Chapter 8 - Heat

"Whoa! Watch it, rookie!"

A younger player, eyes glazed, stumbles blindly into Elias's side.

The collision breaks Elias's gaze from the crowd. With a faint laugh, Elias shoves him back toward the center of the chaos.

"Find your center, kid," Elias's voice is a low rumble. "Or find the exit."

A few booths away, Mia is fighting a different kind of battle. On the table in front of her lies a stack of medical summaries—the kind of dense, technical jargon that makes most people's eyes bleed.

It's an absurd sight. In a room full of bodies grinding together under strobe lights, she is the outlier.

She actually prefers being the "alien." It keeps the thirsty guys at bay.

Checking her phone, she sees Ellie still hasn't returned from the dance floor.

Mia sighs, tucks her notes away, and catches the eye of a passing server to ask for the restrooms. She needs cold water on her face to wash away the smudge of the day.

The collision happens in the corridor near the bathrooms —dim lighting, warm air, the noise of the bar muffled to a low pulse.

Elias has just pushed the door open an inch when the sounds from inside make his brow lift. A sharp, rhythmic thud. A woman's jagged, breathless moan.

He takes one step back, turns, and walks directly into someone.

His hands catch her waist before his mind catches up.

Green velvet. A scent he recognizes immediately, clean and warm, cutting straight through the bar's thick air. His grip tightens on instinct.

Mia.

She's looking up at him, brown hair loose around her shoulders. The backless panel has shifted slightly, and his palms are against bare skin where the velvet ends, and he is very aware of this.

"Sorry—" she starts.

Her heel catches the carpet seam mid-step.

She pitches forward, and Elias pulls her in before she can fall, his arm locking around her waist, her body coming flush against his chest.

The corridor goes very still around them.

She's smaller than she reads from a distance —the top of her head barely clears his shoulder, and the hand she's braced against his chest is delicate, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

He can feel her heartbeat through the cotton. Or maybe that's his own.

"Careful, Mia," he says, low, close to her ear.

Her breath catches. The tips of her ears go pink —visibly, quickly, the flush spreading down to her collarbones.

He's close. Too close. The scent of his soap mingles with the heavy bite of whiskey. His eyes are a blue so intense they look like burning gas, and right now, they're fixed on her mouth.

His throat works as he swallows, his gaze raking over her square neckline, lingering on the rise and fall of her chest.

Bang.

The sound from inside the restroom shatters the moment.

A woman's voice, sweet and desperate, cries out, "Right there...oh God..." A red high-heeled shoe slides out from under the door gap, a scrap of black lace clinging to the toe.

Mia goes completely rigid in his arms.

The flush that was at her ears is now at her throat, her collarbones, everywhere the neckline reveals. She bites her lip hard, and her lashes drop like she's deciding whether to acknowledge what she just heard.

Elias finds it fascinating.

He leans down, his light brown hair brushing against her temple. "First time witnessing a live demonstration?" he whispers, his breath hot against her skin.

He doesn't move away. Instead, he crowds her.

He hooks a knee between her legs, gently forcing them apart, his sturdy thigh pressing firmly against her center through the velvet.

Mia's breath hitches in a broken, high-pitched sob of surprise.

"You!" she hisses, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something much more dangerous.

"Shh." He presses a thumb against her bottom lip, silencing her. "Do you want them to know we're watching?"

The sounds from the stall intensify. It's primal. It's raw. And caught in the crossfire, Mia feels her knees go weak. The velvet of her dress bunches against the wall, her bare back pressing into the cold surface while Elias's palms stay glued to her waist.

"So sensitive," he murmurs, his eyes dark with a sudden, predatory hunger. He lets a finger drag slowly down her spine, tracing the curve of her lower back.

Mia shivers violently. This is a 200-pound athlete pinning her to a wall while strangers have sex three feet away.

The bathroom door swings open.

Elias pulls her against him in one clean motion —arm across her waist, hand at the back of her head, pressing her face to his chest.

The couple stumbles out, barely decent, registers Elias Weston standing in the corridor, disappears around the corner at speed.

Silence returns, save for the frantic thudding of two hearts.

Mia's hands are flat against his chest, her fingers curling into the black silk of his shirt. She can feel the hard planes of his pectorals, the heat of him radiating through the fabric. Her nails accidentally snag on the swell of his muscle, and Elias lets out a sharp, ragged groan.

He seizes her hand, pressing it harder against his heart. "You want to talk about harassment, Mia?" he rasps, his pulse racing under her palm like a frantic drum. "Feel that. You're doing that to me."

"You're a rogue," she breathes, finally finding her voice. "A total scoundrel."

Elias doesn't deny it. He tilts her chin up, his thumb grazing her reddened lip. "And you're exceptional."

His eyes drop to her neckline again. The dress has shifted, revealing the scalloped edge of her lace bra.

The air between them is thick enough to choke on.

"Go back to your friends, Mia," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "Before I forget that we're in public."

He releases her, the sudden loss of his heat making her feel cold.

Mia glares at him, trying to regain her dignity while her legs feel like jelly. "I should expose you on I*******m," she huffs, though there's no bite in it. "Let everyone see how charming Elias Weston is off the ice."

He looks at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he steps back.

"You're beautiful when you're angry," he says. Not a line, just a fact. "Go find your friend, Mia."

He turns and walks back toward the VIP section, his belt buckle catching the corridor light as he goes.

She stays against the wall for three full seconds after he's gone.

Who's flustered, she thinks furiously. That was anger. That was entirely anger.

Mia flees back to the booth, her face still burning. Her mind keeps betraying her, replaying the way his thigh felt against her, the way his heart hammered under her hand.

***

Across the room, Elias returns to the VIP section. A woman named Alice, dressed in a sheer and provocative top, slides in next to him. She's been waiting all night.

She lets her hand crawl up his thigh, her black-lacquered nails tracing a circle near his fly.

"I heard you're a hard man to please, Elias," she purrs, leaning in so her chest brushes his arm. "Is it true you don't take anyone home?"

Elias doesn't even look at her. He picks up his glass, his expression shifting back to that famous, glacial mask.

"You heard right," he says.

He picks up the ice bucket from the table. Without a word, he dumps the entire contents into his fresh drink, the splashing water and ice cubes soaking Alice's expensive top.

"Hey!" she shrieks, jumping back.

"Go away," he says. He drains what's left in his glass, cold and sharp, and it does absolutely nothing for the heat that's been sitting in his chest since the corridor.

"You'll regret that," the woman snaps, and leaves.

Elias's teammates howl with laughter, leaning in to poke the bear.

"Damn, Elias! That was cold even for you," Lucas cackles. "What happened in the hallway? You look like you're about to snap a stick."

"Give him a break," Jason adds with a wicked grin. "The man is clearly...frustrated. Maybe he needs thirty minutes to 'solve' the problem."

"Thirty minutes," someone else echoes, scandalized. "Don't insult the man."

"You're all done," Elias says flatly, and the table dissolves into laughter anyway.

***

On the bar's private balcony, Alice is no longer pouting. She pulls a phone from her clutch and hits a speed-dial.

"It's me," she says, her voice devoid of the flirtatious lilt she used earlier. "The rumors are wrong. He didn't take the bait."

"He's not interested in any of them. Nothing unusual." A pause, listening. "Some women make up stories. I'll keep watching." Another pause. "Understood."

She ends the call, smooths her dress, and walks back inside like none of it happened.