Chapter 2
JADE
Gold confetti still clings to his hair, glittering shards reflecting the harsh hotel hallway light.
Cayden laughs, a deep, throaty sound that bounces off the walls of the Bellagio corridor.
He balances an open bottle of champagne in one hand, while the other grips my upper arm.
It isn't rough, but it has the possessive confidence of a man who owns the entire city tonight.
“Just one drink, Jade. The team is waiting at the club, but I need ten minutes without the noise,” he murmurs. He fumbles with the key card, his movements a bit too wide from the alcohol and the adrenaline of the win.
I should leave. Every part of my brain screams at me to turn around.
Hailey is waiting at the bar. Hailey, my best friend.
Hailey, his sister. The woman I made that stupid, sacred pact with years ago: Hands off our brothers.
It was a shield against the mess men like Cayden Miller cause when they plow through your life.
But as the door swings open and he pulls me into the suite, my reason goes quiet.
The room smells like leather, expensive furniture, and the metallic scent of Cayden’s sweaty hockey gear, which he only traded for this tailored suit an hour ago.
He tosses his jacket onto the sofa. His shirt is open at the collar, the top three buttons missing—likely lost on the ice or in the locker room.
“We did it, Jade. The championship. In Montreal.” He walks to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the glowing skyline. He raises the bottle like a trophy. “See that? They’re screaming my name out there.”
I stay by the door, hand still on the knob. “You should be out there, Cayden. Not here with me.”
He turns around. The city lights at his back turn him into a dark silhouette, a giant dominating the room. “I don’t want to be with them. I want to be here. With you.”
He takes a step toward me. The air between us pulls tight, heavy and charged.
We’ve known each other since we were eighteen.
Years of fleeting touches, long looks at his parents' kitchen table, and that unbearable friction we always buried under sarcasm.
But tonight, the sarcasm died with the final whistle.
“Come here,” he says softly.
I walk toward him until I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He smells like champagne, salt, and a hint of cedarwood. He sets the bottle on the table and cups my face. His palms are calloused, marked by sticks and fights on the ice, but his touch is terrifyingly gentle now.
“You’re looking at me differently tonight, Jade,” he whispers. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, a slow, steady pressure.
“It’s the champagne,” I try to joke, but my voice is a hoarse rasp.
“Liar.”
Cayden leans in, and his mouth meets mine with a force that knocks the world out from under my feet.
It’s not a cautious test; it’s a full-on attack.
He tastes like the sharp sting of alcohol and the raw hunger of a man tired of waiting.
I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his thick hair, returning the kiss as if my life depends on it.
Hailey’s face flashes in my mind. The pact. The danger. Protection, I think. We need to be careful. But as Cayden pins me against the cool glass and his knees nudge my legs apart, the thought is washed away by a wave of pure desire.
He tugs at my dress, the thin fabric offering no resistance. His lips leave my mouth and travel down my neck, leaving a trail of fire. He bites softly at the curve of my shoulder, a possessive mark that makes me shiver.
“I’ve wanted this for years,” he growls against my skin. “Every time you were at the house. Every time you laughed.”
He lifts me up as if I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs. He carries me to the bed and we drop onto the sheets without breaking contact. The duvet feels cool, a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing between us.
Cayden strips off his shirt. His torso is a map of pain and strength—scars line his ribs, witnesses to a career where he spared nothing, least of all himself. The muscles of his stomach are firm and defined, twitching under my touch.
He pushes my dress up until it’s just a useless strip of fabric. His eyes darken to a stormy blue as he looks at me. “You’re so beautiful, Jade. Too good for someone like me.”
“Shut up and touch me,” I moan.
He laughs darkly and obeys. His hands slide over my hips, fingers digging into my skin as if making sure I won’t vanish. He kisses his way down my stomach, his tongue leaving a wet burn. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, I catch my breath.
Stop, a small voice whispers. You don't have anything. He’s drunk. He won't think of it.
I open my mouth to say something, but in that moment, his fingers slide inside me, and the sentence dies in a throaty moan. He finds my rhythm instantly, pushing me to the edge of sanity. I arch my back, nails digging into his shoulders, as the world blurs into a single, pulsing point of sensation.
Cayden hurriedly shoves his pants down. He’s ready, he’s demanding, and the mere presence of him between my thighs robs me of what’s left of my mind. He looks at me, questioning, his pupils so wide the blue is just a thin ring.
I say nothing. I push my hips toward him, silently asking him to finish what we started years ago.
He enters me—a slow, deep thrust that fills me and sets every part of me on fire. I gasp, eyes squeezed shut, clinging to his massive upper arms. It’s a feeling of total completeness.
Cayden pauses for a heartbeat, his breath hitching against my ear. “Jade... damn it, Jade.”
He starts to move. First slowly, almost reverently, then faster, driven by a rhythm only he dictates. Every time his body hits mine, sparks fly in my gut. The scent of sex, his cologne, and the sweet aroma of spilled champagne fills the room.
I lose track of time. There’s only the friction of his skin on mine, the rhythmic creak of the bed, and our tangled breaths. He picks up the pace, his thrusts getting harder, more targeted. I feel the tension building, like a string about to snap.
When I can hardly stand it, I look him right in the eyes. There’s no room for the sports star, no room for my friend’s brother. There’s only this man looking at me with an intensity that nearly burns.
“You’re mine tonight,” he whispers, something primal flashing in his eyes.
The climax hits me like an avalanche. My body tightens around him, waves of pure ecstasy rolling over me, making me scream his name.
Seconds later, he follows. He buries his face in my neck, his whole body shaking with effort as he spills into me—without protection, and without a single thought for the consequences.
In the sudden silence that follows, the only sound is the hammering of our hearts. Cayden lets his weight sink carefully onto me without letting go. He kisses my temple, his breathing slowing down.
“Stay here,” he murmurs, half-asleep. “Don’t go.”
I stroke his sweaty back, my fingers tracing the hard ridges of his muscles. I feel intoxicated, heavy, and strangely melancholy. The thought of protection returns, a faint echo of reason, but I push it aside. It’s just once, I tell myself. What could possibly happen?
I didn't know back then that this night would change my life forever. That this one time would be enough to set off a chain of events that, eleven years later, would lead me to a job where that same man would look at me with the eyes of a stranger.