The Pucking Wrong Rookie (Pucking Wrong #5)

by C.R. Jane

Our love interest is possessive, obsessive, and the perfect shade of red for all you red flag renegades out there. There is absolutely no shade of pink involved when it comes to what Logan York will do to get his girl.

There are no harems, cheating, or sharing involved.

Logan York only has eyes for her.

I mentally added a “King” to the front of Lincoln’s name. Not that I was ever going to tell a single soul that I did that. Wouldn’t want to be labeled “a simp.” The team already had one too many of those. *Cough* Walker Davis *Cough*.

I rolled my eyes and glanced at the stands as I headed toward a puck…only to almost trip over my skates. Holy fuck. I watched as a literal goddess walked down the steps toward the glass. Blinking a few times, I wondered if I was having a hallucination.

Camden laughed at me, but I wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t stop staring at his girl in the stands. He shouldn’t be laughing at my new obsession. I’d heard Anastasia call him “Daddy.”

“Fuck,” I snarled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I had to literally use all of my willpower not to go after him. Okay then. So she had really bad taste in men. I’d just have to fix that for her.

It felt weird, that I could be feeling so crazy…and she didn’t even know I existed. She was going to know that I existed soon enough, though…if I kept telling myself that, maybe it would come true.

Why was he staring at me? And then…he took off his helmet. I wasn’t prepared for the jolt of lust that hit me the moment his face came into view. The rough edge of his jawline, sharp enough to cut through ice. The mess of blond hair, damp with sweat, falling haphazardly around his forehead. His eyes—bright, intense, dark green, like the forest at dusk, dangerous and consuming.

I was almost to the crowd of players and fans…when he was there. Logan York. He was standing in front of me, blocking my path. His skates dug into the ice with a casualness that felt deliberate, but it wasn’t his stance that stopped me. It was the look on his face. Yearning. That was the only word that came to mind. Like I was something he’d been searching for and finally found.

One second, he was standing there, staring at me like I was the answer to every question he’d never asked. The next, his hands were on my waist, strong and sure, pulling me forward. I stumbled, my heels slipping again, but his grip steadied me. And then his lips were on mine.

My email showed a message from him, and I grinned when I clicked on the program he’d attached and it immediately started loading. Lincoln Daniels was a fucking king.

She was lonely; it hung around her like a veil, hidden beneath the sophistication, the perfect appearance. She looked elegant, yes, but there was something else. Something deeper. Something broken. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Are your pickup lines always this bad?” “Not always,” I said, shrugging. “But I figured I’d start slow. Give you time to fall in love with me.” Her lips twitched, almost a smile, and it felt like a victory. “Charming.”

“Forget you ever met me, Logan York,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away. I frowned as I watched her move out of the lobby and past where Miller was struggling to walk. She went straight to the elevator and stepped through the doors after they opened, not even giving me one look back. “Not a chance,” I whispered.

If she wouldn’t date me, I would hire her. I’d pay whatever it took to make sure she didn’t have time for any other clients. For as long as it took… Until she fell in love with me. A brilliant plan if I didn’t say so myself.

“I hired you because you wouldn’t go out with me. And the thought of anyone else touching you made me want to kill someone. This is my solution.” His voice softened, but the intensity was still there. “But make no mistake, sweetheart, the last thing I think of you is that you’re a whore. I’ll get you flowers every week for the rest of our lives, just so you know who you are.” “And who’s that?” I murmured, blinking up at him because it felt like I’d entered some surreal universe where beautiful boys turned out to be heroes instead of the object of my worst nightmares. “Mine,” he said simply.

“I meant what I said…the fact that money is involved is only to make sure that no one else touches you while I make you fall in love with me.”

He let my neck go before taking my hand and leading me toward the door like he’d simply complimented my dress. I pulled on his hand, and we came to a stop at the door as he looked back at me questioningly. “You’re not actually serious about all this, right? This can’t go on forever…and there will be other clients.” He didn’t blink. “If another man touches you, I’ll kill him.”

“What kind of painting?” he asked…actually sounding interested. He was holding my hand again, his fingers intertwined with mine like he was trying to make sure I didn’t run away. “Oil and watercolor,” I answered, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. “Well, I can’t wait to see something you’ve painted. We can hang them all over our house.”

“Please don’t leave.” “I won’t,” I murmured, surprised at how much I meant those two words. “Good,” he said, a hint of that cockiness leaking into his voice. “Because I would find you.”

The fact that I would be coming back tonight after she’d fallen asleep wasn’t something we needed to discuss.

“Then I’ll love what’s left of you.” I watched as the words sank into her skin. “I’ll love whatever you can give me, and it will be enough. Because, Sloane,” I murmured, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Even a single piece of you is worth more than anything anyone else could give me.”

“I want you,” he said roughly. “I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I want you more than hockey, more than money…more than fucking air. Tell me I can finally have you, Sloane.” He took a deep breath. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a sexy rasp, his dark green eyes glittering as he focused on me.

“Mine,” he growled, and I shivered at the sensation of his breath caressing my skin.

His arms caged me in, and I was consumed by him. His scent, the sound of our bodies moving together, the way his hair fell in his eyes. I love you, I wanted to whisper to the world. But I think he already knew.

Holy fuck I was in love. I’d known I was obsessed…I’d known I was attracted…but this? This feeling inside me, like the sun rose and fell with her presence, like I couldn’t live without her…it had to be love.

“Beg me for it.” Mmm. This was new. I was definitely going to add this to the list of things that I liked.

“I’m waiting,” he said roughly.

“Yes, that’s it. Use me. Get what you need,” he murmured, pressing another bruising kiss against my lips.

“How badly do you need me?” he said silkily, maintaining much more control than I was capable of at the moment.

“As you wish,” he breathed, his voice finally thick with the arousal I was feeling.

“That’s my good girl,”

“Sloane tried to be done tonight. Her uncle—” It was hard to finish. There was so much rage and hate inside me right now. “He beat the fucking shit out of her.” There was silence on the other end of the line, heavy and deliberate. Then Lincoln’s voice dropped, colder than I’d ever heard it. “He won’t be a problem for much longer.”

I hadn’t even given him the details—no names, no specifics, nothing. Which could only mean one thing. Lincoln already knew. A sharp, humorless smile tugged at my lips, something I didn’t think I was capable of at the moment. “Fucking stalker,” I muttered, shaking my head as I let the phone drop to my side.