Page 40 of Ice Wolf
I lifted my head, offering a death stare. “I’d like a drink.” No, I’d like a full bottle, but that wasn’t in my best interest.
Or his.
“You’re right. If you’ll excuse us. We haven’t seen each other in a few hours. Far too long.” He was cooing his words, purring like a cougar.
I rolled my eyes, thankful the hostess followed through with my request. As she led us through the dining room, there wasn’t a single person in the crowded room who didn’t have their eyes pinned on us.
Dozens of photographs were taken, no doubt videos as well. This was some kind of hell. Finally, we reached our table. I hadn’t asked for any privacy because I mistakenly had no clue we’d suddenly be thrust into a frenzy.
A chaotic frenzy with no signs of stopping.
Almost immediately after I was seated another barrage of questions was tossed from the mob surrounding me.
Saint was pushed back into the crowd far enough I could see him. The questions were fast and furious.
“Mr. Masters. Is there any truth to you being a werewolf?”
He laughed. Okay, good.
“Savage. Was the name selected for you on purpose?”
“You bet it was,” he gritted out. “Cause I’m a savage on the ice and in the bedroom, baby.”
Oh, my God. This was a social media nightmare.
“Can I have a picture taken with the hottest hockey player in the world?”
“Sure ya can, darlin’.”
The tone of Saint’s voice oozed sensuality. The girl was squealing.
“My mom is going to be so happy!” she threw out.
That was the moment I was forced to remind myself Saint was a celebrity and I needed to stay calm.
And breathe.
Yet as the crowd thickened, the thought of being suffocated floated in the back of my mind.
“Hey, Saint. You aren’t going to let the Devils capture our title. Are you?”
At last, a normal question.
“Ah, hell, no. I plan on crushing their skulls if I need to.”
Was this the way hockey players talked? I’d need to add to my checklist a conversation about how he should handle himself in public.
Another itchy feeling was already driving me crazy, but I resisted scratching in public. That wasn’t very ladylike.
“I bet you’re a tiger in bed.” Had the fifty-something woman just made that announcement in a loud voice?
Why, yes, she had.
Saint was positively gloating as he leaned in. “I guess you’d need firsthand experience to answer that question.”
Every woman in close proximity squealed like stuck pigs. This was getting so out of hand I couldn’t concentrate. The excessive heat crisscrossing my body had already built to the point my upper lip was sweating.
Oh, what a great look.
