Page 26 of Offside Attraction

Jordan chuckled low in his throat.

Somehow, she’d successfully convinced herself that her memory was fantasy. That those nights with Jordan had been exaggerated in her head because of the raw excitement of it.

She was wrong.

His touch was just as intoxicating as she’d remembered. Rough and powerful.Hungry.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing as his lips found her neck. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt as he clamped his hands under her thighs and lifted her to his hips, still running his tongue and teeth over her skin.

Somewhere alarm bells were going off in her head, but they were drowned out by the war drum of her heart and Jordan’s panting breaths.

Then they were moving. She clamped her legs around his hips as his hands pressed into her back and he peeled her off the wall. Jordan whisked her down the hall, hurried and clumsy, through the bedroom door.

They fell together to the bed, Jordan sliding on top of her. She pulled at his shirt, and he reached over his shoulder, tearing it over his head and tossing it on the floor. Rhonda sighed as her hands met skin, her head turning just enough to see his muscles flexing under his tattoos.

This was a bad idea.She tried to access the truth of it, but her head was vastly undersupplied with resources at that moment. Jordan pulled her shirt off, along with her already undone bra, and she shivered as the cool air hit her bare skin.

It was all rushes of breath, the rustle of clothing, and pops and releases as Jordan’s lips found new skin to press against. Rhonda clasped the shoulders she’d been thinking about since the urgent care. Well, off and on since the parking lot, if she was being honest. Jordan’s heart beat against her hip as he moved down her body in frenzied desperation, his hands venturing under the hem of her skirt, and Rhonda suddenly wondered why she ever wore pants.

He slid his body back up, wrapping himself around her and threading his legs with hers. How were they this physically compatible? They didn’t have to say a word, and everything felt right. Like perfect pacing in a great novel or a waiter at a restaurant knowing exactly when to fill your water glass. Effortlessly. Subconsciously.

Rhonda was so utterly present, the raw physicality was startling. Every thought in her head was silenced by the symphony exploding from her nerve endings, and the rest of the world faded into nothing. For the next twenty minutes, she existed fully in the space between Jordan’s humming skin, his racing heart, and his soft cotton sheets.

And then she was surfacing, her skin cooling, her heartbeat slowing. Her body buzzing with aftershocks, her blood thrumming in her veins. Her hands rested limply on Jordan’s lower back, her legs tingling and heavy. Jordan’s lips were still on her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his breathing evened.

The ceiling came into focus. The blinds over the window. The modern moulding. The matte paint on the walls. It was like a momentary death and rebirth.

Rhonda lay there beneath him, basking in the weight of him—the warmth of him. And then the reality of their situation finally diffused past the physical high.

They were going to have to move now. To look at each other and say something.

Jordan kissed her cheek, then pushed up and broke the silence first. “I’m going to go clean up.”

Rhonda nodded. Good. That was good. That would give her a moment to?—

TO WHAT?

Panic crept up her throat. She’d come over here to talk to him about Reviact and ended upnaked in his bed?She rolled over and groaned as soon as Jordan had maneuvered off her body, entered the washroom, and shut the door behind him.

She wanted to slap herself. This was pure idiocy. She’d shown up for a professional meeting, and now the waters were muddied. Would Jordan introduce her to Dr. Mallory because he thought she was going to sleep with him again? Would he tell people on staff that she’d wanted to snag an audience with their clinical team so badly that she’d hopped into bed with him?

Beyond that, would the Snowballs get word of this? So far, she didn’t think any of them had heard anything, which meant Jordan either hadn’t told his team or his players were tight-lipped. Something she obviously hadn’t mastered yet.

Or—or—they hadn’t played each other yet.

Ugh. Maybe that was the only reason the Snowballs didn’t know? If they’d found out before, she could’ve claimed ignorance. Sean and the others still would’ve been pissed at Jordan, but she would’ve been innocent. Embarrassed but innocent. Now? Her actions were indefensible.

She clutched his pillow to her face, squeezing her eyes shut. Jordan was like a bag of Salt and Vinegar chips. Or a package of Cadbury Mini Eggs. You put one of those on the counter, and sure, she could have some self-control for a few days, maybe even a week, but eventually, she was going to rip open the bag and eat the entire thing during an episode of Bridgerton.

Her stomach twisted, and she untangled herself from the sheets, hunting for her clothes. She found her skirt, underwear, and tights on the opposite side of the bed and wriggled back into them, then threw on her bra and shirt. She searched through the twisted sheets and duvet for anything else she might’ve missed.

They were nice sheets. They smelled like him—the whole room smelled like him.

Rhonda jumped as the door to the washroom opened, standing at attention so fast her spine cracked.

Jordan stood in front of the door, completely nude. He took a step toward her, and Rhonda moved back an inch toward the door.

"Jordan, I . . . I don't know what happened. I mean, I know what happened, but I didn't think—I didn't come here with the intention to?—"

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