The heat in the penthouse master bathroom was cranked to eighty degrees, but I couldn't stop shivering.
I sat on the edge of the deep marble jacuzzi tub, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe that felt less like comfort and more like a heavy linen shroud. I watched the thick steam rise into the air, obscuring the mirrored walls, but it did nothing to wash away the phantom chill of the arena's ice bucket. My throat still burned from the water I had inhaled. My scalp throbbed fiercely where his fingers had anchored themselves into my hair.
But the worst pain wasn't physical—it was the crushing weight of the silence.
The heavy mahogany door clicked open.
Logan walked in, entirely unbothered by the humidity. He had stripped out of his ruined post-game suit and wore only a pair of low-slung bla
