Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

9. Rachel

9

RACHEL

F uck, Sawyer’s arms felt good. Strong. And the way he’d swooped in to keep me from cracking my head like a coconut on the ice…damn it, that was sexy as hell.

All of him was sexy, if I was being honest. Up close, he was downright pretty, with long lashes and eyes that were almost molten gold as they stared down into mine. And I couldn’t forget those sensual lips of his, full and framed by coarse red-brown hair that he clearly maintained meticulously. I was close enough to him that I could count every hair in his beard if I wanted to.

He didn’t give me the chance.

The kiss was gentle, but fervent. Warm lips meeting mine with a firm pressure I hadn’t felt in far too long, and I was right to think his mouth would be decadent, because that combination of soft and rough from his beard…it was unreal. Not thinking for once in my entire life, I kissed Sawyer back with enthusiasm, letting my body take over for my brain. My arms snaked up around his neck, and I could have sworn we were spinning on the ice as he pulled me in closer to his firm chest. It occurred to me that even if I’d wanted to reject his kiss, to pull away, I wasn’t sure I was capable. He had me so securely in his arms, and I’d proven my lack of skating prowess on my own.

Good thing I was happy right here, with his lips carefully parting, our tongues starting to test the waters of the best kiss I’d had in God knew how long. I wanted it to last and last and last until my lips fell off. Until my brain checked out of the building entirely and let my body take over unsupervised.

But fate had other plans. Suddenly, a sharp sound echoed through the rink—metal on metal, a door swinging open. Both of us jumped apart, our heads snapping toward the entrance. Panic shot through me as I wobbled on my skates and realized how utterly unprofessional it was to be caught making out with a player I was supposed to be interviewing.

“Shit,” I whispered, trying to catch my breath and still my racing heart. Sawyer seemed flustered too, his golden eyes wide as he scanned the empty stands.

We both looked around frantically, but our worries calmed when a group of children, no older than eight or nine, came barreling onto the ice, followed by a harried looking skating teacher. It was an ice skating class. No one from the team, no one who could throw my should-be-fired ass out on the streets.

A sigh of relief escaped me, and I looked up at Sawyer, who was already skating a few feet away, probably trying to put some distance between us. He seemed as shaken as I was, but as soon as the kids started squealing, his demeanor shifted.

“Oh my God, it’s him! It’s Sawyer Finnegan!” one of the kids yelled, pointing with excitement. The whole class swarmed around us, their eyes wide with awe.

I watched, still feeling the heat of our kiss lingering in my chest, as Sawyer’s face softened. The gruff, no-nonsense goalie I’d been trying and failing to nail down for my marketing initiative melted into a big softie in front of the kids. Goddamn it.

“Hey there, little skaters,” he said with a grin, crouching down to be at the level of the smallest kid, a little girl who was staring at him with huge brown eyes. His voice was like honey when he asked, “You guys working on your slap shots today?”

The kids giggled, and one gangly little boy piped up, “You’re my favorite! I saw you stop that impossible goal last week!”

Sawyer chuckled, his smile warm and genuine. “Well, stopping impossible goals is kind of my job. But I bet you’re pretty good out here too, huh? You have any hopes of being a goalie, kid?”

“I want to be right wing, like Roman Jett,” a girl chimed in. Sawyer mimed an arrow flying into his heart.

I found myself watching him in a whole new light. The grumpiness, the walls he put up around adults—it all faded away in front of these kids. He was patient, kind, and even playful with them, something I hadn’t expected from him at all. With the help of the skating teacher, he even took selfies with a few of the kids, smiling wide enough that his whole face transformed. Again, I couldn’t help but think of him as pretty. Too pretty for someone so tall and strong.

“Hey, Coach Finnegan,” one of the kids said with a cheeky grin, “can you give us all skating lessons?”

Sawyer laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair. “I don’t know about all that. I’m sure your teacher here’s got her own plans. But maybe I can give Miss Rachel some lessons sometime. She could use a little help, don’t you think?”

I blinked, caught off guard—all I’d been able to do effectively during this whole exchange was wobble myself in a semi-straight line toward the edge of the ice, hoping to escape. “What? Me? I’m fine,” I protested, though the kids were giggling, proving me wrong.

Sawyer stood, that teasing glint back in his eyes. “Come on, Rachel. If you’re with the Skatin’ Santas, you’ve gotta know how to skate.”

The kids all turned to me, their wide eyes filled with expectation. How could I say no to that?

“Alright, fine,” I sighed, pretending to be exasperated, though a part of me all aflutter like some kind of idiot teenager. “But right now I have work to do. And if I fall, it’s on you, Finnegan.”

His grin was smaller than the one he’d shown the children, but no less charming. I never thought I’d use such a word to describe him before. He was gruff again when he said, “Deal.”

Eventually, I stepped off the ice and back into my shoes, lugging the skates I’d snagged from a supply closet back toward my office. My head was spinning, not just from the skating but from the way Sawyer had looked at me, the way he’d held me, the fact that we’d fucking kissed . The fact that I’d liked it. Loved it, even, and could feel my body thrumming in anticipation of more.

I needed to get back to work. To fabricate some semblance of a usable interview for Sawyer’s social media post, and let work distract me enough to clear my head. Because right now, I couldn’t stop thinking about Sawyer Finnegan—and how much I wanted to feel his lips on mine again.