Page 19 of Captain's Claim

"The board approved my pitch today." She doesn’t blink. "We’re creating content with the youth program."

Just like that, the heat in my chest shifts. The amusement curdles into something colder. Her grip tightens around the folder she’s holding, like she’s bracing for impact.

She should be.

Because she just fucked with the one thing thatisn’thers to touch.

"You better be fucking kidding, Sophia."

Sophia doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down. Sheshould, because my pulse is pounding like a fucking war drum.

She lifts her chin defiantly. "I'm not."

All of a sudden, she's all pride and stubbornness wrapped in a fucking blazer.

She'sproudof this.

The air crackles between us, thick with something hotter than the steam room I just left. My skin is still damp, heat still rolling off me in waves, but this?

Thisis the real fire.

“You don’t know a damn thing about those kids,” I bite out.

Sophia crosses her arms, meeting my glare with equal force. “I know they deserve to have their stories told. To be seen.”

I laugh. Cold. Sharp. The kind that cuts. “They don’t need to be your next damn marketing campaign!”

Her lips press into a firm line. “That’s not what this is, and you know it.”

I step closer, enough that I see the quick inhale she tries to disguise. My towel hangs low, my body still burning from the steam, but she holds her ground. Doesn’t budge.

She never does.

She’s breathing hard. Almost as rushed and heavy as I am.

And fuck, my body knows it.

If I dipped my head, I could taste her. If I pressed forward, just half an inch, I could feel her against me, those ridiculously soft curves meeting my hard muscles, heat against heat.

She doesn’t back down.

Neither do I.

“The Icehawks Youth Hockey Program isn’t for show,” I say, voice dropping. “It’s a safe space. They don’t need fuckingexposure, Sophia. They need achance.”

Her throat bobs with a swallow, but her jaw tightens like she’s fighting something.

Maybe the same thing I am.

“And what about kids like you?”

My entire body goes rigid.

Her words slam into me like a cross-check to the ribs.

She doesn’tknow. Shecan’tknow.

I swallow, my jaw working overtime like Coach Brody's gum, but I don’t say a damn word.

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