Melting His Alaskan Heart Read Online Free

play this presto-chango charade. He’d have to live with the consequences. “I’m sure I can answer a few questions for you. No harm in that.”
    “Oh, thank you, Dane.” She stood up and wrapped her arms around him.
    Startled, he leaned back, their faces inches from each other. The smell of vanilla and spiced tea wafted between them.
    “I’m sorry.” Confusion marred her expression. She sat back on her stool and finished the last of her drink.
    “Would you like another drink?” Ethan asked.
    “That’d be great.” Carly swiveled in her chair and crossed her legs. “So the first question I wanted to ask about is the Cincinnati incident.”
    Shit. Ethan couldn’t answer questions about that. Dane hit a slap shot into the face of a player on the opposing team, consequently breaking his jaw. It wasn’t Dane’s fault if the pros chose not to wear face shields. Accidents happened. He knew that better than anyone. The Macarena sounded from the other side of the room. “Could we start with something a little less recent? How about when I was a kid?”
    “Sure. Sure. That’d be great.” Carly downed the rest of her drink.
    The music got louder. “I’m having a hard time hearing you, especially with this knight’s helmet on my head,” Ethan said. “Do you mind if we step into the lobby?”
    “That’s a great idea. I bet it is quieter out there. Let me run to the ladies’ room and I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes. Sound good?”
    “Sure. See you there.” Her halo and wings fit her honest, straight-forward personality. While he, on the other hand, was the devil incarnate. All he needed was a three-pronged pitchfork to go along with his scarred face. He was the Beast next to her Beauty.
    Carly slid off the stool. Her cleavage drew his attention. Damn, what a rack, and real, too. Unlike him—the counterfeit version of Dane.
    She wove through the people. Her derriere swayed back and forth.
    This was his chance to make an escape. The penthouse suite called to him.

CHAPTER 3
    Carly had a little trouble navigating her way to the ladies’ room, not because she didn’t know the way, but because she felt lightheaded. Her platform gothic boots suddenly seemed three feet high instead of three inches. Despite the waves of dizziness, she found the bathroom, closed the door, and squealed in delight. Bunching up her fist, she punched the air, one, two, three times. “Yes!” she called out to no one but herself.
    A jumble of nerves, she could have never been prepared for the smack in the gut that was Dane Forrester. Testosterone leapt off the guy’s skin. After swooping into the seat next to him, she’d been so flustered, first by his mere presence, then by her lack of money, she just blurted out what she needed.
    Still embarrassed by her brash approach, she thought maybe her costume was the reason he’d agreed to the interview. If that was the case, she had Velma to thank. After her first paycheck, she was going to take her out to lunch. She owed her.
    Her belly rumbled and her balance went off kilter. She grabbed the edge of the bathroom sink and peered in the mirror. Had she eaten any lunch today? No, she’d completely forgotten. This might be why she was feeling so tipsy. Two Long Island iced teas on an empty stomach—not smart.
    But none of that mattered. Time to focus on the interview. Carly re-applied her lipstick, checked if her mascara was holding up under the mask, and decided she was ready. Pushing open the bathroom doors, she followed the signs out to the lobby.
    The sports journalist world was relatively small. She’d heard other columnists complain about what a real horse’s ass Dane could be, but she saw none of that. Just goes to show how you shouldn’t listen to rumors and innuendoes. She opened her purse and made sure she brought her tape recorder. Check. Paper and pen. Check. List of questions. Check.
    Glancing across the lobby, she didn’t immediately see Dane, but she smelled