Page 69 of Hard to Handle

He nods and takes a step closer. “Do you surrender?”

“Never.”

He takes a bite of the snowball in his hand and there’s something about him right now—the soft yellow of the park’s lights overhead, the boyish grin on his lips, and the careless snowball fight—that momentarily lessens the insult and injury of the crap he said earlier and reminds me why I find him so damn irresistible. “I’m still furious at you.”

“And you’re even prettier with all that snow in your hair.”

Shit. Don’t do that, Hunter. Don’t . . . break down my defenses that are weak enough already.

“You owe me an apology.” I make a stand with my hands on my hips and my feet firmly planted, more than sure there’s no way he’s going to throw that at me.

“That’s what you want to say right now when you’re at my mercy?”

I’ve been at your mercy since I first laid eyes on you at Tank’s.

Another laugh falls from my lips—nerves mixed with an anticipation I can all but feel—as I take a step in retreat. “One hundred ninety-two goals in this season alone. Twenty-three shy of Gretzky’s single season record. One hundred twenty-four assists. That’s fourth all-time in a season and you still have over ten games left to play. Too bad you weren’t a baseball player, because all of those pretty stats don’t do shit to bolster my confidence that you’re going to actually hit me when you throw it,” I tease, his arm pulling back faltering slightly.

“All-state third baseman right here.” He lifts a finger and points to himself. “I’d have probably ended up hating it too though in the long run. Tag. You’re it.”

I’m distracted slightly by his comment about hating it too, so my reaction time is off.

Shit.

I cry out in shock as the snow hits my cheek and explodes in a puff of dust all over my face and down the collar of my jacket.

“That’s it. You’re mine now, Maddox.”

The war begins. One snowball after another, we act like little kids having a snowball fight in the front yard instead of two adults in the dead of night in some random park in the middle of Boston.

“Time out,” I finally pant as my lungs burn and toes numb, my hands going up to form the time-out sign.

Hunter stops in his tracks, hands on his knees but eyes trained on me and a smile owning his face. “I never figured you for a quitter.”

“I am not a quitter,” I say and then wait for him to get a few feet closer before I launch the snowball I’m hiding behind my back at him.

He charges after me. I shriek and run, but I’m no match for him before he tackles me to the ground.

“No!” I laugh out, as he takes a handful of snow and tosses it on my face.

“You play dirty.”

“Always.” I giggle as he cuffs both my wrists. “No,” I groan as he pulls himself up to his knees so he’s sitting astride me with my hands pinned to both sides of my head. “Get off me.” There’s no heat behind my words, because as fun as the snowball fight was, as exhausting as our wrestling match becomes, all of a sudden awareness hits both of us as I stare up at Hunter, inches from my face. There’s clarity in his eyes that I haven’t seen in forever.

The cold of the snow beneath me begins to seep through my jacket but the smile on my lips feels so very good. The heat and weight of his body against mine even more so.

“Where’s that cocky mouth of yours now?” he asks as his gaze flickers from my eyes to my lips and then back up.

“This wasn’t part of the snowball fight,” I all but whisper.

I hold my breath as he leans forward, his lips near my ear. “There aren’t rules to a snowball fight. You don’t get to control it, Dekk.”

“I know . . . I just—” But I’m at a loss at what to say, and then can’t find any words as Hunter brushes his lips over mine.

“Missed me. You missed me,” he whispers. “Now you’ve gotta kiss me.”

He leans down to kiss me again. It’s gentle and tender and unexpected, since there has never been anything like it between us before.

Hunter isn’t gentle when it comes to kisses. He’s possessive and demanding and steals the breath from your lungs with the dominance everything about him holds over your senses.