Page 47 of Expose on the Ice

We move stiffly at first, careful to maintain some distance. But as the music continues, something shifts. Maybe it’s the champagne, or just the build-up of weeks of tension. Whatever the cause, I press closer, my hand sliding from his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

I feel Carter’s hand slide lower on my back, pulling me closer as we sway to the music. My breath catches in my throat at theintensity in his eyes. The rest of the room seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us in our bubble.

"Carter," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the music.

He doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip on my waist. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress. His hand moves ever so slightly south, risking a scandal, pressing me ever so slightly into him, risking more.

I can feel his bulge pressed against me, hard as a rock. My nipples are giving it a run for its money, and I’m certain that if I pull away from him, the entire room will get a good eyeful, given the thin dress and thinner bra.

My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft groan from him that sends shivers down my spine. We both know what we’re doing and that it’s a mistake, that the chance for a scandal and another blowup between us in such a public location is a huge risk.

But we don’t stop.

We move together fluidly, our bodies in perfect sync. The tension that had been building between us for weeks fills the room and threatens to detonate at any moment. I feel the gaze of more than a few people on us, and my brain is shouting at me to stop.

"We shouldn’t be doing this," Carter murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, but he doesn’t stop.

"I know," I say, my voice husky.

This is crossing a line that could jeopardize everything.

My career.

His privacy.

But at that moment, with his arms around me, his body pressed against me, and his breath on my skin, I can’t bring myself to care. And I don’t think he gives a damn, either. We’re dancing on the edge of something dangerous, inching closer tooblivion even as our rational minds scream at us to stop, to step back.

Our eyes meet, and I see my desire reflected in his stormy gaze.

At that moment, swaying in Carter’s arms, feeling the heat of his body against mine, I make my decision, and screw the consequences. I can’t betray him. Whatever secrets lie in his past, they aren’t mine to reveal.

The rest of the chips will fall how they do.

But just as I open my mouth to speak, to tell him I’m a safe pair of hands, that his secrets are locked in a vault as tight as his own, and that I want him – more than my career, more thananything– a voice cuts in.

"Mr. Knox! Any comment on the story in tomorrow’s Star about your tragic past?"

I freeze, panic rising in my throat. The reporter who’d invaded the dance floor is from my paper. Carter tenses beside me, his grip on my waist becoming almost painful, as if he’s clinging to me for support and punishing me for some imagined betrayal all at the same time.

Our eyes lock, and I see a whirlwind of emotions flash across his face – shock, anger, betrayal. He fumbles through a non-answer, his voice strained, before fixing me with an accusing glare that makes my blood run cold.

Then he severs the connection between us like a guillotine and storms off.

CHAPTER 18

LILY

As I watch Carter storm off, my heart sinks into my stomach. The accusation in his eyes cuts deeper than any words could have. I want to run after him, to explain, to tell him I hadn’t betrayed his trust. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, the weight of what had just happened holding me in place.

The rival reporter’s – mycolleague’s– words echo in my ears, drowning out the music and chatter around me. I had written nothing about the accident yet, and until a moment ago hadn’t even decided if I was going to pursue the story, so how could they have known?

With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and navigate to the Star’s website. I already know what I’ll find, because I know the business well enough. And, as expected, right there at the top of the page is a headline that screams at me in bold letters:

"Carter Knox and The Tragic Past He Can’t Escape."

As I click on the article and read it, I feel the blood drain from my face. The article is a sensationalized account of Carter’s family history, focusing on the death of his sister. It has a lot of what had been reported years ago, but now there’s more.

The grief… and how he pushed himself to breaking point on the ice every single day, trying to forget it and escape it.

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