Page 44 of Coach's Temptation

Tomorrow those seats will be packed. The ice will be perfect.

And Vancouver...

I roll my neck, trying to shake off old ghosts. Time to get some sleep.

But when I round the corner to my living room, I stop dead. There on my leather couch, curled up so delicate and cute looking, is Natalie.

And she'sstillwearing that damn hoodie.

I move over, seeing how her dark hair spills across the armrest. She's completely passed out, one of my expensive wool throws twisted around her like a cocoon. The TV remote dangles precariously from her fingers, and an empty wine glass sits on the coffee table—without a coaster, I might add.

My gaze travels down to her feet, where one sensible work sock remains while its partner has apparently gone AWOL in my living room.

The sight of her here, making herself so thoroughly at home in my carefully ordered space, would usually infuriate me.

Instead, I find myself fighting back a smile.

Her face is peaceful in sleep, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, and there's a tiny spot of drool on my thousand-dollar throw pillow. Fantastic.

My villain origin story, she'd called it earlier. Looking at her now, peaceful and perfect in my space, I'm starting to think she might be mine instead.

I should wake her. Tell her to go upstairs to the guest room where she belongs.

Instead, I do something insane.

I step forward and slide one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighs nothing as I lift her against my chest.

Natalie shifts, nuzzling closer. Her cheek finds my shoulder, and her breath whispers across my collarbone, warm and sweet. The scent of vanilla fills my head and I think back to the mess back at her apartment.

"Fuck," I mutter.

This is bad. This is catastrophically bad.

But I'm already moving, carrying her up the stairs with careful, quiet steps. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and I nearly stumble.

The guest room is dark when I shoulder open the door. Moonlight spills through the windows and I manage to press the button on the nightstand to close the blinds.

I lay Natalie down on the bed with more care than I've shown anything in years.

Quietly, I pull the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders. My hand hovers near her face, wanting to brush back that wayward strand of hair that's trapped under her chin.

"Mmm." She stirs, those green eyes fluttering. "Hunter?"

My stomach plummets. Her voice is sleep-soft, barely there.

"Yeah, baby," I whisper roughly. "Go back to sleep."

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and dreamy in the dim light. For a moment, she just stares up at me, confusion softening herface. My heart hammers against my ribs as I try to step back, to put distance between us.

No touching.

But then her hand lifts, and her fingers brush my jaw. The touch is feather-light, devastating in my attempts to step back.

"Hunter, I missed you tonight."

Fuck.Is she even awake? Her eyes are hazy, caught between sleep and consciousness.

I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't think past the warmth of her fingers on my skin.

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