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

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

LILY

C limbing out of the car the team had arranged for me, my heart is pounding a staccato rhythm against my ribs. The fundraising ball is in full swing, guests arriving and having their invitations checked at the door by security.

I smooth down the front of my dress, silently thanking Jess for her fashion intervention. The silky fabric hugs my curves in a way that makes me feel both confident and slightly self-conscious. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

As usual, she’d started with the tiny and the tempting, until finally, she’d produced a deep green cocktail dress that struck the perfect balance between sexy and sophisticated. The moment I’d slipped it on, I knew it was the one. The color brings out my eyes, and the cut is flattering without being over-the-top.

It’s perfect for the occasion – and for facing Carter.

My stomach does a little flip at the thought of him. He’s been avoiding me, not engaging when I saw him, ducking my calls, and responding to texts with curt, one-word answers. In the meantime, I’d been digging deeper into his past, uncovering pieces of a puzzle I’m not sure I want to complete.

A car accident.

An obvious cover-up.

A family torn apart by secrets.

A father jailed to protect his son.

It’s the story of a lifetime, the kind that could make my career.

But at what cost?

I’d been grateful for the distraction of this event, using it as an excuse to put off deciding about the story. Frank had backed off, for now, because he knew the ball would be a good story, but I know eventually I’ll have to decide what to do with the truth I’ve uncovered.

My breath catches in my throat as I see Carter. There he is, standing near the entrance, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. Our eyes meet across the crowd, and for a moment, the world around us seems to fade away.

I can’t help but notice the way the tux accentuates his broad shoulders and lean physique. His dark hair is styled neatly, a far cry from its usual post-game dishevelment. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive – stormy gray and filled with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

I watch as his gaze travels over me before his expression hardens once more. I wonder what he’d thought in that brief flash, and I’d have given every dollar in my bank account to find out. Taking a deep breath, I plaster on my most professional smile and make my way towards him.

And he turns away from me.

CARTER

Having seen her for only a moment, I retreat from Lily and head for the door and hit the red carpet. The shouted questions from reporters feel like an assault on my senses. But that’s nothing compared to the electricity that shoots through me when Lily appears at my side.

"Smile for the cameras, Carter," she murmurs, her lips barely moving.

I grit my teeth and comply, pasting on what I hope is a convincing grin. Lily’s arm brushes against mine as we pose, and I have to fight the urge to flinch. Her presence is a constant reminder of that night at the rink, of the moment of weakness.

"Mr. Knox! Over here! Who’s your date?" a photographer calls.

We turn, and I feel Lily’s hand on my arm. The touch sends a jolt through me, and I tense, hoping she hasn’t noticed. From the corner of my eye, I can see her professional smile, the one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I wonder if anyone else can see the tension simmering beneath the surface.

It had been bad enough seeing her across the room in that dress.

Most women throw themselves at me. God knows I’ve never had a problem getting laid, but Lily Grant is different. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so curious, so conflicted, so… argh!

I can’t get her out of my head – that damn dress, and my imagination filling the mystery about what might lie beneath like it was a Stephen Spielberg directed masterpiece…

A barely there lingerie set, all lace and suggestion and invitation…

Her slight – but delicious – curves.

Her creamy skin…

Inviting mouth…

Everything…

I imagine her naked, running my hands over her tits, hungry. She’d look up at me, desire and challenge warring in her eyes. I’d kiss her, smothering her smartass mouth, and then I’d touch her everywhere.

I know she’d feel like heaven – soft and warm, her skin like silk under my fingers. I can picture her breasts, just enough and perfect, and imagine the weight of them in my hands.

Her hips, that slight curve, would fit against me, and I’d hold her close, feeling her heart beat against mine. God, I want to kiss her. I want to taste her skin, to feel her lips part under mine.

I want to hear her breath catch as I enter, bury myself as deep into her as she’d tried to penetrate my life, my secrets. I want to take all my frustration, built up over years, and expend it in one moment.

She’d take it all and give plenty right back to me. Her hair wild, her body glistening with sweat as she arches beneath me. Would she whimper my name when I made her climax?

Would she?—

"Mr. Knox?" The voice of the reporter cuts through my thoughts.

I clench my jaw, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. I need to get my head on straight and remind myself that she’s a dangerous adversary.

"What?" I say, on autopilot. "Sorry, I missed what you said, it’s loud."

Damn it, I shouldn’t be thinking like this. She’s a journalist, one step away from ripping my life apart, but I can’t stop the invasive thoughts any more than a goalie could stop my best slap shot.

"Mr. Knox! Who’s the lady with you tonight?"

Cameras flash, capturing my momentary discomfort. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. I paste on a smile, pulling Lily closer to my side. She’s stiff, her smile as forced as mine.

"Just a friend," I lie, omitting the fact that, right now, having not seen her in two weeks, part of me wants to bend Lily over the nearest surface.

As we make our way inside, I try to keep a focus on why we’re here. Mend fences, atone for my behavior, and – most of all – keep my head screwed on.

"Are you okay?" Lily asks, her voice low.

"Fine," I grunt, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

We make our way through the crowd, stopping to chat with donors and pose for more photos. I let Lily do most of the talking, focusing on maintaining my fa?ade and responding only when necessary, but it’s getting harder by the minute.

The scent of her perfume teases my senses every time she leans in close. The sound of her laugh as she charms another donor sends shivers down my spine. And when she absent-mindedly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, I find myself mesmerized by the graceful movement of her fingers.

"Carter?" Lily’s voice snaps me back to reality. "Mr. Jameson was just asking about the team’s recent winning streak."

I blink, forcing myself to focus on the elderly gentleman in front of us. "Oh, right. Yeah, the guys have been playing well. Four wins in a row now."

"Impressive," Mr. Jameson nods. "And how are you finding working with Ms. Grant here? I understand she’s been following the team closely."

I feel Lily stiffen beside me. The memory of all the times she’d invaded my privacy recently mixed with the thought of her body pressed against mine on the ice flashes through my mind, and probably her mind as well, and I have to take a deep breath before answering.

"Ms. Grant has been… thorough," I manage, my voice sounding strained even to my ears. "But be careful, because I don’t think any secret is safe around her…"

As the donors laugh in response to a joke I hadn’t intended, Lily jumps in smoothly, steering the conversation back to the charity. I let out a relieved breath, grateful for the reprieve. But as the night wears on, I become more tense. Every smile, every laugh, every casual touch from Lily is a test of my willpower.

I know I need to keep my distance. But with Lily looking the way she does, standing so close, it’s taking every ounce of self-control I possess to maintain my facade. I’m playing a game of chicken with a seductress at the wheel, and if I don’t get out of the way, she’s going to drive over me.

But, ridden with guilt from the past and desire from the present, part of me welcomes that.

It’d be a fun ride…

LILY

"Is this ever going to end?" Carter mutters beside me.

I stifle a laugh and shift uncomfortably in my seat, hyperaware of Carter’s presence as the speeches drone on. His jaw is clenched so tight I worry he might crack a tooth. The tension radiating off him is palpable, a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere around us.

As we pick at our barely touched meals, I can’t help but sneak glances at him. Even scowling, he’s unfairly handsome. I catch myself admiring the powerful line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, and quickly look away.

Focus, Lily, you’re here to do a job , I remind myself sternly.

But it’s difficult to focus on anything but the electricity crackling between us. Every accidental brush of our arms sends shivers down my spine. I lean in closer than necessary when he speaks, the words spoken few and meaningless, the unspoken full of suggestion.

As the night wears on, I wrestle with my conscience. The information I’ve uncovered about Carter’s past weighs heavily on me. Part of me yearns to dig deeper, to uncover the truth. But another part, the part that remembers the vulnerability in his eyes that night at the rink, wants to protect him.

And do more than that, still.

I’m so lost in my internal debate that I barely notice Mark approaching our table until he speaks.

"Time for you two to hit the dance floor," he says. "Sponsors want the star player in shot, and you’re the closest thing he has to a date, Lily…"

Carter and I exchange a wary glance. He spends a second trying to fend Mark off, but gets nowhere, and I don’t even bother to try. My access – my career – hinges on him being friendly and cooperative, and if I refuse this, he might pull it.

We reluctantly make our way to the center of the room, surrounded by other players and their dates, but with nobody in doubt about the star couple. As we start to dance, I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us. His hand on my waist feels like it’s burning through the fabric of my dress.

We move stiffly at first, careful to maintain some distance. But as the music continues, something shifts. Maybe it’s the champagne, or just the build-up of weeks of tension. Whatever the cause, I press closer, my hand sliding from his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

I feel Carter’s hand slide lower on my back, pulling me closer as we sway to the music. My breath catches in my throat at the intensity in his eyes. The rest of the room seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us in our bubble.

"Carter," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the music.

He doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip on my waist. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress. His hand moves ever so slightly south, risking a scandal, pressing me ever so slightly into him, risking more.

I can feel his bulge pressed against me, hard as a rock. My nipples are giving it a run for its money, and I’m certain that if I pull away from him, the entire room will get a good eyeful, given the thin dress and thinner bra.

My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft groan from him that sends shivers down my spine. We both know what we’re doing and that it’s a mistake, that the chance for a scandal and another blowup between us in such a public location is a huge risk.

But we don’t stop.

We move together fluidly, our bodies in perfect sync. The tension that had been building between us for weeks fills the room and threatens to detonate at any moment. I feel the gaze of more than a few people on us, and my brain is shouting at me to stop.

"We shouldn’t be doing this," Carter murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, but he doesn’t stop.

"I know," I say, my voice husky.

This is crossing a line that could jeopardize everything.

My career.

His privacy.

But at that moment, with his arms around me, his body pressed against me, and his breath on my skin, I can’t bring myself to care. And I don’t think he gives a damn, either. We’re dancing on the edge of something dangerous, inching closer to oblivion even as our rational minds scream at us to stop, to step back.

Our eyes meet, and I see my desire reflected in his stormy gaze.

At that moment, swaying in Carter’s arms, feeling the heat of his body against mine, I make my decision, and screw the consequences. I can’t betray him. Whatever secrets lie in his past, they aren’t mine to reveal.

The rest of the chips will fall how they do.

But just as I open my mouth to speak, to tell him I’m a safe pair of hands, that his secrets are locked in a vault as tight as his own, and that I want him – more than my career, more than anything – a voice cuts in.

"Mr. Knox! Any comment on the story in tomorrow’s Star about your tragic past?"

I freeze, panic rising in my throat. The reporter who’d invaded the dance floor is from my paper. Carter tenses beside me, his grip on my waist becoming almost painful, as if he’s clinging to me for support and punishing me for some imagined betrayal all at the same time.

Our eyes lock, and I see a whirlwind of emotions flash across his face – shock, anger, betrayal. He fumbles through a non-answer, his voice strained, before fixing me with an accusing glare that makes my blood run cold.

Then he severs the connection between us like a guillotine and storms off.