Page 20 of Hat Trick

My palms land flat on his thighs, my thumbs dangerously close to that bulge I came face to face with earlier. A ridiculousoh!escapes my lips, and my tits, as he so expertly convinced me to say earlier, graze his hardchest.

Between the icy temperature and the fact that Marshall’s warm breath whispers against my forehead, is it any wonder that my nipples turn into hard peaks? Thank God for heavy winter layers because otherwise . . . well, youknow.

Diamonds, myfriends.

My nipples are as hard as diamonds rightnow.

Forcing nonchalance into my voice, I quip, “Can I help you,Marshall?”

His hands slip up from my wrists to my shoulders, and I fight off a shiver. A shiver from the cold,obviously. It has nothing to do with the hotshot hockey player a breathaway.

“You wanted tonight to be adate.”

I don’t fall for his cool-as-a-cucumber tone. “You obviously didn’t,” I retort, trying my best not to give in and sniff his cologne like a crazy lady. “Friend.”

“You do realize that I’ve been trying to make this happen for years now, right? And then theminutethat I decide I’m no longer playing our games, you decide that you suddenly want me?” The heat of his palm coasts down, down, down, over my back. I don’t have a chance to miss the loss of him before he’s cupping my butt, and this time . . . this time theohthat trips off my tongue is more lustful sigh than anything else. “Exactly,” he continues huskily, “you want what you can’t have,Gwen.”

No. The word reverberates in my chest.No, no, no. He’s lumping me in with who I’ve been, the self-centered woman with an icy shield of armor. “Marshall—”

“So proveit.”

My nails bite into his thighs as I rear back to meet his gaze. “What?”

“That you want me.” His gray eyes glitter with an inscrutable emotion. “If you want to date me, if youreallywant to see where this might go, it’s on you thistime.”

Hadn’t I said this exact thing the other night? That I need to woohim?

Although, to be fair, that was the plantonight.

Marshall Hunt has always been one step ahead ofme.

“Okay.” I swallow, hard. “Okay, I can dothat.”

“And we’re not hooking up until I know you’re in this forreal.”

Is it possible for your head to burst from too much blood pounding furiously through it? Humiliation, pure and raw, clouds my vision and unsettles my stomach. Good thing I waited to eat, in the hope that Marshall and I might grab something, because I feel utterly sick. Nerves, I think. Also a good deal of self-disgust that I’ve done so much harm to others in my life thatthisis how Marshall figures he can trustme.

Ahem. I think that was the sound of my heartsplintering.

I avert my gaze, nodding to myself likeyeah, yeah, makes all the sense.When, in reality, my heart is screamingwhat do I have to do tonotbe treated like mymother?

“No hooking up,” I mutter, stealing back my hands to push my hair behind my ears. “Gotit.”

My shoulders twitch when I feel strong fingers cup my jaw, softly encouraging me to meet even softer gray eyes. Marshall’s thumb brushes my bottom lip, and I fight the urge to touch my tongue to the callousedflesh.

“I want you, Gwen. You have no fucking idea how much I want to taste you.” His accented voice thickens into a low growl. “I want your nails carving down my back as I take you, and I sure as hell want to know what it’s like to have you come all over my cock.” He leans in, his mouth nearly brushing mine, tantalizing me with the endless possibilities, before he retreats. “But I want what no one else has everhad.”

A shiver ripples down my spine. I tell myself that it’s the cold. I tell myself that it has nothing to do with the heated passion in his eyes and the way my core pulses with need. I’ve never, not once, felt the way that I do in this moment—like I’m on the cusp of something huge and I’ll never be the same once I take what he’s offering me. “And what’sthat?”

“You.” That one word steals the breath from my body and I blink back the sudden sting of tears. He continues, both with his thumb caressing my mouth as well as with his words. “You’ve never hidden the fact that you give your body to others. I’d be a hypocrite to judge you for that, but I want more than just your body. I want your heart, and that’s not something I’m willing toshare.”

“And if I give it to you? Myheart?”

His lips turn up in a naughty grin. “I’ll score a hat trick, Gwen. I’ll let you make of that what youwill.”

A hat trick . . . the hockey term plays on repeat in my head.When a player scores three times in onegame.

As if waiting for all the puzzle pieces to slide into place, he laughs when my eyes go wide at the sexual undertone of his voice and then he plants his hands on his knees to stand. Looking down at me, he holds out one hand, palm up in a silent offer of truce. “Show me the icesculptures?”

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