Page 35 of Make Me Yours
11
LILAH
Someone needs to tell me why the hell I agreed to this.
Oh, that’s right.
It’s because Steele asked, and I’ve never been good at saying no to him. Especially when he’s always been there for me. If I needed the man to move mountains, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
No questions asked.
It’s the only reason I’m standing off to the side on a sleek, upscale photography set, watching him charm an entire room of people. His charisma is effortless. Not something he turns on and off like some pro athletes or celebrities do.
The studio lights highlight every sharp, defined feature of his face from his chiseled jaw, the unfairly perfect cheekbones, to his silvery-gray eyes that have probably sold thousands of jerseys.
And don’t even get me started on the suit.
Charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a body built for pure destruction on the ice.
He looks expensive.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
He looks exactly like what they’re paying for. Power, status, and the kind of allure you can’t fake.
If that wasn’t enough, his hair is just the right amount of tousled. It’s that calculated I-just-woke-up-and-ran-a-hand-through-it kind of perfect that makes women drop their panties without even blinking.
It’s ridiculous
Not to mention, unfair.
It’s entirely possible I’m staring a bit too hard.
A gorgeous brunette steps into the frame beside him, and my stomach knots.
Here we go.
Krista, or Kayla, or whatever perfect K-name she has, is draped over his arm as her hand rests way too comfortably on his bicep. She tilts her head back and laughs at something he says, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth.
When Steele smirks, something in me ignites. I fold my arms, shifting my weight on my heels. I tell myself I don’t care. Steele is free to flirt with whomever he wants. After a few minutes of watching them, it becomes clear that I’m lying to myself, because the longer I stare, the tighter my grip becomes.
It’s embarrassing just how unprofessional this woman is.
They’re supposed to be doing a sponsorship shoot for a high-end watch brand, and she’s over there acting like she’s about to climb him like a damn tree.
Her fingers trail down his silk tie. The gesture is both playful and suggestive.
My jaw clenches when Steele doesn’t move away.
It’s almost a shock when a slow, creeping heat spreads under my skin before knotting low in my gut. It’s foreign and sharp, making my stomach churn.
Why am I so mad?
No. I’m not mad. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be mad.
I’m just annoyed.
