Fake Engaged to My Hockey Rival

[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The kiss was an act of war.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. Maverick's mouth crashed against hers with eight years of starved, violent desperation. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her in place while his other arm wrapped like an iron band around her waist, hauling her flush against his chest.

Lanaya gasped against his lips, the sound entirely involuntary.

He took immediate advantage. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot and dominant, claiming territory that didn't belong to him. The taste of him-mint and dark, expensive bourbon-flooded her senses, obliterating every rational thought she possessed.

For two terrifying seconds, she kissed him back.

Her hands, which should have been shoving him away, tangled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She felt the heavy, frantic thud of his heart against her palm. It beat just as wildly as hers.

Then reality shattered the haze.

Crew's jersey number. The penalty box. The blackmail.

Lanaya ripped herself away, shoving her hands hard against his chest.

She stumbled back, hitting the edge of the mattress. Her chest heaved. Her lips burned, swollen and tingling with the ghost of his touch.

Maverick didn't move. He stood exactly where she left him, breathing heavily. His dark hair was slightly messy where her fingers had gripped it. His grey-blue eyes were completely black, fixated on her mouth with a hunger that made her skin crawl.

"Don't," Lanaya choked out, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. "Don't ever do that again."

"It was a test." His voice was a raw, jagged rasp.

"A test?" She let out a harsh, broken laugh. "Are you insane?"

"I had to see if you could fake it."

"Fake it? You practically swallowed me whole!"

"And you kissed me back."

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. The air vanished from the room.

"I didn't," she lied.

Maverick took a slow, predatory step forward. "You did. Your hands were in my shirt. Your mouth opened for mine. If Alexander or the press saw that, they would buy the engagement in a heartbeat."

"They aren't here!" Lanaya backed up until her calves hit the bed frame. There was nowhere else to go. "We are in a bedroom. Alone. There was no one to perform for, Maverick."

He stopped mere inches from her. The heat radiating off his body was suffocating. "Maybe I was performing for myself."

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "that if you look at me like you hate me on the press tour tomorrow, I will pull you in front of the cameras and do exactly what I just did. Until you stop fighting me."

"You are blackmailing me into a relationship, forcing me to live in your house, and now you're threatening to assault me on national television?"

"It's not assault if you're my fiancée."

"I am not your fiancée!" Lanaya screamed, the rage finally snapping her control. She swung at him.

Maverick caught her wrist in mid-air. His reflexes were terrifyingly fast. He didn't twist her arm, but his grip was unyielding.

"You are," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm against her rising panic. "Until the ink dries on that merger, you belong to this lie. You belong to me."

"I would rather see Redstone burn."

"No, you wouldn't." He stepped closer, crowding her completely. "Because if Redstone burns, Crew's foundation burns with it. And you will never let that happen. You will let me kiss you. You will hold my hand. You will smile for the cameras."

He released her wrist slowly, his thumb brushing over the frantic pulse jumping beneath her skin. The gentle touch was infinitely worse than the harsh grip.

"Get dressed, Huntress," he ordered softly. "Dinner is in ten minutes. And you are going to sit next to me and act like you like it."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

Lanaya sank onto the mattress, her legs completely giving out. She stared at the empty doorway, her heart hammering a toxic, terrified rhythm against her ribs.

She raised her hand, her fingers trembling as she touched her bruised, swollen lips.

She hated that her body remembered him before her mind could stop it. Hated that her muscles recognized the shape of his mouth, the way his hands fit around her waist, like some cruel kind of muscle memory she hadn't consented to. For two seconds, she hadn't been kissing her enemy in a stranger's bedroom.

She had been kissing the boy who used to make her laugh on frozen ponds and cheap neighborhood rinks, before the lake took everything and turned him into the monster she needed him to be. She had never let herself think about what he had looked like that day at the lake, the exact tilt of his face when he came out of the water without Crew. She wasn't going to start now.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being.

But the most terrifying part wasn't the kiss.

The most terrifying part was the dark, twisted knot low in her stomach that realized he was right.

She had kissed him back.