Page 18 of Unleashed

Icy water trailed down my arms as Viggy stepped into the lobby behind me. He shrugged out of his soaked hoodie, his short dark hair plastered to his forehead. He watched me, his gaze hooded and hiding his thoughts. The air sparked with a tension that had nothing to do with the storm outside.

I couldn’t send him back out in the rain. He already thought I was the worst thing since burnt toast. I should just let him go. Suggest he call for a rideshare.

And could I handle even another second in his company?

My attraction was a strange thing. Despite being surrounded by the best the NHL had to offer, only one player both rubbed my temper raw and set my heart to pounding. Even with the stolen glances I’d caught from Viggy, he’d never acted on them. He’d never relented in his assertion that my mere presence—the mereexistenceof theUnleashedshow—negatively impacted the Aces.

Maybe he represented a challenge.

Maybe I was a glutton for punishment.

Maybe I saw the fall coming and stepped closer anyway.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t my head making the decisions tonight.

“I’m on the third floor.” The words came out breathless, despite my best intentions to sound casual. I moved toward the elevator on shaky legs, reminded myself to focus on being a decent human being and not turn Jack Vignier into a piece of man candy.

I glanced back, meaning to make sure he was following, but oh sweet mercy... His rain-soaked shirt clung to every ridge and plane of his chest, the harsh overhead lights turning the wet fabric nearly transparent. His broad shoulders, his narrow waist—I yanked my thoughts back from that dangerous path. He needed to get dry, that’s all. I couldn’t let him go back out in this storm without protection, now could I?

“Come upstairs.” I aimed for practical, friendly even, but my voice came out husky and invitation-laden. Heat flooded my cheeks. “I mean—I can throw your clothes in the dryer. Until the storm passes. That’s all.”

His eyes darkened to midnight blue, making my stomach do a slow flip. The way he looked at me—like he could see right through my attempt at being sensible—made my skin tingle with dangerous possibilities.

Oh god, what was I doing? This was about being a good person, not about how Jack Vignier’s rain-slicked presence made my pulse race. I just needed to get him dry. Nothing more. Even if every cell in my body screamed for something else entirely.

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on mine, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “My place is just the other side of Dick’s.”

He turned to leave and my heart plummeted.

“Jack, don’t be stubborn.” I stepped closer, caught in the undertow of his presence, the pull of him stronger than my own will. The air between us thrummed with awareness, a silent current that crackled like a live wire. He had to feel it. Hehadto.

But I wouldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t.

I just couldn’t let him leave, not in the middle of a storm. I mean, being polite mattered, right? We’d turned a corner tonight. There could be a friendship brewing between us. Minus the insane attraction part. “Just let me toss your hoodie and shirt in the dryer. It’ll take a few minutes, at most.”

He hesitated another long moment, then nodded, sharp, quick. “Alright,” he muttered, running a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. “I’ll give it a few minutes. See if this weather doesn’t let up.”

Relief, sweet and overwhelming, washed over me. “I bet it does.” My voice came out a little too sparkly, a little too eager beaver.

We took the elevator up to the third floor in silence. I pulled my keycard from my purse, turning it over and over in my hand as we approached my apartment.

We moved down the hall to my door where I swiped my card, the electronic buzz of the lock loud in the silence between us. And open on the first try!

“After you, Captain.” I gestured him inside with an expansive wave that hopefully masked how my heart hammered against my ribs. Real smooth, Lily. Nothing says ‘completely casual’ like overly theatrical hand gestures.

He moved inside, all six-foot-two of coiled power and intoxicating mass. His shoulder brushed mine as he passed, sparks skittering across my skin at the brief contact.

The entrance hall shrank, Viggy filling the space. Rain dripped from his hair, traced paths down his neck my fingers itched to follow. His scent—clean rain mixed with something darker, more dangerous—flooded my senses. Pure male. Pure Jack. My head spun, thoughts scattering.

I turned to trail behind him, my eyes on the back of his head as he took in my apartment.

Oh god, my apartment. I hadn’t exactly planned for company when I’d left this morning.

We passed my bedroom and—crap!

Clothes piled atop a dresser, this morning’s coffee mug still on the bedside table, and was that yesterday’s script notes scattered across my unmade bed? Real professional, Sutton. I lunged for the door handle, slamming it closed before he could get an eyeful of Hurricane Lily’s latest disaster zone.

The hall opened to my sad excuse for a living space—basically a kitchen with no pretensions of being more. The island that played multiple roles as prep space, dining table, and occasional desk somehow seemed smaller with Jack’s massive frame dominating the area. My tiny apartment had never felt quite so... tiny.

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