My dick throbs and twitches. There will be no sleeping tonight. Not now that this memory lives and breathes in my brain.
I need to take care of this.
And only one woman will be on my mind as I stroke myself—Greer fucking Waterson.
Chapter Ten
GREER
Even being out alone on the ice this morning can't cool the heat coming from my body, remembering last night with Bash. I send another puck sailing toward the goal. It ricochets off the pipe and to the right.
Shit.
Everything feels off today, like there’s a fog over the world. One I can’t manage to shake.
Maybe it's because I didn't sleep more than ten minutes last night. It was impossible when all I could think about was Bash and the way his lips felt against mine. How the heat of his body radiated into me. The squeeze of his hands on my hips. The way my knees quivered and buckled when he kissed me. His masculine scent wrapping around me and enveloping me. I could still smell it with every breath I took and taste him on my tongue hours later.
As embarrassing as it is, Bash Fury has become the man of my dreams, who also haunts me during my waking hours. My clit throbs at the memory of touching myself last night, at coming undone while thinking of Bash doing the same to me.
Shit.
If he was that good at kissing, God only knows what he’d be like in bed. Those talented hands…
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I shake my head, grit my teeth, and fire off another puck. It whips across the ice and straight into the net. Clapping from behind me has me jerking up and whirling around on my skates.
Bash.
He leans against the opening in the boards that leads to the tunnel to the locker room. His dark T-shirt stretches taut over his chest, and his biceps bulge against the sleeves. My eyes drift down to his muscular thighs and crotch without even thinking about it.
God, his hard cock pressed against me last night felt so damn good.
I haven’t felt more like a horny teenager since I actually was one. It would be comical if it wasn’t so damn wrong and inconvenient when I’m struggling to remain professional.
“Nice shot, Coach, but my eyes are up here.”
Shit.
His lips tip up in a grin, and he nods toward the net then steps onto the ice. I whirl away from him and fire off another shot to avoid facing the embarrassment of being busted.
What the hell is he doing here?
Morning skate doesn’t start for another hour. The whole reason I came early was to avoid having to see anyone and to work out a little of my frustration. Having the damn cause of it show up looking all sexy in no way helps my situation.
I really must've done something to piss off Karma.
He moves across the ice carefully and stops a few feet from me. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I fire off another shot.
Maybe if I don’t look at him, if I don’t stare into those warm bourbon eyes, I can keep some semblance of control.
“You have a master touch, Coach.”
I turn toward him and lean against my stick. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Was that some sort of innuendo about what happened last night?
Bash raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you’ve always did have a good shot. And you haven't lost your touch.”
Heat creeps along my neck and over my cheeks.
Shit. I read way too much into that, and now, I'm the one who turned it sexual. Fucking perfect.
He watched me play. Even though he mentioned my history in my office the other day, I never imagined he paid that close attention. Why would he have? At the time I was playing in the Olympics, Bash would have been playing juniors and dreaming of his career in the NHL.
“I didn't think you would have had the time to watch much back then.”
Bash grins at me. “I make time for things that are important.”
“And watching women's Olympic hockey was important to you?”
He nods slowly. “Don’t look so shocked, Coach. I loved watching it. I liked the purity of it. Without a women's NHL, all the Olympic players were doing it for the love of the game. They weren’t doing it for fame or fortune or hopes that they might get picked up by a pro team afterward. It’s like the difference between watching college basketball and the NBA. In college, players still play as a team, but once they get to the NBA, it becomes a one-man show.”
I never thought about it that way, but he's kind of right. It’s a pure sport, one where my teammates and I played for the love of the game and our country. I was never in it to get famous or a big contract. I just love the ice.
He slowly steps closer to me, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt. “How did you get involved in playing hockey in the first place?”
I shift my stick in my hands, aim, and fire off another shot before I turn back to him. “Why do you want to know?”
He moves over to me until he's too close for comfort or professionalism. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I just want to know more about you?”
I shrug and lean against my stick. “Most men have ulterior motives for everything they do.”
His dark eyes widen. “Wow.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You sure are cagey. You ever let anyone in through that ice surrounding your heart?”
I scowl at him. “I don't have ice around my heart.”
Humor tugs at his lips and dances in his heated gaze. His eyes drop down to my chest, then back up playfully. “You don't?”
“No.” I shake my head and square my shoulders. I’m not some ice queen. “I don't.”
He leans forward until his lips are mere inches from my ear. His warm breath flutters against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with being on the ice. “Then why did you run last night?”
BASH
It's a simple question. One that’s been bouncing around my head since the moment she fled from my hotel room last night. I saw the fear in her eyes. The way she was overanalyzing the situation and was thinking of everything all at once.
But I hadn't expected her to bolt like that, without a word, without even a look back at me after the moment we shared. I stood there frozen for several minutes before I was finally able to process what had happened. Before I dragged myself to the bed and jerked off with that kiss replaying in my head—the feel of her nails on my skin. The taste of her flooding my mouth.
Each release only made me want more—of her. Of us.
Greer seems like the kind of woman who faces anything that stands in her way and beats it back until it lets her pass, so her decision to run instead of dealing with the attraction between us surprised the hell out of me. Even as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t get her actions out of my mind.
This isn’t going to just go away. These feelings won’t just disappear overnight. If anything, they’re only stronger this morning, now that I’ve gotten a taste of what being with Greer would be like. So, if I can assume anything based on my own feelings, Greer is reeling, too.
Though she’s definitely trying to fight it.
She presses her pale-pink lips together in a firm, hard line. “I didn't run.”
The incredulous note in her voice has me barking out a laugh. “Oh, you didn't?”