Page 65 of Power Play
“You okay?” he asks as soon as he’s in.
I nod, but my hands are shaking.
“They came out of nowhere,” I whisper. “I didn’t think there’d be cameras.”
“I should’ve guessed,” he mutters. “Stupid, really. You looked too good to go unnoticed.”
Despite everything, I laugh a little.
“Sorry,” he says, voice gentler now. “I should’ve warned you. I’m used to them. Doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was just intense.”
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “You were brilliant. Even scared shitless.”
I look at him then. Really look.
He’s not just cocky charm and swagger. He’s safety. Steadiness. He’s the one who pulled me through a storm of flashes like it was nothing.
We drive in silence for a while, his thumb stroking circles on my hand. My heart rate starts to return to normal. The city blurs past outside, but I’m only focused on him.
When we pull up outside my flat, I expect him to walk me to the door, maybe kiss me goodnight.
He kills the engine and turns to me. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes,” I say, before I can even think.
The moment the door closes behind us, his hands are on my waist, lips on mine, and all the adrenaline from earlier explodes into something else entirely.
He lifts me with ease, carrying me toward the bedroom, not breaking the kiss.
“Soph,” he murmurs between kisses. “Tell me if you want to slow down.”
“I want you,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair. “Now.”
The rest of the night is soft and slow and hungry all at once. His touch is reverent, as though he’s memorising me. And I let him.
Because this man? This man just walked me through a storm, hands steady, heart wide open. And I’m falling for him so fast I’m not even scared of the fall anymore.
Later, when we’re tangled in sheets and he’s tracing circles on my bare back, he says, “If it ever gets too much, the cameras, the press, any of it, just say. I’ll handle it. I’ll always put you first.”
I look at him, overwhelmed by how easy it is to believe him.
“Murph?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I think I’m in real trouble.”
He grins, then presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Me too. But it’s the best kind of trouble.”
And I believe that, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MURPHY
Training days after a game are always rough, but today? Today Coach has a vendetta. We’re barely ten minutes in and I’m already seeing stars. Skates bite into the ice, legs burning, and my lungs are on fire. I can taste blood at the back of my throat.
