Chapter 3 #2
“Excuse me?” Brad stammered.
“Your hand,” I repeated, my eyes dropping to where his fingers were touching the black silk at her waist. “Remove it. Before I break it.”
The music seemed to stop in our immediate vicinity. People were watching.
Brad laughed nervously, pulling his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Whoa, chill out, Volkov. We were just talking. No need to go full Russian mobster.”
“Walk away,” I said.
Brad looked at Maeve, then back at me, calculating the odds. He was dumb, but he wasn't suicidal. He muttered something about getting another drink and vanished into the crowd.
I turned to Maeve.
She wasn't looking at me with gratitude. She was glaring. Her cheeks were flushed, her violet eyes snapping with fire.
“I had that handled,” she hissed.
“You looked like you were drowning,” I countered, stepping closer to her. I blocked out the rest of the room. It was just us. “You attract flies, Maeve. It’s a talent.”
“And you’re a sledgehammer,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. It drew my attention to the neckline of the dress. I forced my eyes to stay on her face. “Subtlety isn't your strong suit, is it?”
“Subtlety gets you cornered by idiots named Brad.”
“Brad is in my Microeconomics class.”
“Brad is a predator with a polo shirt.”
We were standing too close. The heat coming off her body was intoxicating. She smelled like champagne and sin.
“Why are you here, Kai?” she asked, her voice dropping lower. “You hate these things. You’re supposed to be brooding in your ice castle.”
“Mandatory attendance,” I said. “And someone has to make sure the Dean’s daughter doesn't end up on a scandalous Instagram story.”
“I’m not your job,” she whispered.
“You live in my house. You eat my food. You’re my job.”
The lie tasted sour, but I held onto it. It was the only defense I had against the urge to reach out and touch the bare skin of her arm, just to see if she was as soft as she looked.
“Let’s go,” I said abruptly.
“I just got here.”
“We’re leaving.”
“You can’t tell me what to do here, Kai. This isn't the penthouse. Your rules don't apply.”
I stepped into her space. I lowered my head until my lips were by her ear.
“My rules apply everywhere, Maeve.”
She shivered. A visible tremor that ran through her shoulders.
“Prove it,” she challenged, breathless.
I grabbed her hand. Her skin was electric against mine.
“Come with me.”
I didn't wait for an answer. I pulled her through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the looks. I dragged her toward the back exit, past the bathrooms, and kicked open the heavy metal door that led to the alleyway behind the bar.
The cold air hit us like a slap.
It was snowing again. Light flakes drifted down into the narrow alley, illuminated by a single flickering security light. The noise of the party was muffled here, a dull thump-thump-thump behind the brick wall.
I let go of her hand.
Maeve spun around, her heels crunching on the thin layer of ice. She hugged herself, rubbing her bare arms.
“Are you insane?” she demanded, her breath puffing out in white clouds. “It’s twenty degrees out here! I’m wearing silk!”
I took off my suit jacket. I didn't think about it. I just did it. I draped it over her shoulders. It engulfed her, the navy wool swallowing her delicate frame. She stopped shivering instantly, pulling the lapels tight around her neck.
She looked at me, surprised.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, burying her nose in the collar of my jacket. “One minute you’re threatening people, the next you’re giving me your coat.”
“I protect my assets,” I said, leaning against the brick wall. I loosened my tie. The cold felt good. It cooled the fire in my blood.
“I am not an asset,” she said, stepping closer. “I’m a person. And I was having fun.”
“You were terrified,” I corrected. “I saw your eyes, Maeve. You play the part well—the socialite, the party girl. But you didn't want him touching you.”
She froze. She looked down at her shoes.
“You don't know me,” she said quietly.
“I know you don't like to be cornered,” I said. “Which is ironic, considering how much you like to corner me in my own kitchen.”
She looked up, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Your kitchen has good lighting. And you’re easy to provoke.”
“Is that what this is?” I gestured between us. “Provocation?”
“Maybe.” She took a step toward me. Then another. Until she was standing right in front of me. She looked up, her eyes searching mine. “Why did you really come over there, Kai? Brad wasn't going to hurt me. I can handle guys like him.”
“I didn't like his hand on you,” I admitted. The truth slipped out before I could stop it.
“Why?”
“Because,” I said, my voice rough, “he didn't ask permission.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. Her lips parted.
“And you would?” she whispered.
The air between us charged with something heavy and dark. This was the precipice. We were dancing on the edge of the cliff.
“I don't ask, Maeve,” I said softly. I reached out, my hand hovering near her waist, mirroring where Brad had touched her, but not making contact. Just the heat of my palm radiating through the silk. “I take. But only when you want to be taken.”
She stopped breathing.
I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
“What if…” she started, her voice trembling. “What if I don't know what I want?”
“You know,” I said. I moved my hand up, tracing the line of her jaw with my knuckles. Her skin was freezing, but she leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut. “You want control. You want someone to tell you it’s okay to stop pretending. To stop performing for everyone else.”
I stepped closer, pressing her back against the brick wall. My body shielded her from the wind. My hips brushed hers.
“You’re a brat, Maeve,” I murmured against her temple. “You act out because you want someone to stop you. To catch you.”
“Are you going to catch me?” she breathed.
I pulled back slightly to look at her. Her lips were red, swollen, inviting.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt. I wanted to ruin her lipstick. I wanted to taste the champagne on her tongue. I wanted to drag her back to the penthouse and show her exactly what happened when you provoked a predator.
I leaned in.
She tilted her head back, offering herself.
My lips brushed hers—a feather-light contact that sent a shockwave through my entire nervous system.
Bzzzzzz.
The phone in my pocket vibrated violently against my thigh.
I ignored it.
Bzzzzzz.
It vibrated again. Relentless.
Maeve flinched, the spell shattering like glass. She blinked, her eyes clearing, panic replacing the haze of lust.
She pushed against my chest.
“Your phone,” she whispered, ducking out from under my arm.
I cursed in Russian, reaching into my pocket. I pulled it out.
Coach Miller.
I stared at the screen. A call from the coach at 10 PM on a Friday was never good.
“I have to take this,” I said, my voice tight.
Maeve nodded, pulling my jacket tighter around herself. She looked shaken. She looked like she had just woken up from a dream she didn't understand.
“I’m going back inside,” she said. “I’m cold.”
“Maeve—”
“Don’t,” she said, backing away toward the door. “Just… take the call, Captain.”
She slipped back inside the bar, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind her.
I stood alone in the alley, the snow falling on my white dress shirt, the ghost of her taste lingering on my lips.
I answered the phone.
“Volkov,” I barked.
“Where are you?” Coach Miller’s voice was sharp. “The scouts are asking for you. Get your ass back in here and smile. Your future is in the building, son. Don't blow it.”
I hung up. I stared at the metal door.
My future was in the building.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about the NHL. I wasn't thinking about the draft.
I was thinking about the fact that Maeve Sterling was wearing my jacket. And I was thinking about how much I wanted to be the one to take it off her.
I was in trouble.
Serious, career-ending trouble.
I ran a hand over my face, composed the mask, and walked back into the noise.