We stand there, silent, both panting, both aware of exactly how close we are and exactly how much trouble we’re in if either of us makes a move. His face is inches from mine, close enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. Close enough that if I shifted, our mouths would be...
“We should... ” I start, but I don’t finish.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “We should.”
Still, neither of us moves. His hands stay on my shoulders, warmth radiating through my gear. His breath flutters against my face. I can see the way his eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before meeting mine.
This is the moment where everything changes or we both walk away pretending it never happened.
The practice facility door bangs open, the sound echoing across the ice.
“Afternoon skate time,” Carter’s voice carries across the rink as he and a few other guys head toward the locker room.
Zane releases me like I just burned him. The professional distance snaps back into place so quickly it gives me whiplash.
“Good session,” he says, squaring his shoulders.
“Yeah. Thanks for pushing me.”
“That’s what you asked for.”
I nod and start collecting pucks, but my hands won’t stay steady.
As I skate toward the tunnel, a sudden jolt of electricity zaps my insides. When I glance over my shoulder, he leans against the side of the net, watching me leave.
We’ve been dancing around this line for weeks. One of us is going to cross it.
The only question is who’s going to break first.
TWELVE
zane
The hotel roomfeels smaller tonight, the air suffocating as I dress for my meeting with Agent Morrison. My eyes fall to his message on my phone screen.
Need to meet. Tonight. Giuseppe’s, 7 PM.
I stare at my face in the mirror. There are lines around my eyes that weren’t there before Vegas. The scar on my temple has faded, but I can still see it. I look older than my thirty-two years but then again, being on the run from some of the most dangerous criminals in the world can do that to a man.
I finish getting dressed and grab my keys. A glance at the clock tells me it’s six forty-five. Fifteen minutes to get across town to Giuseppe’s.
The drive gives me too much time to think about this afternoon’s practice. About the way Tate looked at me when I caught him. The fierce surge of desire that passed between us when we were pressed together, both wanting something we couldn’t have.
And the way his eyes dropped to my mouth for just a second before Carter walked in and shattered the spell.
I’ve been trying not to think about it. Trying to focus on anything else. Christ only knows, there are enoughother distractions in my life…Morrison’s demands, my father’s condition. But none of it can get the image out of my head.
Tate in my arms, looking at me like I was someone worth wanting.
He’s finally beginning to trust me just as I’m being asked to betray that trust.
Giuseppe’s is busy when I arrive, which is good. Crowds make surveillance harder.
I’m five minutes early, so I take a table in the corner where I can see all the exits. I order a drink I don’t want and arrange the salt and pepper shakers in a straight line.
My knee throbs where it presses against the table leg, and I shift to relieve the pressure. The pain is worse when I’m stressed. I guess it’s my body’s way of reminding me what happens when I make the wrong choices.
When was the last right one I made?
