Page 78

Miles Stratton wearing a fitted black suit with a deep-green tie is a problem I was not warned about.

The jacket stretches across his shoulders like it was built on him, the tie brings out something wicked in those blue eyes, and he has spent the entire shoot ignoring Iris's instructions to watch me move around the room instead.

A shiver runs through me as I remember those hands on me in the shower last night, water streaming down his chest while I rode his palms exactly how I wanted. The way he looked up at me like I was some kind of goddess, his eyes dark with need, letting me take everything I craved while he whispered filthy praise against my skin.

God, I'd never been so turned on in my life.

Watching this massive hockey player completely surrender to me, his eyes in awe while I controlled every movement, every gasp, every broken moan his hand pulled from me.

My core clenches at the memory, heat flooding between my thighs as I watch him now in that sinfully fitted suit, knowing exactly what's underneath it.

"Mr. Stratton," Iris says for the fourth time. "The camera is here. Can you please pay attention so we all have time to dress for the sponsor dinner?"

"Sorry." His eyes find me again over the lens. He is not sorry. "Got distracted."

I mouth behave at him. He mouths something back that is definitely not okay.

Eventually, Iris gets the formal team shots she needs for the league, though Miles keeps finding excuses to glance in my direction between every click of the shutter.

"Last one!" Iris calls eventually. "Now we just need one big Wildcard family photo. So everyone in!"

The team assembles in a rowdy cluster around the fireplace and I stand back and check my tablet for the rest of team duties before dinner this evening.

But then, a huge warm hand closes around mine and yanks me forward.

"Come on you," Miles says, and pulls.

I stumble across the floor before I can react, and when I look up, I'm staring down the lens of the camera. "Miles. I'm staff. Staff do not belong in team portraits—"

"WRONG!" Big Mike booms from beside the camera, his gold watch flashing. "Nobody has done more to keep these idiots alive than you! So Audrey Fields, stay right there in the photo before I make it a contractual requirement!"

"I haven't even signed a contract—"

"I'm a billionaire, sweetheart. I can make anything a contractual requirement. I once made a hot tub a legal witness in a very serious trial."

Eden and Stevie flank me before I can retreat, and suddenly it doesn't feel as much like a romantic scandal scene, but more of a family photo.

Eden is laughing beside Nate, Stevie is tucking herself near Aidan with suspicious enthusiasm, and Coach Dave is raising his thermos like we just won the trophy.

Iris clicks the camera as Miles's arm settles around my waist. One of those warm hands spreads over my hip, deliciously tempting even through the fabric. My body shivers at how completely and unashamedly possessive this man is. Brett hated cuddling me in public.

"You're supposed to look at the camera," I whisper.

He squeezes my hip and slides his hand lower. "I'm aware how to take photos."

I glance up to tell him to remove his hand from my ass, but instead, I catch him looking down at me with an expression that steals my breath. It's intense, strong yet tender, and I can only stand and stare into his eyes as the flash fires in front of us.

"Perfect!" Iris cries. "That's the one!"

Miles's voice drops lower, soft enough that only I can hear him. "You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

My heart stumbles as heat floods my cheeks.

"Same to you," I whisper back, meaning it more than I've meant anything in weeks.

His gaze drops to my mouth and I lean in without thinking, forgetting the cameras, forgetting the team, forgetting that we're standing in front of everyone who already thinks we're sleeping together anyway.

"GET A ROOM!" Baxter hollers from somewhere behind us, loud enough to startle half the lobby through the doorway.