Page 72 of Heated Rivalry 1
Ilya moved purposefully to the other side of the dance floor. He found a girl inside a minute who was happy to press her body against his. By the next song, she had her tongue in his mouth.
He wondered if Hollander saw him.
Miles joined them on the dance floor, and Shane dropped his hands from Rose’s waist. Rose turned and smiled at Miles, and danced with him for a while. Miles kept looking over her shoulder at Shane. There almost seemed to be a hint of invitation in his eyes.
Shane looked away uncomfortably. He stood on the dance floor, just barely swaying, with his arms hanging limp at his sides. Now that Miles was here, he could probably slip away. Go back to the VIP area. Maybe even go home.
His eyes landed on a man he was sure was Victor St-Simon, a player for Boston. He was smiling at a girl he was dancing with. Shane frowned and glanced around. He spotted Ryan Carmichael. And Cliff Marlow.
And Ilya Rozanov.
Ilya was dancing with a girl. His head and shoulders towered over most of the crowd. Shane moved through the sea of dancers toward him without even realizing he was doing it.
He got close enough to see the way the heat of the room was causing Ilya’s damp hair to curl even tighter than usual, and the way his skin glistened the same way it had during the game. But the games didn’t have lighting like this; at the games, the music wasn’t pounding and Ilya’s body wasn’t writhing and the whole room didn’t screamsex.
Ilya had on a V-neck T-shirt that was almost transparent, despite being a dark color. Sometimes a light would hit him just right and Shane could see the outline of his bear tattoo, and the glint of his gold chain. The girl he was dancing with had her back to him, and she seemed to be grinding her ass into his crotch. Ilya was watching her, eyes hooded, lips parted. Shane watched as he bit down on his lower lip and closed his eyes before bending his head to kiss her neck. She turned and leaned up and kissed him. It was a wild, filthy kiss. She had her hands up the front of his shirt.
And Shane felt sick. He needed to leave.
He realized, suddenly, as if waking from a dream, that he was standing alone in the middle of a dance floor...not dancing. Just...staring. At Ilya.
He couldn’t let Ilya notice him.
Ilya pulled away from the kiss and smiled at his very willing partner. She was a good kisser. She had a tongue piercing. He liked that.
He glanced around the club, wondering where the best dark corner was to—
Holy fuck.
When his gaze landed on Shane Hollander, Shane’s eyes went wide.
Had Shane just been...watching him?
Ilya couldn’t resist pushing it. He gave him what he believed to be his sexiest smile, and bent down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Should we take this somewhere else?”
He never took his eyes off Shane.
“Sorry,” she said, surprising him. “Not tonight, babe. I’m here with my boyfriend. He likes to watch me. It turns him on. But I’m leaving with him.”
The fuck? “Your...boyfriend?” He looked around nervously.
She laughed. “Relax. He’s not gonna hit you. He likes it, like I said.” She kissed his cheek, turned, and left him.
And Shane was gone.
Furious, and now even more desperately in need of release than he had been before he’d left the hotel, Ilya stormed off the dance floor and grabbed Victor by the arm. “I’m leaving.”
“With that girl? Right on, man.”
Ilya didn’t answer him.
Back at the hotel, Ilya jerked off in the shower before throwing himself angrily onto his bed.
He couldn’t sleep. He curled on his side and watched the minutes tick by on the alarm clock beside the bed.
Stupid fucking Shane Hollander. Stupid Rose Landry.
Oh god, what was wrong with him? Why did he care? Ilya had been ready to let that weird girl with the kinky boyfriend do whatever she wanted to with him. What did it matter what Shane was doing when Ilya didn’t require him?
