Page 84 of Secrets on Ice

His fingers are careful as he examines my ankle, warm and slightly calloused from years of hockey. Every brush of his fingertips sends little sparks up my leg. I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. He’s so focused, brow furrowed, jaw tight with concentration. A drop of water from his still-damp hair falls onto my knee and slides down my skin. I watch it, throat dry.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing lightly on the swelling.

“Hmm,” I mumble.

He nods, then carefully wraps the cold peas around my ankle, securing it with the towel. His hands linger longer than necessary, thumbs stroking the skin just above the injury like he can’t help himself. When he finally looks up, our eyes lock.

The air between us goes thick.

“You scared me,” he admits, voice low. “I heard you stumble and thought …” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

For a second I see raw emotion flash across his face, concern, frustration, and something hotter underneath. His hand is still resting on my calf, thumb absently stroking the skin there in slow, soothing circles.

“I’m okay,” I say softly.

His gaze drops to my mouth again. The silence stretches, heavy and dangerous. I can feel my pulse everywhere, especially where his hand is touching me. He leans in just a fraction, like he can’t stop himself, and for one breathless moment I think he might kiss me.

Then he pulls back, clearing his throat.

“You should keep it elevated,” he says, standing up abruptly. “I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears into the kitchen, leaving me on the couch with my heart racing and my body aching for something I know we can’t have.

21

SULLY

Idisappear into the kitchen with my heart hammering like I just finished sprints, leaving her on the couch.

Fuck.

I grip the edge of the counter for a second, trying to get myself under control. My hands are still warm from touching her. From feeling the soft skin of her calf, the way her body fit against mine when I carried her. I can still smell her, that faint jasmine scent mixed with the warmth of her skin. My dick is half-hard in my briefs, and I’m standing here in the kitchen like an idiot, trying not to think about how good she felt pressed against me.

I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take a long drink, willing my body to calm the hell down. She’s hurt and vulnerable, don’t be a creep. The last thing she needs is me acting on this stupid, rekindled crush. But the way she looked at me when I had her in my arms, it was like she wanted me too. I drag a hand through my still-damp hair and let out a slow breath. Get it together. I fill another glass for her and head back into the living room, trying to look normal.

She’s still on the couch, leg propped up, cheeks flushed. Her eyes flick to me when I walk in, then quickly away. The tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe.

“Here,” I say, handing her the water. My fingers brush hers this time. Neither of us pulls away fast enough.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

I sit on the coffee table right in front of her, close enough. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better with the ice,” she says as she takes a sip, avoiding my eyes.

The silence stretches between us. I can feel her gaze on my bare chest, the way her eyes keep flicking down before darting away again. Interesting. My skin feels hot under her stare.

Finally, she clears her throat. “You should … put a shirt on.”

I raise an eyebrow, a slow grin tugging at my mouth. “Why? Don’t you think you can keep your hands off me?”

She scoffs, but her cheeks flush a pretty pink. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one staring,” I tease, leaning in just a little closer.

“You’re basically naked,” she shoots back.

I glance down at myself, then back up at her with a smirk. “No, I’m not. I have pants on.”