I had to protect her because I loved her.
Fuck. I was in love with Persephone.
But my heart felt like it always did, like it always had since that moment.
Chills shot down my spine with the realization.
I’d been in love with her since—
The woman fell into the hallway, and I opened my arms, letting both my stick and helmet crash to the floor as I caught her.
She was a tiny thing—ridiculously light as I carefully set her back on her feet. Feet that were clad in equally tiny, sexy heels. They matched her light blue sundress and sweater that buttoned modestly over her breasts and had a little bow at the back. Red soles.
This woman reeked not just of money—but of class. The kind you couldn’t buy. The kind that got passed down through generations of the same.
“Are you alright, lass?” Connell asked from a few feet away.
She untangled herself from a waterfall of long blonde hair. It was pale as moonlight, the strands soft as silk as it grazed a bare strip of skin between my glove and jersey, and long enough to imply that she lived in a tower. A tower I had no business climbing because she was clearly so out of my league that we weren’t even playing the same sport.
“I’m just a bit embarrassed, but I’m okay.” Her voice was sweeter than honey, lilting with a southern drawl that slid over me like velvet and stirred my cock to life. Holy shit, this woman had just turned me on, and I hadn’t even seen her face.
Then I did. She turned to look up at me, and her eyes punched me in the damned stomach. Crystal-fucking-blue and rimmed with thick lashes that did nothing to hide the emotion in them. Fuck, I bet this woman wore her heart on her four-thousand-dollar sleeve. Innocence, embarrassment, honesty—it was all right there for anyone to see, for anyone to take advantage of. An inexplicable, almost primal urge to protect her slammed into me with the force of an avalanche.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. So perfect that she couldn’t be real. No one was that flawless outside the pages of a book…and yet she was. Her nose was pert and a perfect fit for her heart-shaped face and her plump, bow-shaped lips were a kissable shade of pink.
“Thank you so much for catching me—” She started to say, but then those eyes widened in surprise and recognition. She probably knew who I was, which meant she probably knew I was the last man whose arms she should have tumbled into.
Then her pupils dilated slightly, and her lips parted. Apparently, she liked what she saw, too.
Not for you. Not for you. Not for you. My brain tried to get the thought through to the rest of my body, but couldn’t seem to break past the swelling in my chest that screamed its own chant.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Holy shit, I was losing it. Right there in the hallway of my own rink, surrounded by my teammates, I was sinking into insanity, driven mad by a woman who had such little disregard for her own safety that she was running in heels on a rubberized hallway slick from the melted ice dripping from our skates. I scrambled for the first words I could think of.
“Next time, don’t run down the hallway in heels,” I growled, narrowing my eyes in hopes I’d scare her off. Big bad wolves like me ate innocent little girls like her for breakfast.
If she wasn’t careful, I’d eat her all night long.
My teammates groaned at my lack of manners. Fuck them. I was who I was, and it was for her own safety that she learned it fast.
“Jesus, Cannon, can’t you just say you’re welcome?” Connell chided.
Instead of running like she should have, the woman arched a delicate brow at my tone, making it clear that neither my size, my reputation, nor my tattoos intimidated her.
She wasn’t scared of me.
My heart fucking stilled, and when it began pounding again, the beats felt like they didn’t belong to me. Like I no longer belonged to myself in general.
“I’ll be more careful in the future,” she drawled softly, her eyes dropping from mine to where my hand cupped her elbow, keeping her steady. No wedding ring.
Shit. Had I been touching her this whole time? I cursed my glove, wishing I could feel my bare skin against hers just once. Once, and I’d be content.
That was a lie. Something told me that if I ever got this woman under my hands, I’d never be content, or capable of letting her go. She looked like ambrosia, food for the ancient Gods, and just like ambrosia, all it would take would be one bite to ruin a mortal, flawed man like me.