Naughty Or Ice

by Sylvia Pierce

  “Eva. I didn’t mean—”

  “Let’s get something straight, asshole,” she snapped. “I don’t care what you think of me and my life choices. I’m not here to be your friend, or your mama, or your nanny, or your damn wet nurse.”

  Walker’s brain was instantly invaded by an image of Eva straddling him in his bed, those perfect tits in his face, his tongue licking her nipples, sucking her, making up for every rotten thing he’d said, one stroke at a time…

  Jesus, you really are an asshole…

  “I’m here to get you back on your team before your bosses cut your ass loose,” she said, bringing him right back to the moment. She slid the phone out of her fleece pocket and held it between them. “So if we’ve got different goals here, let’s call up McKellen right now and let him know the deal’s off. I’m sure we can both find something better to do with our time.”

  He could think of about twenty better things he’d like to do with her time. And yeah, maybe he was acting like a first-rate cocksucker, but he wouldn’t even be thinking about those things if he hadn’t picked up the same hot, carnal, totally turned-on vibe from her. It was pretty obvious they couldn’t stand each other, but hot damn, were they down to fuck. Walker knew how he felt, and one look at her—those dilated pupils, her chest heaving, her neck and cheeks flush…. He’d pissed her off, sure. But there was a lot more going on there than just anger.

  It was lust. Pure and simple.

  Eva stared at him. Hard. Her breathing was uneven, her lips parted, hands on her hips. She slid a step closer again, her eyes raking him over, up and down, finally settling on his mouth. Their bodies were so close, he could feel her hot, ragged breath on his cheeks, could see the little divot just beneath her bottom lip, the tiny freckle that sat at the corner of her mouth, darker than the ones sprinkled across her nose.

  He wanted to kiss it. To taste her soft skin, to slide his tongue between those lips and feel her hot little mouth.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, almost involuntarily, and Walker’s dick strained hard against his pants. In that moment, no one could convince him that he and Eva weren’t sharing the same base, primal thought—what they’d do to each other naked, rolling around on the floor like animals, hot and wet and hard and angry as fuck.

  The tension was so thick, so hot, Walker wanted to explode.

  He reached for her, clamped his big hand around hers, the phone gripped firmly between them. “I think our goals are pretty much right in alignment, princess.”

  “Yeah? You think so?” Her voice was soft now, almost a whisper, but the charge was still there, white-hot and electric. Walker lifted his hand to her face, brushed his thumb across her lower lip. Eva gasped, parting her lips as her velvet tongue slid along the tip of his thumb, urging him deeper into her lush mouth, her teeth grazing his knuckle.

  She’s gonna make me come. Right here. Just like this.

  Eva bit the tip of his thumb, and Walker groaned, his free hand sliding down on her hip, urging her closer…

  “Aaaaand… cut!” A voice shouted from the penalty box, followed by raucous laughter.

  It was like a gallon of ice water directly to the balls.

  Roscoe was doubling over in the box, Henny shaking his head beside him, the two of them damn near pissing their pants with laughter.

  Walker slid his thumb out of her mouth, and Eva backed away, her cheeks flushed.

  Walker’s dick instantly shriveled. He’d fucking forgot Roscoe was even there. Videoing the whole damn fight, no less. And when the fuck had Henny shown up?

  Walker’s head was spinning. His thumb was still wet from where Eva had sucked on him, a cold reminder that her sweet, hot mouth was no longer anywhere near him.

  A travesty of epic proportions.

  Roscoe pointed at his camera. “Sorry, did you want me to keep filming? Maybe try another angle? I could—no? Okay. Carry on, then.”

  Douche bag.

  Walker sighed. Roscoe and Henny lacked finesse, but they’d never done or said anything that wasn’t in Walker’s best interest, even if it sucked ass. The boys were right to interrupt. That was a close fucking call.

  Walker might not like the idea of taking hockey lessons from an ice princess, but if McKellen found out he’d fucked the whole thing up with sex, they’d probably tear up his contract right there.

  Despite the attitude he’d thrown at Eva, Walker did not want to be out on the street.

  Eva had skated over to retrieve her clipboard, and now she was back, her shoulders set, her chin tilted up, lips pressed together, completely closed off. It was as if he’d imagined the scorching heat between them—as if it’d never even happened.

  “So.” Walker’s voice broke. He cleared his throat, kicking at the ice with his skate. “We should probably….”

  “Yeah,” she said, blowing out a breath.

  Walker nodded, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t do this—this post-almost-but-not-quite-hooking-up awkward as fuck conversation. Hell, he’d never even been in a situation like that before with a woman. He’d never not sealed the deal after a moment like that.

  Be real, dickhead. You’ve never even come close to a moment like that.

  Walker sucked in a breath of icy air, trying to slow down his heart, still hammering away in his chest. Sure, he’d had some good times, got downright dirty with plenty of women on the road, back before his injury. But that’s all they were—fun times. Hot sex.

  Eva? They hadn’t even kissed. He hadn’t touched more than her soft mouth, yet he couldn’t remember anything so damn erotic in his life. So perfect. Everything in him was wound up tight, his head fuzzy, his mouth still watering for the taste of her he hadn’t gotten.

  With one touch, one breath, Eva had gotten completely under his skin.

  “We should definitely not—” She blew out a breath and slicked her hair back, even though not a strand was out of place. “—do that again. Ever.”

  Was it possible that his dick could shrink even more?

  “Good call,” he said, pointing at her. Then, making a show of wiping imaginary sweat off his brow, “Whew! Dodged that bullet.”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “Awkward,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.

  “Little bit, yeah.”

  Eva skated backward away from him, shaking out her arms. “Can we just… erase the last fifteen minutes?”

  “By skating backward and shaking?” He imitated her move, exaggerating the swish in his hips. “Is this some figure skater time travel trick?”

  Eva laughed. She fucking laughed, and damn if Walker didn’t light up like a Christmas tree.

  He picked up a little speed, gliding past her toward the net. “How fast do I have to skate to go back, say, ten years? Because if you think I’m bad now… Jesus. I was a serious asshole back then, and there’s some shit I could probably stand to fix.”

  “Sure. Maybe if we get through a few drills without killing each other, I’ll teach you the time travel move.” Eva was cracking up again, the tension between them evaporating as she fell in line next to him, skating along the goal line. When they reached the boards, they both stopped, and Eva turned to face him, holding out her hand to shake. “Do we have a deal, forty-six?”

  She was still smiling, but Walker knew it wasn’t a joke. Something between them had shifted, and her handshake was a peace offering. A do-over. Didn’t stop the ache in his balls, or chase away the disappointment in his gut that he hadn’t been able to taste her sweet mouth, but it definitely cleared the air between them.

  He grabbed her delicate hand, which was soft and warm and a hell of a lot stronger than it looked. “You got yourself a deal, Evangeline.”

  Her eyes darkened, and she immediately lowered her gaze, a new blush creeping into her skin. “No more princess, huh?”

  Before he could respond, Eva looked up at him again, thoughtful. “Look, Walker… I’m pushing you hard out here because I know you can handle it. I see
you struggling with that injury, but I know you can do this.” She put a warm hand on his shoulder, her eyes soft and unguarded for the first time since they’d met. Fuck, he wanted to fall right into them, forget about the rink and Roscoe and Henny and his aching bones and just totally fucking lose himself in this woman. “You’re doing a great job, despite our… our challenges. I mean it.”

  “Yeah?” He couldn’t hide the smile on his face, the rush of pleasure in his chest that she’d actually complimented him. Every muscle in his body was ready to revolt, and Walker had considered it a win that he’d managed to keep himself upright the whole time, but Eva had said he’d done great. Great!

  He was still smiling.

  “So, I think we can call it a day, start fresh again tomorrow. Okay?” she asked.

  “You got it, princess.”

  Now it was her turn for a smile.

  Walker didn’t say anything else, just watched her skate away and hop out of the rink, his knee throbbing, dick still at half-mast.

  Despite their sparring, the chemistry between them was off the charts—and that was just on the ice. He could only imagine what they’d be like together in bed. But that’s as far as Walker was letting it go—his imagination. Maybe a fantasy or two to get him through those frigid Buffalo winter nights. Today had been a fluke—a momentary lapse in judgment. It wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again.

  Thing was, he was starting to fucking like her. Really like her. And it pissed him off.

  Walker waited until she was out of the arena before he sat down on the players’ bench to strip off his skates.

  “Well,” Henny said, laughing. “She’s fucking hot. And hardcore as hell. And hot. Did I mention hot? I like her.”

  “Sure you do. Hey, thanks again for the cockblock, bro.” Walker’s tone dripped with sarcasm, even though he was actually relieved they’d interrupted him. “Definitely made the right call there.”

  “We saved your stupid ass from self-destruction,” Henny said. “You should be thanking us, asswipe.”

  “I know.” Walker shook his head, then nodded at the camera. To Roscoe, he said, “Other than your homemade porno, did you get any decent footage on the ice?”

  “Got it all,” Roscoe said. “Including the porno.”

  “Yeah I’m gonna need a copy of that, by the way,” Henny said.

  Walker clipped them both on the back of their rock-solid heads. “How’d I look out there?”

  “You looked good,” Roscoe said, shrugging. “Made it through all the drills, didn’t wipe out, didn’t cry too hard when she cracked the whip.”

  “I like when a woman cracks the whip.” Henny grinned.

  “And?” Walker held out his arms, waiting for something useful. He needed pointers about his technique, not bullshit jokes. “What do you guys think?”

  “I think, sir,” Roscoe said, still laughing, “that you are in a fuck lot of trouble with this woman.”

  “Seconded,” said Henny.

  “You’re thinking with your dick,” said Roscoe.

  “Never a good idea,” said Henny. Then, with a predatory smile, “But if you’re gonna go down in flames over a woman, your ice princess is worth the burn.”

  Don’t I fucking know it, bro. Don’t I fucking know it.

  Chapter Nine

  “No chance you can play hooky, huh?” Marybeth asked as they pulled up to the front of the ice rink.

  “Don’t tempt me.” Eva turned around in the passenger seat to look at Gracie, all smiles in her frilly white dress, red-and-white striped tights, and a Santa hat she’d adorned with rainbow sequins. Marybeth was taking her to Breakfast with Santa and the Elves at the Galleria Mall today; the kid had stayed up half the night putting together the perfect outfit.

  Eva sighed. It was only a couple of days into December, but the schools were closed today for budget meetings, everyone already half checked out for the holidays. Eva’s workload usually picked up in December, but she’d always been able to do the breakfast, photos with Santa, the Festival of Lights parade, and anything else Gracie loved doing this time of year.

  But all that was strictly BW—before Walker.

  Thank God for Aunt Marybeth.

  “I’ll be finished this afternoon,” Eva told Gracie. “Then we’ve got the whole rest of the weekend together. Okay?”

  Gracie beamed. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Eva winked and turned back to her sister, her heart heavy with guilt.

  “You’ll be done before you know it,” Marybeth said. “We’ll be back to pick you up at one-thirty.”

  “Better make it two.” Eva flipped down the visor and peeked in the mirror, repositioning an errant bobby pin that had slipped out of her bun. “Walker can be a bit… unpredictable.”

  ‘Unpredictable’ was putting it mildly. Their last session had started out okay—they’d joked around, managed to sidestep most of the lingering awkwardness from their almost-kiss, got in a pretty great workout on the ice. But the hours that followed had been rocky, with Walker getting frustrated at the more challenging drills, and Eva snapping at him in retaliation. They’d ended up arguing straight through the last half of practice.

  Because if we didn’t fight, we’d probably end up in bed together.

  Eva dismissed the thought, shoving it way down inside where it would hopefully remain, at least for the next few hours. It was bad enough she was losing sleep over the man, her nights consumed with that single, red-hot memory, replaying every moment: the intense desire in his eyes, even as they flashed with anger. The feel of his skin, the rough pad of his thumb sliding between her lips, the salty taste of him on her tongue. The low, barely-audible growl that had escaped from his throat the moment her lips parted… she’d felt it more than heard it, and her whole body had reacted, heart hammering in her chest as molten desire flooded her core.

  She wondered if Walker had any idea how much that forbidden moment had affected her.

  “You okay?” Marybeth tapped Eva’s thigh, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re a million miles away over there.”

  “Just… just thinking about my job. Like I said, he’s kind of unpredictable.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it,” Marybeth said.

  “I hope you’re right.” Eva’s ridiculous sex-starved fantasies aside, she needed Walker to start making tangible progress. Every hour that passed without significant improvements on his times, his chances at getting back on the team dwindled—along with her chances at scoring that full-time position. McKellen had asked her to think about it, and she’d taken that to heart. Other than Walker, who’d been sneaking into her thoughts a lot more often than she wanted to admit, that job was at the top of Eva’s mind. The more she thought about it, the more it began to feel like the right move. She’d even started browsing online for apartments and elementary schools in Saint Paul, just trying to get a feel for the area.

  Her eyes misted, blurring her reflection in the visor mirror. She hadn’t told Marybeth or Gracie about the offer yet—no use getting anyone excited, worried, or otherwise worked up about a move to Minnesota unless it was a solid possibility. And right now, without Walker’s cooperation, it was just another dream about to pass right on by.

  Eva flipped the visor up, blinking away her tears. “He doesn’t trust me. Every time I think we’ve made some progress, he shuts down again.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Irrelevant. I’m not the one who needs coaching.”

  “I don’t know. I think it needs to go both ways. It’s like any relationship—”

  “We’re not in a relationship.”

  Marybeth raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me…” She pointed an accusatory finger at Eva’s chest. Lowering her voice, she said, “You’ve got a crush on the hockey man!”

  “There’s no crush. I’m just—”

  “I can’t believe you!” Marybeth’s eyes were wid
e with shock, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “We talked about this, Eva. After everything that happened with—”

  “It’s soooo not like that,” Eva said. “Trust me.”

  “Is the hockey man coming to help decorate our tree tonight?” Gracie piped up from the back.

  “No, honeybee,” Eva said firmly. “The hockey man is not coming.”

  Marybeth snorted. “Poor hockey man.”

  Eva smacked her, but she was laughing now, too. “Stop!”

  “Aunt Marybeth said we could make popcorn gardens for the tree,” Gracie said.

  Marybeth laughed. “Garlands, sweet pea.”

  “That sounds… great,” Eva said. In a low voice that only Marybeth could here, she said, “I’m sure the mice will appreciate them.”

  “You worry too much,” Marybeth said, her easy, carefree laughter filling the car.

  Eva couldn’t argue that. She worried about everything—whether Gracie was making friends at school, whether she’d be able to pay the electric and the gas bill this month, whether her mother would show up unannounced just to remind Eva all of the ways she was failing Gracie as a mother.

  And now she worried about Walker. About screwing up her shot at this job.

  “Hey,” Marybeth said, her tone suddenly soft. “You’ll figure out how to get through to him. Maybe you’re going too easy on him.”

  “He’s injured. He can’t risk more complications—it could mean the end of his career.”

  “I’m talking about the mental part,” Marybeth said. “You don’t take shit—”

  “You can’t say shit!” Gracie said. “Santa will put you on the naughty list.”

  Eva giggled. “You tell her, Gracie.”

  “Stuff,” Marybeth continued. “You don’t take stuff from your other students, so don’t take it from him.”

  “He’s an NHL superstar,” Eva said, rolling her eyes. “He is, as they say, a pretty big deal around here.”

  “All the more reason he probably needs his butt kicked. Anyway, if anyone can get through to him, you can. I’ve seen you shut down a rink full of cranky toddlers like a boss.”