Parker (Face-Off 1)

“I’m glad you find this so amusing because I don’t. Put me down right now.”

He lowers me onto his chest, his grip still tight on my hips, keeping me in place. “At least now I know what you look like on top of me. It was a nice visual. I think we should give it a try sometime.”

“Oh, do you now?” My voice is accusatory, defensive even, but I like where this conversation is heading. “Well, I don’t,” I lie.

He moves his right hand from my side, leaving a trail of heat in his wake, and his fingers graze my breast as he slowly taunts and tests me before he takes his thumb and rubs it across my bottom lip. “Beautiful.”

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, unable to function as my pulse speeds up. It’s been far too long since a man has touched me. Work has consumed my life, leaving no room for anything else. Now, Alex is here, shirtless and growing hard against my thigh.

Without another thought, I lick his thumb. He reacts as I was hoping and sits up, so I can wrap my long legs around his back. Once our lips meet, I can’t think straight. My vagina is in charge now, the throbbing between my legs controlling this situation and me as I slip my tongue inside his mouth. I moan against his lips and throw my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

He groans and palms my ass in his hands, a thin layer of spandex from my shorts and the mesh from his the only things separating us, as he places me onto his erection. My entire body clenches. The need to satisfy the fire brewing inside me takes over, and I want Alex to make it go away. I have no willpower. I’m a victim of my own hormones.

And, when he tugs at the edge of my shorts, I pull them to the side to let him know it’s okay.

He glances down for a second before meeting my gaze and grins. “You’re not wearing any panties. Naughty girl.”

“Maybe you should teach me a lesson,” I challenge.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to be coaching me, sweetheart, not the other way around. Why don’t you s

tart by telling me what you want me to do to you?”

And that’s when it hits me. I can’t coach a player if I’m bobbing up and down on his dick or thinking about the ridges of his perfectly sculpted stomach.

Can I make an exception just this once?

He seems to notice my internal struggle and rubs his hands down my arms to comfort me. “You know we don’t have to do this. I’m okay with waiting, if that’s what you want.”

I peel myself away from him and stand. My body is unstable as I attempt to get my footing. Most women would kill for one night with Alex Parker, top NHL defenseman and all-around hockey hottie, but I’m becoming attached to Alex Parker, the man who holds me and tells me it will be all right until I stop crying at night, and I know the versions cannot be separated from each other.

“We can’t do this, Alex. It’s completely unprofessional on my part. I have rules.”

Pressing his hand to the mat, he uses it to stabilize himself as he jumps to his feet. My breath hitches when he moves in front of me, and because of my height, our foreheads are touching.

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

“No,” I counter, “rules are meant to prevent bad things from happening.”

His eyes flicker over my body, sending chills down my spine with one look. “There’s nothing bad about what just happened between us. I’ve slept in the same bed as you for the past few nights. We’ve shared things about ourselves, things I would never tell a woman I’m only using for sex.”

I believe him. I couldn’t see a man like Alex divulging his feelings to a puck bunny or some one-night stand he picked up at a bar.

“Alex, it’s not that I don’t want you because I do. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to mix business with pleasure. If anyone were to find out—”

“No one will ever know,” he interrupts. “I promise. Despite what you might think of me, I don’t go around bragging every time I get laid.”

He cups my face in his hand, and I’m not sure what I was going to say next because the thought vanishes along with my self-control.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

I almost melt into a puddle on the floor.

“You’re a mess,” I shoot back, feeling bad the second the sentence leaves my mouth.

He seems entertained. “You’re smart, sexy, and unbelievably hot when you’re spouting off random sports trivia.”

“I don’t want to be another notch on your headboard or the laughingstock of the sports world. I worked too hard to get to where I am.”