Ice Hot Read online

  The redhead who just rejected Lucky taps me on the shoulder. “Tell that jackass if he sees me here again, he’s never gonna see my pie.” She then struts toward the door.

  A couple of the guys holler “strike” and I give them the finger. Fortunately, the noise of the crowded bar drowns them out. Laughter peals through the many layers of chaotic conversation reverberating through the room, and I catch sight of a curvy blonde with legs for miles. This woman isn’t scanning the room or flirting with strangers. She’s at the end of the bar with a small group of friends, laughing so hard that she snorts. Her body-hugging red dress accentuates her hourglass figure, which is a total turn-on.

  Wait…I study her profile. It’s angelic compared to her smoking-hot dress, heels, and red nails. Her makeup is tasteful. A little lip gloss, and cheeks a rosy pink…it’s natural, like the woman at the gas station. Holy hell, it’s her! And I thought my shirt was sexy. This is way better.

  She sweeps her blond curls over her shoulder, and I deliberately glance at her left ring finger. Nothing there. Instead she wears a large statement ring on her middle finger. My kind of gal.

  Her friends head to their table and she pauses long enough to text. I immediately saunter beside her. “Can I buy you a drink? I promise not to spill it on you this time.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the Slurpee-crushing crazy man from the gas station.” Her husky voice is sexy as hell, something I didn’t notice before. “I have thawed, in case you were wondering. I’m no longer an ice queen.” A glint of humor shines in her bright baby blues. “What are the odds that we would ever see each other again?”

  “Call it karma? I do owe you a drink.”

  Her smile is wide, and her dimples are adorable, in a strangely sensual way. “Well, I’m happy that karma interceded. I wanted to apologize for taking my bad day out on you.”

  So, she’s been thinking of me too. That’s promising. “Apology accepted. Not necessary, though. I was having a crap day myself.” I toss a hundred-dollar bill on the wood-grained counter to get the bartender’s attention. She orders a Gray Goose on the rocks with lime. I order the same. I probably won’t drink it, though. I ordered it to impress her, or to fit in with her. I can’t quite figure out which. Not yet. It’s unsettling. My every nerve is in tune with her, in anticipation of…something. Watching and waiting to see how she responds is new territory for me.

  She glances over my shoulder. “So, they sent you to try and pick someone up. Hoping you’ll fail?”

  “No, that’s not why I’m here with you.” Well, technically, that’s inaccurate. “I mean they did challenge me, but I told them to fuck off.”

  With a wry grin, she teases. “Honesty. Isn’t that refreshing.”

  “Sorry about the cursing. I don’t mean to offend you.” Thankfully, our drinks arrive before I plant my foot firmly in my mouth.

  “I would have told them the same.” She lifts her glass in the air, in a silent toast, before taking a hefty gulp.

  Her fingernail traces the rim of her glass. “So, how does it feel to live in a fishbowl? You’re under scrutiny from everyone. First Page Six and now your teammates.”

  “Page Six?” I try to hide my cynicism. “You read Page Six?”

  “Doesn’t everyone in the tri-state area?” She tips her head to the side, a quizzical expression on her face. She’s sizing me up and it’s annoying, not to mention disappointing. I tap the bar with my index finger. Here I thought she was different. So much for first impressions.

  “I didn’t think you recognized me.” I had hoped she’d be interested in the real me. Not the bachelor, the catch, the challenge. Not the Who is Christian Chase dating? persona that I just can’t seem to escape.

  The mystery woman studies my fingers, seemingly mesmerized by my rhythmic tapping to the beat of the music. “I didn’t recognize you. Not until tonight. Seeing you, watching the crowd’s reaction to you and your teammates…one of my friends Googled you.”

  This explains why she’s suddenly so nice. Another woman wanting the famous guy, the hot athlete with wealth. If that’s the guy she wants, who am I to disappoint?

  “Page Six only writes half the story, typical for a cheap tabloid.” She smiles. Maybe she’s onto my antics, or not. Regardless, she’s a captive audience as I add, “It’s true that no woman ever says no to me. What they fail to mention is that no woman has ever regretted saying yes.”

  Staring at me, she narrows her eyes, sizing me up again. There’s the cynic I met the other day. The woman who suspects I’m full of shit, but there’s a hidden meaning in her bright azure gaze. Her eyes—she sees right through me and I shift uncomfortably, blinking first, which is completely unlike me.

  Leaning against the bar, she asks, “Do you want to get shot down?” Her tone is subtle and not the least bit snarky. Like she wants to know my answer.

  Words escape me. Women talk to me, but never listen. Or they listen just long enough to reply. They’re interested in winning over the sports star and care about the promise of celebrity that being in my company can bring. I don’t remember the last time a woman asked me what I want. It’s…refreshing. Intimidating. Even for a guy like me who doesn’t get rattled often.

  “Do I seem like the type to judge a man by a gossip column?” She seems sweet, says all the right things. “You told your team to fuck off, yet they’re watching us. Waiting for you to crash and burn. At least that’s my opinion.”

  She distracts me. Her questions, her intense scrutiny, her take on everything. I down a gulp of my drink and grimace. Shit, that’s strong. She’s still staring, waiting for me to answer. “You’re right. One of my teammates struck out. They’re hoping I do the same.”

  “But you’re their leader, right?” She makes it sound like I’m an alien in some sci-fi movie.

  Scratching the short stubble on my chin, I correct her. “I’m their captain.”

  “Okay, Captain. Do you want me to turn you down so you fit in with them?”

  Her offer is thoughtful, but I’ve got something else on my mind now. “I’ve wanted your number since the gas station. If you think I’m giving up a chance to get to know you—”

  “What’s your number?” She places her thumb against her iPhone, using the Touch ID to unlock the screen. Her cell is encased in a glittery rose gold. Sparkly, but not gaudy. Though I don’t know her, I know enough to deduce that it fits her personality.

  As I recite my number, her fingers type at a rapid rate. My cell immediately vibrates in my pocket. “I just texted you. Add me to your contacts. My name is Serena.”

  She is so close now that her scent intoxicates me. More musk than floral, it’s a total turn-on. So is she. Especially when she plants her hands firmly on the fabric over my abs, then slowly, methodically, slides them upward, past my pecs, until her warm palms reach my neck. She leans into me even closer, her voice a raspy murmur as her breath fans my cheek. “Let’s put on a show. You’re a virile, hotter-than-hot sports star. You believe that your mere touch will ignite my lady parts, and why not? You’re Christian fucking Chase, right?”

  To hear her say the word fucking sends my blood rushing straight to my cock. Her touch, her warm palms against my neck, causes my muscles to tense. My erection swells, in sync with my raspy breaths. Her full lips, so close to mine that I want to kiss them, upturn in a seductive grin.

  “You with your brown hair, mesmerizing eyes a rich amber, chiseled jaw, and a rock-hard body to die for…who could say no to you, right?” Serena bites her lower lip and it sends a jolt of electricity through to my cock. “I hate to break it to you, baby, but I’m your first no.”

  With her last word, her voice bellows through the bar as she shoves me aside. “Let me clarify. I’m saying NO in all caps. Those guys dared you to come over here after your pal was shot down. I know it, and so do you. The only reason my knee hasn’t made conta
ct with your balls is because you have excellent fashion sense. Trust me when I say that Hugo Boss has saved you from a world of hurt tonight.”

  Forget Hugo, Serena is a fucking boss. Even I believe her.

  “Oh, and did you really think I’d fall for the hundred-on-the-bar bit?” She reaches over the bar, stuffing the cash in the tip jar. She then lifts her cell and handbag before pausing. “You just made the bartender’s night.” With a wink, she saunters past me in search of her friends. I, on the other hand, stand motionless, hiding my hard-on behind my hands. It’s far surpassed painful.

  The bartender thanks me for the tip before adding, “Even Christian Chase gets rejected. My night’s looking up.”

  “Glad to oblige,” I mutter, noting that the brunette I previously rejected is laughing her ass off. Ladies and gentlemen, Christian Chase has bombed in front of a large audience. The kicker is that I wasn’t rejected. Instead, I finally got her number…Serena’s number. I turn to find the guys staring at me. Talk about painful. I down another gulp of Serena’s drink of choice and give myself some time before heading back to my teammates.

  “Dude, you crashed and burned!” Mighty shouts from across the room, slamming his fist against the table. It is the happiest I’ve seen him.

  I do my walk of shame. Past Serena, who’s avoiding eye contact with me, to my table. “Five words, Mighty? That might be a personal best.” My jibe causes him to laugh.

  The rest of the guys chime in. There are lots of hand gestures and a few sound effects like fireworks. Yep, they’re an evolved species, my team. If you call acting like second graders evolved.

  “I got it, guys.” I wave them off. “I was rejected. Big time.”

  “Shit, man! That wasn’t a rejection. That was annihilation.” Nick points to Lucky. “He was rejected. That woman slaughtered you, Chris.”

  As I suffer through what is supposed to be the most humiliating moment of my life, I let them have at it. All in the name of bonding. I even encourage them to laugh at me. Hell, I laugh at myself. Because I will call Serena tomorrow. If not tonight. And because the real me is on full display. Maybe I need to be this imperfect guy to earn my team’s respect?

  “You’ll always have your puppy,” the Russian two seats over announces, raising his voice an octave over the ruckus. “His doggie loves him.” He then kisses the air. Cattle calls ensue, and I make a mental note to hide the flask he keeps in his locker. Hell, I might even replace his vodka with hand sanitizer. Let him get a mouthful of Purell. He’ll spit it out. God knows he’s probably swallowed worse.

  Lucky points at me. “You can’t even pick up a plus-size chick.”

  I smack his head. “That woman is gorgeous, not to mention smoking hot. Learn some manners.” This is bullshit and I’m not into it. Not anymore. I wish I’d stayed with Serena.

  She remains in my line of sight and I notice her red dress approaching. The sway of her hips as she saunters toward me makes me hard again, so hard that I adjust in my seat.

  “Guys, knock it off.” Shooting my teammates a don’t fuck with me look does jack crap. “Shut up!”

  “You’re an asshole.” Serena raises her voice above the guys’ banter.

  They hoot even louder. “She called you an asshole.” Mighty takes a swig of his beer.

  “No, I called you an asshole, Beard Man.” She stands with her hand on her hip. Holy fuck. She is voluptuous, with curves in all the right places, and an attitude to match. “Honestly, Christian is the only non-asshole at this table.”

  Serena turns to me. “Let’s go. They’re not worth pretending that you were rejected.”

  “Hot damn,” Nick mutters, and she shoots him a lethal glance.

  Grabbing my collar, Serena yanks me out of my seat and crushes her lips against mine, probing for entrance with her tongue. I’m in. Immediately. Her tongue strokes mine, her hunger building as she grinds against me. She tastes like sin. Well, like vodka and lime with a touch of sin mixed in for good measure.

  This is, hands down, the most intoxicating kiss of my life and alcohol has nothing to do with it. I explore her with my hands. From her ass up her back, under her curls to the nape of her neck. Her skin is soft. I want to know what the rest of her feels like, tastes like.

  Still, with a shit-ton of onlookers, this isn’t the time. What are the odds that someone has snapped a cell pic already? I pull away, though it’s the last thing I want. We’re both panting. Serena’s chest is rising and falling, her baby blues locked with mine. I swear that there is a hint of surprise as I adjust her lipstick with the pad of my finger. She inhales a ragged breath before returning her attention to my teammates, who are now gaping at us.

  “Thanks for the challenge, boys.” She then leads me by the hand out of the bar. By the time we’ve reached the sweltering sidewalk, the guys are hollering again.

  In an instant, I am back to being Christian fucking Chase…ladies’ man. How quickly a tide can turn. I follow Serena a couple of blocks and can’t help admiring how her hips sway and how tight her ass looks.

  We round a corner and she turns to face me. There’s this hypnotic tension between us, drawing us closer. Until I’m inches from her lips once again. All the time I’ve spent thinking of her combined with that kiss we just shared has proved to be a combustible combination.

  “You asked me in the bar what I want. I want to take you home with me.” This time, my tongue strokes hers. Serena moans, her body melding with mine as her fingertips explore my biceps. She gives them a hard squeeze, then deepens our kiss.

  We’re magnets. Drawn together. Neither releasing the other until we are breathless.

  Again, Serena’s chest rises and falls. “I’m not the one-night-stand sort of gal who turns on Christian Chase.”

  “You definitely turn me on.” I kiss her forehead, which is not like me at all. Neither is my sudden change of subject. “Why tip the bartender the full hundred?”

  I shouldn’t be mentioning the bartender right now, but I want her answer. She doesn’t seem spoiled, but dropping all of the change from my hundred into a tip jar can mean one of two things: money doesn’t matter to her and she’s careless with it, or she’s empathetic to others. Like a bartender who doesn’t earn much. Because of how I grew up, her answer will define whether or not I’m still attracted to her.

  “His shirt was frayed. I could tell it’s been mended before.” She traces a seam on my own shirt absentmindedly. “He kept tucking it in, as if self-conscious. Your generous tip just bought him a new shirt. Or two. Depending on where he shops.”

  My charities are important to me, and I consider myself an observant guy. But, I missed this. Serena didn’t. I’m intrigued and want to know more about her. “Who said I want a one-night stand? Come to my place and let’s find out.”

  “There’s a strong chance that we’ll be courting trouble if I do.” She loops her finger through my belt, tugging me closer.

  I swallow, though my throat is parched. Only Serena can quench this insatiable thirst. “Trouble like this kiss? That’s good trouble.” I invade her mouth again. Slow and sensual. Our tongues stroking as she wraps her leg around mine. We can’t get close enough, I can’t get deep enough. Just when I’d sworn off women, this one has me completely enthralled. I can’t imagine what sex with her would feel like, if she ignites me with a mere kiss. My grip tightens, my kiss deepens, yet it isn’t enough. I want all of her.

  She moans, then pulls away. Suddenly winded, I feel like I’m going to die. That’s how much I want her. Serena places her cell in my palm, her hand quivering slightly. Enough for me to notice my effect on her. “Type your address. If you’re a serial killer, you are now leaving a trail.”

  “That’ll make me think twice.” I type my address in a text to Becca Ames, and hand the phone back to Serena.

  “You’re probably not getting laid tonight. Are
you sure you’re okay with that?”

  I tug her against my chest. “Are kisses off limits?”

  Serena shakes her head. “There will be kisses. Lots of kisses if our last was any indication.”

  “Then I’m fine.” Hell, more kisses like those we’ve already shared and I’m fucking great.

  My hand remains outstretched. I’m offering this woman a glimpse into my life. Not something I do often, but I’ve thought about her for days, for what feels like forever. I didn’t make a move then and have regretted it ever since. The jolt of pure excitement that runs through me when she grabs my hand is a new sensation. So is the drumming of my pulse against my temples. The only other times I experience this are on the ice, where I’m most comfortable, when the rush of adrenaline surges.

  If holding her hand causes this euphoria, I can only imagine what making long, slow, hard love to her would feel like. As we cross the street to my Range Rover, I begin to ask myself if I want a mere one-night stand with her. Something tells me that this could be the start of something amazing. If I’m willing to take such a huge chance. There’s the problem, though. I don’t take those types of risks. She would have to be something truly special for me to even consider such a thing.

  My conscience reminds me that I’m bringing her home with me. That is a first step. In an instant, I’m terrified.

  Serena squeezes my hand as we reach my car. “You sure about this?”

  Another question. She wants to know how I feel. Again. “Yeah.” My voice is rough, like the many thoughts churning in my mind. Freaking me out. So, I silence them by kissing her once more. I’ll let my body’s response to her guide me. This is an attraction after all. Sex, no sex…it doesn’t matter. She’s hot and I’m hot for her.