“Yeah?”
“Do you get nervous before a game?”
“Well… yeah. But over the years it kind of changes from being terrified to just having nervous energy, waiting to get on the ice. You know?”
“Yeah. I know. It’s more like excitement, now.”
“Exactly.”
“And you can use excitement in your performance.”
“Yeah!” He leans in closer. “That’s it. You use the nerves as energy. You just have to control it so you aren’t taking penalties or getting in fights.”
“Yeah, I try not to get in fights on stage.”
“Ha. Good policy. You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I think if there’s a day where you’re not nervous or excited to perform—or play, I guess—that’s when you should hang it up. It’s part of being passionate about what you do.”
“Yeah.” He listens attentively. “That’s it.” He studies me with a look on his face that’s indecipherable—as if I might have knowledge about the origin of the universe, or whether there’s life beyond Earth.
“Obviously you’re passionate about hockey.”
He tilts his head, one corner of his mouth hooking up. “Yeah. Among other things.”
Now he’s flirty. I like it. “What other things?” I ask innocently, then take a sip of water.
He leans in, his eyes focused on mine. “I think I’m passionate about you, Nikki.”
My vocal cords seize up and I stare at him. My heart picks up speed. “We just met.” I repeat my earlier words in a low tone.
“I know. Weird, huh? But… you feel it too.”
I take pride in being honest. In the music business, that’s both an asset and a liability. But this isn’t music. “I do. It’s too soon to tell you that, though.”
“Why?” His gaze drops to my mouth and my lips part in response.
I blink. “Why?”
“Why is it too soon?” He reaches out and brushes fingertips over my cheek.
“Oh. Uh. We just met?”
“Eh. That doesn’t matter.” His brown eyes take a tour over my face as if he’s fascinated with me.
It’s… disturbing. Because I like it. And I’m kind of fascinated with him.
“I’m gonna kiss you, Nikki.” His fingertips still graze my cheek as his eyes roam intently over my face.
I’m vibrating with anticipation. Need. “Yes.”
His face moves closer, his eyes going heavy-lidded. And I close my own eyes as his mouth touches mine, his hand sliding beneath my hair, behind my ear, to curve around my skull, his thumb pressing on my cheekbone. It’s such a tender yet possessive gesture and I feel claimed. And safe. And so fucking turned on.
Our mouths press together in a slow, seeking kiss, and heat instantly blossoms in my core, my belly doing a flip of lust. Then he makes a sound of hunger, angles his head, and kisses me again, deeper, and I open my mouth and let him slide his tongue inside. This time his growl sounds appreciative, and a moan rises in my throat.
I slide a hand into his hair, all thick and silky, and lick his tongue, sinking into the heat of the kiss, the absolute drugging euphoria of it. The sounds of the baccarat tables, glasses clinking, and people talking fade away and I’m melting, needing to get closer to him, dying for him.
He’s bold. Forceful. Taking what he wants. But also giving. And he’s being careful with me. I can feel it in the tension of his body. And that makes me even hotter for him. I kiss him back, our mouths crushed together, moving in consuming strokes of tongue and nibbles and sucks.
