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

24. Blaze

24

Blaze

Be ready at 4. Wear something sexy but comfortable. We’ve got a big night ahead.

I type out the text, my thumbs moving quickly.

A minute later, Savannah’s reply pings back.

Sexy and comfortable? Is that a thing?

I smirk, leaning back in my chair. Of course she’d come back with something sharp. That's my girl.

You know what? Never mind. You always look sexy and it's my job to make you comfortable.

Smooth talker. But I still need to know what to wear.

Hey, if it's so hard to decide, just don't wear anything.

In your dreams, hotshot.

My fingers hover over the screen, debating whether to tease her more. Should I mention the gazebo? Nah. I decide against it. Let her wonder. The anticipation will make the reveal that much better.

Grinning, I pocket my phone.

Tonight’s going to be unforgettable.

At exactly 4 PM, I pull up to the Airbnb in my Porsche 911, the engine purring like a beast ready to run. Leaning casually against the door, I check my watch. She’s punctual—I like that.

The door opens, and Savannah steps out. For a moment, I can’t move. A sleek black cocktail dress clings to her curves like it was designed for her and only her. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves that catch the light just right, and her brown eyes lock on me with a sharpness that should come with a warning label.

The fabric of her dress hugs every line of her body, accentuating her figure in a way that makes my heart race. The plunging neckline reveals just enough of her cleavage to be tantalizing, drawing my gaze and holding it captive. I can see the line that separates her boobs, and I can't help but imagine tracing it with my tongue, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. The dress is a perfect blend of elegance and seduction, and on her, it's nothing short of breathtaking.

My body responds instantly, a surge of desire coursing through me. I can feel myself getting hard just from the sight of her, the way the dress clings to her hips and thighs, the promise of what lies beneath. It's like every inch of her is designed to drive me wild, and I'm helpless to resist. The thought of running my hands over her, of feeling her soft skin under my fingertips, is almost too much to bear. I'm consumed by a primal need to have her, to possess her completely.

How the hell am I supposed to focus on anything else tonight?

"Not exactly a cowboy car, is it?" She eyes the sleek black Porsche with an arched brow. "Let me guess—midlife crisis purchase?"

I smirk, "The truck's for work. This is my usual ride." My eyes dance with amusement. "I'm not just a lame hockey player, you know. I contain multitudes."

"Oh, multitudes?" She tilts her head, letting her smile grow deliberately slow. "Good to know you have layers, Ice. Wouldn't want you to be one-dimensional. Though I have to say, the sports car is a bit of a billionaire playboy cliché."

"Stick with me, Hart. I can give you more than layers… if you let me."

I open the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish. "And who says clichés can't be fun?"

"I suppose that depends entirely on how you handle them."

My answering grin is downright wicked. "Challenge accepted."

She slides in gracefully, and for a moment, I catch myself staring. The way her dress rides up slightly as she settles into the leather seat isn't helping my concentration. Shaking it off, I get in and start the engine, the low growl filling the air as we pull out.

"So, what's the deal with the mystery?" Savannah asks, crossing her legs in a way that's impossible not to notice. "You're usually not this subtle. In fact, I don't think 'subtle' is even in your vocabulary."

I glance at her, keeping one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually. "Where's the fun in spilling everything up front? Besides, watching you squirm with curiosity is half the entertainment. You'll figure it out soon enough."

She scoffs lightly, leaning back. "Let me guess—something dramatic? That seems to be your specialty. Should I be worried about fireworks? A Mariachi band on a desert island?"

"Now there's an idea," I grin, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. "But no bands tonight. Though I have to say, your imagination is adorably off-base."

"Adorably?" She arches an eyebrow. "Careful there, Ice. Your reputation for being a bad boy might take a hit."

"Could I say that I've never a woman who didn't fall in love with my special brand of chaos?"

"Could you?"

"Not really, as it wouldn't be true. But it sounded cool, right?"

"So now you're being cool?"

"No, just playing the billionaire playboy cliche I thought you liked."

"I like it for sure. As much as going to a restaurant that serves food that's looking at me."

"Don't worry. Tonight you won't have to eat anything that looks at you. Unless—"

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Seriously, did you plan something over the top?"

I grin wider. "Define over the top."

"You."

"Then I guess I'm guilty as charged—but you'll love it. I promise to keep the peacocks to a minimum."

"Peacocks?" She arches an eyebrow. "Please tell me you're joking."

"What? They make excellent dinner companions. Very judgmental though."

When we pull into the private airfield, she sits up straighter, her sharp gaze zeroing in on the sleek chartered plane waiting for us. The afternoon sun catches the polished metal, making it gleam like liquid silver.

"Subtle. Not over the top at all," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Killing the engine, I step out and walk around to her side, opening the door. "Trust me, Princess. It's worth it. Unless you're afraid of heights?"

"The only thing I'm afraid of is your ego getting so big it won't fit through the cabin door."

"Don't worry, I had them make it extra wide just for that reason."

She steps out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she takes in the scene. "You're really going for it tonight, aren't you?"

"Like I said, you'll love it. Though I should warn you, the in-flight entertainment is just me attempting stand-up comedy."

"Dear God." She pinches the bridge of her nose, but I catch the smile she's trying to hide.

"I've been practicing my dad jokes."

The plane's interior is as luxurious as it gets. Soft lighting, plush seating, and a perfectly set dinner table await. Champagne chills in a bucket, and Savannah pauses, taking it all in before turning to me.

"This is... unexpected," she admits, her eyes taking in every luxurious detail.

"What, were you expecting plastic cups and microwave dinners? I'm wounded, Princess. Truly wounded." I place a hand over my heart dramatically. "Did you think I'd serve you hot pockets on paper plates while we watch infomercials?"

She laughs despite herself. "Given your bachelor pad cooking skills, can you blame me?"

I shrug, pouring two flutes with practiced ease. "Only the best for my fake fiancée," I tease, handing her one. "Though I'll have you know I make a mean frozen pizza."

"Wow, truly husband material," she deadpans, but the corner of her mouth quirks up in a reluctant smile. "Should I be concerned that you're trying so hard to impress me?"

We clink glasses, and for a second, I let myself just enjoy the moment, the way the soft lighting catches in her eyes.

"To surprises," I say, watching her over the rim of my glass. "And to proving Savannah Hart wrong about my entertaining capabilities."

Her lips curve a little more, and I can't help but notice how perfectly they match the shimmer in her dress. "You're never going to let me live down my low expectations, are you?"

"Not a chance in hell, Princess."

"Alright, Ice. You've got my attention. Now what?"

"For now? Sit back, relax, and enjoy. You'll find out soon enough." I wink. "Unless you're scared of what else I might have planned?"

"Please," she scoffs, but her eyes sparkle with intrigue. "The only thing I'm scared of is your stand-up routine."

As the plane levels out, the conversation deepens. I tell her about coaching kids’ hockey teams, how much I love seeing their faces light up when they finally nail a play.

“That moment when they realize they can do something they never thought possible? That’s the magic. Makes all the hours on the ice worth it.”

Savannah watches me, her eyes softer now. “You don’t talk about this stuff much, do you?”

“Not unless I trust the person I’m talking to,” I say simply, holding her gaze.

She blinks. “Well, it’s… nice.”

I lean back, grinning. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Her laugh is light, genuine… addictive.

“What about you?” I ask. “Ever been horseback riding?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. When you threw me onto Wildfire to save me from rattlesnakes, that was the closest I’ve ever been to a powerful stallion.”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Are we talking about the horse or me?”

Her eyes narrow, but the amusement is clear. “The horse. Definitely the horse.”

I chuckle, raising my glass in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

The conversation flows easily, touching on her career, her life in PR, and the twists that brought her to Cedar Creek. She’s sharp, confident, and entirely captivating.

She doesn’t even realize the power she holds over people— over me .

The plane lands smoothly, the Vegas skyline visible in the distance. A sleek black stretch limo waits on the tarmac, and Savannah raises an eyebrow as she steps off the plane.

“Let me guess—next stop is a helicopter ride?”

I smirk, slipping an arm around her waist to guide her toward the car. “Not a bad idea, but I figured you’d want something more grounded. For now.”

She laughs, shaking her head as the driver opens the door. “You know, most people would just take me to dinner.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not most people.”

As the limo pulls away, the city lights dance outside, hinting at the night ahead. Savannah leans back, watching the view, and I can’t help but watch her.

This night is just getting started.

The limo pulls up to the Cirque du Soleil venue, the neon lights glowing against the night sky. Savannah steps out first, her heels clicking on the pavement. Her eyes sweep the entrance, curiosity lighting up her face.

"VIP seats?" she asks, glancing back at me as I join her.

"Of course," I say, placing my hand on the small of her back. "Like I said, nothing but the best for my fake fiancée. Though I have to admit, you're playing the part better than expected."

She arches an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "What, did you think I couldn't handle it?"

"Oh, I knew you could handle it. I just didn't expect to enjoy it quite this much."

We're ushered to the front row, and as the lights dim and the music starts, I find myself watching her more than the stage. The way her eyes widen in amazement, the way she leans forward as acrobats soar through the air—it's impossible to look away.

"You know," she whispers, leaning close enough that I can smell her perfume, "most guys would be watching the show, not their date."

"Most guys don't have such an interesting view," I murmur back, earning me an eye roll and a soft laugh.

At intermission, she turns to me, a spark in her eyes. "Alright, Ice. This was a good call. You win this round."

I chuckle, leaning a little closer. "I usually do. But tell me, PR queen—how many points do I get for choosing something that doesn't involve a private yacht?"

"Mmm, I'd say you're definitely scoring high on the creative date scale," she teases. "Though don't let it go to your head."

"Too late for that," I wink. "Our next adventure is already planned."

After the show, the limo takes us to a casino. Inside, the buzz of voices, clinking chips, and cheers fills the air. I guide Savannah through the crowd to a private blackjack table.

She eyes the setup, then me. "You've thought this through."

"I don't do anything halfway," I reply, pulling out her chair. "Besides, I needed to find somewhere that could match your sparkle tonight."

She laughs, sliding into the seat. "Smooth talker. But flattery won't help you win."

"The night is not over yet."

As we settle in, I slide a stack of chips toward her. "What's the bet?"

She taps her lip, pretending to think. "A kiss."

"Just one?" I raise an eyebrow. "Alright. If I win, I get a dance. And not one of those proper ballroom ones you PR types are so fond of."

"Bold of you to assume I only know proper dances." She smirks. "Deal."

The first round is hers. She leans across the table, claiming her prize with a quick kiss that leaves me wanting more. Her lips brush mine with just enough pressure to make my heart race before she pulls back.

"That's all you get for now, Ice."

But in the next round, I clean up, earning a dramatic groan from her.

"Beginner's luck," she mutters, though her smile betrays her.

"Or maybe I'm just better," I tease, standing and offering my hand. "Now about that dance..."

"Don't push it," she warns, but takes my hand anyway. "And just so you know, I let you win that one."

"Sure you did."

After cashing out, we step onto the Strip, the city buzzing around us. Neon lights flash, music drifts from street performers, and the crowd is alive with energy. Savannah walks beside me, her laughter cutting through the chaos.

We pass a wedding chapel, its flashing sign declaring, "Weddings 24/7." I stop, gesturing toward it. "Ready to make this official?"

She raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Here? I don't think so."

"Why not? Elvis or Marilyn? Your call." I waggle my eyebrows. "I hear they do a mean 'Can't Help Falling in Love' ceremony. I'll even throw in the blue suede shoes."

"You're ridiculous," she laughs, but her eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Come on, Sav. Live a little." I tug her hand playfully toward the chapel. "I can clean you out at poker, sweep you off your feet with my dance moves, and now I'm offering to make an honest woman out of you. What more could you want?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "If that's your pitch, I'm gonna need more champagne." She pulls me away from the chapel. "And maybe a better proposal than 'Elvis or Marilyn.'"

"So you're saying there's a chance?" I grin. "I'll work on my pitch. Maybe next time I'll have Cirque du Soleil involved."

"Now that," she says with a teasing smile, "might be worth considering."

I shrug, letting a bit of sincerity slip in. “Seriously, though. No cameras, no stress. Just us.”

Her smile falters for a second, then returns. “Would you really do it?”

“With you?” I meet her gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

She blinks, caught off guard, then rolls her eyes. “Nice try.”

I grin. “Didn’t hear a no.”