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Annabelle
As I slide onto the cool leather seat of the ridiculously big white stretch limo Declan rented for the evening, I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that this dress dips so low in the back there was absolutely no way I could wear even the tiniest thong under it. I’m also aware that feeling the heat rolling off Declan Sinclair while he stood behind me and told me that I was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen has me drenched.
For Declan Sinclair!
Holy shit, I’m so screwed.
This is Natalie’s brother. Of course, I think he’s sex on a stick because, well, who doesn’t? Seriously, he brings tall, dark, and handsome to a whole new level. He’s a nice guy because he’s a Sinclair, and while Nattie’s mom seems like a whack-a-doo, the rest of them are salt of the earth, amazing people. He’s so sweet to my brother. He probably even helps little old ladies cross the damn street too.
I didn’t need to know that feeling his breath on my bare skin was going to wake up something that’s been lying dormant for two damn years.
Need.
Yearning.
Desire.
Dec slides in next to me, has a quick conversation with the driver, then leans back and smiles.
Damn. That smile...
“Do you want a glass of champagne? I think there’s a stocked bar back here somewhere.” He pushes a button, and a cabinet opens. There’s a bottle of champagne already chilling in an ice bucket next to a few cans of soda, bottled water, and a few bottles of top-shelf liquor all above a tiny refrigerator stocked with bottles of beer. “Ladies choice.”
“Sure. Why not? I’ll take a glass of champagne.” I quickly check my phone to make sure there are no missed calls or texts from Nattie. I guess that means Tommy’s okay so far.
I offer up a silent prayer. Please let him be okay tonight.
Declan pops the cork on the champagne and angles the bubbles spilling out of it away from us before handing me a crystal flute. He raises his glass, holding it there until I do the same. “A toast.”
I angle myself to face him. “What are we toasting?”
“To you.”
“Declan...” I drag out his name.
Damn him. Those full lips tip up on one side, giving me the sexiest smile. I swear I want to straddle his lap right here, right now.
“To you, Annabelle Hart. Thank you for saving me from what would have been an excruciating night without you.” He touches his flute to mine, takes a small sip, and then holds it down at his side.
I nod toward the flute. “Not into champagne?”
“I don’t drink during the season.” There’s no hesitation in his voice.
“Mind if I ask why?”
“I keep to a pretty strict diet. I want to keep my body as healthy as possible so I can play the game as long as I want to. That means staying in peak condition. Part of that is what I put into my body.” His eyes linger on mine. “You were a professional dancer. I’d imagine you couldn’t eat whatever you wanted or do whatever you wanted without it effecting your performance.”
I sip my champagne and enjoy the sweet bubbles as they tickle my throat. “True. But that was a long time ago.”
“It’s still the same thing. When your career is based on your physical ability, you have to take care of yourself. Now, I’m not saying everyone agrees with me. Half the guys on the team eat shit and booze it up all season, but they’ll be the guys who have careers that span the average length for the league.”
I have to ask. “How long does the average player get to play?”
“Three years.” Declan leans forward and places his champagne flute in a cup holder before facing me fully. “They train all their lives and only get three years.”
I tilt my head and study this man who is a contradiction in confidence and self-consciousness. Cockiness and modesty. “And how long do you want to play, Dec?”
“Twenty years.”
