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Her eyes open. Is that aflushI detect across her cheeks? “You wish.”
My blood courses with pride and pleasure at seeing her flustered. I do fucking wish. “I’ll set everything up. All you have to do is be there.” My expression turns wicked. “And stand still when I make out with you.”
She rolls her eyes, and her cheeks are absolutely going pink.
CHAPTER16
RORY
When I arrivefor the team dinner at the old mansion in Shaughnessy, a notoriously wealthy, old-money neighborhood in Vancouver, I notice two things.
The first is that Hartley looks fucking stunning.
I stand in the foyer, slack-jawed and staring at her in her navy-blue gown while my heart races. Hazel Hartley is the most beautiful woman I know. My throat knots as I try to swallow.
Between that crystal dragon that she obviously liked but wouldn’t admit, the dress, and the envelope tucked in my tux jacket, I’m becoming addicted to spending money on her.
The second thing I notice is that fuckface, McKinnon, circling her like a vulture. He stands two feet away, talking to her while she looks disinterested. His eyes rake over her, lingering on the perfect swell of her cleavage.
He cheated on me the whole time. Everyone knew but me.
My tongue taps my upper lip as jealousy and possessiveness charge through me. Players greet me as I move toward her, but I hardly notice.
Our argument on Wednesday showed me how much I have to lose with her, and I’m not going to give up.
“Hazel.” My voice is low. Her eyes widen, either because I’m using her first name or because my hand now rests on her low back in a way that shows everyone in the room she’s mine. “You look beautiful,” I tell her, and my heart pounds as I lower my mouth to hers.
She inhales sharply, and for the longest moment of my life, I worry she might push me off, but she melts against me, kissing me back, and in my chest, something locks into place.
CHAPTER17
HAZEL
Rory Miller kisses me,and the world tilts below my feet. His stubble scrapes my skin, making my breath catch. Kissing him is so different from what I expected.
His mouth is a gentle press against mine, his exhale is soft against my skin, and his fingers trail across my jaw before sinking into my hair. His movements are slow, unhurried. I’d say he was reluctant if it weren’t for the way his tongue slips past my lips and lightly strokes me.
The breath whooshes out of my lungs, and I realize I’m gripping the front of his shirt in my fist. His fingers flex for a split second on the back of my hair, and he covers my hand on his chest, flattening it against him. Everything about him is warm, inviting, and comforting.
Nothing makes sense right now, but he smells so good—sandalwood and something clean, like body wash—and the sensation of his stubble brushing my chin is so enjoyable that I stop trying to figure this moment out. The way he smells pulls on a muscle low in my belly.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself against my lips before his tongue glides against mine.
He grips the back of my hair—still gentle, still careful—and pulls. Rory kisses me like he’s been thinking about this for a long time, and as sparks shoot over my skin at the feel of his hand in my hair, I make a quiet noise of pleasure against his lips.
He huffs. “Liked that, huh?”
His words rumble against my hand on his chest. I open my mouth to say something smart and sharp, but he strokes back inside, licking into me.
This isn’t just a kiss. My head spins with the pleasure of his lips against mine, the way he tastes, the way he feels and smells.
In some dark corner of my mind, I wonder if this is how he’d use his tongue between my legs. The muscles there clench, and I nip his bottom lip. Under my palm, his heart beats fast.
I pull back to look at him, and my stomach flutters as our eyes lock. He looks wildly handsome. It’s unfair how his blue eyes pop against the inky black and crisp white of his tux, and it’s unfair how he can look so boyishly handsome and yet powerful and masculine at the same time. His hair is in that perfectly messy, just-fucked style that he pulls off so well. The sides are cleaned up like he snuck out to get a haircut this afternoon, and my fingers itch to trace the short hairs, feel the tickle of them under my nails.
Someone clears their throat and I snap back to reality.
Pippa and Jamie stare at us with the same amused expression, and Connor is nowhere to be found. My face heats and I run a finger along my lip line to make sure nothing smeared. Beside me, Rory shifts, breathing hard. Our eyes meet and warmth pulses between my legs at the glazed look in his eyes. We both look away again.
