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

10. Savannah

10

Savannah

The stables smell like hay, leather, and that faint earthy scent that seems to cling to Blake Ice himself. The low hum of the ranch—the shuffle of straw, the occasional snort from a horse—blends with the morning light streaming through the slats.

Jake passes me on his way out, the sound of his laughter floating in the air. Violet’s on his hip, clutching a stuffed bunny with one ear flopping down. He lifts her tiny hand to wave at me, guiding the motion with his own. The sweetness of it pulls a smile to my face, even if it’s distracted, as I wave back.

Inside, it’s quieter. The warmth feels different here, softer, like the place has soaked up years of stories. And there he is—Blake—brushing down a chestnut horse with easy, practiced movements. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing forearms that make my body flush with memories I shouldn't be replaying. But of course, I do.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel ignored,” I say, leaning against the stall door.

Blake glances up, and for a second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something warmer. He recovers quickly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Sorry about that, Savannah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Been swamped with ranch work and off-season practice. I've been meaning to catch up, but..." He gestures at the stables around.

Right," I say, my tone sharper than intended. The casual way he's brushing me off makes my blood simmer. After fucking me senseless she's now acting like it was not a big deal? Fine. Two can play this game.

"Didn’t expect to see you this early, Princess.”

"I was just wandering," I lie, stepping in, my skin tingling with awareness of him. "Guess I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the ranch's elusive hockey star."

Blake laughs, low and steady, the kind of laugh that settles in your chest. “Not that elusive. Just trying to keep up with everything, especially caring for the horses.”

“This is Ladybug,” he continues, patting the horse’s neck with a quiet fondness. “She’s one of the gentler ones.” She flicks her ears in acknowledgment.

I move closer, my boots crunching on the hay-dusted floor, my pulse quickening at his proximity. The memory of his touch making it hard to focus. “Ladybug?” I raise a brow. “Not exactly what I imagined for a ranch horse. Where’s Butch or Maverick?”

Blake chuckles, running his hand down her glossy coat. “Don’t let the name fool you. She’s got her moments. But once you earn her trust, she’s as steady as they come.”

“She’s beautiful,” I admit, brushing a strand of hay off my shirt. “Though I wouldn’t know a mare from… whatever else there is.”

“A gelding?” he offers with a smirk.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” I say, grinning. “Horses aren’t exactly common in downtown Chicago. The closest I’ve gotten are the police horses at Michigan Avenue parades.”

Blake’s laugh is warm, settling into my chest like a good whiskey. “So,” I continue, eyeing the horse. “Is this your morning workout routine? Because it looks suspiciously like manual labor.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Hardly a workout. Brushing her down keeps her calm. Want to give it a shot? Ladybug won’t judge you for being a rookie.”

“Me? Absolutely not.” I wave my hands. “I don’t even brush my hair most days.”

Blake raises a brow. “You’re telling me Savannah Hart is afraid of a little dirt?”

“I’m telling you Savannah Hart knows her strengths, and barn work isn’t one of them.”

He leans the brush against the stall wall, turning to face me fully. “What are your strengths, then?”

I pause, caught off guard by the question. He’s looking at me in that steady, thoughtful way that makes me feel both exposed and… special.

“Charm,” I say finally, flashing him my best grin. “And marketing campaigns. I’m pretty much a genius at those.”

Blake laughs, leaning against the stall. “I’ll take your word for it. But if you ever want to test out your charm on horses, let me know. Ladybug’s pretty forgiving.”

“Noted,” I say, taking a step closer. “But tell me—what’s your strength, Cowpoke? Besides hockey and horse whispering?”

His smile softens, and for a second, I swear there’s a flicker of hesitation. “Patience, maybe. I’m good at waiting for the right moment.”

I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “The right moment for what?”

He shrugs, his gaze holding mine. “For things that matter.”

The air between us shifts, heavier but not uncomfortable. My heart does this annoying little flutter, and I force myself to take a step back.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “If patience is your thing, maybe you can be patient enough to show me how to saddle a horse. But fair warning—I’m hopeless.”

Blake smiles. “I’ve got time.”

He hands me the saddle, and I take it with both hands, my arms straining under its unexpected weight. “This thing weighs a ton. Are you sure Ladybug isn’t going to file a complaint?”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” he says, guiding me to the horse’s side. “Alright, you’ve got to tighten the girth strap, or the saddle will slip.”

I fumble with the strap deliberately, leaning closer so he can feel the heat radiating from my body. If the proximity affects him as much as it's affecting me, he's damn good at hiding it. Time to test his limits. "Oh, I've got it," I purr, laying it on thick. "This is all very hands-on, isn't it? I guess that's how you like it?"

Blake chuckles, "I enjoy it. And I like to think I'm not that bad at it." He steps in to adjust the strap with practiced ease. "But you're not exactly a natural, are you?"

"Guess I'll need extra lessons," I say, my voice dripping with playfulness. Is he even getting what I'm doing? "I'm a very dedicated student. But only with the right teacher, obviously."

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement outside the stables. A figure in a cowboy hat leans against the fence post, watching us. The sunlight obscures his face, casting shadows that make it impossible to tell who it is. My pulse skips, and for a moment, I feel a strange prickle of awareness.

Blake shifts, breaking my focus. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head, forcing a laugh. “Just thought I saw someone out there.”

He follows my gaze but shrugs. "Probably one of the hands. They're always around. Or it could be Blaze, who knows?"

Ugh. So Blaze is at the ranch, damn it. Whatever. I don't need to be distracted.

I turn back to Blake, adding a little extra swing to my step as I circle the horse. “Maybe you can show me how to ride, too. I’ll need someone patient… who can lead me.”

Blake chuckles, his warm, steady gaze locking on mine. “You think I qualify?”

I tilt my head, pretending to think it over. “You might. I haven't seen enough of you in action yet."

He steps closer, and for a second I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, he says, "How about a trade? I teach you to ride and you let me take you out to dinner? There's a little place in town I'd like to show you. It's called The Rusty Spur —nothing fancy, but they've got great food and a laid-back vibe. I think you'll like it."

My heart stutters, but before I can respond, my phone buzzes. A text from Aubrey about the budget projections. Great.

"I should get back to work," I say, waving my phone. "These festival numbers won't crunch themselves."

"Wait—when should we—"

"Let's set a day next time I see you around, okay?" I flash him a smile, already backing away. "The festival prep is crazy right now."

He nods, but something flickers in his expression I can't quite read. "Don't work too hard."

I head back to my room, my mind already on everything I need to give Aubrey. At least work might keep my thoughts from wandering back to those muscles.

***

Three hours of staring at spreadsheets later, my brain is fried. I need to move, to breathe, to do anything that doesn't involve a screen. A run sounds perfect—the ranch's trails are calling my name, promising to clear my head.

My mind had wandered and I'd found myself in the open wilderness, but I managed to find my way back to the recreation area.

The sun hangs high in the afternoon sky, glinting off the shimmering water of the ranch's luxurious pool. It's the kind of place you'd expect to see on a postcard—crystal clear, surrounded by sleek stone tiles and a backdrop of sprawling countryside.

Sweat trickles down my back and the dry air does little to cool my flushed skin, but I don't care. Now my thoughts finally feel clear.

That is, until I see him.

Blake is in the pool, water streaming off his broad shoulders as he swims a slow, deliberate lap. The muscles in his back shift with each stroke, powerful and fluid, like he owns the water itself. He reaches the far end, turns with effortless grace—and then his gaze locks on me.

For a moment, he stills, water rippling around him before he drags one arm through the water, gripping the pool’s edge with a firm, commanding hold, and pushes himself upward in one powerful motion.

When he emerges, it's like a scene ripped straight out of a dream. I feel as if I'm watching a sinful swimsuit ad in slow motion. He walks toward me, water trailing from his skin in shimmering rivulets, each movement deliberate, impossibly smooth, and devastatingly magnetic.

My gaze drinks him in, eating up every inch, as if I've forgotten how to blink. As if I've forgotten how to breathe.

Droplets cling to his skin, catching the sunlight like tiny shards of light, then slide down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing the sharp ridges of his abs before disappearing into the waistband of his fitted black swim shorts. It's their lazy path downward that I imagine following with my tongue. I envy each rivulet—free to roam over every inch of him while I'm stuck here, my core throbbing with the need to lick every water-slicked muscle until he's the one losing control.

His bird tattoo, bold against his sun-kissed skin, and the effortless strength in the way he lifts a hand to push his wet hair back—it’s all one maddeningly perfect whole that keeps me rooted in place.

My stomach tightens, my pulse pounding out of control. I couldn't look away if I tried—not that I want to.

I don't care if he notices. Let him.

Looking at him is like savoring the first taste of the most forbidden chocolate—licking it slowly and feeling it melt on my tongue, dragging out every bit of pleasure. Right now, he's mine to enjoy, whether he realizes it or not, and I'm not about to rush this.

But then his jaw tightens, and the spell is broken. His expression screams pissed off .

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath, slowing to a walk as I approach.

“Do you have a death wish, woman?” he growls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the afternoon stillness.

“Excuse me?” I plant my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s your problem, Cowpoke?”

“My problem?” He stops a few feet away, towering over me like some angry Greek god, water pooling at his feet on the sun-warmed concrete. “You’re out there running in this heat, acting like you’re invincible. Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

“Oh, here we go,” I snap, waving a hand in the air. “Let me guess—heatstroke, dehydration, snakes, coyotes, cougars? Save the lecture, hothead. I’ve heard it all before.”

“This isn’t a joke,” he bites out, his jaw clenching. “There are real dangers out here, and you’re acting like nothing can touch you.”

“And you’re acting like I need a babysitter!” I fire back, stepping closer until I’m practically toe-to-toe with him. “Newsflash, captain: I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I don’t need you swooping in to save the day every five minutes.”

His blue eyes darken, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. “You’re reckless,” he says, his voice low and rough. “And it’s going to get you hurt.”

“And you’re controlling,” I shoot back, my chest heaving. “You think you can just bark orders and everyone will fall in line? Guess what? I’m not one of your damn horses.”

What happened to him? This morning he was all patience and gentle smiles, teaching me about horses. Now he's raw energy and command—and God help me, my body's betraying how much that turns me on.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. The air between us is thick, charged with something I can’t quite name but feel down to my bones.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same about you,” I snap, my gaze locked on his.

And then, before I can say another word, he grabs me.

His hands are on my arms, firm but not rough, and in one smooth motion, he pulls me against him. The shock of his cool, wet skin against my sun-heated body makes me gasp even before his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding, stealing every ounce of breath I had left.

It’s not a kiss—it’s a wildfire.

I gasp against his lips, my hands instinctively gripping his shoulders to steady myself. His grip softens, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck while the other settles on my waist, pulling me closer.

It’s everything I didn’t know I needed. The anger, the frustration, the tension—it all melts away, replaced by a heat that sets every nerve ending in my body alight.

His lips move against mine with a mix of urgency and precision, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. My knees threaten to give out, but his arms hold me steady, his body solid and unyielding against mine. My pussy is soaked, and not from his wet swim shorts pressed against me.

When I finally come up for air, my chest heaving, I can’t even think straight.

“You—” I start, but he cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming.

By the time he pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, I’m pretty sure my brain has short-circuited.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down my spine.

"Right back at you," I whisper, my palms burning where they press against his chest.

Maybe I like this fierce intensity more than I should. The fire burning beneath his usual calm ignites something in me, makes me feel more alive, more wanted than I have in years. Like I'm the only woman in the world who could drive him to this edge.

Before either of us can say more, a small voice breaks through the tension.

“Aunt Savannah, that’s gross!”