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

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

LILY

I smooth down my blazer as I follow the PR assistant through the echoing hallways of Baxter Arena. The click of my heels on the tiled floor echoes, mingling with the distant sounds of practice. Each step brings me closer to the biggest opportunity of my career.

“Here we are, Ms. Grant,” the assistant says, gesturing to a door. “Mr. Knox will be with you shortly.”

I nod, mustering a smile despite my nerves. “Thank you.”

The conference room is small but well-appointed, with a long table dominating the space. I settle into one of the leather-backed chairs, spreading out my notebook and checking my recorder for the thousandth time.

Five minutes tick by. Then ten.

I drum my fingers on the table, willing myself to stay calm.

It’s fine, I tell myself. He’s probably just running a little late after practice.

But at the fifteen-minute mark, my leg starts bouncing under the table.

Come on, Knox, I silently beg. Don’t screw this up for both of us.

Twenty minutes in, and irritation has thoroughly replaced my earlier nerves. I’m about to hunt down that PR assistant when the door finally swings open.

And there he is. Carter Knox in the flesh.

Holy. Shit.

I’ve seen countless photos of him, of course, and studied game footage until my eyes crossed. But nothing had prepared me for the sheer presence of the man – not even my… self-care… the previous evening.

He fills the doorway, six-foot-two of solid muscle. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at his nape. A faint scent of soap and masculinity wafts into the room. But it’s his eyes that get me – a stormy gray that seems to cut right through me.

The same eyes that had featured in my thoughts last night.

Except the photos, and my imagination, didn’t do them, or him , justice.

I stand quickly, nearly knocking over my chair.

Real smooth.

“Mr. Knox,” I say. “I’m Lily Grant from the Star. It’s a pleasure.”

He regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps forward, extending a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

I shake his hand. His grip is firm. A jolt of… something shoots up my arm at the contact.

Get it together, Lily. He’s just another subject. An incredibly hot subject, who could make or break your career, but still.

“No problem at all.” I gesture for him to take a seat, trying to mask my irritation at his tardiness. “I appreciate you making time in your schedule.”

Knox settles into the chair across from me. His broad shoulders fill out his team-branded polo in a way that’s decidedly unfair. The air between us seems to crackle with unspoken tension. “Let’s get this over with,” he says, his tone clipped.

“Right,” I say, clicking my pen with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, still annoyed by his lateness and put off by his cool demeanor. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve been briefed, this series will span the entire season. I’ll be shadowing you and the team to really get a sense of?—”

“Sure, sure,” Knox cuts in, his jaw tightening. “What do you want to know?”

I bite back a retort, reminding myself that antagonizing him on day one probably isn’t the best move. Despite his dreamy looks, his attitude is an actual nightmare. So, instead of attacking him, I plaster on my most professional smile.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” I suggest. “Tell me about how you first got into hockey.”

Knox’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze locked onto mine with laser-like intensity. It’s as if he’s searching for some hidden agenda in my innocuous question. After a long moment, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I grew up in Minnesota,” he says flatly. “Everyone plays hockey.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me expectantly.

This will be like pulling teeth.

CARTER

Arms crossed and leaning back in my chair, I size her up. She’s younger than I expected – not one of the old battle-axes that has worked at the Star for the last 40 years, asking the same questions for the last 30. But there’s a sharpness in her green eyes that sets me on edge.

This one will not be easily misdirected.

And that’s a problem.

“So, Mr. Knox,” she continues, undeterred by my lackluster response. “What was it like, being drafted?”

I shrug, reciting the answer I’ve given a hundred times before. “An honor. A dream come true. Remember it like it was yesterday.”

She waits, pen poised over her notebook, clearly expecting more. When I don’t elaborate, she presses on.

“And how did your family react to your early success?”

My jaw clenches involuntarily. “They were proud.”

Lily’s brow furrows in concern. “I’m sure they were. Can you tell me more about your relationship with?—”

“We’re close,” I cut her off, my tone sharp enough to make her flinch. “Next question.”

She recovers quickly. “Right. Let’s talk about your playing style. You’re known for your aggressive approach on the ice. Where does that come from?”

I rattle off another practiced response about competitiveness and drive. Next question, canned response, over and over. I know this game. I’d rehearsed it even before being drafted, and I’ve played it a hundred times since. I’m as good at it as I am at hockey.

And it works.

Most of the time.

The press doesn’t want the truth. They want lines in a can. An easy quote. A happy vignette. So that’s what I give them. And her. And it’s what I’ll continue to give her, until she decides it’s pointless trying to get more and goes away.

But as I speak on autopilot, all clichés and bullshit, I find my gaze wandering. Lily is still leaning forward slightly, hanging on my every word, despite how little I’m giving her. A strand of dark hair has fallen across her cheek, and I have the strangest urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

Then I catch myself mid-sentence, realizing I’ve completely lost track of what I’m saying. My eyes have drifted down to where Lily’s blouse gapes, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of a lacy bra and creamy skin. It’s enough to short-circuit my brain for a moment, derailing my well-rehearsed spiel.

Come on, Carter , I chide myself. Get with the program, man.

I quickly snap my gaze back up to her face, hoping she hasn’t noticed. But from the way her cheeks flush pink, and she shifts in her seat, I have a sinking feeling she’s caught me looking.

“I’m sorry. What was the question again?” I ask, trying to regain my composure.

“Not a problem,” Lily says, making a point to sit up straight. “I asked how you would describe yourself off the ice.”

“Private,” I say flatly.

She sighs, frustration clear in the set of her shoulders. “Mr. Knox, I understand your desire for privacy. But this series is meant to provide fans with a more in-depth look at who you really are. Surely there must be something you’d like them to know about the man behind the jersey.”

For a moment, I almost feel bad for her. She’s just trying to do her job, after all. And there’s something disarmingly earnest about the way she looks at me, like she genuinely wants to understand. But then I remember why I’m here. Why I have to keep her at arm’s length.

And why she has no chance of getting past my defenses.

“What they see on the ice is who I am,” I say coldly.

LILY

I stare at Knox, reaching boiling point. His stonewalling is beyond irritating, and I’ve had enough. In truth, I’m also frustrated that nothing seems to be working. I’d caught him glancing at my cleavage, but it hasn’t made him any more forthcoming.

Good, well-researched questions haven’t worked.

A professional demeanor hasn’t worked.

Flashing some skin hasn’t worked.

This man is as icy as the rink he plays on, maybe even colder.

So, I play my last card: annoyance.

“Look, Mr. Knox,” I snap, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “I get that you’re not thrilled about this, but I’m just trying to do my job here. A little cooperation wouldn’t kill you.”

His eyes narrow. “And I’m just trying to play hockey. I didn’t ask for this invasive bullshit.”

“Invasive?” I scoff, rising from my chair. “I’m asking about your childhood, not your medical records. God forbid, fans actually learn something real about the great Carter Knox.”

He stands too, towering over me. “They know everything they need to know.”

Whoa, he’s tall.

“Oh please,” I shoot back, feeling flushed. “They know your stats and whatever carefully crafted soundbites your PR team feeds them. That’s not who you really are.”

“And what makes you think you know who I really am?” Knox growls, taking a step closer. “You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

I hold my ground, glaring up at him. “I don’t. That’s the whole point of this series. But clearly, you’re determined to keep hiding behind that wall you’ve built.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe there’s nothing more to find?” He’s close now – close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Maybe this is just who I am – someone who plays hockey and wants to be left alone.”

My breath catches in my throat. This close, I can see the flecks of blue in his stormy gray eyes, the way his jaw clenches as he speaks. The air between us feels charged, crackling with tension.

“I don’t buy it,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “Nobody’s that one-dimensional.”

For a moment, something flickers in Knox’s eyes – a flash of vulnerability that’s gone as quickly as it appears. He blinks, seeming to realize how close we’re standing. We both take a step back, the spell broken.

“Well,” he says, his voice rough. “I guess you’ll just have to be disappointed.”

“Maybe,” I say, smoothing my blouse, trying to regain my composure and speaking with a confidence I don’t really feel. “I’ve got all season to crack you.”

“Good luck with that,” he sneers, heading for the door. “I think we’re done here.”

As he storms out, I slump back into my chair, my heart still racing. What the hell just happened? One minute we were at each other’s throats, and the next… I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. But the memory of his intense gaze and the warmth of his body lingers.

Focus, Lily, I think. The guy’s an asshole, remember? But even as I try to convince myself, a part of me can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery he presents.

Yet even as I gather my things, seething over his evasiveness and general dickishness, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Carter Knox than he lets on. That flash of… something I’d seen in his eyes – it doesn’t fit with the cold, detached image he projects.

He might be an asshole, but he’s an interesting asshole.

There are layers there, hidden depths I’m determined to uncover. But as I stomp out of the conference room, my predominant emotion isn’t curiosity or professional determination.

It’s rage.

Pure, unadulterated fury at his arrogance, his dismissiveness, his refusal to give me even an inch.