Page 61 of The Wedding Deal
A bitmeant about half a million to a million in this instance, which was mind-blowing when she thought about it, but even that would be tricky.
Lance’s phone rang. “It’s Gavin.”
Charlotte smacked his ass like one of his fellow teammates would do on the field. “Go get us a quarterback.”
…
Without ever taking her eyes off her laptop screen, Charlotte poured a couple of fingers of whiskey in a glass and pushed it toward him. “Drink that. I’ve got this part.”
She was quite the sight, standing there in that pale pink dress, the rapidtap tap tapof her keyboard filling the air. He sipped from the glass as instructed, but what he was really drinking in was the way her hair was swept to the opposite side of her face, exposing her neck. The back of her dress dipped low, and he got lost in staring at all the creamy skin and thinking about how she clearly wasn’t wearing a full bra.
Then he wondered if she was wearing one at all, and he could hardly believe his thoughts were so wrapped up in her instead of the huge deal he’d just made— Charlotte was typing up the official offer sheet now.
“Why are your shoes undone?” he asked.
The silver strappy things got a brief glance. “You said you needed me ASAP, and the buckles are tiny and complicated, and I have to twist up my leg to get the right angle, and I’ll worry about it later.”
He squatted and fumbled with the ankle strap, his big fingers adding an extra challenge to securing the tiny buckle, but he finally secured one and then the other. He might’ve also brushed the smooth skin of her calves a bit more than necessary.
The printer whirred to life, and she said, “There’s the official offer sheet. You can read through it real quick and then I’ll send it to Gavin’s agent.”
From there the Pythons would have first right of refusal, meaning they could still match the offer and retain him, and if they took five days to decide it’d feel like a wheel-spinning eternity.
Even though he had no doubt that Charlotte had been thorough, he wanted to hold the solid proof of the offer in his hands, so it could feel real. For the first time ever, he understood her obsession with paperwork.
“What would I do without you?” he asked as his eyes skimmed down the page. His nerves were frayed, his hands shaky—and they werenevershaky. He’d prided himself on how steady he’d been during his career, even during the big games. No need to talk about the nights before, because he’d always pulled himself together come coin toss time. But he’d just offered a lot of money to a player, gambling he’d be the captain they needed to help turn the team around and make it to playoffs this upcoming season. He was sure it was the right call, but still…
“Probably insult people, ignore paperwork, and pay too much for a quarterback.”
“Rhetorical questions are more supposed to go unanswered,” he teased back. “You could just choose to feel flattered and say something like, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, either, you handsome, brilliant devil.’”
“Next time print me up a script, will ya?”
He shook his head, a smile breaking free. “Like you’d follow it.”
“Depends on whether or not it played by the rules.”
He lowered his lips to the neck he couldn’t stop staring at. Her sharp intake of breath spurred him on, and he flicked out his tongue. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”
“Clock’s on,” she said, her voice raspy.
He lightly dragged his teeth over her soft, heavenly scented skin. He blindly fumbled around for a pen on the desk, quickly signed the papers, and handed them back to her.
“And the electronic signature, too. Unless you want me to go old-school and scan it in.”
The trackpad and his finger made for a sloppy approximation of his signature, and as she typed in an email address, he stood behind her and kissed the back of her neck, the top of her bare shoulder…
“Sent,” she said, and then she turned to face him. Finally he could get his lips on hers. “How long do you have till you need to get over to the annex?”
As much as he hated to look, it was a valid question. He couldn’t be late to his brother’s wedding. “Twenty-five minutes.” He returned his phone to his pocket and secured an arm around her waist, drawing her against him. “Just enough time for Part I of what I have planned for you.”
“No way,” she said, tipping her head to the side to give his lips better access to her neck. “This dress isn’t easy to get into—and neither are the shoes, which thank you for your help with them—and I don’t have time to get ready again.”
He slid his hand up her thigh, parting the slit in her skirt wider. “Good thing your dress came equipped with easy access.”
Her chest heaved against his, her lashes fluttering. “But my hair and my makeup, and…”
His fingers drifted higher, and he stroked her over the silky fabric of her blessedly tiny panties, a strangled groan coming out when he found them already damp. “What if I promise we can both get off without messing up your dress or your hair?”
