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“Nine million per year for ten years,” he counters.
“Eighteen for ten years,” I’m quick to counter back.
“Ten for ten.”
“Fifteen for nine years.”
“I can’t go a dollar above eleven, Piper,” he grumbles, looking like he wants to kiss me just as badly as he’d like to wring my neck with his bare hands.
“That’s too bad. I know for a fact that Chicago wants him and will pay twelve million per year for an eight-year contract. If you can match that, then we have a deal.”
When Trent grows uncharacteristically silent, I almost believe that he’s going to call my bluff. And that won’t end well. Not for me and not for Jack.
Well, since I’ve come this far, I might as well see it through.
“Do we have a deal or not, Nichols? No suspension for Nathan and twelve million a year for the next eight years for Jack? What do you say?”
“Deal.”
Before I even have time to celebrate, his gaze—dark as the most stunning obsidian jewels—locks onto mine for a whisper of a second before his hands firmly grasp my face, drawing me closer to claim my lips with an intense kiss. It all happens so suddenly that my flight-or-fight instinct doesn’t kick in until he has me seated on his lap.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I opened my front door,” he says between ardent kisses while his fingers run possessively through my hair.
“Trent,” I pant as he cranes my head back to have better access to my neck.
“I almost held out hope that you came for me tonight,” he confesses, nibbling on my skin before licking his way up to my earlobe and giving it a hard bite. “And not to save one of your players. I should have known better.”
“Umph,” I mewl when I feel his hard bulge poking at my ass.
“But I couldn’t resist having a little taste. Not after that performance. You’re so fucking sexy when you have your gloves on, ready for a fight. So fucking sexy.”
“Hmm,” I moan when one of his hands starts to slither up my thigh.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
I can’t let this happen.
I can’t.
If I do, I’m done for.
Awkwardly, I push myself off his lap, almost falling on my hands and knees in the process. I quickly fix myself up and flip my hair behind my shoulders.
“I don’t punch below my weight,” I mock while trying to control my heavy breathing. “This was never a fair fight. I was always going to win.” I smile, taking a good few steps back so I’m not sucked into temptation again.
“Ah, kitten,” he starts, rubbing his thumb over his swollen bottom lip while his other arm drapes over the couch. “It’s adorable how you think you’ve already won. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that a boxing match only ends after the bell rings,” he taunts, placing his hand over his ear. “And I don’t hear anything, do you?”
“Actually, I think I’ve heard enough. Good night, Nichols. We’re done here.”
As I rush to his door to leave, I hear him chuckling under his breath, uttering what feels like a curse, more than a mere premonition.
“No, kitten. We are far from done. This… is only the beginning.”
Chapter 9
Trent
