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Power Pucking Play (Chicago Blades) 12. Chapter 12 40%
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12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Lexi

I 've interviewed CEOs, rock stars, and once, a guy who claimed he could communicate with houseplants. But nothing could have prepared me for dinner with Giovanni De Luca.

As we stroll through the misty Seattle night, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the man walking beside me. Where's the arrogant hothead I've been writing about for years? Where’s the player who's caused scandal after scandal?

This Gio is...different. Vulnerable, even.

"Earth to Brookes," Gio's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You still with me, or did I bore you into a coma back in the restaurant?"

I roll my eyes, but that flash of annoyance doesn't find me as usual. "Please. It'd take more than your life story to knock me out. Though I gotta say, I'm surprised you didn't charge me by the word."

He clutches his chest. "Damn. And here I thought we were bonding."

"Bonding? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Gio chuckles, and the sound does something weird to my insides. Must be the creamy pasta.

"It's not every day I open up to a journalist," he admits, and there's a hint of vulnerability in his voice that makes me feel...something.

"Oh, so I should consider myself special?"

"Definitely." Gio flashes a grin that sets my heart racing for reasons unknown. It doesn't make sense. This man is the epitome of everything I shouldn't want. And yet...

"All right, ace reporter," he says, nudging my shoulder. "I've bared my soul. Your turn."

I snort. "What, you want my origin story now? Hate to break it to you, but there's not a whole lot to tell."

"Come on, Brookes. Quid pro quo. I showed you mine..."

"Fine." I gaze up at the Seattle evening sky as our footsteps take us down a surprisingly quiet street. "What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with the basics. What made Lexi Brookes the hard-hitting, De Luca-bashing journalist she is today?"

I hesitate, then figure, what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"My dad," I admit. "As you already know, he was...is...this big-shot sports journalist. The kind of guy who'd miss my birthday to cover the World Series."

Gio's quiet for a moment. "Sounds like a real prince."

"Oh, he's charming all right. Charmed his way right out of our lives when I was ten. As a result, Mom got a drinking problem. I got a postcard from the Olympics. And he got a Pulitzer."

"Jesus, Lex," Gio murmurs, and the nickname catches me off guard. "That's rough."

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "It is what it is. Made me who I am, I guess. And in a way, my dad is probably the reason I've always been drawn to stories. As a kid, I devoured books like they were candy. And then, in college, I discovered the power of journalism."

Gio nods, his gaze intense as he listens.

"I wanted to be the one to tell people's stories," I continue. "To give them a voice and shed light on important issues."

"That's admirable." The words are genuine, and for some reason, they make me want to reveal even more.

"But it's not just about writing," I say, surprising myself with how easily this confession slips out. "It's about connecting with people. Getting beneath the surface and finding the heart of a story. It's about making a difference, no matter how small. I like to understand people." I shrug. "Probably because I didn't feel understood myself when I was young." I laugh, the sound humorless. "Wow. Nothing like daddy issues to fuel a career in sports journalism, right?"

Gio stops walking, turning to face me. "Is that why you're always gunning for me? Trying to prove something to dear old dad?"

"What? No!" I protest, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak. "I just...I call it like I see it, De Luca. You've given me plenty of material over the years."

He nods, a wry smile on his face. "Fair enough. Guess we've both got our demons, huh?"

"Yeah. Guess we do."

We start walking again, and Gio picks up where he left off at dinner, talking about his Nonna, and how important she's always been to him.

"She is something else," he says, a fond smile softening his features. "Tough as nails, but man, can she love. She always made me feel like I could take on the world, you know?"

I nod, understanding all too well. "But it wasn't enough, was it? To fill the hole your parents left?"

Gio's quiet for a long moment. "Nah," he finally admits. "Don't get me wrong, I love Nonna more than anything. But there was always this...I don't know, this need to prove myself. To be good enough that maybe they'd stop running around, traveling the world. Maybe they'd stop neglecting their kids. Maybe they'd stick around next time."

"Did they ever?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. But by then, I'd learned to stop hoping."

By the time we reach our hotel again, the sun has set and the lights of Seattle are twinkling in the distance.

Gio walks me to my room, and my heart thuds hard the entire way.

We reach my hotel room door, and I realize I don't want the night to end. Which is insane, because this is Gio De Luca we're talking about.

He’s been the bane of my professional existence. The guy I've been verbally eviscerating in print for years.

The guy who, somehow, in the span of one dinner, has managed to completely upend everything I thought I knew about him.

"Well," I say, fumbling for my key card. "This has been...enlightening."

Gio grins, and damn if it doesn't make my heart race. "Admit it, Brookes. I'm growing on you."

"Like a fungus, maybe."

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels thick—as if it's suddenly hard to inhale or exhale. "You know," he says, his voice low, "for a pain-in-the-ass reporter, you're not half bad company."

"Gee, thanks," I drawl, but my pulse pounds. "You're not so terrible yourself. When you're not being a complete jackass on the ice."

"Only on the ice?" he murmurs. When did he get so close?

I should step back. I should say goodnight, go into my room, and forget this whole surreal evening ever happened.

Instead, I find myself leaning in. My heart beats so hard I can feel it in my throat. And then his lips are on mine, and the world explodes.

It's like every argument we've ever had, every time I've wanted to strangle him, every daydream I've ever had about what it would be like if he wasn't such a jerk—all of it comes together in this one electrifying moment.

His kiss is passionate and hungry, and I'm not sure who deepens it first. But suddenly, my arms are around his neck and his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer as our mouths move against each other in perfect sync.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's not even a romantic one. It's fierce and desperate and hungry, like two people who have been holding back for too long finally giving in to their desires.

Nothing like our tipsy, party-fueled fumbling at the All-Star party. This is real. This is raw.

And it's everything I've ever wanted.

As if reading my mind, Gio pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes, his own a deep green I could get lost in.

"I've wanted to do that for the past forty-eight hours," he says huskily.

"I thought you hated me," I manage to say, trying to catch my breath.

"I never hated you," he replies, running his fingers through my hair. "You just drove me crazy."

"Well, apparently crazy and hate are interchangeable for you," I tease, smiling up at him.

He grins back, his eyes sparkling. "Only when it comes to you."

The kiss continues. Right there in the amber-lit hotel hallway, as I lose all sense of professionalism in the intensity of Gio's gaze and the warmth of his body.

Especially when he moves to whisper in my ear.

"Let’s take this inside your room," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

A part of me stirs with excitement at the thought, but another part pulls back, hesitant. My mind races with all the reasons we shouldn’t, yet my lips move instinctively against his.

Deepening the kiss. Demanding more.

“Why should we move inside?” I finally manage to ask, trying to ground myself in this moment of chaos.

"Well, I wouldn't want to startle the room service staff. They've been through enough tonight, I'm sure."

"Right, because I'm sure this hallway has a strict 'no public displays of affection' policy," I reply drily, trying to match his humor as his fingers begin a slow descent.

"Exactly." He chuckles, leaning in closer. “I’m all about following the rules.”

"Good to know you're a stickler for decorum."

A sudden tremor runs through me as his fingers drift to the button of my jeans, undoing it with practiced ease.

“Only when it suits me,” he quips, slowly sliding the zipper down with a deliberate slowness that makes the apex of my thighs grow warm. Wet. And throbbing.

Especially when Gio cups my mound through the fabric of my underwear, and I gasp, caught between the urgency of desire and the lingering doubt that pulls at me.

“I bet the hotel guests are grateful for your sense of propriety,” I manage to say, breathless.

“Always here for public service,” he replies, his fingers teasing and testing my resolve. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating, and in that instant, I’m torn between the thrill of surrendering and the clarity of my racing thoughts.

I can feel every subtle movement of Gio’s fingers as they continue to tantalize me.

Each stroke ignites a desperate hunger within me, pulling me further into the blissful sensation.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs, his voice low—a seductive taunt. "So ready."

I want to reply. To banter back. But I’m caught in this whirlwind of sensation, barely able to catch my breath.

“Please,” I gasp, uncertainty mixed with a fierce need.

The way he expertly navigates my body, his fingers pressing just right, drives me closer to the edge. It’s like he knows exactly how to push my buttons, each caress a delicate reminder of the line I’m teetering on.

“Just a little more…” I whisper, my heart racing.

The chaotic thoughts fade, leaving only the intoxicating scent of my arousal swirling around us. I can sense the climax building, tightening within me like a coiled spring, and all I can focus on is the ride he’s taking me on.

An inexorable journey toward ecstasy.

A journey I've never been able to take with any man except for Gio.

And I hate it. I hate how he knows me so well.

He can push my physical and emotional buttons like no one else can.

My body is a sensual symphony that only Gio can play. Which makes it harder to be near him. Which makes him the most dangerous assignment I've ever had.

Despite my efforts to deny it, Gio is my weakness. His steady rhythm sends shockwaves through me, his thumb tracing patterns that ignite every nerve.

"You know you crave this, Lexi," he murmurs, his deep voice full of desire. His deep green eyes lock onto mine, heightening the tension. Each word pulls me closer to the edge, and as he increases the pressure, my body shudders.

"Let go for me," he softly commands, and the heat within me demands release. I whimper, the world turning to a haze as I feel my climax slam into me.

My back presses firmly against the cool surface of the hotel room door as he holds me upright, his hands anchoring me in place.

Each caress sends delightful tremors cascading through me. I can feel the weight of his gaze as it roams my face.

His lips brush against my neck, and suddenly, all rational thought dissolves into a swirl of need.

"You’re exactly where you belong, Lexi," he whispers, his warm breath making my skin prickle.

Gio's hands come up to cup my face, and I fist my fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. It's like every snarky comment, every heated argument, has been leading to this moment.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Gio rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

"Well," he says, his voice rough. "That's one way to end an interview."

I laugh, the sound a little shaky. "God, we are so screwed."

He grins, and it's equal parts wicked and endearing. "Probably. But what a way to go, right?"

He kisses my lips softly, his tongue brushing against them in a gentle tease before pulling away. I can feel the heat emanating from his body, and it's intoxicating.

I lean in to steal another kiss, but Gio pulls back slightly. "As much as I want to keep going," he says with a smirk, "I think we should probably get back to work."

I groan playfully, knowing he's right. I have a deadline to meet. Notes to write. I smile, saying nothing more as he zips my jeans back up and buttons them.

He blinks. "Have a good night, Brookes."

I don't even get to tell him the same before he turns on his heel.

As I watch him walk away, whistling some off-key tune, I can't help but wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into. I've got more material on Giovanni De Luca than I know what to do with now.

And for once in my life, I have absolutely no idea what to write.

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