I hoped he couldn’t see how that sentence sank in my stomach.
‘Except you,’ he added, melted chocolate in his voice. ‘I like you, although I’m not convinced you’re a nice girl.’
Christ, the effect those words had on me. My throat was so thick I couldn’t swallow.
He looked away with a hitch of a groan. ‘Leesa, you’re killing me.’
That only seemed fair, given the messed-up state of me. I took a deep breath and said, ‘Iama nice girl.’
His smile was dangerously tender. ‘I know y’are, but I like you anyway and sometimes I think maybe there’s another side to you.’
‘There’s not,’ I said flatly.
He leaned even closer, ruining the shot, but I couldn’t move to adjust it – or turn it off. ‘What if you didn’t think about what youshoulddo for a moment. If you justdid.’
‘I don’t… operate that way.’
‘You used to. You can have a good finish in a race by using your head, following the plan. But getting a win takes instinct, gut reaction, a feeling in your skin. It’s an art.’
I suspected he knew he was painting a powerful picture in my mind – of the day I’d crossed the line in first near Colin’s home city in Australia. He’d been there that day. The memory struck me as somehow new. He’d been there, watching with Tony – watching me take one of the biggest wins of my career.
The way he was staring at me, intently, no hint of a smile, made my lungs tight, as though I needed something more to breathe again.
‘Sometimes your gut tells you something is right,’ he said, his voice a low ripple through my sinew. ‘And you’ve got to listen.’
He moved slowly, but my brain refused to process anything until it was too late. He grasped my wrist and tugged. I didn’t resist, letting him draw me onto his lap. I waited for him to kiss me, but he lifted his face to my hair and inhaled deeply.
‘You feel right,’ he murmured, setting off sparks over my skin. Then he turned my face slowly to his, fingertips in my hair, and brought his mouth to mine.
Unlike the soft exploration of the kiss in his bathroom and the push and pull of Friday’s make-out session, this kiss was like a shot of strong liquor – searing, powerful. He held me still and kissed me so hard there was no time to think about anything except the hot urgency of his mouth, the plunge of his tongue.
His chest heaved under the hand I shot out for balance and a hitched rumble from the back of his throat shivered through me. I turned as best I could to kiss him back, my fingers slipping over his jersey. His hand dipped under my dress, gripping my thigh hard enough to make me gasp.
‘Leesa,’ he said with a pained groan.
He obviously wanted to say more, but I was tired of my noisy brain, of doing what Ishould, so I cut him off with another kiss, this one greedy. He clutched at me, flipping my skirt up by accident, but neither of us cared.
I wanted to crawl up his body, straddle him, blow his mind. The poor man was wearing bib shorts, so I knew he was on the same page from the swelling bump in his lap. The certainty of his arousal flooded me with relief and then smug satisfaction when he shifted me for more friction, grunting like an animal.
Perhaps because I could feel the hot hardness of it so starkly against my thigh, I was suddenly burningly curious to see his cock – to touch him there. He’d made so many jokes about this simmering sexual awareness between us, at least I knew he wouldn’t feel embarrassed to get it out.
I dragged my mouth from his to slide it down his neck, darting out my tongue and making him jolt. A distant tingle in the back of my mind warned me about being too aggressive, but I managed to shove it away again, sliding my mouth up to his jaw and whispering in his ear, ‘Don’t say anything. Let’s just go to my room.’
He drew back to look at me and I stilled, bracing myself for him to speak anyway and throw me off completely, ruining what could be my only chance for hot, meaningless sex with a guy who lit me up like a bonfire.
But this was Colin Gallagher and he was thankfully on board with meaningless sex. He licked his bottom lip and nodded, dumping me off his lap as he reached over to switch off the camera that I’d completely forgotten about. I flushed to the roots of my hair at the thought of what had been recorded on there, but Colin grinned at me, his eyes a little wild, then he shepherded me bodily out of the room with his hands on my waist, pushing me ahead of him so I nearly tripped.
I hadn’t locked my door – I kept forgetting in this remote hotel with only the team staying – and Colin didn’t hesitate to shove me inside, close the door and then press me back into it, his hands locking mine against the wood near my head, our fingers tangling.
He hesitated for an instant, long enough for me to taste his breath and memorise his heavy-lidded gaze. I was burning to be touched, would probably be afraid of myself if I’d been thinking straight. Even though I strained towards him, he kept my hands clamped against the door, a kick of a smile suggesting he enjoyed my squirming.
‘You sure about this, Kubicka?’
‘Yes!’ I needed him to hurry. My thoughts were pleasantly muddled by the scent of his skin, the pressure of his hands in mine, but there was always a distant bell that could clang and drag me back into overthinking. ‘Please, now!’
His brow rose, but then he came mercifully closer, drawling an inch from my lips, ‘Anything for you.’
9 September, the year before
