Page 151 of Evil Hearts

Bryce’s face dances before my eyes—and in the small side windows as I secure my heavy thermal curtains.

I shriek and throw something—the keys I still have in my hand.Good job, Fia. Glad you took those self-defense classes during college…

“I’m sorry, Miss Carvahlo. I have something to tell you. Would you mind opening the window?” Bryce steps back, hands in his pocket, a tense look on his face. His voice is muffled through the glass and he looks kind of fuzzy. Furry.

I hurry to the door and keep most of my body on the inside, ready to slam it if he tries to muscle his way in—but I don’t think he will. “Hi, Mr. Frobisher. What’s up?”

“Call me, Bryce, please. If you want. Uh, do you remember Sam Grendel?”

“The douchebag?” I say, pushing the door wider, guard dropping.

“Yeah, that’s an accurate description, I guess. So, he was mad that I kicked him out of your booth.”

“He was done. There was no ‘kicking out.’ Most people know to leave when the photographer stops using her camera.”

Bryce nods. “He might have had a few concussions in his time.”

I shake my head. “Don’t try to excuse him. I’m not judging you or your team based on that creep.”

“Thank you so much,” Bryce looks relieved, his dark, intense eyes sparkling at me, his semi-stooped posture relaxing, straightening.

Sweet Mother of Heaven… He fills the entire doorway of the RV—and he’s on the ground, not even on the fold-down step…I swallow, mouth dry and pussy so wet that I bless the darkness and my choice of black denim jeans that will probably hide my guilt if desire starts dripping down my thighs.

“You really didn’t have to come here and apologize again.” I tuck a curl behind my ear.

Are you flirting? Like a giggly teenager? You already said no when he asked you out to dinner!

That was three hours and four thousand impure thoughts ago. If he asked me to dinner right now, I’d spread myself open like a clamshell and tell him I hope he likes to eat out.

“Oh, I didn’t come here to apologize! I mean, of course, I do apologize, and I apologize for disturbing you, too,” his deep voice breaks out in a stammer. “But I came to let you know that Grendel told the coach of our team that I ruined his photoshoot, and he intends to ask for another one tomorrow morning. I don’t think Sam would physically harm anyone—I hope—but I think he crossed a line with how he spoke to you. I think you should refuse the shoot and show the coach the pictures you already have. There was nothing wrong with them. Sam just wants to throw his weight around and spend more time with a beautiful, talented woman.” Bryce concludes, his breath making a soft fog between us in the freezing cold air.

A sudden gust of cold air makes me shiver and rub my arms. It’s not just the air that makes me shudder. It’s also the disgust.

Bryce whips off his quilted satin Lumberjacks’ jacket and flings it over my shoulders with a frown. “Miss Carvahlo, it’s frigid in here! You can’t sleep out here like this! Didn’t the convention pay for a room?”

“It’s not that bad—or it won’t be once the space heater starts and I shut the door. I’m used to it.”

“I wish you’d come to my room,” Bryce murmurs in a wistful, almost mournful tone. Bryce’s eyes go comically wide as he realizes what he’s said. “Because it’s warm!”

I can’t help it. This ice giant, with his lethal grace on the ice, is like a big teddy bear off of it. Whatever little guard I had up drops completely at his mortified look. “I’m starving,” I say with a sigh. “You look like you always have an appetite.”

For a moment, there’s a flash of glistening, sharp teeth, and the stars catch dark depths in his eyes. “I’m incredibly hungry right now,” he replies, his voice thicker and suddenly smooth.

This time, my shiver has nothing to do with the cold. “There’s probably nothing open this late at night…” I lead.

“The hotel has room service around the clock. Will you be my guest?” Bryce holds out his hand in a gallant gesture, then snatches it back with a bashful chuckle. “Sorry. That sounded so formal. As if a beauty like you would ever want a beast like me.”

“What?” I exclaim, patting my jeans with one hand and snatching his with the other. “Phone, wallet. I need to grab my keys.” I don’t let go of his hand. It’shuge. It folds over mine and completely hides it. “What do you mean, a beast like you?”

“Well…” He shrugs, reluctantly letting me go retrieve my keys.

When I come back, I put my hands on my hips. “I’m a total hockey groupie, you know. Beasts like you are essential to the sport. As for beauty? Well, my modeling days are over for a reason.” I flutter my fingers against the tiny wrinkles forming around my eyes and the fine lines just beginning on my brow.

Bryce grunts and practically carries me down the step. I keep a hold of his hand as we begin to walk, noticing that even the back of his hand is covered with that thick, silky hair.

Odd.

But I like it.

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