Page 7 of Expose on the Ice

Five minutes tick by. Then ten.

I drum my fingers on the table, willing myself to stay calm.

It’s fine,I tell myself.He’s probably just running a little late after practice.

But at the fifteen-minute mark, my leg starts bouncing under the table.

Come on, Knox,I silently beg.Don’t screw this up for both of us.

Twenty minutes in, and irritation has thoroughly replaced my earlier nerves. I’m about to hunt down that PR assistant when the door finally swings open.

And there he is. Carter Knox in the flesh.

Holy. Shit.

I’ve seen countless photos of him, of course, and studied game footage until my eyes crossed. But nothing had prepared me for the sheer presence of the man – not even my… self-care… the previous evening.

He fills the doorway, six-foot-two of solid muscle. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at his nape. A faint scent of soap and masculinity wafts into the room. But it’s his eyes that get me – a stormy gray that seems to cut right through me.

The same eyes that had featured in my thoughts last night.

Except the photos, and my imagination, didn’t do them, orhim, justice.

I stand quickly, nearly knocking over my chair.

Real smooth.

“Mr. Knox,” I say. “I’m Lily Grant from the Star. It’s a pleasure.”

He regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps forward, extending a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

I shake his hand. His grip is firm. A jolt of… something shoots up my arm at the contact.

Get it together, Lily. He’s just another subject. An incredibly hot subject, who could make or break your career, but still.

“No problem at all.” I gesture for him to take a seat, trying to mask my irritation at his tardiness. “I appreciate you making time in your schedule.”

Knox settles into the chair across from me. His broad shoulders fill out his team-branded polo in a way that’sdecidedly unfair. The air between us seems to crackle with unspoken tension. “Let’s get this over with,” he says, his tone clipped.

“Right,” I say, clicking my pen with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, still annoyed by his lateness and put off by his cool demeanor. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve been briefed, this series will span the entire season. I’ll be shadowing you and the team to really get a sense of?—”

“Sure, sure,” Knox cuts in, his jaw tightening. “What do you want to know?”

I bite back a retort, reminding myself that antagonizing him on day one probably isn’t the best move. Despite his dreamy looks, his attitude is an actual nightmare. So, instead of attacking him, I plaster on my most professional smile.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” I suggest. “Tell me about how you first got into hockey.”

Knox’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze locked onto mine with laser-like intensity. It’s as if he’s searching for some hidden agenda in my innocuous question. After a long moment, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I grew up in Minnesota,” he says flatly. “Everyone plays hockey.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me expectantly.

This will be like pulling teeth.

CARTER

Arms crossed and leaning back in my chair, I sizeherup. She’s younger than I expected – not one of the old battle-axes thathas worked at the Star for the last 40 years, asking the same questions for the last 30. But there’s a sharpness in her green eyes that sets me on edge.

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