Page 3 of Coach's Temptation

I slam my eyes shut. "This isn't happening."

"Isn't it?"

Natalie blinks up at me, ever so slowly, her long lashes sweeping like she knows exactly what I’m remembering. Exactly what those eyes looked like when she was on her knees, staring up at me like I was the only thing in her world the other day in my office.

"You need to leave."

Even I don't believe myself. My voice just comes out like I've been gargling glass.

"Do I?" She stretches, all feline grace and wicked intent. The towel rides higher. "Because… ah…" She breathes a sigh and slowly drags her fingers down over her towel, tracing the curve of her own breast. "I'm pretty comfortable right here."

My muscles lock. Blood rushes.Everywhere.

I'm one second away from sporting the worst goddamn towel tent of my life.

The heat in the steam room isn’t helping. My breathing deepens, but it doesn’t get to where it needs to. Every inhale is laced with the faintest trace of vanilla shampoo, something else sweet and utterly dangerous.

"Natalie Hayes. Fuck. Please… You're the team physio. I shouldn't be seeing you like this."

"You mean, seeing me like thisagain?"

Those green eyes dance with challenge.

She damn well knows what she does to me when she looks at me like that. Knows exactly how to push every single one of my buttons until I snap.

And I've snapped too many times already.

The locker room last week. My office after the Rangers game. That supply closet during team photos. On every damn road game this season, sneaking around hotel rooms like kids on their first overnight school trip.

Each time I swear it's the last. But each time I can't help but feel myself falling harder into whatever this is between us.

"Natalie, this can't happen again."

It's my coach voice. My do-not-argue voice. The one that makes Hulk-like defensemen suddenly remember their manners.

On her?

It's about as effective as a plastic whistle.

I plant my feet, cross my arms. Anything to keep from crossing that room and showing her exactly what that teasing swipe of her lips with that damn talented tongue does to me.

And yet… she just grins.

"Your record on follow-through is worse than our power play conversion, Coach." She ticks off on her fingers. "Yesterday in your office. Tuesday in the supply closet. Last week when you decided my desk needed a stress test-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay… I get it."

Satisfied she's bettered my argument -again- she leans forward, elbows on her knees. She releases a long, exaggerated sigh. The towel slips and she runs her fingers along her wet skin,flicking her head back, running her hand up her throat, looking all seductive and sexy.

"Mmmm… I actually forgot about the supply closet. That wassogood, Coach."

"Natalie." My voice cracks. Actually cracks like some spotty teenager hitting puberty.

"What are you afraid of, Hunter? Think you won't be able to stop?"

She knows better. We have rules at this hockey team. Lines. Boundaries. All the ones we keep crossing.

"I'm your boss. I'm head coach."

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