Page 48 of Double Play

But still, I hesitate, tugging tighter at the two ends of the belt instead of loosening them. I turn my head toward the bedroom door once more before I hear movement on the mattress.

Turning back toward Declan, he sits upright and reaches for the knot of the belt. With his fingers in the loop, he says, “We don’t have to do a single thing, India. If you’re nervous because of Montgomery.”

“I just don’t⁠—”

“Truth.” He pauses, untwisting the knot. “I want you to stay.” With that, he unloops the belt and starts at the bottom of the coat to unbutton the large brown fasteners.

With each opening, like slowly peeling back flower petals, a little more of what I’m wearing underneath is revealed.

I feel silly seducing a man with a teenager across his apartment, until he sucks in his breath and coasts his hands up the side of my thighs, over my hips, and beneath my breasts. Still seated, he cups the heavy, achy swells, forcing them upward.

“Dear God, please stay.”

“And you won’t touch me?” I arch a brow.

He pulls his hands back so quickly I almost tumble into him, not realizing I’d been leaning so heavily into his touch.

I catch his wrists. “Maybe just a little touching,” I tease, bringing his hands back to my belly.

“Pure wildfire,” he hisses, before leaning forward and sucking at one of my breasts, right over the silky material.

“Tell me you feel like a goddess in this thing.” He moves to my other breast, sucking the peaked nipple poking at the smooth fabric.

“I feel like a goddess,” I whisper. Especially around you.

Declan stands, forcing me back only half an inch, before pressing the too-warm-for-July trench coat off my shoulders. As it pools on the floor, he wraps his arms around my lower back and falls to his back on the mattress, taking me with him.

We’re lucky we don’t knock heads, but the thought disappears as he rolls us to our sides and kisses me once more like he hasn’t seen me in days when it’s been just over twenty-four hours.

I don’t complain. I feel as desperate for him.

Lying on our sides, Declan breaks our kiss and runs his fingertip along the side of my neck.

“How was your day?”

I chuckle softly. This can’t be what he really wants to talk about. Then I see the tenderness in his eyes as he watches his fingertip skate along my collarbone. He flips his gaze up to my face.

“Oh. Umm . . .” Does he really want to know? My brows pinch and Declan runs the tip of his index finger along the divot.

“Truth.” He smiles, easing my discomfort.

“I interviewed a fan about the nachos in the stadium today.”

Declan’s brows crease in return. “O-kay.”

“I know, right?” I huff. “Nachos. I mean, I’m not a food critic even if I consider myself a connoisseur of nachos.”

“Is there such a thing? A nacho aficionado?” He chuckles, kissing my neck and inhaling against my skin.

“Yes,” I blurt a little too loudly. “No liquid cheese. Only the real deal, melted. And equal parts beef and toppings, like tomatoes, olives, and green onions. Minimal jalapenos.”

“Minimal jalapenos?” he hums against my collarbone. “Blasphemy.”

“And then, the sour cream and guacamole in a one-to-one ratio.”

He smiles against my throat. “Sounds delicious.”

“It’s not field reporting.”