Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(18)

Yeah, nice try, but that doesn’t work. Jerk-o still looked damn good this morning. I may hate him, but I can’t deny he has an epic level of hotness going for him.

That’s all he has, though.

“Except for maybe that big dick,” I murmur.

No maybes about that one, chica!

Yeah, that was no magic trick under the covers. No rabbit in a hat illusion. Maybe it was a carrot. A really long, thick— That wasn’t a vegetable under there, sweetie. That was some pure man meat.

“Mmm…” Happy that I’m not a vegetarian, I think about how I’d like to take a big bite, and maybe a lick or two for good measure, of his pure man m— “Wait a minute.” I stop myself. “You’re supposed to be hating on that dick, not lusting after it.”

The dick can’t help who it’s attached to. Maybe a little lusting is okay?

“No!”

Seems even my voice of reason is a traitor when it comes to cock.

I hit the phone against my head to punish myself, but that just hurts like hell. “Ow.” I rub my temple and check my phone.

Seven minutes till my escape from this latest embarrassment.

“See, this is why you’re better off staying focused on work.”

Yeah, work. Speaking of which, I have obligations today. Luckily, it appears I’m still on schedule for my flight. I just need to stop at the hotel so I can take a shower, put my contacts back in, and grab my stuff.

Oh, and I certainly plan to put on some damn underwear. Everything under my dress feels so exposed, all thanks to that pervert absconding with my panties.

Just then, as if to emphasize that point, a gust of wind blows up my dress. I smooth the material down in the nick of time, seconds before the Uber driver pulls up.

Someone almost got a peep show.

God, now I’m even thinking like the pervy baseball dude. I swear I can’t get on that plane to Las Vegas fast enough. I’m ready to put this whole crazy morning behind me.

And Mr. Panty-Stealer?

Well, he’s being erased from my mind, never to be thought of, or spoken of, ever again.





When I arrive in Vegas there’s a limo driver waiting for me. He’s in the baggage claim area, holding up a large placard with my name spelled out in letters so big even my tired and hungover self can’t miss it.

It’s stuffy and warm inside the terminal, making me more than ready to turn my bags over to the driver. He takes them off my hands, and I proceed to follow him out to a far worse inferno.

As he begins to load my luggage into the trunk of the waiting limo, I remark, “Wow, it must be like a hundred and ten degrees out here.”

I fan myself with my hand, a sorry attempt to cool down. The black business suit I put on at the hotel seemed comfy and fine back in Minneapolis, but here in hell I feel like I’m about to die from heatstroke.

“It’s not that bad today,” the driver replies as he busies himself with shifting my many bags here and there, making sure they all fit. “Though it’s been pretty rough lately. You’re lucky. We’re on a cooldown now. Last I checked it was only ninety-seven.”

“Only ninety-seven,” I mutter. “That’s some cooldown.”

Smiling kindly, he assures me, “I’ll put the AC on high in the car. You’ll be comfortable in no time, Miss Shelburne.”

Once we’re in the limo, and the AC is indeed pumping full blast, I remove my makeup bag from my purse so I can at least attempt to freshen up after the long flight, a flight where I, thankfully, had a chance to take a much-needed nap.

All in all, I’m not in too bad of shape. Especially considering I had such a rough night…and a f*cked-up morning from hell with the baseball player jerk.

Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to a stop at whichever extended-stay hotel my firm has me in for the duration of this assignment.

That reminds me to ask the driver, “Where exactly are we going?”

Peering back at me in the rearview mirror, he says, “I’ve been instructed to drive you straight to the meeting with management and the new client.”

“Wait, what? We’re not stopping at a hotel first? I was hoping to drop off my things and freshen up.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the driver informs me. “And I wouldn’t count on a hotel stay, ma’am. Based on where I’m supposed to take you following the meeting, it would seem your firm and client management have decided you’re staying somewhere other than a hotel.”

“Oh, great,” I mutter, irritated at the ridiculous amount of secrecy for this assignment. “So where will you be taking me after the meeting? I’d like to know where I’ll be living for the next couple of months.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to divulge that information just yet, Miss Shelburne. I’ve been instructed to inform you that everything you need to know will be covered at the meeting.”

I don’t press. Orders are orders.

But I am curious.

If I’m not staying in a long-term residence place, I guess I’ll be put up in an apartment. A place of my own would be nice, but it also tells me I’ll be residing in this lovely sauna known as Nevada for quite some time.

Wow, this client must really be a handful. Better prepare for the worst now.