Breaking the Ice: A Sports Romance Novel (Ice Breaker Series Book 1)

by Victoria St. George

  Our hands clawed at each other, pulling away clothing and tossing it aside until we both achieved the bare warmth that we sought from one another. We moved with even greater urgency and desire this time than we had the first, and unlike the first time, we didn't slow down. Instead, Jake reached down to wrap his hands around the backs of my thighs and swept up me so that my legs embraced his hips. I rocked my hips against his, nudging him with my already hot, waiting core as he turned and carried me toward a desk in the center of the dark, empty office.

  Jake positioned me on the edge of the desk and took my legs from around his waist, pressing them up and apart so that I was fully open to him. He leaned down to draw his tongue through my folds one time, drawing a gasp from my chest.

  "Shhhh," he said, silencing me.

  I nodded, not wanting anyone outside of the office to hear us. He captured my mouth again and I willingly parted my lips to welcome his tongue in against mine so that we could explore each other. As we kissed, he pulled me closer to him and slid his hand around to press onto my lower back. In an instant, I felt him enter me and I had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from crying out.

  There was nothing gradual about his pace this time. Continuing to kiss me with breathtaking passion, Jake pounded into me in a fast, hard rhythm that had me whimpering into his mouth and clawing at his back. Suddenly he guided me backwards so that I lay on the desk and planted his hands on either side of my head so that he could gain more leverage. The effect buried him more deeply within me and I arched up, lifting my hips to match every one of his thrusts. Within seconds I felt the delicious pressure building through my hips, thighs, and belly, and could hear Jake started to grunt in time with his deep, intense strokes. He pushed inside me one final time, going as deeply as he possibly could, and growled as his erection throbbed within me.

  The feeling of his thick cock pulsing, spilling within me, was too much for me and I lost all control. My back arched off of the desk and I covered my mouth to muffle the cry as the pressure within me shattered and my walls clenched around Jake in a series of blissful, intense contractions. As my body pulled him deeper into me, I clung to Jake, holding him as close as I could as I let our breath synchronize. He nuzzled me with the tip of his nose, touching his lips to mine in a gentle, tender kiss.

  Suddenly what had happened sank in and a sense of panic settled into my stomach. I couldn't believe that I had let myself lose control so easily. I had already convinced myself that turning my back on him the morning after our night together had been the right thing for both of us, and in moments I had allowed myself to fully give in to my visceral desire for him, letting the urges of my body and the whispers of my heart to override what my mind knew was right.

  Jake

  Hannah's body felt indescribably incredible wrapped around me and I never wanted the connection to end. Her heartbeat danced against my chest and her deep breaths caused her luscious breasts to rise and fall against me. Her eyes were velvety with satisfaction and her lips were reddened and swollen with our kiss. The effect of the way she looked combined with the scent of our bodies blending was intoxicating and I felt like I could keep us locked in this office for the rest of the evening without a second thought to the game that was supposed to start in a matter of hours.

  Suddenly I felt Hannah shifting beneath me, trying to pull away from me.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  The sense of panic was coming back, reminding me of the way that I had felt when she rushed away from me at my house. I didn't want to let her go. I didn't want to watch her leave the office because I felt like if she did, I wouldn't have this chance to hold her again.

  "I have to go," she said, pushing her way past me and scrambling to get dressed. "This shouldn’t have happened."

  I felt sick to my stomach. Hearing those words come out of her mouth were even more painful than I would have expected them to be.

  "Hannah," I said, taking her by her wrist, "please stop. Talk to me."

  "I can't," she said.

  I released her and pulled my pants on before taking her by her hands again.

  "Tell me what's going on."

  "I've already told you, Jake. This can't happen."

  "It's already happening," I said, trying to keep her in place. "You can't tell me that you aren't feeling the same thing that I am, Hannah. This isn't a one-night stand."

  "Not now that's it's happened twice."

  The sharp sarcasm was the way that she protected herself, but in that moment it frustrated me. I didn't want her feeling like she had to protect herself from me.

  "I don't care how many times it's happened. This isn't a fling. You have to feel that. You have to know that there's more between us than just an impetuous decision."

  "I don't know what this is, Jake. I don't know what I'm thinking or doing or feeling. All I do know is that I have interviews to do and a game to cover, and you have a game to play. I never intended for this to happen, and it can't happen again. If that means that I have to give up my chance to interview you and we have to pretend that we have never met when we see each other at the rinks, that's going to have to be the way that it is. I've had a plan for my life, and that plan hasn't changed. It's not going to. Not because of the other night, and not because of today. If anything, this has just proven to me that this is the worst thing for me."

  Her hands fell away from mine and she scooped her bag off of the floor before stepping out of the office without another word or even a glance back over her shoulder at me. I sank back, dropping down to sit on the edge of the desk. I felt like she had gutted me. I told myself that I should never have approached her when I saw her standing there by the ice. I should have just walked away, gone into the locker room, and kept my mind focused on the game ahead of me. Instead, I let myself give in to my draw to her. I had surrendered to the need for her and opened myself to allowing her to destroy me again.

  When I had gotten myself together, I finished dressing and stomped out of the office toward the locker room. The rest of the team was already in there waiting for me, but they could tell by the look on my face and the way that I was carrying myself that I was not in the mood to talk. I just wanted to get out on the ice and skate until I could forget Hannah.

  The game was the most brutal that I had played in my career, but with each shove, each punch, each time that I slapped the puck with every ounce of strength that I could muster; I was able to distance myself a little more from the pain that Hannah had caused me. By the time that the final period came to a close, my body ached and sweat stung in my eyes, but the aggression was gone. I could see Hannah in the press box as I skated toward the door and stepped off the ice, but I refused to make eye contact with her. She would write up the game however she wanted to and make whatever comments came to mind the next time that she was featured on one of the sports broadcasts. There was nothing that I could do to stop her. What I could do was not feed into her.

  "Are you going to let Hannah Garcia interview you?" Coach Blaise asked as I pulled off my pads in the locker room.

  "No," I answered without hesitation.

  "You put me through so much hassle trying to get her so that you could give her an exclusive, and then you just ditch it when I finally do get you the opportunity?" he asked.

  I could hear the anger bubbling up in his voice, but I really didn't care. Whether I gave her the interview or did it with another reporter didn't really matter. He would get the publicity for his team that he wanted and I would get another wave of attention that would blot out whatever had happened in the last couple of weeks. It would work out for everyone.

  "Look, Wilson," the coach said, suddenly sounding far more aggressive than I had anticipated, "you were out of control out there. You are lucky that the ref didn't throw you out of the game on your ass and toss you up in front of the league for some of those punches that you threw. If you weren't the pretty boy of this team and your father's son, you would have been suspended and you know it. Th
at's all well and good, but your face and your name are only going to carry you so far. There are plenty young players just waiting to take your place and unless you get your head back in the game, start playing like you used to, and keep yourself popular with the media, they are going to do it. Got it?"

  I felt the muscles in my jaw twitching, but I fought to control the rage within me. I knew that he was right. I nodded.

  "I got it," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  "Good. Now you are going to go out there and you are going to make nice with that girl. She is the only one who matters. You keep her happy, and you are going to stay in the limelight. You piss her off, and you might as well kiss your career goodbye. Your talent is only part of this game, Jake. You know that as well as I do. Teams want fans because fans mean money. The way that you keep fans is by having players like you who can push around the puck but also look good for the girls who pack those seats wearing their tight little jeans and cute little jerseys. The men all want to be you and the women all want to fuck you, and that's the way that it needs to be if you want to stay on top. Hannah Garcia is who is going to keep that happening for you. She can make you look like the greatest thing that has ever happened to this sport, or she can highlight how much of an ass you can be and you will lose the support of your public faster than you can say 'Stanley Cup.' Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Get yourself cleaned up and go. She'll be waiting for you in the office."

  My hands clenched but I forced my expression to stay steady and calm. Coach Blaise patted me on the arm as if to reassure me after completely tearing me to pieces and walked away.

  "He's right, you know."

  I turned around and saw Evan standing behind me.

  "I'm getting really fucking tired of your opinion in this situation," I said and continued to my locker.

  "I'm sure you are, because you know I'm right," he said.

  "And why do you know that I'm right and he's right, and everybody is right but me apparently?"

  I slammed my locker open and started pulling things out.

  "You haven't been right since you met her. You've tried to, but you haven't been able to keep it together. She's gotten to you, and you don't know what to do with yourself."

  "I'm fine, Evan."

  "Really? Then get dressed, go out, find Hannah, and do an interview without letting her get to you. Prove to everyone that you have this under control and that it doesn't matter to you that she chose her career."

  Evan walked away and I watched him go, processing what he had said. I grabbed my clothes and stalked to the showers, determined that I could do exactly what he suggested I wouldn't be able to do.

  Hannah

  "Is there anywhere else that I might be able to hold the interviews?" I asked, trying not to step into the office.

  "No. This will give you some privacy and keep away the groupies," Coach Blaise said, resting a hand on my back and guiding me into the room. "If you just wait here, Jake will be in in just a few minutes."

  I didn't want to be back in that room, especially with Jake. The thought of sitting across the desk from him, the desk that I had just a few hours before been splayed across as he gave me yet another earth-shattering orgasm, made me feel somewhat sick to my stomach.

  "You know," I said, trying to stop the coach from walking out of the room, "there are other reporters here. There are some camera crews here that would love to get a few shots of Jake and maybe do a spotlight of him for tonight's broadcasts."

  "I'm sure there are," Coach Blaise said, "but that's not what we want. We've been trying to set up an interview with you for some time now. A write-up with you is what we want. That's the whole reason that we arranged to have you here tonight."

  I nodded.

  "Thank you," I said tensely. "I…um….I appreciate that you have me in mind."

  "You're the best," he said.

  I resisted the urge to flash him a thumbs-up sign but didn't really know what else I was supposed to do. He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone at least for the moment. In the light, I was able to look around the office. Everywhere I looked, I saw Jake. I remembered his hands on my body and the taste of his mouth. I could still feel him inside me. Even more intensely, I could feel the powerful emotions that filled me with each heartbeat. It had been my choice to walk away from him, but I felt like he was still holding onto me.

  The door opened behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around.

  "I know that you said that you don't want to interview me," Jake said.

  I nodded.

  "It's fine," I said, forcing my voice past the tightness in my throat. "I guess I don't really have a choice. Coach Blaise made it pretty obvious that I was the only one who he would let interview you."

  "That's my fault," he said. "I told him that you are all I wanted."

  I felt my heart skip.

  "You did?"

  "Of course I did. I called you every day. I made him call you."

  "I know you did," I said softly. "I'm sorry that I never called you back."

  There was a long pause and I turned around to face him. Jake was staring at me stone-faced and I felt my heart break a little. I had wanted to see the gentleness in his eyes that was there on our first night together and then again just hours before when we shared the privacy of this office. What was there, though, was an aching distance that sent a chill through me. He shrugged.

  "I guess it all worked out. You are getting exactly what you want."

  "Jake…" I started.

  He held up his hand as if to silence me and I took a step back.

  "It's fine, Hannah. Like I said, you are getting exactly what you want. All you care about is your career, just like you said. So that's what you'll get."

  "I'm sorry," I said, feeling deflated. "I told your coach that you could interview with someone else."

  "I know," Jake said. "You told me that you would give up interviewing me so that we didn't have to see each other. As selfless as that was of you, I feel like the least I can do is make sure that throwing away whatever we could have had is worth your while."

  I felt tears stinging in my eyes. I didn't expect the intensity of the pain that rushed through me when I saw him looking at me that way and dismissing me so easily. Maybe I was right about his reputation and to close my heart off. It could have all been a game and now that I hadn't let him win, he was dropping the act and showing me who he really was. If that was the truth, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing what he was doing to me. He didn't deserve my pain.

  "You're right," I said, straightening my shoulders and stiffening my jaw. "This is what I want."

  "Good. Then let's get on with the interview."

  I stomped to the other side of the desk and sat down in the rolling chair, pulling a recorder and pad and pen out of my bag. I set the recorder beside me and turned it on. Jake settled into the seat across from me and met my eyes, his expression almost looking like we’d held some unspoken dare.

  "How do you feel about the game?" I asked.

  "I feel confident that I did everything that I needed to do to ensure my team their victory," Jake said, sounding every bit the rehearsed media darling.

  "You seemed to be more violent in this game than you have been in the past. Was that a new tactic that the team will be using this year?"

  Jake's eyes flashed and I knew that I had gotten to him.

  "I wouldn't say that it is a team tactic, no."

  "Then how do you explain your behavior?"

  "I don't necessarily feel like I need to explain myself. That is part of the game."

  "Doing things to purposely hurt other people is just part of the game?" I asked.

  Our eyes met and I could feel a strange energy pulsing off of him, like an unexpressed emotion escaping no matter how hard he was trying to hold it back. He drew in a breath and laced his fingers on the desk in front of him.

  Jake


  I stayed silent for several long seconds as I let Hannah's words really sink in. They felt subtly cutting, as if she was going just beyond what she intended to ask to something that she really wanted to know.

  "Is that what you think that I do?" I asked. "I just do things to purposely hurt other people?"

  "I'm just calling it as I see it," she said.

  I could hear a strain in her voice, but I wasn't sure how to interpret it. It could have been continued anger and frustration at being forced to go ahead with this interview when she very obviously didn't want to, but it could also be the same pain that I was feeling. If there was any chance, I had to find out.

  "What is it that you see?"

  "You go over the ice like you think you own it. You know that you have the attention of everyone around you and that makes you think that you own them, too. You can do anything that you want, including pushing them aside and running over them when they don't do what you want."

  "I don't think that I own anyone. In fact, it's the total opposite. I feel like everyone around me thinks that they own me. They've known my name and the direction of my life from the day that I was born, and that makes them feel entitled to knowing everything about me whether I'm on the ice or not. Then when I try to let them know who I really am, they turn their back on me. They would rather believe what they think that they know about me rather than what I'm telling them."

  "How can you expect anything different when they see you act a certain way? Don't actions speak louder than words?"

  "No. Not always. Sometimes a person's words really are what matters."

  I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. We had ventured away from the interview, but neither of us were ready to admit it. We were protecting ourselves with the questions, pretending that we weren't reaching out to one another.