Page 14 of Captain's Claim

Big Mike's booming voice cuts through the tension. "Alright, folks! Masks off!"

My fingers tremble as I reach for the tie at the back of my mask. The silk feels slippery, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m imagining the tension coiled between me and the man standing inches away. His broad shoulders block everything else out.

The glow of the chandeliers, the couples swaying on the dance floor, the laughter bubbling from the bar from the people watching this all unfold.

Even the soft hum of jazz fades beneath the sound of my own heartbeat.

A loudcrackof thunder rolls through the speakers, building the drama as masks start to fall around us, the bass reverberating in my chest.

I flinch, and his hand - the one still planted firmly at my waist - tightens.

Whoever he is,his touch is warm, grounding, and annoyingly intoxicating.

The band swells into a dramatic flourish as I tug the strings loose. My mask slips away just as his does, the silk falling from his face. His stupidly handsome, smug face.

His steel-gray eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“I knew it was you.” My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

His lips curve into a slow, arrogant smirk. “What’s the matter, Ms. Hart? Disappointed?”

I take a deliberate step back, but his hand doesn’t leave my waist. If anything, his giant man-paw grip tightens, pulling me back into his orbit. My body, traitorous as ever, doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hardly,” I shoot back, tilting my chin up. “I’m just surprised you decided to show up for something tonight. Must be a new record.”

He huffs out a laugh, low and rough. “And here I thought you’d be too busy plotting your next big takeover to enjoy a little tradition.”

“This coming from the guy who couldn’t even bother to show up to the meeting thatliterallydefines the future of this team?” I fire back, my voice sharper now. “Tell me, Captain. Are you always this hands-on, or do you just pick and choose when it suits you?”

Blake leans in, his face impossibly close. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint hint of whiskey and something inherentlyhim.

My breath catches as his hand slides lower. Just barely. Close enough that I can almost feel his fingers on my ass.

I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he stops just shy of inappropriate, or the way my body betrays me by wishing he didn’t.

My pulse skitters wildly, and for a split second, I hate him. Or maybe I hate myself.

Or maybe… I don’t even know what the hell I feel anymore.

“Careful, Ms. Hart,” he growls, his voice a dangerous, velvet drawl. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” I laugh, though it sounds more like a desperate squeak than the confident scoff I was aiming for. “Of what, exactly? Your winning personality?”

“Or maybe,” he says, his lips quirking, “it’s because you don’t like how good you feel in my arms.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “You’re delusional.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he counters smoothly, his gaze dropping to my lips for half a second too long.

“Blake!” Big Mike’s hand claps down on his shoulder, breaking whatever spell had locked us in place. “Glad to see you’re making our newest star recruit feel right at home.”

Blake’s jaw tightens, and he lets out a low huff as he finally backs away from me. "Yes, yes. What a surprise."

Big Mike’s booming laugh fills the space, almost swallowed by the low hum of jazz and the lively murmur of fresh conversation now the dance has finished.

A champagne flute clinks against glass nearby, and a burst of warm, golden light flickers across Blake’s sharp features as a waiter passes with a silver tray of drinks.

Big Mike squeezes Blake’s shoulder, holding him there like a proud dad corralling his most unruly son. “You know, Sophia here’s got some big ideas for the future of this team. She’s sharp as a tack, don’t you think, Maddox?”

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