Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

6. Blaze

6

Blaze

The morning sunlight streaming through the window feels like a spotlight, burning into me as I wake up.

My body’s heavy, my mind already playing reruns of yesterday afternoon some twisted highlight reel. Her laugh. The way she’d looked at me when I kissed her.

The sound of her breath catching when I— stop . I groan, dragging a hand over my face.

It’s been years since I’ve felt anything like that for a woman. Not since Delaney disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a hole in my chest and questions I’ll never have answers to—that kind of thing doesn’t fade, no matter how much time passes. I’d sworn off this kind of connection, figured I didn’t have it in me to try again.

But then she shows up, all fire and sass and the kind of confidence that gets under my skin in the worst and best ways.

I sit up, planting my elbows on my knees, and stare at the floor. Guilt curls around my chest like a vice. Moving on feels like a betrayal. I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want her . Delaney’s been gone for years, but the weight of her absence hasn’t let up.

And yet Margot managed to crack through that armor in a matter of minutes.

Of all people, Margot Robbie. I’ve seen her before at NHL charity galas—always across the room, radiant in designer gowns and full glam, always surrounded by handlers and other A-listers, exuding untouchable confidence. I'd caught myself staring more than once, drawn to her, but never had the balls to approach.

And now here she is at our ranch, of all places? Un-fucking-believable. The woman I was with yesterday traded the red carpet look for a messy ponytail and running gear, no makeup, no pretense, looking like she'd rather throw a punch than pose for photos. And somehow, stripped of all that Hollywood polish, she's even more stunning. Raw. Real. And somehow, even more captivating.

We get celebrities at the ranch sometimes, especially during festival season. They're usually here for a day or two, snapping selfies with the horses and calling it 'rustic.' But this? This feels like winning the goddamn lottery.

Her laugh is still in my head, but it’s the memory of her lips—soft, demanding, addictive—that has me gripping the edge of the mattress. The way she’d pressed into me, her body fitting so perfectly against mine, it’s burned into my skin.

But then there’s Dad’s rule. No hooking up with guests.

Ever.

He’s drilled it into us since we were teenagers: “Keep business and pleasure separate, or you’ll ruin both.”

Makes sense in theory, but with Margot? It’s not like I planned for any of this.

Knowing the rule and breaking it are two different things, and now it feels like a brand on my pride. I shouldn’t have let it happen. Not because I regret it—I don’t—but because it complicates everything. This ranch is my chance to rebuild, to prove I’m not the screw-up everyone’s been whispering about. Getting tangled up with her is the last thing I need.

No good can come from this. No matter how much I can’t stop thinking about her.

***

I step into the morning, the ranch already humming with life. The scent of hay and leather mingles with the crisp air as I head toward the barn, ready to lose myself in the routine. Anything to quiet the storm in my head.

As I walk into the barn, my boots crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the usual calm I expect doesn’t settle over me. Instead, an ache settles low in my gut at the sight in front of me.

She’s here.

Standing by one of the stalls, she’s running her fingers along the mare’s nose, murmuring softly. The way she leans in, her expression completely unguarded, catches me off guard. For a moment, she’s just… there. No sass, no fire, just her. And it knocks the air out of my lungs.

Her hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes, and all I can think about is how those same hands felt on my abs. Heat punches straight to my cock, sharp and insistent. It’s not just her touch—it’s the way her body moves, fluid and effortless, like she owns the space without even trying. There’s something about her that’s impossible to ignore, and I’m getting harder by the second, the ache bordering on pain.

Her head snaps up, and our eyes lock. The pull between us is instant, the memory of her body pressed against mine rushing back like a punch to my core.

"Morning," I say, keeping my tone neutral, almost curt.

"Morning," she replies, her voice steady but her eyes flicker like she's just as thrown off as I am. "You always lurk in doorways, or am I just special?"

"Special? That's one word for it."

I try to play it cool. She must be used to men falling over themselves, and I'll be damned if I become one of them.

I nod toward the mare. "She's a sweet one. Likes attention."

Margot smirks, brushing her hand along the mare's neck. "Then she must love it here, surrounded by men who think they know everything."

"Speaking from experience?" I arch an eyebrow. "Or just making assumptions about men you barely know?"

"Oh, I think I've seen enough." She tilts her head, challenge dancing in her eyes, the hint of yesterday lingering in her tone.

I huff out a laugh despite myself, shaking my head. "Careful. These horses have ears, you know. Wouldn't want them spreading rumors about how wrong you are."

"Please," she scoffs, but there's a hint of playfulness in her tone. "They'd probably agree with me. Right, girl?" She coos at the mare, who nuzzles against her palm.

"Traitor," I mutter to the horse, and Margot's laugh, rich and genuine, catches me off guard.

She shifts slightly, her shoulder almost brushing mine, and the faint scent of something clean and floral—her shampoo?—makes me want to lean closer. Instead, I clench my fist at my side, willing myself to keep my distance.

She rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips as she turns back to the mare. I leave before the tension between us can spiral into something I can't control, her soft laughter following me out the door.

***

Later, I see her again by the main house. She’s standing with Emma, her laugh floating through the air as they chat like old friends. Emma’s pointing at something in the distance, and Margot leans in, her eyes bright with curiosity.

From where I’m standing, she looks... different. Softer. The way the sunlight hits her blonde hair makes it shine like spun gold, and her confident stance has a kind of elegance to it I didn’t notice before. She’s magnetic all right, even when she’s not trying to be.

She tosses her head back in laughter, her hair catching the sunlight like spun gold. The way her hips sway as she leans in closer to Emma makes my pulse quicken. It’s maddening how every little thing she does has me on edge, like I’m a damn teenager with no control.

I stay back, keeping to the shadows of the barn entrance. Watching her feels safe from a distance, like admiring a fire without getting too close to the heat. She glances my way, just for a second, and I swear the air between us shifts.

I turn back to the tack I’m supposed to be sorting, trying to focus on anything other than the way her eyes lingered on mine.

By midafternoon, I’m working on the fence near the paddock when I see her again. She’s walking toward the corral, her steps deliberate but graceful, like she knows exactly where she’s going. I can feel her before she even gets close, the same way you feel a storm rolling in.

She doesn’t speak, just passes by with a small nod. But the way her shoulder brushes mine sends a jolt through my chest, straight to my core, a reminder that yesterday at the creek wasn’t just in my head. She glances at me, her lips curving into the smallest smile, and I swear I feel her heat lingering long after she’s passed.

I watch her go, the sway of her hips hypnotizing me more than I care to admit and frustration simmering under the surface. My fingers twitch at the thought of reaching out, pulling her back to me, just to feel her against me again. But I don’t. I can’t.

She’s everywhere, and every time I see her, it’s like a string pulling me closer. I wonder if she’s feeling it too. If the way she’s been looking at me is just my imagination, or if she’s caught in this same damn whirlwind.

I shake my head, gripping the fencepost tighter. No good can come from this. And yet, I can’t bring myself to stay away.