Page 47 of Taking The Shot

“Last chance,” he breathed, searching her gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His voice was low, husky, vulnerable. “And let me apologize now.”

Constance could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she stared into his deep, uncertain eyes. The weight of the moment pressed down on them both, heavy with anticipation, nerves, and something so much deeper—something that had been growing between them for so long. He was standing so close nowthat she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, see the rise and fall of his chest as he took a steadying breath.

She chuckled softly, unable to help the smile that tugged at her lips. The man before her, strong and self-assured in so many ways, was suddenly hesitant, almost fragile. It was endearing.

“Oh gosh,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Would you get over yourself and relax? Sex is terrible for everyone the first time around—sheesh.”

He let out a mortified laugh, but she could still see the uncertainty lingering in his eyes as if he were afraid of disappointing her. Afraid of not being enough.

“Well, that doesn’t help my confidence,” he admitted, pulling his hockey jersey over his head and tossing it aside. His muscles flexed with the motion, and she took a slow breath, letting herself admire the way he moved, the way his body felt so familiar yet so electric tonight.

“You’re supposed to be encouraging,” he added, flashing her that boyish grin that always made her weak. “You know, say all the things a man wants to hear… like, ‘oooh, just like that,’ or ‘oh my goodness, you are so big and strong.’” He laughed harder, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness. “Being told it’s okay to be terrible isn’t helpful in the slightest.”

Constance tilted her head, stepping closer until her fingers ghosted over his bare chest. He tensed slightly at the contact, his breath hitching, and she swore she could feel his heart racing beneath her fingertips.

“How about…” she whispered, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “How about, ‘I care for you,’ and ‘I can’t wait to make love with you?’ Or maybe… ‘Everything you do is going to be perfect because I think I’m falling for you…’?”

His expression softened instantly, something in his eyes flickering between amusement and pure, unguarded emotion. But she wasn’t done.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur as she grinned wickedly. “Or maybe… ‘Ohhh yes, Daddy?’”

The panicked giggle he let out was priceless. His eyes widened in horror, and he slapped a hand over his mouth as if to physically keep any further reaction in check.

“Um, yeah—notthat.”

She burst out laughing, unable to hold it in. The tension in the room eased instantly, melting away into something lighter, something familiar.

“Fair enough,” she chuckled, shrugging playfully. “How about we go back to kissing, see where it leads, and just… figure it out along the way?”

His laughter faded, and something deeper took its place in his expression. He studied her, his eyes roaming over her face as if committing every tiny detail to memory.

“Did you mean it,” he asked quietly, “when you said that you were falling for me?”

She stilled, the humor leaving her features as warmth spread through her chest. She reached up, brushing her fingertips along his jawline before cradling his face in her hands.

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” she whispered.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and she could see the unspoken emotions battling inside him. This meant everything to him. To them.

He stepped closer, closing the last bit of space between them, his fingers trailing along the hem of the jersey she was wearing—hisjersey. It was oversized, swallowing her frame, but he loved seeing her in it. Loved that she had chosen to wear it tonight, as if she had already been his long before this moment.

He met her gaze, and she could see the pure, unfiltered love shining back at her.

“I love you more than life itself, Constance Boucher.”

She felt her breath catch. The way he said it—raw, unwavering, completely and utterly sure—made her knees weak.He was giving her his heart so openly, wanting to be accepted and loved someday in return, yet never pushing her. There was a sweet innocence in that statement that was put out there so boldly.

“I know,” she breathed, her heart swelling as she caressed his arm with one hand and pulled him closer with the other. “You show it in everything you say or do.”

Then, without another word, she closed the distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was slow, deep, and full of everything they had yet to say.

He didn’t need to prove anything. Not to her.

He had already given her everything.

His heart.

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