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She stripped off her clothes and headed in the direction of the running water.
Opening the bathroom door, she could see him in the shower stall. He held a disposable razor in one hand and one of her cosmetic mirrors with the other. As he shaved, she slipped up behind him and rested her hands on his hips and her cheek on his back.
When he reached for the shampoo, she stopped him and instead poured a dollop into the palm of her hand and went to work massaging his hair.
He tilted his head back in order to help her reach. And after several moments, he said, “Ah, Sera. Are we going for round two here?”
“Feels good?” she murmured.
“Feels great.”
“Mmm.” She could feel her body humming and vibrating to life.
“How about you go to work on the ache that’s flared up?”
Her brow puckered. “Your knee is bothering you?”
“Right now, I could use your hands on me, Angel.”
Concerned, she rinsed the suds from his hair and then bent down to place her hands on his knee.
Laughing, Jordan grasped her arm and pulled her up and around to face him.
Immediately, she realized he was aroused. “I thought you said your knee injury was bothering you.”
He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I didn’t mention my knee, but I’m aching in other ways.”
She realized she felt the same.
When had she started agreeing with him?
Eleven
Jordan couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d always stuck to casual relationships. What was the saying about best-laid plans?
The sex...it had been fantastic. Mind-blowing, even though that sounded trite. She’d been so responsive, and he’d been able to relieve a sexual frustration that had gone on forever—building up to the breaking point at his cousin’s wedding, of all places. Not that he felt relief—now he itched to spend every moment with her.
He’d fantasized about her last night, reliving their evening together, except he’d woken aroused...and to an empty bed. Still, the memories had been vivid. The way she’d looked at the moment of her release—her back arched, her breath coming audibly between parted lips, her eyes half-closed.
Jordan almost groaned aloud, shifted on the bar stool and tightened his grip on his beer. He took a deep breath. If he wasn’t careful, he’d embarrass himself or race to find Sera.
Usually weddings like the one the other day were a reminder that he wasn’t looking to make a serious commitment himself. He liked his life just fine. At his cousin’s ceremony, though, every thought had fallen by the wayside except getting closer to the woman he’d wanted to seduce.
He was pensive this evening even though he’d come to the Puck & Shoot to relax. He couldn’t even manage more than dist
racted conversation with Vince, who occupied the next stool.
On days like today, he had to wonder whether the whole sports celebrity gig was worth it. Because, on top of it, while he’d gotten a reprieve from the press during the off-season and because he was out of commission with a bad knee, lately they’d acted up again.
“Serenghetti.” Marc Bellitti slapped him on the back as he walked up. “It’s good to see you nearly looking like your old self.”
“Yup.” Jordan took a swig of his beer.
“Sera must be miracle worker.” Marc flashed a grin. “She almost makes me want to have a bum knee.”
Jordan’s hand tightened on his drink again—because he had a sudden inexplicable urge to get in Marc’s face. Once, not so long ago, he’d been like his teammate—unable to remember names, but always able to recall a pretty face and a body to match. But things had changed. He’d changed. Maybe it was the injury, maybe it was Sera, maybe it was the two together. After all, he had her to thank for his amazing recovery.
Marc propped his forearm against the bar. “You haven’t even glanced at the blonde at table six throwing hot-and-heavy looks your way. So I have to say you’re only nearly back to normal.”
