Page 43 of Undisputed Player
Let me.Two simple words that somehow made me want to listen.
I opened my mouth to argue, because I always fought, always insisted on handling everything myself, but somethingin his expression stopped me cold. There was steel beneath the charm, authority wrapped in silk, and my body responded to it for some reason.
He moved toward the door, and I was transfixed, staring at his muscles again. When he reached up to unlock the deadbolt, his tank top rode up slightly, revealing an odd angular bulge pressed against the small of his back that didn't quite belong.
Probably his phone?
I was too distracted by his forearms flexing as he worked the stubborn lock. Snake tattoos coiled around those powerful forearms, so detailed I could make out individual scales. The serpents wound their way up from his wrists to disappear beneath the fabric of his shirt, their bodies following the natural lines of muscle and sinew.
The delivery guy's eyes widened when he saw Jax at my door, recognition flashing across his face like a lightning strike. Of course he knew who Jax was. Everyone did. The boxer, the Easton heir. The playboy who collected women like trophies and discarded them just as easily.
And now he was here, in my falling-apart apartment, answering my door.
Jax handed over what looked like several hundred-dollar bills with casual indifference, murmuring thanks in that smooth voice that did inappropriate things to my nervous system.
Then he was back, setting bags on my tiny counter, and I watched in fascination as his back muscles moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
I shot to my feet, muscle memory and ingrained responsibility overriding my body's strange new desire to submit. "I should help?—"
This time, both hands landed on my shoulders, warm and firm as he physically steered me back to the chair. His palms were large enough to span my collarbones, and I could feel the heat of his skin through my thin shirt, could smell that intoxicating blend of pure masculinity that made my head spin.
"Estelle." My name was a command, soft but implacable. "Sit. Let me take care of this."
I'd been taking care of everything for so long that the idea of letting someone else handle even something as simple as unpacking takeout felt like stepping off a cliff.
But… it felt good. The relief of not being responsible for one single thing, even for five minutes, was so overwhelming I had to blink back the sudden burn of tears.
"I don't—" I started, my voice smaller than intended.
"You don't what, princess?" His tone gentled, but the authority remained, wrapping around me like warm steel. "You don't know how to let someone take care of you?"
Princess.There was that word again, landing somewhere deep in my chest and setting up permanent residence. No one had ever called me anything soft like that. I was Estelle—reliable, responsible, the one who fixed everything and asked for nothing.
But when he said it, I wanted to be his princess.
He patted my head before I could answer, as if I were apet, then turned back to the takeout bags that smelled divine.
He laid out the food, his movements confident and sure. When he reached across the counter for plates, I caught another glimpse of that odd shape beneath his shirt—angular and hard against the small of his back, definitely not a phone.
I rationalized that he had a big fancy phone, though something about the shape seemed too large, too deliberate.
When he set the gourmet pizza in front of Leo with a wink, my nephew's face lit up.
"Eat up, little man. You're going to need your strength if you want to outsmart Avery at school tomorrow."
Leo giggled, already tearing into the pizza with the most enthusiasm I’d seen from him in a while.
I watched him eat, my eyes burning just slightly as he enjoyed every bite and, for once, didn’t feel the need to offer me any of his meal.
My attention shifted to Jax afterwards, on the casual way he'd taken control of my space, my evening, my carefully ordered world.
This was insane.
The women he dated were models, actresses, socialites, all polished and perfect and gleaming with supermodel beauty. I was none of those things, not even close. I had sharp edges and exhausted eyes.
But then he looked at me, and something in his blue gaze made my heart stutter against my ribs again. Something tender and focused and hungry that suggested maybe, just maybe, he saw something in me worth wanting.
"Here, princess." He cut a piece of salmon, the knife moving through the flesh like butter. The snake tattoos seemed to ripple with the movement, scales catching the overhead light in mesmerizing patterns. "T
