Page 85 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Stay,” Ilya said.
“Can’t.” But he loved that Ilya was asking.
“No one will even fucking notice. This weekend is chaos.”
“Too risky.”
Ilya shook his head. “When will I have you for as long as I want?”
Shane’s heart leapt. “I don’t know. As soon as possible?”
“Yes.” Ilya leaned in and kissed him. “After I win the Stanley Cup this year, we should go somewhere.”
Shane huffed. “You’re not winning that cup. And where on earth would we go?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere no one knows us.”
“What, like the moon?”
“No, like... Fiji.”
“Nope. All it takes is one Canadian tourist with an iPhone.”
“We’ll climb a mountain. Find a cave.”
Shane smiled sadly. They weren’t going anywhere together and they both knew it. “You’re going back to Russia this summer?”
“Yes.”
“Well then.”
“Where will you go?”
“To my cottage, mostly,” Shane said.
“Sounds nice.”
“It is. It’s my favorite place on earth.” Although this bed was providing some strong competition. He indulged in one last kiss, shifting so he covered Ilya’s body with his own as he drank him in.
“I have to go.” He brushed curls out of Ilya’s eyes and Ilya grabbed his wrist, then pulled Shane’s hand to his lips. He lightly kissed the tips of Shane’s fingers, and Shane’s breath caught.
“Do you?” Ilya asked. God, his voice was sexy when he was sleepy, all frayed and throaty. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s palm.
Shane closed his eyes, just to relieve one of his overstimulated senses. It would be so easy just to give in...
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.” With a lot of effort, he left the bed and gathered his clothing from the floor. Sand spilled out of the cuffs of his pants, on the hotel carpet, as he dressed. Ilya stayed on the bed, possibly watching him. Shane couldn’t bring himself to look at him, afraid that he’d end up back in his arms if he so much as glanced in his direction.
When he was at the door, he finally allowed himself to look back at Ilya. He was sitting up, the white bedsheet covering his bent knees. He was chewing his lip, as if considering whether or not to say something. There was a long, tense silence between them, and then Ilya said, “Good night. Shane.”
A jolt of pleasure zipped through Shane’s body every time Ilya called him by his first name. “Good night, Ilya.”
He checked to make sure the hallway was empty, then slipped out of Ilya’s room. Because the hall was empty, no one saw the smile that nearly split Shane’s face in half.
Chapter Eighteen
February 2017—Montreal
Two weeks after All-Star weekend, Shane received a text from “Lily.”
