Page 50 of Slap Shot Scandal
But he cuts me off, dropping his mouth to mine.
Swear to God, trumpets and harps swell in a romantic interlude in my head, all my focus on the sensation of his lips on mine.
Weston Steele is kissing me.
And it’s fucking amazing.
I’m lost in him, the taste of him—the most delicious temptation on this earth. His lips soft and full, moving over mine with a heated fervor. Like he wants to leave his mark on me forever.
My whole body trembles, a shiver of pleasure rolling through me as I melt into the kiss.
The Kiss, with a capital ‘K’ because that’s how damn good this kiss is.
Weston Steele’s a phenomenal kisser.
Of course he is.
One hand splayed at my hip, he lifts the other and cups my cheek. The gesture’s so tender, so intimate, his skin rough against mine. My skin burns under his touch, and I struggle to swallow.
I don’t know what we’re doing right now, the line we’re crossing. All I know is I want to keep going.
He pauses and staggers back, dropping his hands to his side.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
His skin flushed, bare chest heaving, he holds up his palms. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
Heart still pounding, I feel like I’m drowning.What just happened?
This is it—the moment I’ve been warned about my entire life. The exact second when feelings override judgment. When I prove I don’t have what it takes at this elite level.
Focus blurry, priorities shifting.
I should run away, like he did this morning. Save myself, my job, my career.
“Weston—” I lick at my bottom lip, tasting him.
Instead of running, I do something so out of character, so un-Harbor-like. I channel my inner Piper and step forward. Breathless.
“Please don’t be sorry.”
He stares down at me, pupils dark and wide, and I’m afraid I might actually pass out. From nerves, embarrassment, longing…a combo of all of the above. There’s an almost imperceptible tremor in his hands, like he’s holding back.
The fact that someone like him—a professional athlete, always so controlled, so disciplined—is thrown right now sends a rush racing through me.
I’m tired of being afraid. Of my father, what other people might think, their perceptions of me.
Tired of proving my worth by denying every single thing that feels good to me.
His fingers grip my waist with careful restraint, but tension vibrates through him—the same controlled power I witnessed on the ice held in check by sheer willpower. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he fights some sort of internal battle.
“I’ve been trying not to—” His voice catches, rougher than I’ve ever heard it before. He swallows hard, those deep blue eyes never leaving mine. “I shouldn’t…”
But he inches closer, grasping my hips and pulling meinto him. His initial touch is tentative, almost questioning. His palm splays across the small of my back, sending a delicious shiver up my spine. My heart’s pounding so hard I’m positive he can feel it through my blouse.
“Fuck it,” he growls, seizing my lips in the most possessive kiss of my life.
All good sense flies away as his hand cups my ass, wetness flooding my panties. His tongue slips into my mouth and he swallows my tiny moan.
