Page 9 of Dirty Play

“She’s sweet and charming. And cooperative. Unlike her brother.” I shrug, my pulse quickening under his gaze.

“Why don’t you stop stalling, Ms. Moody?” He leans in slightly, enough to crowd my space, and my breath catches.

Now or never. I lift my chin, channeling every ounce of confidence I have.

“You have an interview withSports Weeklytomorrow.”

“No, I don’t.” His eyebrows dip together.

Shit, of course.

“Yes, you do,” I counter. “It’s scheduled. They’re thrilled, by the way. Said you never do interviews.”

“That’s because I don’t.” He flashes his white teeth as a fake smile graces his face.

“Well, you do now.”

“Not happening.” He exhales sharply, the sound halfway between a laugh and a growl.

“You’re the captain of this team,” I press. “It’s your job to do press before the season starts. This isn’t optional, DiMarco.”

“What are you gonna do, Moody? Tie me up and drag me there yourself?” He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing.

His words send a jolt through me, electricity sparking down my spine as my mind briefly wanders to places it definitely shouldn’t. I snap myself out of it and meet his gaze head-on.

“I’ll do whatever I have to.”

His eyes drop, sweeping down my body slowly, deliberately, sending heat rushing to my cheeks.

Is he checking me out?

But then his gaze returns to mine.

“All five-foot-two of you?” he asks, looking like he’s fighting back a smile.

“If I have to, I’ll get some of your teammates to help me.” I bristle, ignoring the way my pulse flutters.

“Ah, yes. Your little pack of puppies.” His smirk deepens.

“They’re your teammates,” I fire back. “And they understand the importance of their captain actually doing his job. I don’t know what problems you have with the media, but it’s time to put your big boy pants on, DiMarco.”

That wipes the smirk off his face. He steps closer, his green eyes locking onto mine, making my mouth go dry.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The air between us feels heavier all of a sudden. I swallow hard, refusing to back down, even as his presence wraps around me like a storm cloud.

“I don’t need to figure you out,” I say, my voice steady despite my heart racing. “I just need you to do the damn interview.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, his eyes burning into mine like he’s trying to peel back my layers and see what’s underneath.

Then, finally, he leans in, so close I can smell his cologne under all his gear.

“Have fun tying me up,” he says, his voice a dark whisper. “And dragging me there.”

And with that, he straightens up and walks past me, leaving me standing there, my pulse pounding in my ears and my cheeks flaming.

Damn it.

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