Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(50)

Shane looked away uncomfortably. He stood on the dance floor, just barely swaying, with his arms hanging limp at his sides. Now that Miles was here, he could probably slip away. Go back to the VIP area. Maybe even go home.

His eyes landed on a man he was sure was Victor St-Simon, a player for Boston. He was smiling at a girl he was dancing with. Shane frowned and glanced around. He spotted Ryan Carmichael. And Cliff Marlow.

And Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya was dancing with a girl. His head and shoulders towered over most of the crowd. Shane moved through the sea of dancers toward him without even realizing he was doing it.

He got close enough to see the way the heat of the room was causing Ilya’s damp hair to curl even tighter than usual, and the way his skin glistened the same way it had during the game. But the games didn’t have lighting like this; at the games, the music wasn’t pounding and Ilya’s body wasn’t writhing and the whole room didn’t scream sex.

Ilya had on a V-neck T-shirt that was almost transparent, despite being a dark color. Sometimes a light would hit him just right and Shane could see the outline of his bear tattoo, and the glint of his gold chain. The girl he was dancing with had her back to him, and she seemed to be grinding her ass into his crotch. Ilya was watching her, eyes hooded, lips parted. Shane watched as he bit down on his lower lip and closed his eyes before bending his head to kiss her neck. She turned and leaned up and kissed him. It was a wild, filthy kiss. She had her hands up the front of his shirt.

And Shane felt sick. He needed to leave.

He realized, suddenly, as if waking from a dream, that he was standing alone in the middle of a dance floor...not dancing. Just...staring. At Ilya.

He couldn’t let Ilya notice him.

Ilya pulled away from the kiss and smiled at his very willing partner. She was a good kisser. She had a tongue piercing. He liked that.

He glanced around the club, wondering where the best dark corner was to—

Holy fuck.

When his gaze landed on Shane Hollander, Shane’s eyes went wide.

Had Shane just been...watching him?

Ilya couldn’t resist pushing it. He gave him what he believed to be his sexiest smile, and bent down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Should we take this somewhere else?”

He never took his eyes off Shane.

“Sorry,” she said, surprising him. “Not tonight, babe. I’m here with my boyfriend. He likes to watch me. It turns him on. But I’m leaving with him.”

The fuck? “Your...boyfriend?” He looked around nervously.

She laughed. “Relax. He’s not gonna hit you. He likes it, like I said.” She kissed his cheek, turned, and left him.

And Shane was gone.

Furious, and now even more desperately in need of release than he had been before he’d left the hotel, Ilya stormed off the dance floor and grabbed Victor by the arm. “I’m leaving.”

“With that girl? Right on, man.”

Ilya didn’t answer him.

Back at the hotel, Ilya jerked off in the shower before throwing himself angrily onto his bed.

He couldn’t sleep. He curled on his side and watched the minutes tick by on the alarm clock beside the bed.

Stupid fucking Shane Hollander. Stupid Rose Landry.

Oh god, what was wrong with him? Why did he care? Ilya had been ready to let that weird girl with the kinky boyfriend do whatever she wanted to with him. What did it matter what Shane was doing when Ilya didn’t require him?

Except Shane had been watching him make out with that girl. And Shane had looked so fucking good. Not, like, clothes-wise; Shane’s wardrobe was as boring as he was. But something about seeing Shane Hollander in that environment had been...exhilarating.

What if Ilya had been able to get closer to him? Would Shane have danced with him, right there in that packed Montreal nightclub? Would he have let Ilya push that stupid polo up and run his hands over the hard lines of his abs? Would he have tilted his head back and sucked in a breath when Ilya kissed his neck?

No. It would never have happened. Shane was with Rose now. And he and Ilya couldn’t even appear to be friendly with each other, let alone be spotted grinding against each other in a club.

He pinched the cross that hung around his neck and rubbed it with his thumb as he scowled into the dark room. He had never in his life been angry about someone sleeping with someone else. He was largely indifferent to most things.

Was it just that Ilya liked his sex with a generous helping of danger, and Shane provided both? Or was he just being childish about having to share his favorite toy with a gorgeous movie star?

Somewhere, buried deep in his brain, there was a third reason that was screaming for attention.

Ilya ignored it.



Chapter Fifteen


One week later—Montreal

Shane liked Rose Landry. He did.

She was easy to talk to, and she had a warmth about her that drew people in. She was a bigger celebrity than he was, but she handled it so easily. She laughed a lot, and when she asked people questions—which was often—she genuinely seemed to care about their answers. Maybe it was because she was an actress, but she always seemed very interested in people. Always observing. And she remembered every detail.

They had slept together a couple of times. It had been...fine. Better than usual, really. Except Shane knew she wouldn’t be so dazzled by his stardom that she would be able to overlook his performance, and that had made him nervous. Which had made it more difficult for him to...perform.