Page 18 of Blindside Sinner

I sigh and stop just inside the door, awed by the hundred-plus beautiful bodies crammed into the space. Women in dresses short enough to show flashes of panties prance around with brightly colored drinks, laughing wildly. Men flirt and smile, coaxing them onto the dance floor for a grind or two. It’s a clusterfuck that smells like sex and booze.

And at the heart of it all, there’s Beck.

Sitting on his pristine couch with arms and legs spread, he looks like a king lording over his court. All the women nearby sneak glances like he might notice them, but he’s too busy laughing with his buddies to care.

I know the exact moment he sees me.

“Sloan, you’re back!” Beck calls as I step into his section of the party. “Just in time for our little soirée.” His eyes are glassy, but there’s not enough booze in the world to hide the evil calculation in them.

The fuckerplannedthis. He’s been biding his time all week, fronting with his best behavior, just to lull me into a false sense of security?—

And I fuckinglethim.

“So I see,” I reply dryly. “What about your game tomorrow?”

Beck waves me off with a smirk. “We’ve all played a little hungover. Right, boys?”

A cheer goes up. Drunk hockey players have a decibel level all their own and the noise spreads until the entire party is on its feet, glasses raised, voices blending into a single cheer. It’s deafening. I don’t even attempt to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

If the big, bad idiots want to go out onto the ice still hammered, that’s their prerogative.

Except Beck.

He’smyprerogative.

“Right.” I don’t have the energy for this tonight. Not after dealing with the Bloodhound. “How long are you planning on having this shindig?”

Beck smirks, downs the rest of his beer, and signals to one of the hovering puck bunnies for another. She hurries over, ass and tits nearly falling out of her dress as she takes the empty and replaces it with a full cold one, but he barely even notices because his eyes are on me.

“As long as I want,” he purrs.

I don’t like the dip his attention causes in my stomach.

No, Sloan. You don’t get to think the hockey douche is hot. He’s a fuckboy and your job. Hands off. Remember the contract.

“Well, some of us have work to do, so keep it down. I’ll see you all in the morning.” I move toward my apartment. “And by the way, I’m not cleaning any of this shit up.”

The smile that tips my lips is as short-lived as my jaunt through the crowd.

Because about thirty seconds after I turn my back on Beck, it’s his huge hand clamping onto my bicep. I’d scream, but the music’s so loud that there’s no point.

He drags me through the room, everyone parting around him like he’s Moses, and into a relatively empty hallway. His big body maneuvers in front of me. All I see, all I smell, ishim. Booze and cologne and beneath it all, something that I still can’t quite wrap my head around.

He stalks forward. Instinct forces me back. Every step he takes forward, I take one back, until I’m wedged into the corner with nowhere to go.

“You need to watch your mouth when you speak to me.” Beck’s voice is low and gravelly with warning. What does it say about me that it makes me shiver in the best kind of way?

“Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t learn some respect on your own, I’ll have to teach you another way to use your mouth.” He brushes a finger down my cheek in a move so similar to the Bloodhound that I shiver.

But where the debt collector made me cold with fear, Beck lights me up. The temptation to see how far I can push him before he keeps his promise is strong.

Damn it, Sloan. Pull your head out of your hormones and focus.

I want to, but he’s too close and his cologne makes my heart thrum under my skin. I hate it.

He smells like sex and danger. It’s catnip for someone like me who’s been struggling to survive for so long that she’s forgotten her basic needs.

---