Page 9 of The Owner

She follows my eyes to see where I’m looking.

“Someone’s got a crush on the rival owner, I see.”

I don’t deny it. There’s no point. And to be honest, I might need Zara’s help to get this dream woman on my arm. I’ll take all the help I can get.

We end up losing, one to nothing.

The boys played great, or at least of what I saw they did. But the Vipers are a strong team and they got lucky with that one shot.

Stunningly, I’m not upset. I’m excited.

The game is over, which means that Riley MacIntosh will finally be leaving her private box. And the loss gives me the perfect excuse to go talk to her. I’ll congratulate her on her team’s victory and hopefully make plans to see her again.

“She’s single,” Zara tells me as we walk into the hallway. She’s doing some research on her phone, trying to give me an edge. “At least, as far as I can tell.”

She better not be taken. I don’t know what I’d do if my dream girl had a boyfriend. I don’t even want to go there. Some dark parts of your mind should remain boarded up forever and that’s one of them.

“It says here she owns a penthouse suite here in Cincinnati and her family has a home in London,” Zara says, reading off her phone. “She played hockey in college. She’s quite proficient at the violin. She took over her father’s office, which has a signed Carlo Leduc jersey and Maurice Belanger’s hockey gloves.”

“Maurice Belanger?” I say with a grin. “Perfect.”

“Who’s that?” Zara asks. She knows everything about business, but her hockey knowledge is severely lacking.

“He’s my ticket in.”

“What doesthatmean?”

I spot her in the hallway, the center of attention around a group of people in suits and dresses. My heart squeezes in anticipation of being close to that angel again. My desire for her hasn’t decreased since our first meeting. It’s only grown stronger. It’s consuming every thought I have.

I’m not a timid man, so I don’t hang back and wait for her to free up. I walk right up to my woman with my chin held high.

She smiles when she sees me. Everyone parts as I approach.

“Congratulations on the win,” I say as I offer my hand.

She shakes it as she looks up at me with those intoxicating green eyes. This time I don’t surrender her hand so easily. I continue to hold it, feeling her warmth.

“Thank you,” she says as the people back away, giving us space. “It was a close game. Your boys played very well.”

I’m forced to relinquish her hand and my whole body lets me know it’s not happy about it. I get this tight edgy feeling I know won’t go away until I get to touch her again.

“You did a wonderful job,” I tell her. “You should be proud of what you accomplished.”

“I didn’t score the goal,” she says with a grin and a tilt of her head. “I can’t take much credit when I was sitting in the box.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to practice without a Zamboni-fixing owner, so I don’t know about that.”

She chuckles. “Are you flying back home tonight, Mr. VanMorgan?”

“I was planning to, but I think I might stay. Something has caught my eye.”

A sizzle fills the air as we stare at each other for a long heated moment.

Her cheeks turn an innocent shade of pink and I have to fight back the urge to step closer. My pulse is thundering through my body. I feel like I’m going to combust, the fire of desire inside me is burning so hot.

All I want is to touch her. To claim her. To make her mine. To make her scream.

My whole body isthrobbingfor it. It’sachingto have her.

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