Page 46 of Wrong Score

Here I was, the last two weeks, concerned that I might have taken advantage of her when she was vulnerable.

This is my chance to find out what dirt she has on one of my players and convince her not to run the story.

I'll pay whatever she wants.

There's not a dollar amount I won't pay her to protect my team.

Hell, I'll give her the penthouse that the Hawkeyes lease for me for as long as my contract lasts if that's what it takes.

"Come in, " I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

The door creaks open, and there she is. The woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the gala, standing in the doorway with her hair cascading in soft waves around her face. Her floral dress clings in all the right places, making her seem more like someone who walked out of a daydream than a bloodthirsty reporter chasing her next scoop.

“Am I interrupting?” she asks, her eyes scanning the room as though checking for witnesses.

“No,” I reply tightly, gesturing for her to step inside. "What can I do for you?"

She closes the door behind her with a soft click, and I can’t help but think how ominous it feels, sealing the two of us in here together. The smell of her perfume wafting into my office, filling my space with something so addictive it should be illegal.

“I thought we should talk about… the gala,” she starts, her voice softer now.

The gala? That’s what she wants to talk about?

I stride around my desk, heading straight for her. My sudden movement makes her freeze, her eyes going wide as I close the distance between us. She takes a step back, but I keep advancing, until her back meets the wall.

“Is that what you really care about Summers? The gala?” I say, my voice low and steady as I lean in closer. “Because I heard you on the phone. You’re planning a big exposé, aren’t you? Something ‘huge for the paper.’ Care to share who the target is this time?”

Her eyes widen, she knows now that I heard her outside of my office.

"Bex, it’s not what it sounded like—"

"I don’t like being lied to, it’s insulting," I say, my voice low and steady.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been avoiding Rowan because the night of the gala changed things between us. I’ve been keeping my distance, knowing that Rowan being with me will only end up causing her more pain when I ultimately end up letting her down like I did my ex-wife.

I know better to think that I can give Rowan the kind of life she deserves, but now hearing her outside of my office, I know I made the right call keeping her as far from me and my team as possible.

"I've seen you whispering with Reeve in the hallways, his distraction out on the ice–You're planning to air out his personal business for all the world to see, aren't you?" I ask.

Understanding dawns in her eyes, quickly followed by indignation. "What? No! That's not what—"

"What will it take, Summers?" I press on, leaning in closer. "What will it take to make this story disappear? Money? My penthouse?"

Her mouth opens to answer, but instead, her gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, everything shifts. The air between us grows heavy, charged with something far more dangerous than anger. Need–lust–connection, all things I can’t seem to shake when it comes to her.

And I'm pulled into her again, just like I was in the limo.

She’s here for career advancement, to tell a story that could decimate one of my players, setting fire to the season me and my players have been working everyday toward, all I can think about is the taste of her lips.

A flash of understanding hits me like a bolt of lightning. The tension between us, the constant push and pull, it's all been leading to this moment. Without conscious thought, I find myself sinking to my knees in front of her.

“Drop the story,” I murmur, my hands sliding up the side of her thighs, lifting her dress with it. “And I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Her lips part in protest, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. My mouth finds her bare thigh, my lips pressing against her, pulling a gasp from her, as her hands flatten against the wall behind her, unsure of what to hold onto.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel the heat radiating from Rowan's body. This is madness, a voice in the back of my mind warning me to choose a different course but I silence it, too caught up in the moment.

“Bex, we need to talk—” she starts, but her words dissolve into a moan as my mouth finds her skin.

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