Page 36 of Goalie's Obsession

Her throat works around a reply, but nothing comes out.

“You’re the only one fighting this.”

Her nostrils flare. “Because it’snotreal.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I take another step. We’re close now. Close enough to see the way her pupils flare. The way her pulse jumps in her neck.

“You kissed me.”

“There were cameras.”

“There were no cameras in Vegas.”

She opens her mouth then closes it again.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I say, voice lower as her eyes drop to my lips. “Tell me you haven’t thought about that night every damn time we’re alone. That you didn’t mean that kiss outside the gala. That when I touch you, you don’t feel like you’re going to fucking explode.”

And she still says nothing.

I don’t ask. I don’t wait.

Fuck it.

There's only one way I'm getting through to this woman.

So I just step in and kiss her. Hard.

Her back hits the door with a thud as my hands slide into her hair, knocking that stupid clip loose and sending strands tumbling around her face.

"Connor," she pants against my mouth. "We can’t—"

"Weare."

"But Ethan—"

I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her clean off the ground, pressing her back against the wall, her legs wrapping around my waist like it’s second nature.

"You gonna stop me, Lucy?"

I kiss her harder, then she’s kissing me back, forgetting her words as her fingers dig into my chest, pulling me in like she’s starving for it.

Like she’sdonepretending.

"I didn’t think so."

The kiss turns frantic. Desperate. All heat and teeth and four days of silence exploding between us.

My hands find her hips, slide around the curve of her ass, press her tighter against me as I kick the door to her office shut.

Her head tips back, lips parted, pupils blown wide as my hand slides slowly, deliberately up the inside of her thigh.

"Well, what do you have to say now, Lucy Lou?"

"Lock the door," she whispers.

Chapter Eight

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