Page 51 of Break the Ice

I’m inundated by every aspect of Rafe Golding.

His sharp jawline and unruly dark hair. Muscles and height. A sudden crisp masculine scent hangs in the air.

He grins at me, and I forget how to breathe. It’s another few blinks of my eye before I realize I’ve stepped past the threshold and the door’s shut behind us.

Rafe’s hand rests at the small of my back. Smooth and warm. His touch as disarming as ever.

I let him guide me through his condo, dividing my time between observing his private space and getting myself together.

Rafe’s condo is neater than I expected, though I’d bet money it’s not of his own doing. Probably a staff of maids, cooks, and flunkies who do everything for him. His condo has an amazing view of the water and boats in the marina, but otherwise the space is vacant and impersonal with lots of blacks and dark blues. Almost like Rafe spends hardly no time here.

I don’t think I see a single family photo or anything else personal besides hockey stuff. Breathing through my intense attraction for him, I pry for information.

“Have you ever heard of family photos, Golding?”

“Why would I put up family photos when I have none?”

“I was under the impression you’re close to your father and brother. I’ve seen them around the training facility coming by to see you.”

He slides his arm around my hips to squeeze me against him. “Is Sugar fishing for information? I didn’t realize you were spying on me.”

Fuck.

“Not spying,” I say. “Just taking notice of my surroundings. Most estranged family members don’t visit very often.”

“I don’t remember saying we’re estranged. Though my life sure as hell would be easier if we were.”

“Your brother was supposed to be the second coming. Colt Golding, voted MVP of the year as a rookie.”

Rafe scowls before he can stop himself. “So what when he only played two seasons? You really shouldn’t be antagonizing me right now.”

“And why would that be? Round two?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“I don’t remember a rule in the game where I had to tell you that.”

“Maybe not. But it might not be so smart to always choose the hard way.”

“I like the hard way.”

“We’ll see if you’ll say the same later.”

He escorts me to the sofas, then goes straight to making us drinks. He’s content taking his time, making the most of my uncertainty. A tactic I’ve come to expect when playing these games with him.

“You make drinks?”

His grin broadens as he picks up a stainless steel shaker and rattles it fast, mixing the concoction he’s put together. “Little known Rafe Golding fact: I bartended through part of college. Before I had to quit.”

“You had to work in college?”

“Never had to. My father’s loaded. For fun,” he answers, shaking up the cocktails, then pouring equal amounts into two glasses. “But hockey was more important. It won like it always does. I liked flirting with all the female customers, though. Most of them I took home.”

I make a retching noise, my expression sour. “What an inspirational story about how you got your dick wet, Golding.”

“Alpha.”

“Golding,” I repeat.