Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(29)

I reluctantly meet his gaze. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“So,” he prompts, pressing for an answer. “What brought you up to Minnesota that night?”

I blow out a breath. “My sister. I was visiting her. She goes to school up there.”

“Ah, got it.”

He then pins me with inquisitive eyes, and I know what the next logical question is—how’d I end up at his party. Answering that will lead to the morning I was in his freaking bed.

It’s best to nip this in the bud now.

Raising my hand, I shake my head. “No, no more. I think that’s enough talk about that night. I’d just as soon leave it where it belongs, in the past.”

He lets out a snort, and I ask, “What now?”

“It’s just… You’re funny, Aubrey.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Oh, yeah? In what way am I funny?”

This should be good.

“You’re here to help me, but you obviously have a few issues of your own that could use some”—he rolls his eyes—“life-coaching. One of which was crystal clear that morning in my bed.”

I glare at him. We were supposed to drop this subject. Still, I can’t resist asking, “What exactly are you implying? I can’t wait to hear what issue of mine could be so freaking clear to you.”

Sensing my irritation, he waves me off. “Just never mind. It’s nothing.”

I take a step toward him, and then another, like a challenge. “No, you brought it up. I want to hear what my big issue is.”

Smirking, he says, “Okay, fine. I think you’re sexually frustrated.”

I stop in my tracks. “You did not just say that.”

I glare into his damn whiskey-colored eyes. Whiskey is dangerous. I wished they’d stayed sunflowery.

Now it’s his turn to take a step closer to me. And then another. He’s faster than me and closes the gap between us in seconds.

Touch me, Brent, just do it. Make a move. Let’s worry about the fall-out later.

He doesn’t make a move, but he does lower his voice to a soft whisper as he says, “I did just say that, and I stand by it. Plus, I have another one for you.”

“What’s that?” I squeak out.

“You’re also sexually repressed.”

“What?”

I want to push him away, but that would mean skin-to-skin contact. We’re already just about chest to chest. Mine is currently heaving under a thin tank, and his is…just so bare and in my face.

Wonder what his skin feels like? Probably all hot and—

I glance up and see the way he’s looking at me. I know then that I’m not the only sexually frustrated person in the room. Brent wants me to make the move. I see it in his expression. He’s waiting for me to do it to prove I’m not sexually repressed.

I think about going for it, but only for a few seconds. I’ve heard far too many stories of colleagues becoming involved with their clients, even though it’s expressly forbidden. There’s a reason why there’s a no-fraternization clause stipulated in the contracts we sign. Relationships started under circumstances like these rarely end well.

Still, it’s hard to resist. There’s something undeniable between us. Something that’s pushing us together, creating this friction. There’s one thing that could alleviate it.

I look into his eyes, biting my lip. “Do it, Aubrey,” he whispers.

His raspy voice makes my breath pick up. He’s so close, close enough that I can actually feel the heat emanating from his body. And his masculine scent of soap and eau de hot need assaults my nose, making me want nothing more than to lean in and just freaking inhale him.

“I, uh…”

He raises a brow, a challenge.

But I’m afraid. “I—I can’t,” I murmur.

As I take a big lunge backward, a retreat, the look in his eyes tells me he views this as his victory.

“See,” he says quietly, “I was right all along. You are sexually repressed. But it doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe if we just say hell with it and f*ck one time—”

“Stop,” I desperately plead.

Hearing him say that word out loud, in his hot-ass voice, makes me want to give in. And he knows it.

“What’s making you uncomfortable?” he whispers, baiting me. “Me saying we should f*ck?”

“Yes,” I practically pant.

“So let’s do it, Aubrey. Let me f*ck you, just once. I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

Before I do something really stupid, I beg him one last time, “Please, Brent, please just stop.”

He sees I’m serious and backs off, hands in the air. “Okay. But let me say just one thing. I think you want this to happen”—he motions between us—“as much as I do.”

He really wants this? It’s not just a game?

I want it too, but I can’t.

That’s what I feel like screaming at him.

But I don’t, of course.

What I do instead, the minute he’s gone, is run upstairs.

I’m going to Area 51, baby. And you bet your ass I’m about to light up the sky with the glow.





Aubrey Will Be the Death of Me…and Definitely the Death of My Sperm