Page 60 of Play the Game

“I have my ways of punishing you that have nothing to do with violating the contract,” I rasp.

Scottie’s fingers press into my wrist, and I hope she can’t feel my pulse thrumming against my skin with every dirty thought that’s swarming my head.

She tempts me further when she says, “Like what?”

The thoughts that race through my head are filthy, and it’s a shame because I know it’s not where her mind is, especially if she was telling the truth about never having a boyfriend.

To the media, I’m a man who is obsessed with hockey and focused on the game more than most in the league, even with my tainted reputation. But after all that is said and done, I’m still a man. One who has sworn off women since a few tarnished therest with their rumors and scheming ways—the woman pressed against me included. I’m a man who hasn’t slept with anyone in what feels like forever, and unfortunately, it’s fucking with my head.

Scottie can’t be trusted, even if, on paper, it looks like she can. It doesn’t matter that we’re both wearing rings on our left hands, telling the world and everyone in this club that we are husband and wife.

What we have is an arrangement. There are liabilities at stake, and I refuse to let her teasing words and perfect body that I can’t stop picturing naked sway me into falling into a trap that could ruin my reputation further.

So instead of listing ways I’dliketo punish her, I go with something else. “Keep acting like you’re not being paid to act like my wife, and you’ll find out.”

I thought it was the easy route. A warning that she’d heed because we both know I’m not forcing her to act like my wife. I’mpayingher.

But I was wrong.

Scottie turns all the way around, and the look that flashes across her face stirs up my natural need to win. The only problem is that my idea of winning, at the current moment, is kissing her just to prove a point.

Twenty-Seven

SCOTTIE

“Challenge accepted.”

It comes off as me flirting, and it’s because of the alcohol I’ve had.

I don’t drink.

It brings up too many unwanted memories and triggers something that I want no part of. But leave it to Emory to irritate me to the point that I go against my own defenses.

He smiles, and it’s a nice change from the stoic, broody glare I always get.

His hands move a little lower, and his dangerously hot expression shifts. “That’s the way you want to play?” He sounds excited, and I gulp.

Shit.

I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, but there’s no going back now. In fact, I’d rather chew my own arm off than let anyone, especially Emory Olson, see any sort of weakness I carry.

“Yep,” I answer, letting thePpop from my mouth. I push closer to him, and my stomach flips. “I may be your wife, but that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around or insult me every chance you get.”

He laughs.

My nostrils flare with anger, and the alcohol in my system burns brighter. “And the threats stop now too.”

Emory closes the gap between us. Our bodies press together tightly, and it probably seems like we’re just newlyweds, unable to keep our hands to ourselves, but little do they know, we’re sparring. “You’re tempting me, Rogue.”

“Tempting you to do what?” I act unfazed by his strained voice, but heat sweeps down my back.

His hands tighten against my waist, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t remember the last time I was touched by a man my age who wasn't throwing twenties at my feet while tracing every curve of my body with their slimy eyes.

I can easily feel myself slipping into a fantasy with Emory that simply does not exist.

It all started with the box seats. I was forced to pretend like I don’t have a load of debt, a convict brother who needs my help, a dead father who left me with abandonment issues, and a mother who hardly recognizes me and would rather live with a needle in her arm than try and come back to reality.

“You’re tempting me to prove a point.”

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