Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice, #1)(36)

My body convulsed at the loss of heat, at how the humid air suddenly felt cool when it washed over my exposed thighs from where my skirt had ridden up.

And Vince Tanev, that cocky motherfucker, wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb while a wicked smile spread on his lips.

“Sorry, pet,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “You’ll have to admit you want it before I give it to you.”

I gaped at him.

And then, I growled out a scream, righting my skirt and shoving him so hard in the chest that he stumbled backward.

“I am not your pet,” I seethed.

He barked out a laugh that made me shove him again.

“God, you are such a bastard. I hate you!”

“Sure you do.”

His hand shot up in the air, waving at a black car as it pulled up to the curb. It was the same one from the beginning of the night, and the driver dipped his head at Vince in acknowledgement as he put the car in park.

“What is this?”

“Your ride,” he said, pulling the back door open. He all but tossed me inside before shutting it again. The window was rolled down, and he braced his hands on the edge of it, leaning down so he could see me. “Goodnight, Maven. See you in the morning.”

Vince winked, standing and thumping on the roof of the car before he backed up a few steps. He wore a cocky smile like I’d just handed him the winning lottery numbers, and I’d never felt more betrayed by my body than I did in that moment — my chest heaving, head dizzy from our kiss, panties wet under my skirt.

The car sped off before I could tell him to go fuck himself.





Sexual Awakening



Vince



Two days after the win in Tampa, we flew to Pittsburgh for a Friday night game.

It was back-to-back away games — Pittsburgh on Friday and Baltimore on Saturday. We flew out Thursday evening to get settled, and with a home win under our belt and a three-game winning streak flying with us, we were confident.

I held onto that confidence, onto the fact that we knew what we were doing, and we had the chance to really have the league’s attention if we won these away games, too. That would be five games in a row.

Tampa hadn’t won five games in a row since 2015.

Nothing motivated me like the potential to make headlines, other than the chance to silence sports analysts and their assumptions about me and my team. I could do both with these wins, and I kept that in the forefront of my mind.

After the morning skate on Friday, I went back to my hotel room to do my usual pre-game routine. But something felt off.

I couldn’t place it, but I knew without overthinking it that I needed to shake things up.

“I’m going somewhere.”

Maven peeked up at me from where she was working on her phone on the couch in my suite. She wore olive sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt that swallowed her small frame. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her, no makeup on her face and her hair natural. I didn’t have to guess that she also didn’t have a bra on under that shirt, which killed me as much as it made me count my lucky stars.

It stole my breath a moment, seeing her like that — comfortable, relaxed, like she was just wasting away an afternoon in her own home.

I’d been buzzed the night after our home game, but I still remembered everything. I remembered following her out of that bar, remembered the exact moment I realized she wasn’t mad at me.

She was jealous.

I didn’t need her to confirm it, because when I’d backed her into that wall, her body had betrayed whatever lie she was trying to tell me and herself.

She’d kissed me.

It had taken everything in me not to take her right then and there. The way she melted into me when I kissed her back, how she trembled when my hands framed her face and my leg slid between her thighs. I loved pushing that skirt up to her hips, loved pushing that girl to the edge even more.

Neither of us had said a word about it since.

I knew why I hadn’t. I told her all I needed to that night — that if she wanted me, she was going to have to admit it. She was going to have to use her big girl words and say it out loud.

But she hadn’t broached the subject either, either because she was still pissed at me, or she was trying to convince herself it didn’t happen.

Regardless, it didn’t bother me.

I was a patient man.

Or so I told myself.

“Okay?” she said carefully when I didn’t elaborate.

“You don’t need to come,” I said. “It’s nothing that needs to be covered.”

That made her eyes narrow in suspicion, and she set her phone aside before sitting up a little straighter. “Where are you going?”

I shrugged. “Just somewhere to clear my head.”

She watched me a moment longer before hopping up from the couch. “I just need to change real quick.”

“You really don’t have to come,” I said. “If you want a break.”

“Twenty-four-seven, remember?” she reminded me, and then she slipped out of my room and over to hers to change.

I smirked in victory. Reverse psychology worked a little too well on this woman. She was nothing if not stubborn, but sometimes, that worked to my advantage.

Though we hadn’t spoken about what happened between us, I felt a charge of electricity anytime she was near. When we sat next to each other on the plane, her laughing and playing cards with Carter while I pretended to listen to a podcast, I saw the hair on her arm stand on end when she brushed against me, felt how she drew her breaths a little shallower.