Page 86 of Break the Ice
At the end of that thought comes a flip of my belly. If it is more than what we’ve said it is, then does that mean I can trust him? Is he finally the one human of the male sex that I can put my faith in?
For all the pitter-patters of my heart and flutters of butterflies in my stomach, there’s a thousand more doubts cast inside my head. Rafe’s more fire than ice—he’s reckless and destructive in that way. Untamable and unpredictable.
How can I possibly ever trust him?
But then he frames my face in with hands as he pulls his lips from mine, and it’s like I become anchored to him. I can’t look away as he strokes my cheeks and exudes a heady protective energy that makes my still-wet pussy throb and my actual womb ache.
“What was he saying to you?” he asks in a strangely calm yet tight voice.
“It was a mix up. He thought I was the anonymous texter. I thought he was.”
“What else?”
I blink up at him, the butterflies returning in full, fluttery force. He’s come to know me so well, he’s aware there are details I’m leaving out.
Oh fuck.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I mutter, “First you have to promise me there’ll be no violence.”
“If you think that’s a promise I’d make even on my best-behaved day, then, Sugar, you haven’t been paying any attention.”
“I’m still your PR manager. We have the team image to think about—your image!”
“Tell me,” he growls. His grip framing my face tightens. More firm. But also, more secure in a comforting way.
I sigh. “It might sound like a threat. I’m sure it was more to scare me off. He told me my behavior won’t be tolerated and that he’s not an enemy I’d want to make.”
Rafe spends a second longer admiring the contours of my face, then does something he’s never done before—he drops a kiss to my brow. He seems to do it without even giving it much thought, because afterward, he goes slightly still. He seems to have caught himself off guard.
Much like he had when he kissed the back of my hand just moments ago.
“Those were threats,” he says tensely, pressing on. He turns away from me and heads for the open space of his living room.
I take only a couple steps to follow. “He’s not going to do anything.”
“You’re right. He won’t. Because I will first.”
22. Rafe
Quigley Blackman has been taunting me in plain sight. It’s all I think about the next day at practice.
I should’ve seen it coming a mile away. He’s been looking for an opportunity to take over what he shared with Hawk and Beringer. One piece of cake isn’t enough for a greedy bastard like Blackman; he’s got to have it all.
He’s long talked about the monopoly he’s trying to form. He won’t be satisfied until he’s not just a billionaire, but one of the richest billionaires in existence.
Beringer’s always been small fries. Blackman likely figured he could strong-arm him into selling his share of the team. Hawk was the real roadblock. Hawk himself would’ve admitted this.
As I leave the training facility parking lot in my Corvette after another practice, I speed onto Interstate 5. The top’s down, wind rushing toward me, fucking up my already unruly hair. I drive tuned out from the present, sliding into the lane next over. My grip tightens on the leather steering wheel and my foot presses down harder on the gas.
The wind whips against me. The buildings, trees, cars blur into streaks of colors. Starlights turn into bright dots.
None of it registers with me.
My mind’s too deep, piecing together what’s gone down. Blackman decided to sit back and let others do his dirty work for him. He saw an opportunity in Marisse and decided to exploit it.
Two birds killed with one stone.
Hawk was out of the way, and he didn’t have to lift a finger.
