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Fuck.

Seven words.

That's all it takes to make a grown man who gets paid to take hits from two-hundred-pound defensemen forget how to breathe.

I set my fork down.

“Come here.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That's not a very compelling argument.”

I grin. “Smartass.”

She laughs but leans toward me anyway.

I reach across the island, cup both her cheeks in my hands, and draw her closer. Her smile fades when she sees my expression.

“Hayes?”

I inhale slowly, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones.

There are a hundred things I want to tell her.

That I've spent years convincing myself I could live without her.

That I don't know when she stopped being the girl I had to stay away from and became the woman I can't stop reaching for.

That I'm starting to want things I've never let myself imagine.

But none of those words make it past my throat.

So I kiss her.

Deeply.

With every bit of emotion I've been trying like hell to keep under control.

Her fingers curl around my wrists, and she kisses me back like she understands exactly what I'm struggling to say.

It's not hurried. It's not about getting her upstairs or finding the nearest flat surface.

It's about her.

About this impossible woman who walked into my life years ago and somehow became the center of it without either of us noticing.

When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes.

Jesus.

I'm so fucking gone for this girl.

“What was that for?” she whispers.

I open my eyes.