Page 66 of The Grumpy Defenseman
The question should have cooled the room.
It did the opposite.
Because Evan McKinney, with every muscle in his body locked down and his mouth still hot from kissing me, had stopped to ask. Want was not the problem. He had too much of it, and he still cared what I chose.
I slid my wrist free and brought his hand to my mouth.
“Yes.”
The word barely cleared my lips before his control slipped another notch.
He kissedme harder.
Not careless. Never careless. But no longer distant from what he wanted. His hand went into my hair, angling my face to his, and the desk edge pressed into the backs of my thighs as he stepped closer. My hands found his shoulders, then his back, following the flex of muscle under skin as he moved against me with the same exactness he brought to the ice.
Only this was not a game.
There were no boards. No whistle. Just Evan, breathing like control had become a job he was tired of doing, and me, deciding I liked him better when the job started to fail.
His mouth moved down my throat.
I gripped his shoulders and let my head fall back.
The ceiling tile above us had a water stain shaped like Texas, which was exactly the kind of detail my brain would choose to notice while a professional hockey player’s mouth was making a very convincing argument against higher thought.
“Focus, Cole,” I muttered.
His mouth paused against my skin.
Then he laughed.
Not much. Barely a sound. But I felt it against my collarbone, and that small break in him hit harder than another kiss would have.
I pulled him back to me.
He came willingly.
The next kiss had no patience left in it.
My body shifted toward his before I could plan it. His hands settled at my hips again, holding me with enough pressure to make the desk feel less like furniture and more like a bad decision we had both agreed to pursue. He looked down between us, expression tight, then back at me.
There was a question in his face.
There was always a question in Evan when it mattered.
I answered by pulling him closer.
He made a rough sound and pressed his forehead to mine.
For a second, neitherof us moved.
That was when I felt how much he was holding back. He wanted to cross the line with me watching him do it.
The realization landed low and hot.
“Evan,” I said.
His eyes opened.
