“But not one with alcohol in it!” Dax called after her. “You’re too young to drink!”
Anna gave him the middle finger over her shoulder.
“I don’t quite understand,” she heard Leon say. “Your sister doesn’t seem in on this no-hockey-players deal.”
“Alvarez,” Dax growled, “I swear if you have one more immoral thought about Anna, I will…”
Anna pushed open the door out and let it slam shut behind her.
Sighing, she rubbed her face. She loved Dax, but whenever she was out with him, she was denied her own identity. She was no longer Anna, but Dax Temple’s sister. And that was getting on her nerves!
God, she was so exhausted. She had no desire to study, but she didn’t want to fight or debate, either. Would she seriously only be able to switch off in a year, once her last exam was over?
Shaking her head, she wondered if she should just retrieve her jacket and leave, get in a few more hours of studying before going to sleep. But the cloakroom was currently unstaffed, She turned to the bar, where a man was sitting on a stool. He was hard to miss. Even seated, he was huge.
Hesitantly, she bit her lip and swallowed. He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, just a white shirt and a thin black tie. But compared to him, all the other men in the banquet hall looked like they were wearing garbage bags.
Anna couldn’t say what it was, but for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Maybe it was his broad shoulders and the way his shirt clung to them as if they were lovers who hadn’t seen each other in ages. Or maybe it was his muscular back, or his tanned forearms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves, their tendons and veins clearly visible as he turned a beer bottle in his hand.
It could be his hair — black as ink. It fell over his forehead but was short on the sides. Or maybe it was just the dark, crackling energy that he radiated. It warned her not to get too close — yet, at the same time, lured her like a magnet.
She knew immediately who he was: Lucas Moreau, the Hawks’ goalie.
A few months ago, reporters had tried to give him the nickname “Killer” because he had the charisma of a serial killer anddecimatedevery goal attempt. But he had commented on the nickname, growling,I don’t like it, and no one dared to use it anymore.
Moreau had his chin lowered and his eyes closed. He was steadily turning the beer bottle in his hands, which made a scraping noise on the wooden counter. He breathed deeply. She saw his chest rise and fall evenly while the bartender gave him anxious glances.
Anna understood the bartender’s apprehension. It seemed as if he was trying to calm himself, but it was unclear if he was succeeding.
Was he angry?
She couldn’t say. His face was in the shadows and difficult to see, so she carefully took a step forward and glanced at his profile. She studied his sharp jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and large hands. His eyes were closed.
He looked tired. Stressed. A bit…lost.
When Anna thought about it, he looked exactly how she felt.
Maybe that was why she hesitantly approached the bar, why she still couldn’t look away from him…when, suddenly, he opened his eyes.
Her mouth went dry. He stared straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar. At first, Anna thought he was looking at himself, but when she found his reflection, she realized she was wrong.
He was looking at her as if he had sensed her staring at him.
Immediately, her diaphragm contracted and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t look away, though, because his light gray eyes were so clear and challenging…
“Hey,” she said slowly and stepped next to him before nodding to the bartender and ordering a gin and tonic. The youngster nodded frantically and got to work, visibly relieved to be able to turn his back on the Hawks goalie.
Anna slowly sank onto the stool to his right and turned her head to him. Moreau was no longer looking in the mirror — but directly into her eyes. And the message she read in it was unmistakably clear:Why the hell are you sitting next to me?
Well, she was having a bad day and wasn’t going to let any man tell her what she could or couldn’t do, not even a broad-shouldered demigod. She watched his gray eyes reflect the dim light.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly, not knowing if she was asking because his jaw was so tense or because he seemed so somehow…lonely.
Either way, he didn’t answer.
Instead, he let go of his beer bottle and tilted his head almost imperceptibly. He peered down at her calmly as if it were his right, after she had so shamelessly stared at him.
Goosebumps scurried down her back as his gaze wandered over her bare neck, briefly stopping at the spot where her pulse was beating far too fast. Then, he worked his way down her upper body and legs to her ballet flats. Heat gathered in her abdomen, and Anna pressed her thighs together. The high-neck, black dress reached her knees and was neither particularly provocative nor tight. Nevertheless, she had the feeling that Lucas was seeing too much. She felt naked under his gaze.
