Chapter 1

SOPHIA

Afew months earlier

"No, no names," I gasped into his mouth as his strong hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer. The firm and more than adequate hardness of his erection teased me as it threatened to bust through the zipper of the black dress pants that hugged his thighs like a glove.

God, he smells so damn good, I thought as his teeth ran along my jawline. The stubble on his chin, a delicious contrast, assaulted my senses.

The ice on an outdoor rink, crisp and cool. Spice. All male.

Iceman indeed, I thought. Yes, please.

Waking up parts of me that had been asleep for far too long. And the heat he's packing is beyond swoon worthy.

Heat pooled low in my belly, shivers ran down my spine. Every inch he kissed, licked, or nipped screamed for more. Where his hands roamed, skimming my body with a sure and measured touch, begged for more.

And less clothing. Fingers slipped up my thigh, beneath the hem of the short orange dress I wore. A trail of electricity in its wake, higher and higher, until he reached the slip of lace that I really wanted gone so he could do whatever the hell he wanted to me.

"How is that fair?" he murmured against my neck. His breath tingles to race down my spine.

"Who said anything about fair, Iceman?'"

He chuckled, his breath tickled my ear. I moaned at the sensation.

Fuck, I wanted more.

"You know who I am, but I don't-"

"Who says I know?"

He snaked his hand up, between my breasts, slowly. The eye contact was so intense as he did, that when he gripped my neck, hand hot and firm against my heated skin, my eyes widened. My breath quickened, the thud thud thud of my heart a plea for more.

My panties were useless. Along with any sane thought I'd entertained when I realized my hockey crush sat at the bar. Drinking the most expensive whiskey in the place.

Every thought in my head calmed, until there was only him, his hand centering me, and the need to feel…more. No, not more.

Him.

The older than me hockey crush by more than a few years. Just what I needed to work off the nervous energy buzzing in my body ever since I left home to work for the Seattle Revenge as head of the Hype Team, which included the Ice Scrapers. As much as I loved my brothers, and all the hockey that ran in my blood like coffee needed to. To be on my own and live somewhere where I wasn't Sophia LeCavalier, baby sister to Mason, Noah, and Brett LeCavalier, felt like a breath of fresh air. Hockey was my first love. Cheering on the bench for my brother since I could walk turned into promoting and running fan events for our local teams. This way, I still had the chance to do what I was good at, but far from the assuming looks and dismissive glances because I was the only girl. And from the heartbreak and embarrassment of my past.

Not to mention my brothers kicked anyone's ass who glanced my way accidentally.

If only they knew the truth I'd kept hidden from them. Especially Mason.

Max Vaughn. The best defenseman in the league until he retired last season at the age of thirty-five. The Seattle Revenge's new head coach, making the transition from player on the bench to pacing behind it when training camp and pre-season started in just over a month.

His mouth hovered near mine, our breath mingling in a dance that wouldn't be satisfied until we were both naked, sweat slickened, and waiting for our souls to come back into our bodies sprawled and shamelessly sated. "Oh, Sunrise, I think you know exactly who I am," he growled.

God, he could read me the dictionary in that tone and I'd come after a few minutes, as long as he kept his hand exactly where it was. The nickname slid along my spine like warm honey. Not that I needed any more encouragement. I licked my lips, loving the way his eyes tracked the movement. Back arched, I pressed my body against him, reveling in the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his body, barely contained. I wanted him to unleash that carefully contained control. The sooner the better.

"My expectations are high, Iceman. Not sure if you're up to the challenge," I purred, pressing my breasts against his forearm, his grip tightening just enough, as if showing me was really in control.

Lies. All lies.

An art I perfected over the last year.

He pulled me closer, the electricity between our bodies leapt and played like a Tesla coil, arcs of electrical energy dancing between us. "Sunrise, I never fucking back down from a challenge." Eyes darkening, he pressed the hard length of himself against my belly and my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head from the sensation.

It had been far too long since I'd had anything or anyone but my own hand and Mr. One-and-Done, my trusty vibrator, getting me off. He hadn't done more than hold me in place with his big hand, and I was ready to drop to my knees and worship at the altar of what was ready to jump out of his pants.

Not that I had spent a few nights fantasizing about all the things my favorite hockey player could do if given the chance.

And reality beat the fantasy by at least a thousand percent or more. It was a surprise. And I loved surprises.

His eyes bore into mine, the intensity in them unrelenting in their blatant desire.

Holy hell.

"Fair warning. I love... being challenging," I purred, loving the way his pupils dilated as I lifted my chin. Silently begging him to see just how far he could push things. Push me.

His gaze bore into mine, searching and finding all the crevices and places most would see as a weakness. Breath hot on my cheek, he murmured, "Your call. We stay here, play this game of cat and mouse, or…"

"Or?" I asked, breathless and so turned on my body trembled with need. Even if he wasn't the Max Vaughn, this man would have me in a chokehold. I mean, more than he currently did. Sexy, grumpy, and God, did he smell fucking sexy as hell. And still could hang a suit. My eyes darted down to where I caught sight of his forearm, the veins and corded muscle. The kind of arm porn a girl swoons over and has to take a step back, and more than a moment, to gather herself over.

The damn tattoo on his hand wasn't helping matters either. If anything, only catching a glimpse of the dragon adorning his chest hit all the targets of my overly excited lady parts so hard I wouldn't be surprised if I spontaneously orgasmed just from the sight. Or his smell. Why did men always smell so fucking good when they were doing delicious, naughty things yet barely touching you? Or the sound of his voice. Rough, insistent, and commanding,

I licked my lips as my eyes finally unglued themselves from his art, only to find him staring at me expectantly. Shit, did he say something while I fantasized about licking his tattoos and all the other parts of his- mental shake, and I exhaled, trying to gain my footing. One brow lifted in question, as if he knew exactly what I had been doing. "You're distracting."

He smirked. "And you're too young for me, sweetheart. But, baby, if this is how you get when I barely touch you, then," he leaned in so close I could practically taste the cinnamon on his tongue, "I can't wait to see what fucking happens when I lick you while you're spread out for me."

The cold air hit my body, but did nothing to cool me down. I might be younger than Max Vaughn, but fuck, there were days I felt so much older than my twenty-four years. I smirked, devouring his words. It only made me want his body back with a feral need that coursed through me like lightning. He grabbed my hand and led me back to the bar, where he tossed a handful of bills on the counter.

"My place. Now," he growled.

Who was I to tell Coach Vaughn no?