Page 58 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

A growl rumbled from Matthieu’s chest, reverberating through Jeannie like a drumbeat calling her home. The way she said his name—breathless and teasing—sent shivers cascading down his spine. She knew exactly what she did to him, how she unraveled him with nothing more than a whisper. And she owned him—mind, body, and soul.

“Can I take ’em off?”

“The second we’re inside—yes,” she breathed, barely able to finish before he spun her around with the precision and power of a man who had just conquered the ice and was now ready to claim his greatest victory—her—but that began with getting the hotel room key first.

Jeannie gasped as her palms met the cool, unforgiving wall, bracing herself against it as warmth and wanton need tingled through her veins. The hallway lights buzzed overhead, an indifferent witness to the storm of heat building between them. If anyone happened to pass by, they might think she was being frisked by a cop, but the real crime was how intoxicating it felt to be trapped beneath Matthieu’s touch.

He didn’t rush. He let his hands drift over the curve of her hips, mapping her as if he needed to commit every inch of her to memory before the night was through. The anticipation was thick between them, an electric current crackling in the air, snapping at her senses.

She could barely think past the hammering of her pulse. The keycard was in her pocket, but instead of reaching for it, he leaned in, his lips brushing over the sensitive curve of her neck, just below her ear. His breath, warm and unsteady, sent a tremor down her spine.

She shivered.

Her tiger was toying with her…

“Matthieu…” she whispered, her voice nearly lost beneath the steady pounding of his heart against her back.

His hands flattened against the wall beside hers, caging her in. She shivered as she saw his fingers splayed against the wall, so close to her own hand where she’d braced herself. His entire body lined up with hers, the heat of him searing through the thin barrier of their clothes. The passion that had driven him on the ice burned even hotter now, but this was different—more than adrenaline, more than the thrill of the game. Those emotions were directed at her. This was love. Raw, unfiltered, and powerful enough to bring them both to their knees.

“I need you…” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion and longing.

“We’re in the hallway…” she murmured, her words a soft protest, but her body betrayed her, pressing back into him, craving more.

She was right, but her resolve was melting quickly. Every inch of him seemed to be trying to make contact with her in some way, some fashion at that moment. Heck, she could have sworn their ankles were touching the way he was looming over her – and she was here for it. His scent, this feeling, the way he seemed to fit against her back…

And then?—

“My eyes!”

Jett’s voice shattered the moment like a slap shot ricocheting off the boards. Matthieu stiffened, and Jeannie laughed in embarrassment, chancing a glance at Matthieu as Jett rolled his eyes in the distance, holding up an insulated ice bucket by the handle for them to see.

“I’m going to get ice for my freakin’ knuckles, and I seethatgoing on down there. I’m surrounded by hormonal people getting it on, and I miss my wife. Life is not fair. Go to your room and spare me the rerun of whatever you’re doing when I come back this way.” Jett gestured at Matthieu, shaking his head and pointing and waving his finger up and down like a conductor leading an orchestra. “Your stance is all messed up. You’ll pull a muscle in your butt cheek like that.Sheesh. Haven’t you ever banged your wife before?”

Doors around them creaked open, up and down the hall, curious heads peeking out at the commotion. Yep, the privacy and the moment were both gone.

Matthieu exhaled sharply, his breath hot against Jeannie’s shoulder as his forehead came to rest there, his fists clenching at his sides in a battle for control. His voice, thick with frustration and yearning, came out tight, strained—almost guttural.

“GOOD NIGHT, JETT…”

Jeannie was shaking against him, her whole body trembling—not just with laughter but with something deeper, something raw and unresolved. Desire coiled in her stomach, hot and aching, and she knew he felt it too. She could feel it in the tension of his body, in the way his muscles locked as though he was barely holding himself together. He always made her feel like this—alive, on fire, teetering on the edge of something both dangerous and beautiful.

Then, with a sound that was half growl, half groan, Matthieu all but slapped the keycard against the lock, cursing under his breath when it didn’t register immediately. The delay was agonizing.

Jeannie bit her lip to keep from laughing again—because heaven help her, even in moments like this, she found joy in teasing him.

Finally, the lock blinked green, and in a single, fluid motion, Matthieu shoved the door open and pulled her inside. The door slammed shut behind them, the final barrier between them and the rest of the world falling away.

“I love that man and hate him so much sometimes…” he muttered, still breathless from restraint, from wanting.

Jeannie turned in his arms, warmth and mischief dancing in her eyes as she reached up, smoothing the crease between his brows with the lightest touch. “It’s sweet that he misses his wife…”

Matthieu exhaled slowly, his grip on her tightening just enough to make her pulse quicken. “I’d miss my wife too,” he admitted, his voice rougher now, weighted with meaning. Hishands skimmed over her waist, tracing slow, grounding circles—like he needed to feel her, to make sure she was real.

Something shifted then.

The playfulness in his gaze flickered, replaced by something darker.

He didn’t just look at her—hedevouredher, his stare burning as it traveled over her face, her lips, the soft curves hidden beneath his jersey she was wearing proudly proclaiming ‘Larsson’ and her denim jeans. He took his time, prowling toward her like a predator who had just locked onto his prey.

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