“You done?” he asked, voice lower, rougher.
I stared at that mark, part of me wishing it had left a handprint deep enough to be remembered. “Depends. You finished acting like you own me?”
“I pulled you out before you did something stupid,” he said.
“Youarethe stupid thing!” My voice bounced back from the closed door. My heart pounded against my ribs so hard I tasted copper. “You walk in there, all authority and jealousy, and now I’m the reckless one?”
He took a step toward me. I didn’t back up, though the wall waited just behind my shoulder.
“You don’t get it.” His jaw tightened. Words forced through restraint. “Every person in that bar had a camera. All it would take is one photo. One hint that something’s off. You’d lose everything you’ve worked for. And I’d?—”
“What? Lose your job? Your reputation? Your control?” I cut him off, heat coursing through me; the same fire he’d been stoking since the first time he shouted my name across the ice. “I didn’t ask for your protection. You don’t get to decide how I burn.”
The muscles at the corner of his mouth jumped. There was something like regret behind his eyes, but it vanished as fast as it came.
“Billie…”
“Don’t.” I stepped closer until his breath slid across my lips, whiskey and cold air. “You want to lecture me, do it in daylight. You drag me out here again and I’ll make sure your boss knows exactly how far your boundaries stretch.”
He blinked hard, expression unreadable. The wind picked up, carrying a thin veil of snow between us. Tiny flakes caught in his hair, melted against the heat coming off that hard stare.
We stood there too long, silence thick enough to choke on. My pulse refused to settle, caught halfway between fury andsomething else that felt just as dangerous. His shoulders lifted, dropped.
“Go home,” he said finally.
“No.”
That single syllable hung between us like a match head. He stepped forward again. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The thump of music inside the bar counted the seconds out of sync with my heartbeat.
“Billie,” he repeated, quieter this time, but it wasn’t a request.
I raised my chin. “Make me.”
For one frozen heartbeat, the world narrowed to breath and distance. His fists uncurled. His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing every trace of the man I’d seen coaching on clean ice.
Then he moved.
A blur of motion—shoulders dropping, boots shifting, the sharp sting of heat rushing the cold between us. He lunged.
His hand slammed beside my head, just enough to pin me without touching. The brick pressed into my back, cold cutting through my thin shirt. He leaned in, shoulders filling my vision, breath heat against my cheek.
“Tell me you don’t want me.”
The words hit harder than the wall.
I swallowed, breath stuttering. “You’re mycoach.”
His mouth twitched into something between a smirk and a warning. “And you’re the one who can’t stop looking at me.”
Then he kissed me.
No hesitation, no careful testing. His mouth crashed into mine like a collision he’d chosen. It wasn’t gentle—it was weeks of pretending snapping all at once. His hands gripped the back of my neck, thumbs sliding under my jaw, pulling me closer until I forgot where the air ended and the fire started.
For a split second I froze, shock locking my muscles. Then instinct took over. My fingers clenched his jacket, dragging himcloser, the zipper biting into my palm. His chest was solid, heart thudding quick and angry under my hands. The taste of him—whiskey and winter air—hit me like a shot.
He broke away for a breath, forehead pressed to mine. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice wrecked. "This is a mistake."
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My mouth found his again—harder this time. All the fight I’d been saving for the ice poured into that kiss. I bit his lip; he groaned, fingers sliding into my hair. The sharp pull forced a sound from my throat I didn’t recognize.
