“Definitely. But I don’t want to be stupid like my sister.”
I jerk back as if slapped. Her statement came from out of the blue, and I’m confused.
“Do I know your sister?” Immediately I try to recall having sex with her sister, but I rarely get last names of the women I sleep with, and no one stands out as possibly being her sister.
“You tell me.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“She was a professor at the University of Nevada in Vegas with a doctorate in quantitative biology and bioinformatics.”
“Professor? Not my usual type.” This conversation is starting to go off the rails. “You must have some reason to believe her and I—uh—you know.” I avoid using a crass term out of respect for her dead sister and to not piss Aria off.
“No, you don’t know my sister,” she snaps back, leaving me confused.
“Then why say that?”
“To gauge your reaction.” She’s backpedaling, and red flags are flying. Sometimes women I sleep with read more into our night together than there is. Perhaps I did sleep with her sister and hurt her because I wasn’t interested in an encore, which I rarely am. If I did, her dislike of me makes more sense than if she just randomly decided I was a hockey player she’d hate.
I reconsider my position, but it hasn’t changed. I want her, and I’m not one to give up easily when a woman is sending out the vibes she is. Aria might be playing hard to get, but she wants to be caught. I’m not averse to chasing her. In fact, I’m looking forward to working for this. Usually, I don’t have to work hard at all. I have money and looks, and I’m fun. That makes me a catch in most single women’s eyes.
I hold up my glass to hers. “To life and the pursuit of happiness.”
She clinks her glass to mine. “And your happiness is?”
“Hockey and sex. I’m not a complicated guy.” Actually, I am, but she doesn’t need to know about the trauma of my past and how my entire family was destroyed in Ukraine by a bomb on Christmas Eve. No one does. I don’t talk about that. It’s no one’s business, and it’s my secret torment. I live every day with survivor’s guilt. It’s also the reason I play things fast and loose and never get attached. Emotional bonds cause unparalleled agony when they’re broken, and I’m too damaged to risk further sorrow and misery.
She’s studying me the way Kirby does, and I’m decidedly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Certain people see beyond my bullshit, and I’ll bet she’s one of them. It’s a possibility I’m not wild about. In fact, being vulnerable terrifies me.
Aria might be the most terrifying yet alluring woman I’ve ever met.
Chapter 12
Disappointed
~~Aria~~
Drakos Lenkov is up to no good. Why else would he pursue me with such reckless abandon? I’m intrigued and horrified by his aborted seduction. In fact, if he hadn’t asked why I hate him, we’d probably be in bed right now, and sleep wouldn’t be on our minds.
But when he asked that question, I was reminded of what he did to my sister and, most of all, to Noah. That kid deserves a father who’ll love him through thick and thin, not one who walked away without a backward glance and never bothered to meet his son. Nope, Drakos threw away Noah.
This man should be the last guy on earth I’d consider sleeping with, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to experience sex with Drakos. Wanting him betrays Anna and Noah, doesn’t it? Well, probably not Noah, as he won’t ever learn about it, and my sister is gone.
Perhaps there’s a way to exact revenge once I sleep with him? I could threaten to write about it. Charles would salivate over a story like that, and there’d be a big bonus for me. Or Drakos would pay good money for me to keep my mouth shut.
Regardless of what the team may think of me, I would never stoop so low as to exploit a night with Drakos, or anyone else for that matter.
Then why do it?
The answer is clear. It would be fun, and it would mean nothing to either of us. We could go back to hating each other and never mention it again. It would be a temporary fork in the road that’s enjoyable and forgettable.
I’m trying too hard to convince myself when I should be trying to discourage myself. I sigh deeply.
“What’re you thinking? I bet you’re picturing me naked. Let me tell you, fact is better than fiction.” Drakos has a mischievous sparkle in those blue eyes so much like Noah’s.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Honey, I don’t need to flatter myself. I know what I’m talking about. This body, this face, this cock, these lips are all designed to pleasure you. I can make you moan with gratification and scream with unbridled passion. I’ll give you the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced.”
