Expose on the Ice (Sparks on the Ice #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LILY

M y hands hang suspended above the keys as I digest the message I’ve just received. It seems surreal, and the text burns into my retinas as I read it for the umpteenth time.

“ Lily, we’d like you to complete a year-long feature series about Carter Knox of the Omaha Frost Giants ,” the message reads.

Good. Gracious. Heavens.

Frank, my gruff but well-meaning editor with salt-and-pepper hair, has finally given me the break I’ve been waiting for.

Or has he?

Glad I’m working from home, so my colleagues can’t see my slightly unhinged reaction, I close my eyes, certain the assignment will morph into something more ordinary when I look again.

Perhaps a piece on a leading pickle-ball squad or a report on the annual hot dog-eating contest – you know, the riveting stories I am usually saddled with, the kind that make me question my career choice as a sports reporter. But opening my eyes, I see the email is still there, complete with its life-altering potential.

A year with Carter Knox.

The Carter Knox.

He’s the star forward for the Omaha Frost Giants and the subject of more than a few of my, ahem, personal daydreams. Not that I’d ever confess that aloud. I’m a professional, for crying out loud. A professional who certainly hasn’t devoted hours to studying his… physical abilities.

I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and recline in my chair, combing my fingers through my disheveled ponytail. This is it – my shot – a far cry from the high school soccer games and amateur bowling tournaments I’ve been covering for the past year.

Sure, I’ve paid my dues – late nights at the office, trying to write something interesting about sports that aren’t. But this… this is different. The idea sends a shiver of thrill through me, promptly followed by a surge of anxiety.

Am I really prepared for this?

I launch a new browser window and enter Knox’s name. Might as well begin my investigation now, right? Pure work-related curiosity, of course. I’m not some awestruck groupie – I’m a serious reporter, about to embark on the most significant story of my career.

The search results appear instantly, and pictures bombard me. Knox in his Frost Giants gear, arms raised triumphantly after a win, his expression a mask of resolve. Knox at a charity function, with that brooding glare that is his trademark. Knox bare-chested on a beach… oh my.

That physique should be outlawed.

I clear my throat, sensing a flush creep up my neck and spread across my face. I try to will myself to concentrate, but it’s no good. As I peruse story after story, and devour picture after picture, I can’t help but experience a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Knox is known for being exceptionally guarded and for giving journalists the cold shoulder. So how on earth am I supposed to tackle a year-long series on someone who’d prefer taking a puck to the face rather than opening up to the media?

I scribble some notes, attempting to piece together the enigma that is Carter Knox. Superstar player: Check. Brooding rebel: Check. Shuns the limelight like it’s poison: Check. Rumored to have a short fuse, both on and off the ice: Check.

There has to be more to him than that. Some complexity beneath the surface that I can unearth. I just need to figure out how to penetrate that frosty exterior. Perhaps I can be the one to finally get him to let his guard down, to reveal the authentic Carter Knox to the world.

I’m so absorbed in my investigation, jotting down ideas and crafting interview questions, that I practically leap out of my chair when I hear the door slam some time later. I’ve lost track of time, but the familiar creak of the front door tells me Jess Time is about to begin. And that always means chaos.

My housemate’s voice rings out, “Lil? You around? I’ve got us some wine if you’re interested. And, really, why wouldn’t you be?”

“In here, Jess!” I call back, hastily minimizing the utterly professional, not-at-all-swoon-worthy image of Knox I’d been… professionally researching.

Jessica appears in the entryway of my bedroom-turned-workspace. Her gaze flits from my unkempt hair to the computer screen, and a knowing grin spreads across her features.

“Spill it,” Jess says. “You look like you’ve finally been given an assignment reporting on something other than competitive paint-drying?”

I chuckle, raking my fingers through my hair again. “You can’t even imagine. You know I’ve been waiting for my shot.”

Jessica nods, her expression growing increasingly curious.

“Well,” I continue, “it just showed up. On ice skates.”

Jessica’s eyes widen, and she shrieks. “Dish it. What? Who? And, more importantly, hot?”

I draw in deeply, trying to rein in my excitement. “I was just assigned to write a year-long series on Carter Knox. You know, the?—”

“The star without a WAG? The scorching-hot mystery man?” Jessica cuts in, her mouth agape. “Lil! That’s incredible!”

I nod, still in awe myself. “I know, right? It’s like… everything I’ve wanted. But also terrifying. I mean, this is Carter Knox , Mr. ‘I’d-Sooner-Eat-My-Own-Skates-Than-Talk-To-The-Media’ Knox.”

Jessica waves off my concerns. “Come on, he’ll be putty in your hands with your wit and charm. When’s the first interview?”

I gulp. “Tomorrow. And he might eat me alive…”

“No way!” Jess grips my shoulders. “Now, let’s talk about the real issue: your outfit.”

“That’s not relevant…”

After a scoff and a raised eyebrow, Jess is digging through my wardrobe, flinging clothes onto my bed with wild abandon. “How about… Ah, this one?”

She brandishes a tiny crimson dress I’d worn once, at a New Year’s party, ages ago. It had been a mistake then, the hemline barely covering anything. And it’s definitely a mistake now.

“Too much ass,” I sigh, knowing that will only encourage her.

“Never too much ass,” Jess grins. “And yours is a good ass.”

“Right, because nothing screams ‘serious reporter’ like showing up dressed to try out for the Frost Giants’ ice girls,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Fair point,” Jessica concedes with feigned gravity. She plunges back into the closet, emerging with a pair of leather pants I’d forgotten I owned. “No ass on display, but plenty of suggestion. Pair these with a cute top, and Knox will be all over you in no time.”

“Jess!” I laugh, hurling a pillow at her head. “I’m trying to interview him, not seduce him.”

“Why not both?” she says mischievously. “I bet he’s even hotter without the hockey gear.”

I feel heat rising in my face, recalling the bare-chested beach snapshot. “Let’s stay on track. This is a massive break for me. I’ve got to nail this one.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love him to nail?—”

Jessica is cut off by the pillow I launch at her. And, despite her less than helpful wardrobe advice, I appreciate her efforts to ease my nerves. She knows me well enough to notice the anxiety simmering beneath my excitement.

This is the opportunity I’ve been dreaming of, but the stakes are sky-high. What if I botch it? What if Knox stonewalls me? What if I can’t get the story?

I can just imagine Frank’s disappointed stare, as he assigns me to cover the third-division little league baseball championships…

Jessica clearly picks up on my downward spiral, because her demeanor shifts. “Listen,” she says, sitting down beside me on the bed. “You’ve got this in the bag, Lil. You’re a fantastic reporter, and Knox would be a fool not to recognize that. He can help you, but you can also help him tell his story.”

I give a weak smile. “I appreciate it, Jess.”

“No problem.” Jessica rises, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Now, I’ve figured out the ideal ensemble for you.” She delves into the depths of my wardrobe and retrieves a smart skirt and jacket set. “Businesslike, but with just enough ‘oomph’ to be intriguing.”

I survey the outfit. “Now that’s something I can work with.”

She hands the clothes over to me like they are the crown jewels. “But I insist you wear a low-cut blouse. That can sometimes come in handy…”

“Jessica!” I moan, burying my face in my hands as she howls with laughter.

Next, she starts digging out underwear. My face flushes with embarrassment, but I can’t suppress the smirk tugging at my lips. Trust Jess to transform a serious dread session about my career into an underwear modeling event.

As I watch her show off progressively outlandish lingerie proposals, I feel a blend of anticipation and apprehension swirling in my stomach. This assignment is going to change everything. I just hope I’m prepared for it. The prospect sends a shiver of excitement through me.

I inhale deeply, attempting to ground myself. This is what I’ve been working toward for ages. Regardless of what happens, I will give it my all and show everyone – including myself – that I’m a top-tier sports reporter.

When Jess has finally exhausted her lingerie suggestions and headed to her room after a supportive hug, I collapse onto my bed, tired but still keyed up. I’m not sure it’s safe to be alone with my thoughts right now – and there are certainly plenty of them.

I gaze at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling. This gig is the opportunity of a lifetime, presented to me on a platter. It could be a dream realized for me. But dreams have an unpleasant tendency to morph into nightmares.

As I toss and turn, my imagination keeps concocting absurd scenarios. I see myself accidentally addressing Knox as ‘Mr. Knoxville.’ I picture arriving at the arena in my underwear. I imagine swooning at the sight of Knox and regaining consciousness with the entire team looking down at me.

I groan and bury my face in my pillow. This is going nowhere.

Drawing a deep breath, I force myself to concentrate on the positives. If I ace this assignment, it could unlock a world of possibilities for my career. No more trivial articles about youth sports games – I could be reporting on the major leagues.

But first, I need to make Knox open up to me, truly open up.

As slumber finally begins to envelop me, my thoughts drift back to him: those stormy slate eyes, that sculpted jawline, and the way his physique moves beneath his uniform as he glides across the ice…

I jolt awake, my face flushing. “Lily, stay focused,” I admonish myself.

But even as I say it, I know it’s a losing battle.

I can’t suppress the shiver that courses through me at the thought.

I mean, who could fault me?

The man is sex on blades.

I inhale deeply, attempting to clear my mind. Tomorrow will be demanding enough without these thoughts clouding my judgment; I need to be sharp and focused.

But clear my mind, I cannot. Those eyes seem burned into the insides of my eyelids, staring at me, brimming with secrets I am desperate to unveil.

Maybe the way to ease the tension is to ease the tension ?

“Oh, screw it,” I whisper.

After a sigh, I let one hand glide south, inside the waistband of my pajama pants. The other goes north, inside my top, and finds a nipple. I need to get to sleep, after all…

Knox’s face is still emblazoned in my mind, those stormy gray eyes staring at me, challenging and intense, like they can see right inside me, drilling down to get my darkest secrets.

If only he knew what I’m doing right now.

The thought sends a mischievous thrill through me.

It feels good.

Electric.

Shivers race up my spine as I work my clit, my breath hitches as I think about those eyes locking on me from across the interview table. Except, for all the fuss Jess had made, in my fantasy, I wear nothing.

He can see every inch of me…

Breathing heavily…

Flushed…

Hair tumbling around my shoulders as I fall apart for him…

Because of him.

The thought sends a jolt of something hot and irrepressible through me.

I bite my lip, my hips pushing involuntarily into my hand.

I slip a finger inside, imagining it is Knox’s. I definitely have my brain fooled, because my hand is soaked in seconds, my body responding to the thought of him in a way I just can’t deny.

Damn it, Lily, get it together…

Although I chide myself, I can’t stop. Here I am, about to embark on a crucial assignment, trying to investigate every inch of Knox’s life, and all I can think about is him looking right at me.

Exposing me.

The thought consumes me, fueling my touch, faster, more urgent. My finger is his cock, and the hand cupping and squeezing my breast tight is his, until my hips arch off the bed.

I can’t stop. And I really don’t want to.

I close my eyes, giving in to the sensation. My hand works faster. I bite my lip to stifle my moans, but the sounds escape anyway, muffled and desperate.

I cry out, my body shaking and heart pounding as pleasure comes in waves, my fingers still moving lazily. As I slowly float back down to earth, I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon.

Feeling deliciously spent, exhaustion engulfs me a moment later.