Page 46 of Expose on the Ice

Damn it, I shouldn’t be thinking like this. She’s a journalist, one step away from ripping my life apart, but I can’t stop the invasive thoughts any more than a goalie could stop my best slap shot.

"Mr. Knox! Who’s the lady with you tonight?"

Cameras flash, capturing my momentary discomfort. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. I paste on a smile, pulling Lily closer to my side. She’s stiff, her smile as forced as mine.

"Just a friend," I lie, omitting the fact that, right now, having not seen her in two weeks, part of me wants to bend Lily over the nearest surface.

As we make our way inside, I try to keep a focus on why we’re here. Mend fences, atone for my behavior, and – most of all – keep my head screwed on.

"Are you okay?" Lily asks, her voice low.

"Fine," I grunt, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

We make our way through the crowd, stopping to chat with donors and pose for more photos. I let Lily do most of the talking, focusing on maintaining my façade and responding only when necessary, but it’s getting harder by the minute.

The scent of her perfume teases my senses every time she leans in close. The sound of her laugh as she charms another donor sends shivers down my spine. And when she absent-mindedly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, I find myself mesmerized by the graceful movement of her fingers.

"Carter?" Lily’s voice snaps me back to reality. "Mr. Jameson was just asking about the team’s recent winning streak."

I blink, forcing myself to focus on the elderly gentleman in front of us. "Oh, right. Yeah, the guys have been playing well. Four wins in a row now."

"Impressive," Mr. Jameson nods. "And how are you finding working with Ms. Grant here? I understand she’s been following the team closely."

I feel Lily stiffen beside me. The memory of all the times she’d invaded my privacy recently mixed with the thought of her body pressed against mine on the ice flashes through my mind, and probably her mind as well, and I have to take a deep breath before answering.

"Ms. Grant has been… thorough," I manage, my voice sounding strained even to my ears. "But be careful, because I don’t think any secret is safe around her…"

As the donors laugh in response to a joke I hadn’t intended, Lily jumps in smoothly, steering the conversation back to the charity. I let out a relieved breath, grateful for the reprieve. But as the night wears on, I become more tense. Every smile, every laugh, every casual touch from Lily is a test of my willpower.

I know I need to keep my distance. But with Lily looking the way she does, standing so close, it’s taking every ounce of self-control I possess to maintain my facade. I’m playing a game of chicken with a seductress at the wheel, and if I don’t get out of the way, she’s going to drive over me.

But, ridden with guilt from the past and desire from the present, part of me welcomes that.

It’d be a fun ride…

LILY

"Is this ever going to end?" Carter mutters beside me.

I stifle a laugh and shift uncomfortably in my seat, hyperaware of Carter’s presence as the speeches drone on. His jaw is clenched so tight I worry he might crack a tooth. The tension radiating off him is palpable, a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere around us.

As we pick at our barely touched meals, I can’t help but sneak glances at him. Even scowling, he’s unfairly handsome. I catch myself admiring the powerful line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, and quickly look away.

Focus, Lily, you’re here to do a job, I remind myself sternly.

But it’s difficult to focus on anything but the electricity crackling between us. Every accidental brush of our arms sends shivers down my spine. I lean in closer than necessary when he speaks, the words spoken few and meaningless, the unspokenfullof suggestion.

As the night wears on, I wrestle with my conscience. The information I’ve uncovered about Carter’s past weighs heavily on me. Part of me yearns to dig deeper, to uncover the truth. But another part, the part that remembers the vulnerability in his eyes that night at the rink, wants to protect him.

And do more than that, still.

I’m so lost in my internal debate that I barely notice Mark approaching our table until he speaks.

"Time for you two to hit the dance floor," he says. "Sponsors want the star player in shot, and you’re the closest thing he has to a date, Lily…"

Carter and I exchange a wary glance. He spends a second trying to fend Mark off, but gets nowhere, and I don’t even bother to try. My access – my career – hinges on him being friendly and cooperative, and if I refuse this, he might pull it.

We reluctantly make our way to the center of the room, surrounded by other players and their dates, but with nobody in doubt about the star couple. As we start to dance, I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us. His hand on my waist feels like it’s burning through the fabric of my dress.

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