A short, black-haired woman was scowling at him and looked nothing like the blonde Charity he’d been expecting. This woman wore greenish scrubs, no heels, not a speck of makeup. Not that she needed it, because her tan skin was highlighted by the overly red mouth of a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed.
“You’re not allowed to be in here,” he said. She wasn’t wearing a badge.
“I’m not allowed?”
“You don’t have a visitor’s badge.”
“You don’t have one either,” sheretorted, trying to straighten her clothes.
His orange polo and jeans were nowherenear as wrinkled as hers. The perks of being the kisser and not the kissee, he supposed. “I don’t need one. What are you doing in here?”
She pointed at the wall behind him. “It’s a supply closet. This is where they keep the extra gloves.”
“Oh. Good point. I’m sorry about the...” He ought to apologize for kissing her. Even if the kiss was great. Better than great. Cum in your pants to do it again great. “My mistake.”
“Yeah, your mistake. I don’t have a visitors badge because I’m not a visitor. I’m working with Joel Glazier as his assistant thisseason.”
“Wow. Then I’m Bowen. Bowen Sullivan. I play for the Browns.” He stuck out a hand to shake.
Their eyes held over his hand, the whorls of his tattoos peeking through his polo and reaching his wrist. The same hand had just moments earlier been working its way into her panties... scrubs.
“I guessed. Your face is actually on the billboard outside. And painted on the wall. There’d be something wrong with me if I didn’t know who you were. You were the runner-up for Defensive MVP last season. Fifteen sacks. And you’re one of the team captains.”
“Yeah, that. It’s what I do.” She must have believed he was a total idiot. He took his hand back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Again, sorry. I don’t usually...”
“Kiss tackle people? Probably won’t work well on Lamar Jackson,” she named the Raven’s current quarterback, proving she had more than a modicum of knowledge about football.
“Once again, sorry. I’d like to move past this awkward weirdness.”
“It’s fine. Let me get the gloves, and we can forget about it.”
Bowen took a half step toward her, his lips above hers. “You sure you want to forget about it?”
“I need to.” Her voice went all breathy, and he wanted to swallow her air.
Yeah, not his usual MO—feeling horny and weird possessive of Glazier’s new medical assistant.
“I don’t want to. It was a hell of a kiss. Hit harder than the whole O-line from the Jets.”
“Because they’re awful. I hit harder than they do.” She reached her arms up around his neck, almost on her tiptoes.
That decided him. Glazier had to be trying something different this year. Usually he had a ton of jock dude residents and a scared scribe. This year, he’d hired a woman who could stand on her own as his medical assistant.
Fucking brilliant.
“Exactly.” He lifted her smaller, lighter body again for a second taste.
Her soft mouth was manna from heaven.
Or it started that way. He let the wave grow between them, consuming his thoughts. The things he would do to her tonight. She could wiggle out of those awful scrubs and wiggle her sweet ass all over his cock.
But the supply closet was not the time or place for this.
His cock, now grumbling with frustration inside his jeans, was less than pleased when he set her down. Bowen reminded itofdelayed gratification. A few hours wouldn’t hurt,and he could control himself that long.
“I’d like to see you again. Tonight. Tell me your name, pretty girl.” He slipped his thumb between her partially open lips before slipping down the front of her scrub top.
She bit her lip, torn at his proposal. “You can call me Roy?—”
