When Aria Monroe lands her dream job as the new photographer for Los Angeles's professional hockey team, the last thing she expects is to work with the cocky, arrogant center Connor Holden who rocked her world five years ago during a one-night stand...
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"Oh my god, I love this song!" Tossing my hands above my head, I sway my hips to the beat of the music, letting the bass pulse through my body and fully consume me. I become one with the notes, fully aware of being the only person on the dance floor. With all this liquor in me, I almost forget the anguish I carry. The hollowed-out version of myself is replaced with the young, wild, carefree version, and it's freeing.
A large pair of hands wrap around my waist. "I'm so glad you love it, but the bar is closing, baby. We've gotta go."
Connor.
Oh, this is bad. This is so, so, bad. But I've never been one to make rational decisions. Not when I'm more liquor than food. And right now, when I spin to face the six-foot-two sexy-ass man? I throw rationality directly out the window.
The young, reckless Aria is a very bad influence. Connor's already experienced it once before.
"You need help, man?" Levi.
"Nah, I've got her. You guys go. I'll make sure she gets back to her room."
Connor keeps his hands around my waist to steady me, but as we walk to the exit of the bar, I stumble again in my heels, giggling nonstop when the room begins to spin.
"Fuck, your laugh is perfect," he says, guiding me outside.
With another uncontrollable laugh, I place my hand on my hips, whirling to face him on the sidewalk. "How strong are those muscles of yours, Connie?" I whimper at the blisters already formed on my heel. "My feet hurt."
"Let's find out, shall we?" Before I can blink, he hauls me into his arms until my legs are wrapped around his waist, his large hands supporting my ass. I'm pressed up against his cock, which has already hardened from the contact. "Light as a feather," he says, heading in the direction of the hotel.
I can't stop smiling with my arms hooked around his neck. Connor is a fucking work of art, his face chiseled like a statue, but his eyes are soft and warm. They're so inviting. Before I can stop myself, I take the backward cap off his head and rake my fingers through those curls of his, more than pleased when his eyes don't seem so soft anymore. They're filled with lust now.
"I've been wanting to do that all fucking day," I admit.
He quirks a brow. "Yeah?"
"Mhmmm." I continue doing it, watching his eyes flutter shut from the feeling. "And you have really kissable lips."
"Do I?"
"Are you going to respond to every observation I have with a question?"
"When you're drunk? Yes."
"That never stopped you five years ago," I point out.
He groans as the memories from that night seem to come back to him. "We were both drunk that night, Aria. That was different."
