Page 36 of Ice Rebel

Not my finest hour.

Clementine was so close I gathered a delicious whiff of her perfume. Or maybe just the shower gel she’d used. Either way, she smelled terrific, fresh and inviting as if a spring morning after a rainstorm.

“Why don’t I begin with showing you how to hold the pool cue?” I moved behind her, taking a deep breath as I did. In scooting her closer to the pool table, my body brushed against hers. Specifically, my groin including the thick, throbbing bulge I’d been sporting all night was pressed into her perfectly rounded butt. With her tight blue jeans accentuating her long legs and a flaming hot red shirt that brought out the dazzling green of her eyes, I’d found it nearly impossible to remain a gentleman.

Especially now.

“Just lean over,” I whispered in her hair. Every moment was a lesson in control.

“Like this?”

“Just. Like. That.” I wrapped my arms around her, adjusting the stick between her fingers and keeping my hand on hers. Maybe I was wrong, but it appeared she visibly shuddered. The sound she made was unmistakable, the slight moan something I wouldn’t soon forget.

She giggled briefly as if embarrassed to do so. For all her bravado at the gym, I much preferred her playfulness in attempting to stump me with questions about everything under the freaking sun except my personal or professional life.

The change was so refreshing I’d found myself completely relaxed around her. How many times had I walked into a bar only to be grilled by a fan of hockey or worse, one of thousands of shifter haters?

With celebrity came scrutiny, as both my father and my brothers had reminded me several times. I got it. Hockey was more important to Seattle than any of the big tech companies bringing so many jobs into town. There didn’t seem to be a guy under fifty who wasn’t certain, given the chance, he would make an NHL team.

As far as the shifter dissidents, they preferred chiding or pushing me into acting out of anger to catch my response on video. I had no intention of offering them the satisfaction.

That was one reason I’d chosen Melito’s. I’d yet to meet a single soul who either knew or gave a damn who I was. Or who my brothers were. Privacy had begun to be more important than fame.

“First, you anchor your feet,” I continued, using my knee to adjust her legs. In doing so, she turned her head slightly so my lips were centimeters from her flushed cheek.

“Like this?”

“Perfect.” I moved my hand to hers again since she had a death grip on the stick. “Take a deep breath. Use a firm but relaxed grip. Like a bird.” Once accomplished, I moved her elbow just slightly, which caused a shift in her hips, rolling them across my dick.

Now I was the one taking a deep breath. “What else?”

“Line of sight is important. Follow through even after you take a shot.”

“Okay. I think I’ve got it.” The vibration of her determined voice and the quick, shallow breaths were an indication she remained tense, but damn if her reaction wasn’t adorable.

“You’re just going to pull back like this,” I eased her arm into position. “And do a quick release.” I had no intention of leaving her in the lurch, waiting until I knew she was ready before nuzzling my lips against her ear. “Take the shot, Clementine. You’re more than ready. So am I.”

She did, completing it as if an expert in the game.

Or because she had a damn good teacher. After two solids fell into two different pockets, her subtle but sultry cheer vibrated in my chest. The way her body molded against mine was stimulating, way too much so, but I was enjoying myself and had no intention of letting it go.

Even her sounds of joy in achieving the goal were natural. There was nothing phony about the girl.

Something else that struck me was how different it felt in how she’d attempted to get to know me. The other chicks hadn’t bothered talking about anything else but my career, except for how big my stick was.

This girl likely hadn’t been to a single hockey game she hadn’t sung at and hadn’t been impressed with the size of my… stick. Granted, I needed to remind myself that I’d put up a wall both in college and even before I’d played my first game with the team. Hookups were fine on occasion, but anything else was strictly off limits.

Sure, my brothers had managed to successfully combine their professional lives with their personal ones, including with Ford having two kids on the way, but damn it. I had no intention of being tied down. That’s what made this so refreshing. Sweet Clementine felt exactly the same way.

Although I knew why my buddies would say. Women were often quick to agree to nothing more than a fling. A couple of hookups later and they were suddenly in love. This was the point where I needed to remind myself of the rules, which included no touching. I might not be an expert, but given the agreement in place, there was no way of having sex without some physical contact.

And wasn’t my tutelage technically breaking the rules?

We weren’t having sex anytime soon. Ergo, I wouldn’t need to worry about chiseling her fingers off parts of my body.

Something else I liked and appreciated.

She had no freaking clue who I was.