(Danica)The heavy, metallic scent of the ice rink was entirely replaced by the sharp, intoxicating aroma of Kane. Leather, expensive cologne, mint, and raw, masculine heat enveloped me the second the locker room door clicked shut, locking out the chaotic roar of the post-game press conferences and the distant thrum of the Wolves victory party.We were in the private trainer”s room at the back of the facility, completely isolated.Kane didn”t even wait for me to speak. The moment the lock turned, his large hands caught my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the high edge of the training table. The emerald-green silk of my dress bunched up around my thighs, the cool air of the room hitting my bare skin, but I was instantly flushed hot as Kane stepped deep between my knees.He was still wearing his padded hockey pants and his sweat-stained under-armor shirt, his chest heaving with a deep, primal adrenaline that hadn't subsided since the final buzzer. His dark hair was damp, clinging to
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