Page 37 of Expose on the Ice

My eyes are gritty from lack of sleep as I blink awake. The digital clock on the nightstand glares an angry 5:47 AM at me. I groan, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling of my hotel room. Sleep had been elusive all night, my mind a chaotic whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Carter’s face, feel the ghost of his lips on mine, his hands…

I shiver, heat blooming in my cheeks. God, what had I done?

The memory of our kiss plays on a loop in my head. The taste of whiskey on his tongue, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the way his fingers had dug into my hips… It had been electric, passionate, and utterly terrifying.

"Fuck," I mutter, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

This is bad. This is really, really bad. I’m here to do a job, to write a series on Carter Knox, to get to his deepest secrets. Not to… what? Let him feel me up? Fall into bed with him? Have some torrid affair with my subject?

The journalist in me is screaming about ethics violations and compromised objectivity. But another part of me, a part I’d been trying to ignore since I first laid eyes on Carter, whispers in myear that this isexactlywhat I want. That I can have himandhis story. That I know his vulnerabilities.

That I have what I need to publish a bombshell.

I shake my head, disgusted with myself. No. I can’t use… whatever this is… whatever he’d told me… to further my career. It isn’t right. And it would make my position with the team – and withhim– for the rest of the season utterly untenable.

But as I pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, I can’t help but replay our conversation from last night. The vulnerability in Carter’s eyes as he’d shared the pressure he was under, the way his voice had softened when he admitted I wasn’t what he’d expected.

There had been genuine emotion there, cracks in the armor he usually wore. And for a moment, I’d seen the real Carter Knox, not the carefully crafted image he presented to the world, the lump of granite who let the waves of life break over him without moving an inch.

I lean against the bathroom counter, meeting my gaze in the mirror. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my hair is a tangled mess. I look exactly how I feel – confused, conflicted, and completely out of my depth.

Then, I notice it.

A hickey on my neck.

"You’ve got to be kidding me?" I curse.

Even if I can cover up the visual evidence, and it’s abigif, what am I supposed to do now? Pretend nothing had happened? Try to talk to Carter about it?

And what about my assignment? How can I possibly write an objective profile on a man I’d kissed? A man who’d felt just about every inch of me from outside my clothes?

A man whose fingers had been inches from being in me…

I groan, dropping my head into my hands.

But even as I berate myself for my lack of professionalism, I can’t deny the thrill that runs through me at the memory of Carter’s touch. The way he’d looked at me, like I was the only person in the world.

"Stop it," I hiss at my reflection. "You’re here to do a job, Lily. Nothing more."

But the words ring hollow, even to my ears. Because deep down, I know that something has shifted between Carter and me last night. Something that can’t be undone or ignored.

CARTER

"Fuck," I groan.

I wake up feeling like a freight train has hit me. My head pounds, my mouth tastes like something had died in it, and my stomach churns. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil raging inside me.

Pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, images from last night flood my mind – Lily’s concerned face as she found me at the rink, the way her eyes softened as I spilled my guts, the feel of her lips against mine…

Theentirebottle we’d downed.

Or, mostly me, if I’m being honest.

I throw off the covers and stumble to my feet. What the hell had I been thinking? I’d spent years building walls that kept everyone at arm’s length. And in one whiskey-soaked night, I’d blown it all up and told her most of what I’d been trying to hide.

I pace the length of my hotel room, running my hands through my hair. My thoughts race, a jumbled mess of regret,fear, and something else I don’t want to name. What if Lily uses what I’d told her? What if she digs deeper into Sarah’s accident?

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