Page 81 of A Wild Card Kiss
I pick up my fork and dive into the salad again.
Harlan’s eyebrows rise and his brown eyes glimmer with…delight.
Utter delight.
And pride, too, it seems. “You liked that? My play? You cheered hard?”
“The hardest,” I say emphatically.
“The hardest, you say?” It comes out a little dirty, a touch suggestive.
“Yes, you sexy beast. I cheered the hardest.”
Oops, I objectified him again.
And he seems to love it, judging from the sly smile gracing those full, gorgeous lips.
Lips I want to taste desperately.
Harlan’s eyes never stray from mine. He stares at me darkly. Speaks seductively. “And did your friends want to know why you were cheering so hard?”
That rumbly voice sends a shiver down my spine. “They know I’m working for the team,” I say, teasing him, playing it coy.
“That’s theonlyreason they think you cheered hard?”
“Fine, fine. They know you’re an orgasm dealer,” I add, with an over-the-top huff and a puff.
A laugh bursts from him. “That’s what you called me?”
“That’s what you are,” I say, squaring my shoulders, owning it. “Wait. Am I objectifying you for being spectacular in bed? They also know you’re a sweetie pie, a funny guy, and a good dad.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Back it up to spectacular between the sheets.”
“Ha. Is that all you care about?”
With utter intensity in his eyes, he nods. “At the moment, yes. I’m into this nickname.A lot.”
A flush races across my chest. “Well, it’s the truth. I speak the truth. And I also got a wicked thrill watching you use those handsso expertly on the field, knowing what those hands had done to me.” I take a beat, let my eyes drift down his chest. “Your whole body.”
Oh hell, I’m terrible at not flirting.
Harlan leans closer across the table. “Do you have any idea how much I want to take you home, toss you on my bed, and make you feel incredible?”
A pulse beats between my legs. I ache for him.
So much for arugula’s help.
“As much as I want you to?” I toss back, since flirting with him is too fun.
“That much,” he says, then we stare at each other, a lot heated, and all kinds of heady. The air crackles, and I want to forget the rest of the world, screw the day, and spend the afternoon in his bed.
In his arms.
But I’ve got to have some self-control.
Deep breath.
I take a bite of my salad, trying to let the lettuce do the trick. When I set down the fork, he chuckles under his breath.
