Power Play (Blades Hockey Book 1)

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Present day

Duke’s fingers slip the length of my silk dress up my calves, exposing my skin to the chilly night air. His hands are strong, powerful . . . deliciously warm. The glittering cityscape fades behind the breadth of his shoulders, and I’m left with the shocking realization that . . .

Oh, my god, this is happening.

Me. Duke Harrison. The promise of intimacy in a place that isn’t intimate at all.

I should probably fill you in on a secret: I like sex.

I know what you’re thinking: “Charlie, why in the hell do I need to know what action your lady parts have or have not received? Get back to the sexy times with that Duke guy!”

There’s a catch, though. While I might like sex, that doesn’t mean I’m all that good at it. The last time I had the (mis)fortune of getting down and dirty with a guy, he informed me that I was a rigid Ice Queen. Mid-sexy times. (Because that’s romantic).

Now, the Ice Queen thing, I get that often. Not sweat off my back.

But the rigid part, that was offensive. I wasn’t being rigid; I just didn’t think his jab-jab-jab finger technique was up to par. Okay, I may have asked him to ease up a little, because I’m not the sort of woman who just silently takes it till the cows come home. It’s not my fault that he got all high-and-mighty and blamed me for wasting his time.

Not. My. Fault.

It’s called having standards.

Until Duke. If he were to demand, “Panties off, now,” you can bet your derrière that my Target-grade underwear would hit the floor faster than my favorite Dunkin’ Donuts barista makes my iced coffee every morning.

To the regular Average Joe strolling down Boston’s Commonwealth Avenue, my panties wouldn’t leave my hips. But this is Duke Harrison we’re talking about, and I’m currently making out with him on the rooftop of the Omni Parker House, Boston’s fanciest hotel, like we’re nothing more than a horny pair of teenagers. God bless our souls.

That’s what happens when the guy you’ve been lusting after puts his hand between your legs and whispers your name in a husky voice made from silk and unicorns. You lose all mental capacity to think straight.

Although, if we’re being all honest here, I haven’t really been thinking straight since I first met him.