I shake my head. “I came straight here from the game.”
“I'll order us room service.”
“You don't have to do that.”
He waves me off. “Hi. Yes, can I get two Wagyu ribeyes with fries and a bottle of Sea Smoke Pinot Noir? Thanks.”
Uh…what?
I glare at him as he sets the phone down.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “What’s that look for?”
“Did you just order for me?”
A smile plays at his lips as he stalks over to the couch. He leans down and rests his hands on the back, so he has me caged in. “I did. Are you going to complain about me ordering you a hundred-dollar steak?”
Truth be told, a steak sounds amazing, but admitting that to him would make him think it's okay for him to decide what I'm going to eat. Dad taught me better than to let a man make decisions for me about anything. It’s a policy that’s served me well over the last thirty-plus years.
He dips his head lower, shifting his hands on the back of the couch until the heat from his arms warms my shoulders and his hot breath flutters over me. “Can’t you just let me do something nice for you?”
I bite back my retort. I’ve spent so many years fighting against men who thought I didn’t belong in this world that I can’t even see that Bash may be trying to do something nice for me instead of just exerting control.
Then again…it’s Bash. Mixed motives are definitely possible.
Probable even.
The man may not even know he’s doing it, but Bash may not be capable of turning it off. This is just who he is—bossy, arrogant, and so fucking hot.
With his hard, lean body only inches from mine, his arms caging me in and preventing me from moving away, it’s like being trapped in the direct path of a tornado and being unable to find shelter.
He inches closer until his lips brush against mine. It's unexpectedly sweet compared to the other kisses I've experienced from him. This one is slow. Light. Almost toying. Butterflies dance in my stomach, the kind that could be very dangerous. He pulls back and grins.
He knows.
Sebastian Fury knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he loves it. He loves playing with me, knowing I can’t stay away. He wants me to beg and thinks he's so damn cute. And he is. Because what's going on between us is overpowering the looming risk of whatever this is being discovered. This is where I want to be.
Which is absolutely terrifying.
He pushes away from the couch and makes his way to the bar set up across the room. “Do you want anything to drink while we wait for the food?”
I eye the bottle of scotch sitting in the corner. Hard liquor around Bash might be a bad idea, but I need something to calm my nerves. This is worse than my pre-Olympic jitters.
And I despise the fact that it’s Bash doing it to me.
He follows my line of vision and nods toward the bottle. “You want some? A good friend of mine sent this over.”
“I guess, if you have some.”
It sounds better than begging for alcohol in order to form some control over myself.
His strong, deft hands pull the cork, and he pours the amber liquid into two tumblers. “I don't meet very many women who drink Islay Scotch.”
I try to relax back on the couch. “My mom died when I was very young. I was raised by my dad. He never had any sons, so I ended up doing a lot of father-son things with him.”
One of his dark eyebrows wings up. “You drank with your father?”
I laugh as he hands me the glass. “Sort of. When I was old enough, he would let me take a sip of his drink, probably because he thought the burn would deter me. But it kind of backfired on him. I actually liked it.”
“A woman who can play hockey, coach it, and drinks scotch?” He presses his free hand over his heart. “My dream woman in the flesh.”
A hot flush spreads across my cheeks, and I take a sip to hide it. Alcohol does the same thing, and I’d much rather Bash think it’s because of the booze instead of the compliment. But he saw it, and even if he hadn’t, he knows how women react to him. How I react.
He’s used his looks and charm to get into the pants of many women over the years. I have no doubt. Maybe that makes me stupid for being here and thinking this is any different.
I take a sip of my drink. His friend has great taste. “You know this is dangerous.”
He raises an eyebrow at me and takes a sip of his drink. “What is? Having scotch?”
Smartass.
“This.” I wave between the two of us.
“I thought we were past all that. If we aren’t, then why are you here?”
I clasp the glass between my hands and squeeze. “I don't know what’s happening here.”
He leans forward and sets his glass on the coffee table in front of us then shifts on the couch to face me. “Yes, you do. You're here because you feel the same thing I do. There's something here. Something between us pulling us together. Something more than our heated tempers.”
I shake my head. “I'm not saying there isn't, Bash. I just want to know I'm risking my career for something more than being another notch on your hockey stick.”
He frowns and opens his mouth, but a knock at the door interrupts him. It may have saved him from saying something I don’t want to hear, something I may need to hear.
I should go.
The longer I stay, the more the temptation to act on this attraction is going to grow. It’s inevitable. The only way to escape it is to leave and stay far, far away from Bash Fury. I need space. Somewhere I can think. Somewhere I can’t be influenced by his panty-melting grin.
But I don’t want to leave. Not really. Not when I consider what I’d be doing if I were at home.
Thinking about Bash Fury.
I’ve had days since our first kiss to consider what it means, what it will mean if things go further. And I keep coming to the same conclusion—I can’t avoid my attraction to Bash. Even if I tried to keep things professional between us, this kind of pull would continue until we collide with potentially catastrophic consequences.
He shoves to his feet. “Time to eat.”
I release a shaky breath.
Thank God for the momentary reprieve.
But it is only momentary.
He and I are going to have to come to some sort of an understanding—one way or the other.
BASH
Who would've thought watching somebody eat could be an erotic experience?
Certainly not me. But with every bite Greer has taken, my dick has twitched and grown so much, my pants now feel like they’re three sizes too small. I reach down and adjust my cock.
Hopefully, that gives me a little relief.
This has been almost forty-five minutes of a giant cock tease.
Thank God her plate is almost empty.
If I had to sit and see her wrap her lips around that fork one more time, then issue that low little pleased hum of approval, I might knock everything off this table and fuck her right here and now. It would be hard and fast and reckless.
That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.
It would be very Bash, though.
I’ve never worried about that before. I’ve had sex in dozens of public and random places, but this is Coach. She’s not the type of woman who does things spontaneously. She’s not the type of woman you fuck in an alley outside a bar or the back seat of the car because you can’t wait long enough to get back to your place. She deserves something different. Something more than a quick fuck on the closest flat surface. At least, for our first time together.