Page 9 of Ice-Cold Truth

She swallows hard, and it’s clear I’ve struck a chord. Being part of the Firebirds’ inner circle appeals to her. “I don’t know…” She chews on her lip again, wavering.

Sam jumps in, sensing her indecision. “It’ll be a blast. We can pull all kinds of crazy stunts to mess with the media vultures.”

A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of Elyse’s mouth. “Like what? Faking dramatic public breakups? Sneaking around behind everyone’s backs?”

“Exactly.” Sam laughs. “The possibilities are endless.”

“Or we can behave like adults and just project an image that gets the vultures to back off me for a bit.” I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest as I regard Elyse thoughtfully. She’shooked - I can tell. Now it’s just a matter of reeling her in. “Well?” I prompt. “What do you say, Sister Masterson? Are you in or out?”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, indecision warring on her delicate features. She seems poised to refuse, but then her eyes widen, like she’s had an epiphany. That makes her frown harder before finally, she blows out a resigned breath. “Oh, what the hell? I’m in.”

A slow grin spreads across my face as triumph surges through me. “That’s my girl.”

The endearment slips out before I can stop it. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, a hesitant smile curves her lips as she ducks her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Sam lets out a whoop of victory. “This is going to be epic. I can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces when we spread the word that you’re not banging a different chick every night.”

I frown. “You want the world to think I’m banging your sister instead?”

His eyes widen, and he suddenly seems to have second thoughts before his expression clears. He’s as irritatingly cheerful as his sister sometimes. “We know you wouldn’t do that. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

I tune out his enthusiastic babbling, my attention wholly focused on the woman beside me. She’s a puzzle I can’t quite figure out—brilliant and driven one moment and sweetly vulnerable the next. Fierce protectiveness rises within me, so intense that it startles me.

Whatever this charade entails, I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt her. The realization is sobering, cutting through the haze of desire and affection clouding my thoughts. I’m playing a dangerous game that could easily backfire and leave us both burned, but as she lifts her head, her captivating eyes sparklingwith a heady mix of excitement and anxiety, I don’t care about the risks. Not when the prize is having her by my side, even under false pretenses.

This is a terrible idea, a voice of reason whispers. One that’s only going to lead to heartache.

Pushing aside the warning, I lean closer until our shoulders brush. Elyse’s breath catches. “Ready to give them a show, sweetheart?” I murmur, pitching my voice for her ears alone.

Her pupils dilate, lips parting on a shaky exhale. Slowly, she nods.

Game on.

***

The studio lights blaze hot, and a trickle of sweat slides down the back of my neck as I wait backstage with the rest of the guys. Sam shoots me a grin, his green eyes dancing with excitement.

“You ready for this, Cap?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just another day at the office.”

He snorts. “Right. Because getting grilled by Marv Hendricks on national TV is totally routine.”

Fair point. Marv’s acerbic wit and relentless line of questioning have reduced many players to a stammering mess over the years. Still, I’m not about to let Masterson see me sweat.

“Hendricks has nothing on Coach Reginald,” I say easily. “His rants make the TV guy look like a pissy little kitten.”

The others chuckle, the tension easing somewhat. Brock, our rookie defenseman, pipes up. “I heard Hendricks made Ovechkin cry like a little bitch last season.”

“Dude, no way?” Sam hoots. “The Russian Machine? I gotta see that clip.”

As the guys dissolve into raucous laughter and speculation, I allow my gaze to drift toward the studio audience. It doesn’t take long to find Elyse.

She’s a vision in a deep green sweater that hugs her curves in all the right places. Her dark hair tumbles in glossy waves over one shoulder, and even from here, I can see the sparkle in her eyes as she chats animatedly with the woman beside her.

Just looking at her settles something inside me, quieting the nagging doubts and insecurities that have plagued me since we decided to fake this relationship. For a little while, at least, I can pretend she’s really mine.

The illusion is shattered when a production assistant pokes his head through the curtain.

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