Page 34 of The Rookie's Sister

Warmth spreads through me at this casual declaration of his intentions. Our server appears to take our drink order, and Xavier selects a top-rated Malbec to complement our meal. Under the table, his leg presses against mine. The contact sends my pulse skittering.

We pass the evening in easy conversation, the initial shyness quickly giving way to our natural rapport. Xavier regales me with tales of locker room antics I’m certain would horrify PR while I recount my early matchmaking efforts between Holly and a bewildered intern. Laughter comes frequently, our banter just this side of flirtatious.

“Remember that time you chewed me out for showing up late to practice? Said that I didn’t care anymore, and it was a sign I was getting too old for football. That I was in denial of my decline. Hell of a way to motivate a player on your team, Thomson,” Xavier says with a smirk, as he’s refilling my wine glass. “I thought you were going to skin me alive. Hard to believe that was less than a month ago.”

I cringe at the memory. “In my defense, it was my first week, and I was frantic about making a good impression.”

“Oh, you definitely made an impression.” Xavier’s eyes gleam with mirth. “I believe my first thought was, ‘Who is this pint-sized tyrant, and how can I get under her skin even more?’”

I swat playfully at his shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

Xavier catches my hand, expression softening. “Maybe. But you changed my mind, eventually.”

His thumb strokes over my knuckles, sending little sparks up my arm. The air suddenly feels charged, the playful atmosphere shifting into new, uncharted territory. Xavier’s eyes hold mine, his look changing from affectionate to something more heated and intent. Desire coils hotly within me.

The spell breaks when our server appears to clear our plates. Xavier releases my hand slowly, almost reluctantly. I sit back, senses still reeling. I never react this way, and certainly not to playboy jocks, but somehow Xavier is the exception to the rule.

Outside the restaurant, we stroll hand in hand along the river walk, listening to the gentle lap of water against stone. The gibbous moon shimmers on the dark surface. Our steps slow, both reluctant for the evening to end.

When we come upon a weathered wooden bench tucked off the main path, some unspoken signal passes between us. We sit, thighs barely brushing. I yearn to close those scant inches between us, to lose myself in his strength and heat. Sensing my thoughts, Xavier drapes his arm across the back of the bench in silent invitation. I nestle against him contentedly, tucking my head against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to my hair and I feel him relax into me.

For a few blissful minutes we sit without speaking, watching moonlight dance across the ripples. Somewhere nearby, music and raucous laughter spill from a crowded bar, jolting us from the moment. Slowly, I lift my head to meet Xavier’s gaze. The intensity there mirrors my simmering need.

“Emma...” Xavier’s voice is rough, barely a whisper. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, his thumb stroking my lower lip. My breath catches at the desire darkening his eyes. He leans in agonizingly slowly. I can’t stifle a needy whimper.

“Please,” I breathe against his mouth.

The dam breaks. Xavier crushes his lips to mine, kissing me with a fervor that steals my breath. My hands grip his shoulders as our mouths slant desperately together. He tastes of wine, heat, and temptation. I want to drown in him.

We come up for air reluctantly, pupils blown wide. Xavier’s hand still grips my nape possessively. He brushes his nose against mine, both of us struggling for composure.

“We should continue this somewhere more private,” he suggests, voice deliciously uneven.

I answer by claiming his mouth again, briefly, but with unmistakable intent. Xavier makes a small, needy sound low in his throat that liquefies my bones.

He stands and pulls me to my feet swiftly, keeping our bodies flush. Lips grazing my ear, he rasps, “My place. Now.”

My answering shiver leaves no doubt about what I want. Hell, my panties are already damp. We practically race back to the car, hands threaded together. The short drive to Xavier’s sleek condo takes every ounce of restraint. I squirm against the exquisite torture of anticipation. Beside me, Xavier grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, jaw tight.

In the condo foyer, Xavier presses me back against the wall, winnowing one leg between mine. He kisses a scorching path from my ear down my neck while I pant and clutch him closer. I can already feel him hard against my thigh and the memory of what he feels like inside me makes things low in my belly clench almost painfully.

“Bedroom. Now,” I gasp out.

In answer, Xavier lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me through the living area without breaking contact, our mouths fused together urgently, my body rocking against his with the rhythm of his steps. It’s almost enough to make me come right then and there.

Somehow, we maneuver onto the massive bed in a tangle of seeking hands and clinging limbs. Xavier braces himself above me, muscled arms caging me in. The sheer strength of him sends a chill down my spine, but in a good way. There’s something arousing about knowing that a man can overpower you, but that he won’t. His eyes blaze with desire and a hint of disbelief, as if not quite trusting our good fortune.

“You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he rasps, trailing a finger down my throat.

I arch up to meet his touch. “I want you, Xavier. All of you.”

He groans softly at the bold invitation. Slowly, his hands skim my sides, pausing at the hem of my dress. Our eyes lock in a silent question. In answer, I sit up just far enough to unzip my dress agonizingly slowly. Thanks to the built-in bra, all I have underneath my dress is a pair of barely there panties. Xavier helps ease the fabric—and my panties with it—down until I’m laid bare before him.

Reverently, he trails kisses across my collarbone to the swells of my breasts, drawing a gasp when his tongue grazes one taut peak. My hands slide across the shifting muscles of his back, nails digging in slightly when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. I feel rather than hear his answering groan against my fevered skin.

“Too many clothes,” I mumble, fumbling with the remaining buttons of his shirt. Xavier obliges by stripping it off, exposing all of that smooth, rippling tanned skin. My eager hands learn every contour and ridge, reveling in the contrast of hard muscle and velvet skin.

While I’m busy exploring, he somehow manages to get his pants off and a condom on. He then settles between my thighs, eyes questioning even as the tip of him brushes against my sensitive skin. In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist and put my hands on either side of his face. He has to understand what I’m feeling.

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