Page 43 of The Wedding Deal
For once that didn’t seem as big a deal as it should.
He has those big hands and long fingers…those muscular thighs, that ripped torso.She could picture the way the water would pour over them, and while she was picturing stuff, she figured she might as well reach out in her daydream and run her hand over those pecs and abs.
She imagined his eyes darkening, the way they did last night when he’d had her almost pinned against the door, the inches between them proper yet not and still way too much.
The knock on the door brought the real world screeching back.
Fanning her face in a futile attempt to cool herself down, she rushed to the door and accepted the large pitcher of room service coffee, along with the two breakfasts she’d ordered.
“Do you feel all right?” the guy asked, concern filling the creases of his forehead. “You look flushed. If the A/C unit’s not functioning properly, I can call and—”
“It’s fine, thank you!” She scribbled her name and closed the door. Hazards of staying at a place where the staff were so friendly, she supposed, but had he not ever delivered food to someone who’d been flushed from sex?
Not that she’d had sex. Unfortunately. Or good on her, cheers to being strong! Or… Shit, she was a mess. Not just a conflicted mess, but one who was suddenly using British phrases she’d never used before. No wonder the room service guy was concerned. She walked over to the thermostat and made the room a couple of degrees cooler for good measure, then focused on doctoring her coffee with the creamer in the mini-fridge.
A few minutes later Lance emerged, freshly showered, hair wet, smelling all soapy fresh. Like with her earlier attempt to steel herself, the cooler temperature didn’t much matter.
“Breakfast is here,” she said, her voice way too high. To keep herself from saying anything else that might reveal her traitorous preoccupation, she quickly shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but she ignored them and settled on the couch with her plate.
They ate in silence for a while before he pointed his fork at the wall. “You think we should pick Darius Fox first?”
“Defense wins championships. He has a record number of sacks, along with interceptions, and for such a big dude, he’s remarkably fast.” She set her plate aside, stood, and walked over to the wall. She explained the names along the top, the connecting lines, and how her system worked, along with how she’d come to those conclusions. “A star means the names lined up with the reports our former GM, coaches, and the rest of the staff made. I put anXon the ones they picked that I disagree the most with, although I’m not saying they’re wrong, for the record.”
Lance walked up behind her, and she wished she weren’t so acutely aware of how close he was. Of his height and the arms that’d hugged her after she’d scored her first touchdown and how amazing he smelled. “We need a quarterback.”
“I know,” she said.
“Everyone likes Richards.”
“Another thing I know.”
“And? I want to hear your thoughts.”
“He’s a three-quarter quarterback. We need one who can go four, plus overtime. Rookie quarterbacks also take a while to train, and often they’re on the skittish side, especially when the going gets rough. They rarely make the playoffs—and have a .355 winning percentage of those games when they do—and so far none have made it to the Super Bowl. I’m just not sure he’s the player to pull us out of our losing streak and get us our best chance at playoffs.”
When Lance didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “What? You disagree?”
“No. I’m just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m so turned on right now.”
Heat streaked through her again, more savage than before, and apparently she should’ve set the damn thermostat to sixty degrees. “I… I’m right there with you.” She should take it back, but she couldn’t, not with her gaze trapped by the intensity in his. “But we’re drifting toward dangerous territory.”
He stepped closer, not touching, yet she could feel every inch of his tall body. Every ounce of oxygen whooshed out of her lungs and she was afraid to move or to speak, and even more afraid not to say what she should.
“What if I justthinkabout violating a rule?” He asked it lightly, but the question was heavy with flirtation. His voice dipped lower, and goose bumps skated across her skin when he added a husky, “Maybe picture it in my mind.”
Now she was imagining tipping her head back a bit more so his mouth could descend on hers, how his scruff would scrape lightly across her skin. “The problem with that is thoughts lead to actions,” she said, her voice way too breathy.
“But there are no punishments for thoughts, correct? No reprimands?”
Lifting her chin in a facsimile of firmness, she spun to face him and attempted some fake it till she made it sternness. “I’ll, uh, see that you’re thinking about it and reprimand you anyway.”
Instead of looking repentant, a smirk twisted his lips. “Now I’m picturing that.”
“Lance, this is… We shouldn’t…” She started past him, needing space to keep herself in check, but he gently placed his hand on her elbow, halting her steps.
“I’m sorry. I slipped there for a second, but I’ll try to behave.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and gripped his elbows, as if that’d be enough to keep him on his best behavior. Amusement flickered through the eyes that met hers. “Please finish explaining your crazy wall.”
