2. KAI
KAI
Terrible Liar
"Idon't want you, Kai."
She says it with a straight face, her chin held high and her dark eyes locked onto mine. The delivery is sharp, crisp, and completely ruined by the way her fingers clench into the fabric of my suit jacket like she’s anchoring herself in a storm.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my face.
"You really are a terrible liar," I murmur, sliding my hand up from her hip to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at her hairline.
I pull her in until there isn't a hair’s breadth left between us, pressing her hips firmly against mine. She lets out a sharp, shallow breath, her lips parting right against my jaw.
"Prove it," she manages, tilting her head back to meet my gaze with a spark of pure challenge.
My thumb traces the heavy pulse fluttering in her throat. "Your mouth says no, but your heart is about to leap out of your chest. And you haven't taken a single step back since I touched you."
"Maybe I'm just frozen in shock," she whispers, her voice dropping to a breathless thread. "Or maybe I'm giving you enough rope to hang yourself, Captain."
"Keep talking like that and we're not even making it to the car." I lean down, my lips grazing the corner of her mouth—just enough to taste the sweet residue of her drink, not enough to give her what she actually wants. "Tell me again. Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to let you go."
Her breath hitches. Her eyes darken, tracking the movement of my lips before snapping up to mine. She licks her lower lip, a nervous, agonizingly slow gesture that tests every ounce of my self-control.
"If I say it," she breathes, her hand slipping up from my lapel to rest against the warm skin of my neck, "are you actually going to listen?"
"No," I say, shifting my weight to trap her completely against the marble counter, my chest heavy against hers. "Because I know a lose-lose play when I see one. You're coming with me tonight, Ava. The only thing up for debate is whether you're going to keep pretending you don't want to."
A wicked, dangerous little smile finally breaks through her composure, eyes glittering under the ambient lights of the room she built.
"Well," she whispers, her nails digging lightly into the nape of my neck, "I'd hate to ruin your winning streak."
I'm a second away from hauling her out of the room to prove my point when a blur of copper-blond hair crashes straight into us.
A heavy arm throws itself over my shoulders, instantly killing the moment and shattering my hold on Ava. I don’t even need to turn my head to know it’s Larkin.
"Oh, this is happening," Wyatt says, his green eyes sparkling with entirely too much amusement. "I didn’t know you could flirt so well, Captain."
Ava hastily steps back, her fingers slipping from my jacket as she drops her glass onto the marble counter. Dammit. Just when I had her right where I wanted her—softened up, breathless, and on the verge of going home with me.
I frown, not hiding my irritation. "Go away, Wyatt."
The kid ignores me completely, dropping onto the bar stool next to Ava and bouncing his gaze between us like he's watching a playoff match he bet his contract on.
Then he shrugs, his grin taking up his whole face. "Admit it, you’ve got a very interesting face right now. I've seen it only twice. Once when we won the Cup. And the second was when Coach finally retired the orange away jerseys."
I force my expression into a placid, impenetrable mask, shutting down every ounce of heat I was radiating seconds ago. Great. All the work I just did on her, derailed in five seconds by a rookie left wing with zero spatial awareness.
"Ava," I say drily, keeping my voice flat, "meet Wyatt Larkin, my teammate."
Wyatt sticks out a hand instantly. "Hi. I play left wing. Jersey twenty-two. You probably don't watch hockey but—"
"I watch hockey," she cuts in.
Wyatt’s face lights up like he just won the lottery. "No way. What's your take on our power play? Be honest."
Ava shakes her head, taking a half-step back. "I don’t know. I’m not into hockey enough to analyze the game."
"That’s fair. You should…"
"Wyatt, go get a drink," I say, letting my tone drop into the low, non-negotiable register I use on the ice when someone misses a line change.
He gets the message.
“Yeah, yeah. I need to talk to Coach anyway.” He stands, flashing Ava another bright smile. “Catch you later, Ava.”
"Not going to happen," I murmur under my breath.
There's no way in hell I'm letting Larkin anywhere near her tonight.
I watch her eyes widen slightly at my tone, her brain clearly working overtime to decode it. She's overthinking—wondering if I'm staking a claim or just pissed off that my target got interrupted.
Honestly? It's both. I don't know what it is about this woman—the quiet confidence, the way she looks at me like she sees right through the bullshit—but I haven't wanted anyone this badly in months.
The truth is, I don’t usually bother with one-night stands anymore. Is casual sex fun? Sure. Does it fulfill me? Not really. But something tells me it’d be different with Ava. She’s an intriguing mix—forward and bold, yet keeping her true self held back. I can just tell.
And I want to be the one to unlock those parts of her. Make her unravel. Make her lose that cool, careful composure.
"Let’s get out of here," I say, stepping back into her personal space before she can rebuild her defenses.
She glances up, trapped between me and the bar again. Up close, I can smell her perfume—something warm and subtle, cutting right through the stale champagne in the room.
I watch her swallow hard, her dark eyes darting to my mouth. I can practically read the internal debate racing across her face as she tries to play it cool.
But I don’t want cool.
"I should probably not keep you from your evening," she says, though I don't miss the way her eyes linger on my collar.
"You're not," I say instantly. "The evening's basically over anyway. There's an open bar and people will be here until two, but nothing that requires my presence."
"You're the captain."
"I've already made an appearance," I say, leaning in until my lips brush the shell of her ear, my voice dropping to a low growl. "End of discussion. We’re leaving."
Like hell I'm letting this woman slip away from me tonight.
A slow, undeniable smile curves her lips, the lingering tension in her shoulders melting away.
I smirk, leaning back just enough to lock eyes with her. "You won't regret it, Ava. I'm a generous man."
"I’m counting on it," she whispers.
Before we reach the exit, Ava suddenly stops and crouches beside one of her junior staff members—a younger girl who looks ready to collapse in her heels. Ava shields her from the room with her own body, a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Take them off," I hear her say, her tone soft but firm. "Shove them under the drape table and grab your sneakers from the van. Nobody's looking at your feet. Your health comes first, Naomi. You did great tonight, by the way—the centerpiece placement was perfect."
Relief washes over the girl's face. "Thanks, Ava."
I hang back, watching Ava stand up and smooth down her dress. It’s a sharp contrast to the teasing, guarded woman who was bantering with me at the bar seconds ago. She cares about her people. She protects them. It’s an incredibly attractive trait—and a dangerous one for me to notice.
Maybe this won’t just be one night after all.
I step into her path, my gaze raking slowly down her body, taking in the curve of her waist and the persistent flush warming her chest. I'm done waiting.
“Ready?”
"My car is outside," she says, her dark eyes glittering. "I’ll follow you."
She pulls out her phone, her thumb flying across the screen as she texts someone—checking in on a dog, if the quick picture of a puppy that pops up on her screen is any indication.
Even now, her mind is moving a mile a minute, handling details, looking out for everyone else.
I wait until she finishes wrapping up with her team, then reach out and wrap my fingers around hers.
Her hand is small in mine, her skin warm. I lead her through the terrace doors, heading out toward the cool night air of the valet circle.
We barely make it past the heavy glass doors.
The second they slide shut behind us, cutting off the noise and the light of the gala, I pull her around to face me. I don't give her time to think, time to rationalize, or time to build another wall.
I frame her face with my hand, fingers digging into her hairline, and bring my mouth down hard on hers.
She lets out a soft, sharp gasp against my lips, but she doesn't pull away.
Her hands fly up, her fingers tangling into the front of my suit jacket, pulling me down as she kisses me back with a sudden, fierce hunger that matches my own. There’s nothing polite about it. Good.
I shift my weight, my other hand sweeping around her waist to hook under her hips, pulling her roughly against me.
The moment her pelvis flushes against mine, a thick surge of heat hits me, my cock hardening instantly against the front of my trousers.
The feel of her softness pressed against my length is pure torture, making my head swim as I grind into her through the layers of dark silk and tailored wool, proving to both of us just how far past polite conversation I am.
Every bit of quiet, simmering tension from the bar snaps completely. I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue past her lips to taste her completely, my grip tightening on her hip until she lets out a needy, breathless groan right into my mouth that sends blood rushing straight to my dick.
When I finally break the kiss, my pulse is hammering in my throat and my trousers feel agonizingly tight. I rest my forehead against hers, taking a heavy, steadying breath of her scent while my body practically demands that I pin her against the terrace wall and take her right here.
"Still coming home with me?" I ask, my voice rough.
Her fingers tighten on my lapels, her dark eyes glittering in the dim outdoor lighting. "Was that kiss supposed to change my mind?"
I grin, my lips brushing hers once more. "No. Just checking."
The valet chooses that exact second to pull my car up to the curb, the engine idling loudly in the quiet driveway. I take one last long look at her flushed face before letting her go so she can grab her own keys.
Twenty minutes later, we're in the elevator of my building.
We don't talk on the ride up. We don't need to.
The silence between us is heavy, packed tight with everything we’re about to do. Every time another floor number lights up, my eyes find hers in the mirrored wall of the elevator.
Her chest rises and falls faster, her eyes dark and fixed on mine.
She wants this as much as I do.
The realization sends a jolt straight to my cock.
When the elevator chimes and the doors slide open on my floor, I take her by the wrist and pull her out, my pulse hammering harder than it has all night.