More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
His skin, however, was flawless. Distractingly so. Smooth and tan with—and this was his most striking feature—a smattering of dark freckles across his nose and cheekbones.
It was the first time that Shane felt it. It was like the air in the room had thickened. Everything inside him was buzzing and on edge, like he was about to jump out of a plane.
Ilya told himself the twisted feeling in his stomach was just jealousy, but he was terrified that it was something much, much worse.
Oh sweetie
Why was Shane Hollander so fucking hard to shake? They’d hooked up once. Months ago. It had been a mistake, obviously. A giant, ridiculous mistake. Or, at the very least, something that should be forgotten about. Not a big deal.
The large Russian man next to him—who was sitting so close their forearms were almost touching where they rested on top of the table—was the one responsible for Shane’s dry mouth and (probably) noticeable stammering.
Plus, Ilya hated this guy. He hated his pretty boy face and his perfect goddamned English and his perfect goddamned French and his loving parents and his polite little manners and his million-dollar smile. He hated how serious he was. How earnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars.
Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles. Fuck.
“Come here,” Rozanov said. “No. You come here.”
He felt Rozanov chuckle against his throat, and then Shane felt himself being pulled away from the wall and carried—carried!—to the bed like a fucking child!
Babygirl!
And Shane left. He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.
Rozanov lowered himself until his nose was inches from Shane’s face. “Stay.”
No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.
Shane. He called me Shane.
“Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper. Ilya didn’t answer. Instead, he crushed their mouths together and kissed Shane in a raw, uncontrolled way that felt like an apology. Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no. When they broke apart, Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s and they just breathed together.
I will not survive when we they do this in the show
Shane wanted to kiss him, but he opened the door instead, and darted into the hallway. He strode past the elevators, straight to the stairwell, not wanting to linger outside Ilya’s door. He jogged down the sixteen flights of stairs, trying to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. When he reached the bottom, he leaned back against the wall of the stairwell for a moment. What is happening?
Dude freaked out so hard he ran down sixteen flights of stairs
Somewhere, buried deep in his brain, there was a third reason that was screaming for attention. Ilya ignored it.
“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said. Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.” “Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.” “I have no idea why. I hate them.” “Noooo...” Ilya moaned. “Hollander. They are stunning.” “Stunning?” “Yes. Am I not using that word right? Very beautiful. Um...take my breath?” “Wow. All right.” The skin under Shane’s freckles turned very, very pink.
Shane laughed. “You wanna kiss me on television?” “Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.” Shane spread his arms out. “Oh, so in this romantic scenario, you’ve just defeated me?” “Yes. Sorry.” “I’m not going to be in the mood to kiss you if I’ve just lost the Stanley Cup, Rozanov.” “But you would be so proud of me!”
“You’re here,” he murmured. “Yes. Now take off your clothes.”
“Mine.” Ilya’s breath tickled Shane’s skin when he spoke the single word. “Yours,” Shane said dreamily. “All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.” Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.
“I like women. I always was thinking that to get married would be nice. Kids. All of that. Someday. But...this problem will not go away.” Shane bit his lip. “Tell me about this problem.” “Is so annoying.” Ilya sighed, and Shane could see him fighting a grin. “Always I am with beautiful women. Wonderful women. Everywhere.” “Sounds rough.” “Yes. Listen. These women, they are so sexy and fun, but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this short fucking hockey player with these stupid freckles and a weak backhand.” “A weak backhand?” Shane couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes. And he is just so boring
...more
“I love you.” Shane froze. And then Ilya froze. “Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond. “I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared. “I love you too,” Shane said.
“Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?” Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead. “Not anymore.”
Awwww.
“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...” “That sounds like a fire hazard.” “Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.” “Oh, is it a clear night?” “Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
“You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
