I pull her up flush against the boards, my voice low near her ear. “If you’re going to be this much of a menace,” I snarl, “at least stand up straight while you do it.”
“I’m trying, but you seem like you don’t want to let go of me.” Her lips curve.
I let her straighten but don’t take my hand off her, enjoying how she feels under my skin. She’s so close—too warm and too smug.
“So,” I say, “you sent conditions.”
“Mmhm.” She tilts her head, smiling, proud of herself. “Did you read them?”
“Unfortunately. ‘Be nice to me’ won’t hold up in court.”
Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t look away. “Well,” she says, “someone has to teach you manners.”
“Manners,” I repeat.
She bites her lip to hide a smile. She enjoys this. Enjoys poking me. I cage her between my arms against the boards, leaning closer until her breath stutters.
Fuck, I love how she reacts to me.
“You want basic civility from me?” My voice is a low growl.
She blinks up at me, pupils dark and wide. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know how to be nice,” she teases. “You’re just choosing not to.”
“I’m choosing,” I say, “to be way nicer than I’d like to be.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “And another thing,” I say, voice low, lethal, “you want full control over styling the Blazers?”
“Absolutely.” Her smile widens.
“You’re using my team as mannequins.”
She shrugs, unbothered. “If the mannequins fit.”
Just the thought of her touching them, putting her hands on them—no. Absolutely not. I inhalethrough my nose because if I don’t, I might do something irresponsible. Like lift her onto the boards and—
“You can give your creative opinion. Nothing else. The team has a stylist.”
“We’ll negotiate.” She bats her lashes.
My fingers dig into the boards beside her head. “And then…” I say slowly, voice dropping, “we get to the real highlight. The residency clause.”
Her lips part, and for the first time, she looks a little uncomfortable. Good. About fucking time.
“You want to move in,” I drawl. “Into my house. You want to live with me during playoffs.”
“Well, yeah.” Jessica straightens her spine, bracing for impact.
“Are you insane?”
“Possibly.”
“You sent an email telling me to be nice and then invited yourself into my house.”
She’s staring at me, lips parted, chest rising faster. I lean in until my forehead almost brushes hers, voice a growl. “I don’t think you’ll like it when you realize you’ve boxed yourself into a contract with a man who doesn’t give up ground.”
Her fingers slide tighter into my shirt, nails catching fabric. She tips her chin up and gives me that smug smile again. Then her gaze shifts over my shoulder and her lips twitch.
“What?” I snap.
