Page 69 of Dancing in the Rain

“Hey, it’s been a while since I felt the love like that. Let me have this.”

She eyed him. “Is it addicting?”

“What?”

“Being a star. Having all those fans adulating all over you.”

He thought about that. “I think it can be addicting. Life-changing. Sometimes I hated the feeling of having my privacy violated, but for me, fame was never the goal. I loved playing. Being good at what I did meant that I got a lot of attention, and yeah, there were times people were asking for autographs or interrupting a private dinner. But it’s the fans who support us and keep the game going.”

“But don’t you get used to all the money? All the public adoration. The preferential treatment?”

“It’s nice,” he acknowledged. “And yeah, it’s nice to get that positive reinforcement. But it’s dangerous to think that’s what makes your life worth living. Because it goes away…eventually.” He looked down at his wine. “As I well know.”

“But that’s not what you miss the most.”

“No. I guess I can’t lie and say it’s not a part of it, but I miss the guys. I miss the routine. I miss knowing what my day is going to be like. I miss the game.”

She reached out and laid her hand on his thigh just above his knee, over his jeans, and gave him a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just sorry that happened to you. Sorry that you can’t play anymore.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

He turned his head and looked at her. In the soft lamplight of the room, her blond hair glowed. So beautiful…she was so beautiful. A longing to touch her, to taste her, blazed through his chest.

Her blue eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her mouth and her lips parted. Heat and desire pulsed between them. “Peyton.” He lifted his free hand and cupped her face, so gently, his thumb brushing near the corner of that mouth that looked like the first step to heaven.

She gazed back at him.

“I watched you all day. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Long eyelashes lowered and rose again.

He shifted closer and touched his mouth to her cheek. Her eyes closed and he felt the quivering of her body. He brushed his lips over her ear, down the side of her neck, and her skin was so soft and she smelled so damn good, luscious, like exotic flowers and dark vanilla and sex. It rushed to his head like a drug.

She made a soft sound in her throat and the hand on his thigh tightened. “Drew…”

His name was a breath on her lips.

He kissed her cheek again and she tilted her head, just enough to give him more access. When he grazed his teeth over her jaw, she shivered.

Vaguely, he knew this shouldn’t be happening. But she wasn’t stopping him…she was moving into him, her hand sliding higher up his thigh…and he used the hand cupping her jaw to turn her face to his. Their mouths hovered a whisper apart. Their eyes met and held, slow, intoxicating torture as he waited…and when those ridiculous eyelashes fluttered downward, he touched his mouth to hers.

She opened for him and he kissed her, slow, gentle, deep. When he pulled back to look at her once more, his breath stalled in his chest. So beautiful.

He took her wineglass from her and set both glasses on the coffee table. One hand returned to her face, the other glided into her hair and he took her mouth again. This time they both opened eagerly and he slid his tongue into her mouth. She was sweet, so goddamn sweet—the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her, all now filling his head with reckless lust. Hot need jolted straight to his groin.

She kissed him back, her tongue sliding on his. He tilted his head to go deeper, a groan rumbling up from his chest. Her other hand landed on his chest, fingers flexing against his shirt, igniting more fire inside him. He shifted on the couch to get closer to her, licking inside her mouth, nipping at her lips.

He slipped his hand downward, rubbing the side of her neck. The pulse at her throat fluttered under his thumb. His fingers dipped under the loose neckline of her T-shirt, then under her bra strap to cup her small, round shoulder. When he dragged his hand back, his fingertips grazed over the top swell of her breast.

Her moan lit up every nerve ending in his body and he leaned in more, pressing her back into the couch cushions with his upper body. Her hand slid higher still on his thigh, inches from his aching dick. Now her other hand found skin, slipping inside the opening of his shirt, caressing his collarbone and shoulder. Hot need slammed into his balls.

“Sweet fucking hell,” he muttered. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

He swallowed her gasp and kissed her again.

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