“Holy fucking hot,” Jeannine said, smacking my arm. “If that isn’t reason enough—”

“Stop,” I cut her off and took another large drink. My cheeks were still on fire from his gesture.

“Paige, come on. Just promise me that you’ll try. For once, stop thinking about what’s best for the company or your family, and think about yourself. You’re about to sign your freedom away, so just try to enjoy it first.” Her eyes were wide with her plea.

I sighed, mostly because she was right. Maybe it was the scotch talking, but I finally shook my head, incredulous that she’d won. “Okay, if he actually comes back without an adoring puck bunny attached to his hip, I will…” I sucked in a deep breath. “Attempt to make number seven happen.”

Sex. With Rory Jackson. A hot, hockey stick-wielding god of the ice. A gorgeous, famous, panty-melting notorious bad boy. Sure, it sounded great in theory, but in reality, I wasn’t sure I had what it took to even make the first move. At least he wasn’t a complete stranger, that had to count for something right?

An hour and a half, two scotch and sodas, and one delivered flash drive later, Rory took his seat next to me. He spread his right hand out on the table, clenching his fingers into a fist before fanning them out again.

I chuckled. “Signing them in groups over a week would’ve been easier on your hand.”

“True but there is no challenge in that.” He grinned before ordering his drink.

“Thank you, again,” I said, suddenly losing all the witty banter I had built up in my head with his body so close I could feel the heat from his skin.

He waved me off and tapped my place card. “Paige Turner. When you see it written out like that it’s…” he laughed.

“Mom has an incredible sense of humor.”

He set the card back down and chuckled. “I can relate.”

“I think Rory is a strong name.” And I wondered just how strong he was? Enough to hold me against a wall and make my eyes roll back in my head? How hard would it be for me to get him into bed? His well-advertised colored past suggested it shouldn’t take more than a few hints. Plus he had just said he’d never let me down.

Are you really going to do this? Yes. Wait. No. I shook my head. Yes.

Crap. I’d shaved and done some general landscaping, right? Right.

He held his glass out to me. “To funny and not at all ironic names.”

I scooped up my drink and clinked it against his.

My eyes followed his tongue as it dragged across his bottom lip, and suddenly I wanted. Wanted not in a “gee, that’d be nice,” way but an “I need that more than dinner,” kind of way. Good God, how could I get that in my mouth? I’d never seduced anyone as renowned for being a wild man before, but I was a grown woman about to take over a multi-billion dollar company, I could do this.

Your pep talk suggests otherwise, my nagging inner-prude said. I shut the bitch up with another drink. Perhaps I should approach it like a business deal—an asset I absolutely needed to possess—cut throat and direct was always the key to success.

Matt Donaldson came on the stage before I could choke my proposal out. He drew everyone’s attention as he spoke about the cause and made a few jokes at the expense of his friends. He nailed the speech, creating a perfect balance between need and emotion, successfully wringing out another donation from myself as I assumed everyone else as well.

“Thank you all for coming. The drinks stop when you say, and the music starts now,” Matt said.

Applause broke out as he descended the stage and wove into the crowd to mingle. A band played a few moments later, starting the night off with a peppy jazz number.

“You’d better nail him, or I will,” Jeanine whispered in my ear. Then she shoved me, flinging me into Rory’s massive, muscular frame.

He caught me easily. “Whoa, are you okay?” His hands stroked down my arms, sending whips of electric current through me.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeanine said. “I’m just clumsy.” She stood as I regained my seat. “I have to go check on the rest of tonight’s food, and I just fell right into you, Paige. My bad! You have fun!” she ran off before I could physically beat her to a little blonde pulp.

Rory’s fingers lingered on my arms before he let me go. The loss of his touch was like stepping away from a warm fire. “Would you like to dance?” I asked Rory, taking my courage by the lady-balls.

He set his drink down and pushed back from the table, offering me his hand.

Wow. That actually worked. I took it, the heat from his skin somehow touching every inch of mine.

We made it to the center of the dance floor and though there were stars all around me—including two of People’s Sexiest Men Alive from the last five years—I couldn’t take my eyes off Rory. He radiated sex. The peeks of scars beneath his unbuttoned collar gave him a dangerous vibe that had me more than ready to run my tongue down the raised skin. He was rough on the ice—an enforcer famous for initiating and finishing fights while simultaneously helping his team rack up wins. And tonight I wanted him to win me.

Every time my conscience came to surface, I shoved her back down with the reminder that I only had three months. That was it. Then it was the boardroom and the nun habit. But not tonight. Tonight I was dancing in heels with Rory Jackson.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my heart pounding as he settled his hands on my hips and moved us to the music.

He smelled like soap and cedar and mouth-watering man. The way he moved made my body bend in ways that seemed impossible for the dress I wore, but somehow, I didn’t end up flashing anyone. Maybe it was because he kept me firmly pressed against his body, which let me feel every hard plane of muscle he possessed.

So this was desire. Want. Lust. I wasn’t stupid. I knew this wouldn’t turn into anything more—not with the way he rotated women on a weekly basis—no matter how much I thought there was more to him than his bad boy status. More than his looks, his muscles, his raw sex appeal drawing me to him, but right now it was his incredible body that held me captive. Like I was flipping fuses in my head, I shut down all the logic I used in the boardroom and instead gave my body control.

As the band segued into a slower tune, Rory motioned to leave the floor, but I pulled him in closer.

“One more,” I said, slightly breathless. I knew I had to act fast before I lost all my nerve and my last chance at number seven.