Page 15 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

A loud bang echoed through the arena as the door to the rink flew open, and there she was, storming in like she owned the place. Rachel Henning, the bane of my existence this past week, marched up to the edge of the ice, hands on her hips.

“Sawyer, get off the ice!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the quiet.

I didn’t stop. Hell, I didn’t even slow down. I just smirked to myself and kept skating, pretending like I hadn’t heard her.

“Sawyer, I’m serious! You’re supposed to be doing your interview right now!” she called again, her voice rising with frustration.

I finally looked over at her, coasting to a lazy stop a few feet away from where she stood. “I’m busy,” I said simply.

“Busy?” She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re skating around like a kid who got let out of school early.”

“Exactly.” I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my lips. Teasing her was too easy, too fun. I didn’t take a second to examine what that meant. I skated away, picking up speed, and I barely heard her frustrated half growl of a sound.

“Aren’t you, like, thirty? You’re acting like a child!”

I shrugged, doing a little spin on the ice to piss her off further. “If you want to talk so bad, come out here and skate with me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought she’d back down. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the rink, wearing those heels and one of her sinful signature pencil skirts. But then, to my surprise, she turned on her heel and disappeared through the door.

I blinked, lulled into a false sense of security, thinking she’d left me in peace. But a few minutes later, she was back, holding a pair of skates in her hands. She sat down on the bench, swapping out her heels for the skates, and I couldn’t help but stare. She was actually going to do it. Damn.

“Alright, tough guy,” she said as she laced up the skates. “You want to play games? Let’s play.”

I chuckled under my breath as she awkwardly stepped onto the ice, wobbling for balance. It was clear she didn’t spend much time on the ice—unlike her brother, who was practically born with skates on.

“Careful now,” I called out as she shuffled toward me. “Wouldn’t want to break a nail.”

“Funny,” she shot back, her eyes locked on me. “Let’s see you answer some questions while skating, Mr. Multitasker.”

I shrugged and started skating backward, keeping a slow pace so she could follow. “Fire away.”

She asked me a couple of basic questions—where I was from, how I got into hockey—but I kept my answers short, one or two words at most. I could see the frustration building on her face, and I had to admit, I was enjoying it a little too much.

“Come on, Sawyer, work with me here,” she said, trying to keep up as I picked up the pace. “You’re not making this easy.”

“That’s the point,” I said with a grin, effortlessly gliding circles around her. “Isn’t your twin a hockey star? Shouldn’t you be better at this?”

She shot me a glare, but there was a spark of determination in her eyes that I couldn’t help but admire. She wasn’t giving up, even as she wobbled and nearly lost her balance more than once.

But then, it happened. She pushed off too hard, her feet slipping out from under her. I saw the panic in her eyes as she started to fall, and without thinking, I moved. In one swift motion, I was there, my arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her upright before she hit the ice.

For a moment, we were frozen like that, my hands gripping her tightly, her body pressed against mine. Our eyes met, and the air between us seemed to crackle with something electric, something dangerous.

I should have let her go. I should have moved away, made some joke to break the tension or, hell, skated away for good, never to see her again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Instead, I leaned in, just a little closer, until I could feel her breath against my lips. Those gray-tinged eyes followed my thoughts, landing on my mouth. The world around us faded, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss her.

And from the look in her eyes, she wanted it too.

9

RACHEL

Fuck, Sawyer’s arms feltgood.Strong. And the way he’d swooped in to keep me from cracking my head like a coconut on the ice…damn it, that was sexy as hell.

All of him was sexy, if I was being honest. Up close, he was downrightpretty,with long lashes and eyes that were almost molten gold as they stared down into mine. And I couldn’t forget those sensual lips of his, full and framed by coarse red-brown hair that he clearly maintained meticulously. I was close enough to him that I could count every hair in his beard if I wanted to.

He didn’t give me the chance.

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