Page 48 of A Game of Ruck

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Just us.

And I swear, if she lets me, I’ll spend the rest of the night—and maybe the rest of my life—showing her exactly how much she means to me.

Now, I’m used to high-stress situations.

Stadium lights in my eyes.

Ninety thousand screaming fans.

A scrum collapsing on top of me.

Game on the line.

Blood pounding in my ears.

Pressure?I live in it.Thrive in it.

But this?

This isn’t pressure.

This isn’t work.

This is goddamndestiny.

And nothing—nothing—has ever felt more right than having Annabeth Martinez in my arms.

She’s warm and soft and curves in all the places I dream about.But it’s more than that.

It’sher.

The way she looks at me like I might be worth trusting.

The way her breath catches when I touch her.

The way she says my name like it matters.

This isn’t a game.It’s not a dare or a stunt or something we’ll laugh about later.

This isreal.

She’sreal.

And I want her with every damn beat of my heart.

I grip her hips, grounding myself.My jaw clenches to keep from saying something too raw, too soon.

Because if I open the floodgates now, I’m liable to confess things I’m not supposed to feel this fast.

Things like:I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment you bid on me.

Things like:No one’s ever made me feel like this.

Things like:You’re mine, Angel.And I’m yours if you’ll have me.

But instead I just breathe her in—cinnamon and sea salt and something sweet I can’t quite name.

And I promise myself one thing.

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