Page 6 of Playing It Forward

I blot her shoulders with the napkins to dry her. She giggles. “I didn’t spill any beer there.”

I hand her the napkins. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m coming onto you. You said no.”

She begins to blot her chest with the napkins. “And yet you followed me and shoved me into a closet.”

“I didn’t…” I trail off when she bursts into laughter.

She points to my face. “You should see yourself.”

I groan. “Fantastic. I’m getting roasted by a woman who’s holding cocktail napkins against her boobs.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “To be fair, you did trap me in a closet.”

“I was trying to help. Clearly, I should leave helping to professionals.”

“You’re leaving?”

I pause. The question slipped out too quickly. Did she not mean to speak aloud?

My gaze catches hers. There it is again. The spark from the beach bar. Does she want me as much as I want her?

This is dangerous territory. I retreat a step when all I want to do is rush forward.

“You already turned me down once tonight,” I say quietly. “I’m not going to push.”

For the first time since I followed her across the resort, she doesn’t sass back at me. The silence stretches between us in the cramped closet.

Her eyes drift to my mouth. Mine drop to the tiny strip of skin visible above her bra.

“I should go clean up the glass,” she says softly, but she doesn’t move.

“Probably,” I agree, but I don’t move either.

She laughs. She sounds nervous. “This is ridiculous.”

“A little.”

“You’re standing in a supply closet staring at me in my bra.”

“I’m trying very hard not to.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“You have no idea.”

Her glance drops to below my belt where my cock – hard and heavy – is pressing against my zipper. It’s impossible to miss.

She steps closer and touches my shirt. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

With her gaze focused on my mouth, she pushes up on her toes. I meet her halfway. My mouth crashes against hers. She sighs and I thrust my tongue inside. She tastes of beer and strawberries and something sparkly.

I groan before lifting her up and pressing her against the door. The moment her arms slide around my neck, something inside me snaps. Suddenly, nothing matters except the feel of her beneath my hands, the soft gasp against my mouth, and the way she clings to me. She wants this as desperately as I do.

Chapter 3

Baked potatoes are significantly less complicated than football players.

Terri