Page 81 of Miami Ice

My heart is pounding as I take in his words. Beckham is staring down at me with a look in his eyes that leaves me unable to breathe for a moment.

Because his eyes are pleading with me to understand. He’s been honest and vulnerable, and all he wanted was to do things in a way he thought I deserved.

To treat me differently. To make me feel special.

Because I matter.

“I do want to be with you,” I say quickly. “I want that so badly, Beckham.”

The second the last word escapes my lips, Beckham’s mouth crashes down on mine. His lips are firm and demanding, wanting access to explore me.

Which I grant him.

A groan escapes his lips the moment I open for him, and my pulse skyrockets in response. Now his hands are in my hair, his tongue is warring with mine, and I’ve never felt so alive from a kiss in my entire life.

Because the chemistry between us is completefire.

I live for every moment of this. I love the way his sensual citrus and spice scent is wrapping around me. I relish the friction his facial stubble is creating against my skin as his mouth burns against mine. I feel the delicious way his hands are threading through my hair.

And I’m acutely aware of the way his tongue is hot and seeking and telling me exactly how much he wants this kiss. There’s no mistaking his purpose.

To claim me as his.

I move my hands to the nape of his neck, holding on to him. I kiss him back in the same desperate, passionate way, not caring that we’re getting whistles and smart comments from the crowd moving around us on the sidewalk. I’m tasting him. Learning him. Delving deep inside his mouth and letting him know I’m claiming him as mine, too.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine and sliding his arms around my back, holding me in his arms as we both catch our breaths.

Beckham lifts his head, and I stare up at him, dazed at what just happened. I swear my lips are swollen. Did I just kiss him like this on the sidewalk in South Beach?

Yes. I did.

AND I HAVE NO REGRETS.

“Georgie?” he finally asks.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t plan to have that as our first kiss. But I’m not mad at it.”

We both start laughing.

“I’m not mad at it, either,” I say, moving my hands to his chest. I’m amazed at how hard his muscles feels underneath my fingertips. I’ve seen pictures of him on Connectivity without his shirt on, so I know he has an incredible body from playing hockey.

I swallow hard. Now this body is mine to touch. Explore. Get to know.

As soon as I think it, both desire and amazement surge through me in equal measure.

Then I become aware of something else.I can feel his heartbeat.

His heart is pounding rapidly against my palm, and the quickened pace matches the same one I had when we kissed.

And the second I feel it, I know that kiss meant just as much to him as it did to me.

“But in true Becks fashion,” he says, interrupting my thoughts as his hands find my waist, “I completely cocked this up. That tracks.”

“Cocked?” I ask, wrinkling my nose in confusion.

“Sorry. ‘Cocked this up’ is a British phrase for messed up. Learned it from a British teammate in Denver. But I’m going to do this the right way now.” Beckham reaches up and gently brushes a lock of my hair away from my face, and the sweetness of the gesture has me melting inside. “Georgie. I would like to date you. For real. No more of this fake bullshit.”

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