Page 6 of Owning Eva

Eli Jackson is… it doesn’t matter. I’m not here for any of that typa shit. I’m here to enjoy a fun holiday weekend, and maybe find some inspiration for my manuscript. That’s it.

So why does he keep popping into my head? Why can I still feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his words? Goddammit.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. This is ridiculous. I’ve got a book to finish, and getting tangled up with some brooding hockey player isn’t going to help me hit my deadline.

No matter how good the man looks in a suit.

Six

Eli

The cold outside is brutal, biting at my face and cutting through the layers I’m wearing, but none of that matters. My blood is too fucking hot, and the reason is standing just a few feet away.

Eva’s up the hill, wrapped in layers that hide just enough of her fucking perfect body to drive me fucking insane. Her coat hugs her small waist, full rack and juicy ass, making my mouth fucking water, my hands itch and my cock throb. And the way she tucks her curls behind her ear, snow clinging to them like the lucky bastards they are? It’s enough to make me forget why I fucking came out here in the first place.

I shift the sled higher on my shoulder, my grip tightening as I watch her. She moves carefully, like she hasn’t done this in a while.

Her lips quirk up when Emily says something she must find amusing. Not the full smile I’ve been waiting for, but enough to make my chest tighten. And my cock stirs again, because obviously my body can’t keep its cool around her.

Fuck me.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. And not in some vague, maybe-I’ll-get-her-number, let’s-date-and-see-where-this-goes type of way. No. I want her in my bed, her skin pressed against mine, moaning my name so loud the whole fucking world knows who she belongs to. Every night. For the rest of our fucking lives.

“Jackson, you good?” Russo’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

I grunt, not even bothering to answer as he barrels past me, his sled kicking up snow in every direction. He’s fucking lucky I don’t have the time or energy for him.

Eva is standing a bit back, her head tilted as she watches the others sledding down the hill. The way she crosses her arms, her gloves flexing as she holds herself, tells me everything. She’s not just observing—she’s holding back.

That pisses me off more than it should. She should be having a fucking blast, not just stand back and watch, and anyone who says otherwise can fucking answer to me.

Her skin glows, smooth and warm, and her lips—God, those lips—look so fucking soft it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to march over there and see if they taste as sweet as they look. So that’s exactly what I do.

Seven

Eva

The next morning, I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows, painting the room in soft gold. The fire I left crackling last night has long since burned out, leaving a faint chill in the air. I pull the covers tighter around me, briefly wondering if I can just stay in bed all day.

But, of course, Emily has other plans.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “Eva, get up! We’re going sledding!”

I groan, dragging myself out of bed and wrapping a thick cardigan around me before shuffling to the door. Emily stands there in full winter gear—knit hat, scarf, and a puffer jacket that’s way too cute for just a day in the snow.

“Sledding?” I echo, blinking at her like she’s lost her damn mind. “Aren’t we supposed to be sipping hot cocoa by the fire or something?”

“Oh, we’re doing that later,” she says with a grin. “But first, sledding. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

* * *

Half an hour later, I’m bundled in layers and trudging through the snow with a group of players, WAGs, and staff. The fresh air is invigorating, the kind that makes your cheeks sting but clears your head.

Emily, of course, is leading the charge, dragging Liam up the steepest hill with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. I hang back, watching the chaos unfold as grown men wrestle sleds out of a pile.

“Don’t tell me you’re sitting this one out.”

The deep, familiar voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I turn to find Eli standing behind me, a sled slung casually over one massive shoulder. He’s wearing a black coat that does nothing to hide his broad form, and the beanie pulled low over his ears only makes him look more rugged. My poor ovaries.

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