Page 119 of Snap Shot

“This?” —I struggle to breathe when his lips press against my neck, the wispy kisses changing to tender sucks— “was the confidential emergency?”

“Veryemergent,” Landon groans, grazing his teeth across the delicate skin. “Veryconfidential.” His tongue laps over the sensitive spot below my ear where he nipped.

My hips inadvertently shift forward, eliciting a pleasured hum from him and sparking goosebumps over my chest, nipples shrinking down to the point of pain.

He moves his hands, sliding them from my knees and up my thighs before cupping my ass and squeezing. His forehead drops to my collarbone. “Today, of all fucking days, you had to wear pants.”

I snort. “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

His head tips up, full lips pulling into a knowing smile. “Are you saying those tight skirts and dresses are for me?”

“N-no, that's not what I—”

“Indira Davé.” Landon drops his jaw in fake surprise and disappointment. “How naughty andunprofessional.”

My hand meets the swell of his shoulder with a thwack, lips tightened into a line. “I amveryprofessional, as you know.”

“I agree. You're a pro.” His hips rise, bouncing the hardened contents of his pants into the seam of my slacks. My pussy cries for attention.

“I have to get back,” I whine, fighting the temptation to slip Landon's hand down my pants and finish me off. “And don't you have a bus to catch?”

Landon pouts and head butts my shoulder. “I don't wanna.”

I take his face in my hands, the stubble on his cheeks and jaw scratching my palms. “It's only preseason, Radek. Get your grubby mitts off my ass and your head in the game.”

“Are you gonna be there?” His arms return to their curled position, elbows hooked at my waist. Glossy blue eyes scan my face, pleading. “I'll win for you.”

“For me? Win for yourself, okay?” I let him go with an encouraging pat. “You've worked too hard to get where you are.”

Landon grabs his chest like he's been shot. “You've killed me. Cutthroat lawyer Indira Davé is my personal cheerleader.”

“Don't get used to it. Fans are fickle.” I swing my leg behind me to dismount from his lap.

His touch lingers as we separate, the searing sensation not fading as fast as it ignited. Landon sighs. The condensation from the coffee wets my fingers when I retrieve it from the console. I hop out, but double back to peek through the open door, tipping the plastic cup toward him.

“Thanks for the coffee, Radek.”

Bea clops toward me as I approach my office.

“I went to grab a latte!” I announce preemptively, holding up the proof.

“Oh-kay.” Her mouth twists, hand held out to me in slight bewilderment. “Anyway, you got a delivery.” Face now lit up; she stifles an excited noise. “It's on your desk.”

“From who?”

Her grin turns downright evil, eyebrows bouncing as we walk into the workspace. “I'll give you one guess.”

A black gift box tied with white ribbon sits on my desk. The Regents' crown logo is embossed in gold onto the upper right corner, and looped into the bow is a matching tag with my name on it. My fingers pull one loose end of the bow, unraveling the tie before I lift the lid.

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

I pick up the envelope sitting atop a hockey sweater before using a nail to cut it open. “Tickets to tonight's game in Montreal.” Goosebumps wake under my blazer.

Bea's lips turn into a pursedoas she sucks in a breath. “Let me see.” She takes the envelope from my hand and flips through the tickets. “They're for private box seats. And there's three!”

My head goes foggy as I lift the jersey, flipping it to see the number twelve and Radek's name stitched onto the back.

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