Page 20 of Frozen Hearts
I’d gasped aloud when I watched that asshole shove him into the boards before skating off, but it was the look of pure thunder on Logan’s face that kept me riveted as he took off after him, stealing the puck before skating down the ice toward the net.
They nearly came to physical blows later in the game. Logan’s teammates had to literally drag him away as he started to peel off his gloves. I have no idea what was happening or the rivalry between them, but I washooked.
Leaning in, Logan drapes one arm across the back of my chair, batting those long, thick eyelashes of his that probably get girls and guys alike to do whatever he asks. “So? What did you think?”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I relish the way his gaze dips, pupils dilating as he tracks the movement. It’s good to know he’s as affected by me as I am by him. I can’t explain this attraction between us, and I don’t plan on acting on it, but it’s definitely satisfying to know he feels it, too, this magnetism between us.
“I think…” I begin in a low, seductive voice that I’m confident all the girls use when they’re trying to lure him into their beds. “You should check your grade on last week's test.”
His gaze remains riveted to my mouth while I talk, before he finally wrenches it away, meeting my stare as he blows out a breath. “What do I have to do to get a compliment out of you?” he asks in a teasing tone.
Rolling my eyes, I jest, “Your ego doesn’t need me to feed it.”
“No, but you’d make its day if you did.”
The way he’s looking at me is too much. Too intense. Too beyond superficial flirting. It robs me of air, making me feel things I have no right feeling.
Glancing away, I clear my throat. “You should check your test score.”
As though we didn’t just share a moment—or perhaps it’s all in my head andwedidn’t share anything—he relaxes back in his chair and pulls up the email on his phone containing the result of last week's test.
While he’s distracted, I take the opportunity to scan his profile. Saying Logan is fit would be an understatement. His T-shirt clings to his muscles, tightening around his biceps in a way that makes it appear as though the fabric would tear if he flexed.
His pale skin is dotted with the occasional tattoo, small ones here and there along his arms.I wonder if they mean anything to him or if they’re just for show.It’s more than just his obvious good looks and the fact his body has been sculpted into a piece of art. It’s in the way he holds himself, with a quiet confidence. Every step he takes is done with effortless ease. He owns his body. It responds perfectly to his commands. He’s confident in his looks and ability, and he wields it at every opportunity.
At first glance, Logan comes across as obnoxious, arrogant, and completely full of himself. And he is all of those things, don’t get me wrong. But he’s also down-to-earth and easygoing. He doesn’t act as though the world owes him anything or use his popularity and fame on the ice to get ahead. He acknowledges when he doesn’t understand something and has taken my advice and listened to my explanations without interruption.
Having gotten to know him better, I can honestly admit, Logan Astor is not the brash, cocky man he presents to most of the world. Which begs the question: who is the real Logan Astor, and why does he keep himself hidden?
He turns his phone so I can see the screen, a bashful, pride-filled smile lifting the corners of his lips.
“Oh my God,” I squeal, throwing my arms carelessly around him. “You got a B! That’s amazing!” His body tenses for a moment before his muscular arms squeeze me tightly in his embrace. His warmth radiates through me and I’m suddenly keenly aware that I am hugging Logan Astor—the ice hockey god that half of campus shamelessly throws themselves at.
I quickly pull back, ignoring the pang in my chest at the loss of his touch as I grin at him. “Next time, you’ll get an A!”
His lips curl into a mischievous smirk and he shakes his head at me, but I can see the pride shining in his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ll humbly accept my B.”
“Nonsense,” I insist boldly. “This clearly shows how capable you are. You’ll be acing Stats before the end of the semester.” A teasing smirk pulls at the corners of my mouth as I waggle my finger in his face. “Just you wait and see, Logan Astor. I don’t doubt you for a second.”
One minute I’m praising Logan, and the next his warm lips are pressed to mine, and all rational thought has fled the building. His lips are soft and supple, and I’m helpless to do anything other than kiss him back when his tongue runs along the seam of my lips.
My lips part, our tongues tangling in a gentle exploration as fireworks go off in my head. Time stands still. The world ceases to exist. His teeth nibble playfully on my bottom lip, his masculine groan flooding my mouth, zapping through my veins, and heading straight between my thighs.
When we finally break apart, I’m left panting for air, staring at him wide-eyed as I bring my fingers to my swollen lips. They tremble as they rest there beneath Logan’s desire-laden gaze.
His pupils are blown wide and peering out is a burning lust that ignites something within me.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice like gravel as his gaze darts between my eyes and lips. He doesn’t look at all apologetic. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say he looks very much like he wants to kiss me again. I’m not even sure I’d push him away if he did. That kiss was…wow.
I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve slept with. There’s only been a handful more that I’ve kissed, and none of them were terribly memorable. Sweet, nice even, but neverwow.Never indescribable.
“You looked so… proud,” he says sheepishly. “I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know how it tasted on your lips.” He shrugs, and I can’t tell if it’s because he views what he did as no big deal or because he’s playing it off as that.
Because, for me, that was avery big deal.
Any kiss that has the ability to leave you breathless is a big deal, right?
Except, I shouldn’t be letting it mean anything.
