Page 17 of Irresistibly Risky

“You should,” he continues, stepping in closer to me. “We’re a lot of fun. In fact, I bet if I took you out tonight, we could have a lot of fun together.”

“You can’t be serious with that line.”

“Actually, it’s the truth. Not a line. But if you’re not into ball players, then what are you doing here, visitor?”

I point toward the field. “Watching your QB1 so he can stay QB1, since I’m your new team orthopedic surgeon.”

“Beauty and brains. I like it.”

“Hey, Rookie!” Asher calls out just as something zips like a bullet through the air in our direction. The ball nails Leo right in the stomach, making him hunch over with a loud groan and an audible wheeze. The impact causes me to jump for how close that was. “Stop flirting with my doctor and get your ass back on the field where you belong.”

I blink about ten thousand times, my heart up in my throat. My head snaps in Asher’s direction, but he’s not paying me any attention. He’s too busy breathing fire at his backup. He could have hit me. I was no more than two feet from where he threw that ball.

The kid grumbles something out to me about how he’ll see me later, and then he slinks onto the field, being teased and jostled by other players along the way. Asher stares me down, and I fold my arms over my chest, anything but amused.

He jogs over to me, smacking the rookie on the back of the head as he goes by.

Before I can react, he’s on me. His arm swoops around my back, and his sweaty body presses into mine. His mouth dips by my ear, and his hot breath fans my neck. “I’d never have hit you, ice queen. Ever. My shoulder might be messed up, but I’m accurate as fuck.”

“Ice queen?”

I can feel him smile. “I had that name in my head for you before I looked you up. Pretty fantastic coincidence, right? Actually, I watched the video of you skating in the Olympics. You were amazing. Why did you stop?”

I push at his hard chest, trying to move the wall of muscle back. He smells good. How can a hulk of a sweaty man smell good? But he also… feels familiar like this. Pressed against me. Like we’ve done this before when I know that to be impossible.

“You’re touching me again, player.”

He doesn’t go far, but his hand unwinds itself from my back. “I’m staking my claim. That kid might steal my spot on the team, but I won’t let him steal my doctor.”

“Is that jealousy or just obnoxious male ego?”

“One hundred percent jealousy and male ego.” His tongue snakes out and licks my neck.

“The hell?” I shove him off me.

He takes a step back, all cocky smiles as he walks backward toward the field.

I wipe my neck. “Gross. If you don’t want someone who hates you cutting into you, don’t do things to make me hate you.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like me tasting you. But now that I’ve officially licked you, you’re mine, ice queen. So hot and yet so cold.”

I shake my head, anger building within me, and I snap out, “I can’t believe you—”

“Watch me play, Dr. Hathaway.” He cuts me off. “I’m about to show off just for you.” He winks at me and then jogs off back onto the field.

That son of a bitch. I can’t believe he just did that. He licked me in front of everyone, right here on the field. Players. All of them. The conquest, and the easy pussy, and whatever it takes to get a woman in bed are all they care about.

I let him put his arm around me. My attempt to push him away was meager at best.

I can’t allow the fact that he’s the first man to show me any real attention in far too long to overshadow what I’m here to do. Ice queen is what he called me, so it’s the ice queen I shall be.

Hot. Arrogant. Good with his hands. A woman could succumb to all of that. Especially when he pins her with those magnetic eyes and sexy smirk. But the truth is, he’s a risk I’m not willing to take.

And I have far too much at stake to play his games.

For all I know, he treats every woman he meets this way. Like an object to claim and then destroy. Disposable when the next one comes along. Only useful until he gets what he needs from them. I refuse to be his discarded trash.

For the next hour, I watch him throw a ball around the field. I watch as he commands his players’ focus and compels them into action. I watch as he makes most of his passes and misses a few. The ones he misses are when a defensive player is heading for him. Which tells me he’s skittish about getting hit again. It also tells me he’s already hurt. I might not know football, but I know athletes, and I know sports medicine.

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