ICING THE LINE Taken By The Captain

LENA'S POV

Ryan Kade goes down hard.

I hear it before I see it, the crack of bone against ice, the collective inhale of twenty thousand people, the way silence hits before panic. One second he’s cutting across the rink as he owns it, the next he’s sprawled on the ice, glove torn loose, jaw clenched in pain he’s too proud to scream through.

My pulse spikes.

“Clear the ice!” someone shouts.

I was already moving.

This is my first official game as lead physiotherapist for the Chicago Blades, and of course, it has to be him. The captain, the league’s golden menace. Ryan Kade—six-foot-three, ruthless, beautiful in a way that makes sponsors salivate and opponents bleed.

He was taller than I expected—6’3, lean but solid and he had that kind of raw, dangerous presence that made you instinctively step back… or lean in.

And now he’s hurt.

I slide to my knees beside him, the cold seeping through my slacks as the arena lights glare overhead. Sweat glistens along his hairline. His breath comes sharp, controlled. Too controlled.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound confident, professional. “I’m Lena. I’ll be checking your leg.”

Ryan’s head lifted lazily, eyes smoldering under thick lashes. He gave me a slow once-over, from my boots up to my hair tied messily in a ponytail. I could feel his gaze like heat against my skin, and I had to swallow hard to keep my composure.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls, eyes flashing open.

The voice hits low, rough, threaded with command. My stomach tightens before I can stop it.

“Captain Kade,” I say calmly, professional mask snapping into place. “I’m Dr. Lena Morales. You’re going to let me assess you.”

He laughs once—short, disbelieving. “That’s not happening.”

I meet his stare without flinching. Brown eyes, darker up close. Pain flickers there, buried under iron control.

“You don’t get a choice,” I say. “Not if you want to skate again this season.”

That does it.

Something shifts in his gaze like interest, irritation, something sharper. He nodded once and gave Permission.

I press my fingers lightly along his knee. Heat comthrough the padding. His thigh jumps under my touch.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere you’re touching,” he mutters.

The words slide under my skin, dangerous and intimate. I ignore them. I always ignore things like that. I’ve had to.

I knelt in front of him, pulling out my kit. The scent of him was intoxicating—sweat, ice, and something woodsy, masculine, undeniably him. My fingers brushed his calf as I applied the cold compress, and I felt a jolt shoot through me. My body reacted before my mind did. My pulse spiked. Heat pooled between my thighs.

“Uh… let me know if this hurts,” I said, focusing on his leg while secretly aware of every inch of his body.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice husky. Then he added, almost teasing, “But I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

I froze. Did he really just say that? My hands stilled, but only for a moment before I shook them off. “I’m a professional,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Ryan leaned back slightly, eyes dark and calculating. “Professional, huh? That’s… cute too.”

The touch of his gaze against me was electric, sharp, impossible to ignore. I felt an almost physical pull toward him, like gravity had shifted. My fingers tingled where they brushed his leg, and my stomach twisted with a dangerous mix of excitement and fear.

“You really shouldn’t be staring at me like that,” he said, leaning closer so I could smell the faint mint of his mouth and the raw heat of his skin. “It’s distracting.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m not… staring.”

“Sure,” he said with a grin, the kind that promised mischief. Then, in a voice so low I barely caught it, he murmured, “I like it when women are a little… bold.”

Bold. That word echoed in my mind. My body reacted, my cheeks flushed hotter. I had to remind myself why I was here. Professional, medical, and focused. Not this… this pull, this fire he ignited.

I finished wrapping his leg in silence, but the tension was palpable. Every movement, every breath, every glance carried heat I couldn’t ignore.

Ryan stretched, watching me with a smirk. “You know,” he said, “I don’t usually meet people like you. Not… like this. Bold, focused, yet… delicate.”

“Delicate?” I asked, my voice sharp despite the flush creeping up my neck.

He tilted his head, a smirk never leaving his face. “Yes. Delicate. And yet… you’re not afraid of me. That’s rare.”

I swallowed hard, focusing on securing the final bandage. “I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” he said. And then, his tone dropped even lower, more intimate, “Because I’d like to see just how unafraid you can be.”

Heat pooled in my stomach. The way he said it made my pulse spike, my breath catch. His eyes burned into mine, and I realized with a jolt that I was no longer just treating a patient. I was in the middle of something charged, dangerous, electric.

Later, after practice, the arena was empty except for the echo of skates on ice. Ryan lingered near the boards, pulling off his jersey. His arms were bare, muscles glinting with sweat, and I had to fight the urge to stare.

“You’re still here,” he said, noticing me. His tone was amused, curious. “Why?”

“I… wanted to check your leg,” I replied, though my voice trembled slightly. My mind was screaming at me to leave, to get out before I did something reckless.

“Check my leg?” He stepped closer, and the heat of his body hit me. “Or check me out?”

My mouth went dry. “I...”

He reached out, fingers brushing mine as he adjusted my kit bag. The touch was electric, and I felt my body betray me with a shiver. “Relax,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m not going to bite… unless you want me to.”

I felt my breath hitch. His words were teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, more intense. I wanted to deny the pull, the magnetic tension between us, but it was impossible.

“You’re… dangerous,” I whispered.

He smirked. “And you like danger, don’t you?”

I couldn’t speak. My body screamed yes, my mind argued no, and my heart… well, my heart was already racing.

He leaned closer, so close I could feel his breath, smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I can see it in your eyes,” he said softly. “You want this. You’re just scared of it.”

I swallowed hard, heat pooling between my thighs. His gaze was intense, consuming. The tension between us was undeniable, almost unbearable. I wanted to step back, to run but my body stayed, rooted by the electricity crackling in the air.

“You should leave,” I said finally, trying to regain control.

“Leave?” His voice was incredulous. “Why would I leave when you’re practically begging for it?”

I blinked, heart hammering. “I… I’m not.”

“Liar.” He smirked, closing the distance so that only inches separated us. “You’re mine to push around… aren’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. The heat, the desire, the tension—it was too much. I had never felt anything like this. And for the first time, I realized that this encounter was only the beginning.

The next day, he showed up at the rink early, grinning at me like he owned the place. Every brush of his hand against mine sent shivers down my spine. Every glance held promise, challenge, and danger.

“You can’t keep avoiding it,” he said, catching me as I tried to focus on my notes. “This tension between us—it’s electric. And I know you feel it too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, voice tight, trying to maintain professionalism.

He chuckled, stepping closer, heat radiating from him. “You do. And I’m not going to let you ignore it. Not now. Not ever.”

The game had begun. And the real play—the one neither of us could resist—was just getting started.

That night, as I showered in my apartment, my phone buzzed with a message. It was a photo of him, smirking, standing in the rink doorway.

RYAN:

Next time, Lena… I won’t hold back.

My pulse raced. My body tingled. And I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t going to resist.