Page 69 of Off Pitch

He may have teased me about staring… if he wasn’t doing some staring of his own. His eyes roam all over my body, slowly raking up from my ankle to the top of the slit in my dress until he lands on the bust. I can see his throat bob as he tries to compose himself.

“Harlow,” Knox manages before clearing his throat. “You look incredible.”

I cross the room to meet him. “Thank you,” I say, giving him a soft smile. “You look great. I really like the suit.”

He returns my smile with a gleam in his eyes. “Ready to get out of here, Freckles?”

“Lead the way, Slick.”

twenty-seven

Harlow

The drive from Chelseato the Flatiron District wasn’t long since the neighborhoods border each other. We were quiet for the duration of the trip, just stealing glances when we thought the other wasn’t paying attention. It seems safe to say that subtlety is neither of our specialties.

Knox pulls up to the valet in front of our destination for the night—a tall building with ample rooftop space. He exits and comes to my door, opening it before taking my hand and helping me out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“Name?” the valet driver asks as he notes the license plate number.

“Knox Spencer,” he replies.

“Enjoy your night then, Mr. Spencer.” The valet driver nods at us, and Knox, hand in hand, leads me into the building. By some bit of fortune, we end up in the elevator alone as we ascend to the rooftop.

With no audience, he severs the distance he’s been keeping between us, standing right behind me and running his fingerslightly up and down the exposed skin of my arms. “You’re going to fucking kill me tonight, Pierce.”

I lean back against him, surrendering myself to his touch. “Is that so?”

“You’re a goddamn vision in that dress, Harlow.”

I smirk. “Not so hard to picture me in a gown now, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. And you look really fucking good.” His breath on my ear causes my body to involuntarily shiver against him, and he softly chuckles. “You like that, do you?”

“I can’t control how my body reacts when you’re that close to me, Knox.”

“But letting go of your control could be good, don’t you think?”

Ohh,there’s a whole other meaning to that, isn’t there?

“I do think,” I say breathily. “Maybe giving up control is exactly what I need to do.”

The groan that escapes Knox’s lips tells me everything I need to know. He wasn’t caught up. He’s been keeping some distance between us because he has the same thoughts I do—sleeping together would be a really bad idea. But he still wants it just as much as I do.

“No, I think that would be a very good thing for you, Harlow.”

I turn to face him, and the fire in his eyes burns red hot. We may both think this is a bad idea, but holding back is arduous. I don’t believe I have it in me to keep myself from him much longer, and if his rapid breathing is any indication, he doesn’t have it in him, either.

Our saving grace right now is the ding of the elevator, alerting us to our arrival on the building’s rooftop terrace. We break our eye contact as the doors open, and we step out to join the throngs of people meandering around.

I spot my brother over by the bar with Lane, which is perfect because Ireallyneed a glass of wine right now.

Actually, make that the whole bottle.

Things have been a bit awkward between Knox and me since we arrived. We’re sitting at a table with our friends, and we’ve hardly joined in on any conversations, so lost in our own heads.

I’ve no doubt they noticed.

I’m two glasses of Riesling in, and Knox has already downed an entire beer. I know he doesn’t drink much during the season; none of the players do. But between that and the way he keeps adjusting the collar of his shirt, he seems to feel as hot as I do right now.

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