Page 13 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

LILAH

S omeone needs to tell me why the hell I agreed to this.

Oh, that’s right.

It’s because Steele asked, and I’ve never been good at saying no to him. Especially when he’s always been there for me. If I needed the man to move mountains, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

No questions asked.

It’s the only reason I’m standing off to the side on a sleek, upscale photography set, watching him charm an entire room of people. His charisma is effortless. Not something he turns on and off like some pro athletes or celebrities do.

The studio lights highlight every sharp, defined feature of his face from his chiseled jaw, the unfairly perfect cheekbones, to his silvery-gray eyes that have probably sold thousands of jerseys.

And don’t even get me started on the suit.

Charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a body built for pure destruction on the ice.

He looks expensive.

Powerful .

Untouchable.

He looks exactly like what they’re paying for. Power, status, and the kind of allure you can’t fake.

If that wasn’t enough, his hair is just the right amount of tousled. It’s that calculated I-just-woke-up-and-ran-a-hand-through-it kind of perfect that makes women drop their panties without even blinking.

It’s ridiculous

Not to mention, unfair.

It’s entirely possible I’m staring a bit too hard.

A gorgeous brunette steps into the frame beside him, and my stomach knots.

Here we go.

Krista, or Kayla, or whatever perfect K-name she has, is draped over his arm as her hand rests way too comfortably on his bicep. She tilts her head back and laughs at something he says, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth.

When Steele smirks, something in me ignites.

I fold my arms, shifting my weight on my heels.

I tell myself I don’t care. Steele is free to flirt with whomever he wants.

After a few minutes of watching them, it becomes clear that I’m lying to myself, because the longer I stare, the tighter my grip becomes.

It’s embarrassing just how unprofessional this woman is.

They’re supposed to be doing a sponsorship shoot for a high-end watch brand, and she’s over there acting like she’s about to climb him like a damn tree.

Her fingers trail down his silk tie. The gesture is both playful and suggestive.

My jaw clenches when Steele doesn’t move away.

It’s almost a shock when a slow, creeping heat spreads under my skin before knotting low in my gut. It’s foreign and sharp, making my stomach churn .

Why am I so mad?

No. I’m not mad. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be mad.

I’m just annoyed.

That’s all.

Who wouldn’t be?

She’s acting like a star-struck groupie.

This is business.

A branding thing.

A Railers thing.

Except…

Nobody else seems to care.

I force myself to look away and pretend to check my phone.

This is ridiculous.

I’m being ridiculous.

I really need to chill out.

That’s the moment I feel the weight of his stare. I glance up to find Steele watching me. His smirk is gone, only to be replaced with something unreadable. His sharp gray gaze flicks over my face before narrowing slightly.

It’s like he knows exactly what’s going through my head.

Or he’s somehow able to sense it.

I really hope he can’t see the jealousy written all over my expression.

A pulse of something jagged ripples through me at the silent acknowledgement of what I’m feeling.

I drop my gaze and refocus my attention on my cell.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

Everything is fine .

“Hey, Cam, would you mind if we take a few shots with Lilah?” Steele asks.

My head jerks up so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash.

What?

Me?

No way.

I shake my head, my eyes wide as I glare at Steele.

The corners of his lips lift into that devastatingly cocky grin. It’s the one he uses when he’s intent on getting his way. “Come on, Lilah. It’ll be fun. And it’ll give them more photos to choose from.”

“But…” I swallow hard, tearing my gaze away from him to look at Cam and his assistants. “I’m not dressed for something like that. I’m not even wearing makeup.”

“You don’t need any,” Steele says firmly.

One of Cam’s assistants tilts her head and appraises me. I can’t help but squirm under her unrelenting inspection. “You’re a natural beauty. A little lipstick, a few strokes of mascara, and you’ll be camera-ready.”

“See?” Steele beams, as if the decision has been settled.

“There are a few dresses on the rack,” Cam adds. “Molly, take her in the back and see what fits.”

“No, I really don’t?—”

There’s no time to get the rest of my sentence out as I’m herded toward a smaller room and practically shoved into a chair in front of a mirror. The pushy assistant rifles through the clothing options on the rack while two others attack my hair and face with alarming speed.

It feels more like a pit stop at an Indy race.

Less than ten minutes later, both girls step back, smiling proudly.

I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing myself. “Oh. Wow.”

My hair is styled into loose waves that cascade over my shoulders. My skin looks flawless, and my lips are painted a sultry red that somehow makes my eyes seem bigger.

Molly holds out a silver column of fabric that shimmers beneath the fluorescent lights. “Let’s get you into this.”

Before I can protest, all three of them are teaming up— stripping off my button-down and skirt and then zipping the dress up my back.

When I turn to the mirror, I exhale slowly, only then realizing how tense I’ve been.

The gown is absolutely stunning. Sleek and elegant with a high slit that runs up my thigh. Not only does it look expensive, it feels expensive.

“Your boss is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

I blink. “What?”

“Steele Sanderson,” one of them says with a knowing grin.

“He’s not really my boss,” I mutter. “More like a friend.”

Molly smirks before grabbing my hand and ushering me back into the studio. “We’ll see about that.”

As soon as I step foot into the large, sun-filled space, everything changes. Steele is mid-conversation with Cam about the hockey season. The second his gaze lands on me, he stops talking.

And moving.

And breathing.

His gaze rakes over me in an unhurried fashion, as if he’s memorizing every inch, before releasing a long, low whistle.

“Damn, lucky charm,” he murmurs. “You look like a million bucks. Maybe you’re the one who should be wearing the watch.”

Even though my stomach is in free fall, I laugh.

“Actually,” Cam muses, studying me with an assessing gaze, “that’s not a bad idea. I think the company sent over a smaller version.”

An assistant appears, draping an elegant timepiece around my wrist. The weight of it feels significant. Steele looks on as the clasp is locked into place, and his jaw tics ever so slightly.

Cam lifts his camera. “All right, Lilah, I want you standing in front of Steele. Close, but not touching yet. This is all about seduction. ”

I exhale sharply and follow the direction, moving hesitantly into place. Steele stands behind me, radiating warmth and an intensity I’m reluctant to analyze.

How can I when his presence is everywhere, surrounding me?

Especially when I can feel the heat of his gaze burning into the back of my neck.

“Good,” Cam calls out. “Steele, rest your hands lightly on her arms, like you’re about to pull her in.”

My belly clenches as Steele’s large hands trail up my bare skin, fingertips brushing over me like a whisper. Even though I try to suppress a shiver, it’s no use. There’s no way he doesn’t realize exactly how he’s affecting me.

“Perfect,” Cam murmurs. “Lilah, tilt your chin up slightly.”

I obey, but the movement brings my profile directly into Steele’s line of sight, and something flashes across his face.

Or is that my imagination?

“Now,” Cam instructs, “Steele, I want you to pull her closer. Like you’re about to whisper something in her ear.”

Steele’s hands slide down to my waist, gripping just enough to send a ripple of heat through my entire body. He leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

And then, in a voice so low I barely catch it, he murmurs, “You’re killing me, lucky charm.”

I close my eyes for half a second and swallow hard.

What the hell is happening?

The camera flashes.

“Beautiful,” Cam says. “Now, I want you to turn toward him, Lilah. And Steele—this time, I want you to hold her like she belongs to you.”

Everything inside me flips.

I turn, and the second my hands press against Steele’s chest, his grip tightens around my waist. It’s both firm and possessive. Something stutters inside me as I glance up, only to find him already watching me.

Gone is the teasing smirk he wears like armor. There’s no trace of mischief in his expression, no hint of the charming playboy everyone thinks they know.

What’s left is raw.

Focused.

Hungry.

That look alone nearly buckles my knees.

The heat rolling off his body seeps into mine, searing through the flimsy material of my dress. His hands are steady, but there’s power simmering beneath the surface, as if he’s barely holding himself back.

He shifts beneath my palms, every movement precise and deliberate.

But his heartbeat is hammering just like mine.

I should say something.

Move.

Blink.

But I’m frozen in place by the invisible electric pull that’s always been there between us.

Everything else falls away.

The lights.

The studio.

The noise.

Even the people.

It’s just me and him.

And this thing between us that I can’t name but that feels dangerous in all the best ways.

“Wow,” Cam murmurs from somewhere behind the lens. “That’s perfect.”

Another flash goes off, but I don’t flinch.

Don’t move.

I’m too caught up in Steele .

In the way his thumb drifts along the curve of my waist.

In the way his attention drops to my mouth.

I remain frozen until the photographer finally lowers his camera, and the moment unravels.

“All right,” he announces. “That’s a wrap.”

But Steele doesn’t step back.

And neither do I.

His fingers flex against me. Just once. It’s a subtle squeeze, as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally sets me free, it feels as if a cord has been cut, and I inhale sharply.

My muscles slacken, and I almost stumble from the sudden loss of contact.

I force myself to retreat a single step.

Then another.

I need to put space between us, and hope it’ll help to settle the chaos he’s unwittingly stoked to life inside me.

“I should get changed,” I mutter.

I don’t wait for his response.

If I look at him again, I might just do something reckless.

Something I never thought I would.

Instead, I turn and make a beeline for the dressing room, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his stare trailing after me. My heels click against the floor, fast and uneven, as if it’s possible to outrun the way my pulse is slamming or the way my skin tingles where he touched me.

Inside the dressing room, I shut the door and lean against it.

What the hell was that?

I’ve known Steele Sanderson for a decade. He’s been my constant, the one person I’ve always trusted.

Not once has he ever made me feel like this.

Until now.

I press my lips together, close my eyes, and try to regain my balance.

But it’s no use .

Because deep down, I already know.

This isn’t just a moment.

It’s a shift.

A spark that’s already caught fire.

I don’t think I’m prepared for what that means.

But ready or not…

I feel it.