pants and then boxers. “Even the older, more experienced captains.”

I feel a pang of unease.

Can I sleep with this girl?

I haven’t slept with anyone in fucking months—and definitely not under these kinds of circumstances. A few dates and maybe we go back to her place for vanilla sex, only for me to end it a couple of weeks later—that’s my usual MO.

I can count the number of women since my late wife, Sophie, passed, on one hand.

Collins pauses her finger and narrows her eyes cautiously. “You’re good with one night, right?”

My throat feels thick as I swallow casually. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m good with. Our brief interactions over the past several months should leave me in no doubt about what tonight is—working out the sexual tension that’s been building between us for way too long.

I swallow again and bring my hand to her right hip, looping my finger around her thong.

“I’m good with it,” I finally say, sliding the material down her smooth skin. “But I think it’s best if we tell no one about tonight.”

She tips her chin up, brown eyes fixed on mine as she guides my free hand to the other side of her underwear and hooks my fingers through it. “Works for me. I’m not in the business of publishing my sex life, and I like to control what people know about me. Including you.”

She starts backing up toward my bed, and a few paces later, she lowers herself on my duvet, her attention falling to my hands. “One other thing.”

I drag the soaked thong down her legs, a stronger sense of unease settling over me. Not only am I going ahead with this, but I also suggested we do it in secret. I’m not especially bothered about my teammates or friends finding out since we’re not doing anything wrong. My real concern is Ezra, my only son. Other than Sophie’s parents—who he’s with tonight—he’s my one constant and main priority. He’s the reason why I rarely date, and him finding out about a one-night stand through a leaked story to the press is not what I want. You could bet your ass his preteen friends would find it on social media.

“What’s that?” I ask, dropping her panties to the floor and pushing my pants and boxers down until they pool around my ankles.

I step out of them and lift my gaze back to hers.

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