Page 11 of Offside

He chokes out a loud rumbling laugh and somehow the movement of his body causes the elevator to shake so that the too-heavy vase wobbles in my other arms.

Ballas swiftly swings an arm out and settles a large hand on the bottom of the vase to prevent it from falling.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart,” he says in a smooth tone that’s rich with an intimacy reserved for lovers.

The reminder that we were lovers makes me want to throat punch him—or kiss that sexy mouth of his.

The next thing I know, he’s standing right in front of me, tall and broad-shouldered and taking over my entire field of vision. His breath smells like a minty gum and reminds me of how he tasted the last time I saw him. His cologne is rich and woodsy. It’s a warm scent, not overpowering and artificial like that of so many men I come across in this business, that scent loved by power-hungry men who try to impress women with money and prestige.

Like Bradley.

The doors suddenly close behind him with awhooshand my heart leaps into my throat from being so close in this isolated, cramped space.

“Here, let me help you. It’s awfully heavy.”

I twist away in haughty obstinance. “I’m fine. I can handle it.”

“Fine.” He backs away with his hands up. As he turns, he murmurs under his breath, “I remember you can handle big things in your grip.”

I make a sound of indignation at the clearly suggestive comment. It was sexual, wasn’t it? Or am I just reading into it?

“Watch yourself, Ballas,” I warn, heat flaming across my cheeks even as my panties dampen. I don’t know if I should be turned on by his dirty talk or annoyed that he’s using our past intimacy against me. “Watch your mouth. You forget who I am and where we’re at.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, Karis,” he says smugly, his eyes brimming with challenge as they rake over me. I hold my ground, willing myself not to cave under the intensity of his gaze. He points a finger toward me and twirls it. “Underneath all this, I know what you want, too.”

There’s a challenge and a demand in them that has me torn between wanting him to take me like he owns me and pushing him away for fear I’ll lose myself in him.

His gaze moves to my lips and lingers. “As for my mouth, you didn’t mind it so much when I told you to spread your legs and made you come with my mouth on your pussy.”

I let out a nearly hysterical huff and try to skirt around him, to get off the elevator so I can get some air. My head is starting to fog. There’s a restless energy that vibrates through his movement, a power that coils within him that’s devastatingly appealing and is leaving me in a sexual haze. His tantalizing scent and the powerful set of his shoulders give him an air of command that exudes from every pore.

He makes me weak. And that makes me mad.

“Out. Of. My. Way.”

I finally shove past him but years of shutting down the best goal-scorers in the world makes him agile, and he quickly moves in front of me just inside the parking garage and spins me around. He cages me against the cement block wall and then leans down.

For a moment, I think he’s going to take the vase and bend down to kiss me. My heart beats wildly against my ribs, taking my breath as I wait for his mouth to firmly press against mine.

Instead, he grabs the card hidden between the stems and extracts it from the envelope.

“Hey! That’s personal.” My obvious irritation over not getting kissed comes out in a bratty whine. Any attempt to rescue the card from his fingers is utterly futile since he’s a good five or six inches taller than me and I’m still holding the vase tightly against my body.

I growl like a baby tiger against an untamed lion.

He narrows his eyes on the card.

“Sunshine, Please call me back. I know I made a mistake when I let you go. I still love you. You’re the one for me. Love, Bradley.”

Although I know what it says since I’ve already read it, it sounds even more ridiculous read out loud in the high falsetto voice he uses. I stifle my laugh by biting down on my lower lip.

Ballas glances down and raises one eyebrow in disbelief, then fans the card in the air. “Whoowee,” he whistles and expels in an exaggerated drawl. “What a fucking dipshit. That’s the worst apology I’ve ever read.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, although I don’t know why. I didn’t ask Bradley to send me flowers or his lame-ass apology.

“You mean, besides the one you tried to give me?” I put on my best saccharine-sweet smile.

He laughs wryly. “To be fair, when I rehearsed it in my head, it sounded great. It just had trouble making it out of here.” He taps on the card on his lips before shoving it back into the bouquet. “At least now I understand why you’re ditching these.”

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