Page 23 of The Hellion and the Captain
Breathless, Rhys rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he savored the lingering sensation of her lips on his. “That was...” he trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the intensity of what had just passed between them.
“Unexpected,” Emmaline finished for him, a small smile playing at the corners of her kiss-swollen lips as she leaned back to look at him. “But not unwelcome.”
He chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, trying to ignore that his fingers were shaking ever so slightly. He had never been so affected by a woman before, and certainly not by a mere kiss.
This woman was dangerous, for she had the power to make him feel things that he hadn’t known were possible.
“No,” he managed, swallowing hard. “Definitely not unwelcome.”
She took a step back, her fingers trailing over his arm as she walked away from him.
“Goodnight, Rhys,” she said with a wink as she took a first step toward the house. “Always a pleasure.”
Once he saw that she was safely inside the house, her deep, throaty laugh echoed behind him, and he turned to see the door still open an inch, as her eyes followed him down the drive.
Chapter Eight
Not much made Emmaline nervous.
Today was an exception.
She stood outside just beyond the Harcourt Mill where the team practiced, under the dark clouds that covered the sky and threatened rain, although not a drop had yet fallen. That was not her current concern, however. No, her every nerve was on edge, her stomach doing knots because of one man. She had no idea how she was supposed to do this. Approach Rhys as Emmett Williams, pretending that nothing had happened between them.
That she hadn’t enjoyed their conversation. Their very long conversation, about anything and everything.
That they hadn’t shared a life-altering kiss that had shaken her to her very core.
That she hadn’t spent the past two nights dreaming about him, feeling his strong, hard body against hers, picturing his angled, masculine features staring down at her, inhaling his intoxicating scent of musky, fresh-cut grass.
She stared out at the field in front of her, where a few of the men had started to kick the ball around. She knew thatmost teams did not have formal practices, but Rhys had decided early on that the only way to be better was to put it into practice, so here they were.
And she was part of it.
She wondered now if this had been a good idea.
If it hadn’t been for the connection she felt with Rhys, she would be exhilarated about the prospect of calling herself one of the Manchester Central club members, of playing a true game of football, beyond kicking a ball around her pathetic little clearing with only the trees for opponents and the birds for spectators.
This was all she had ever wanted.
Yet now, all she could think about was how Rhys would react if he found out.
Any connection that was building between them would be severed before it had turned into anything substantial. She couldn’t imagine him understanding, of him ever forgiving her for such a deception.
Never mind his likely thoughts on the place of a woman, which would certainly not be on the football field.
She took a breath. There was only one thing to do.
Avoid him.
She was well aware that wasn’t a long-term solution and that she couldn’t continue to do so for the rest of the season, but Emmaline had always preferred to concern herself with the issues currently in front of her. The rest was a problem for another day.
She would take this one day, one practice at a time.
Despite her concern, she couldn’t help but notice how her heart flipped over in her chest when Rhys’s large form appeared, as though she had conjured him in the middle of the pitch before her.
He had such a commanding presence that it was clear whyhe was so respected as a leader and easily filled the role of captain.
She would follow him nearly anywhere.
