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“Her lips taste better than a funnel cake and an ice cream cone rolled into one,” he drawls. “I miss that taste already and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”
His eyes are locked on mine. As if on cue, we both lean forward. Seconds before our lips touch, he asks, “Why did you really come here tonight?”
Truth? Or lie? I chew on the edge of my lip, debating.
“I wanted to tell you our first column ran today.” That’s the truth. But it’s not why I’m here.
“You could’ve texted me that information.” His finger swipes my cheek.
“The response is really good. Mia says the sooner we have the second article up the better. That’s why the deadline’s so tight.”
“Are you trying to turn me off?” His eyebrows sink in mock contemplation.
“Sorry. I’m nervous.”
“Why’s that?” His fingers stroke down my throat and play along the scoop neck of my shirt. His tickling touch is sensuous.
“I’m afraid you’ll tell me no again.” Whoa. Truth. Bomb. I blink in surprise, hardly able to believe I said that out loud.
“Where do you see this going, Kitty Cat? Other than to my bedroom.”
I can’t repress a shiver at the mention of his bedroom. I offer a meek one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t expect you to care where it went. Aren’t you the love-’em-leave-’em type?”
“If you believe the tabloids.”
“What about the other girls during the ‘off’ days with your girlfriend?” I suck in a breath as his fingers whisper over my chest and then to my ribs. He takes my coffee and sets both of our cups on the low table in front of us.
“Talking about work and my ex-girlfriend are surefire ways to erase the chubby I’m working on.” He smiles. “Guessing that’s not the direction you want it to go.”
I grin, averting my gaze from his. He’s too close. The moment is too intense. Maybe this is a bad idea…
“Up,” he instructs, tugging my shirt to my bra and nudging my arms.
Obediently, I raise my arms and my soft cotton shirt is on the floor a moment later. His eyes linger on my black lace bra.
“Tell me you’re wearing matching underwear.”
“It’s a secret,” I whisper, my nerves fading.
So what if we work together? So what if my feminist friends throw me off a bridge? I can’t think about repercussions now. Not when everything feels this right. We’re acting on instincts alone—or at least I am.
“Fox? Why do I have the feeling you’re the one who’s overthinking?”
“I don’t want you to wake up in the morning with regrets.”
“Hello? I don’t regret last night.”
“That was just a warm-up.” His words are a warning. I clinch my thighs together in delicious anticipation.
“Are you so potent that I won’t be able to resist you after one night?”
A smile curls his lips. “I sure as fuck hope so.”
Chapter 18
Barrett
In a black bra and jeans, her dark hair tumbling over her slight shoulders, Catarina Everhart is a fucking knockout. I don’t say that lightly. It’s true I have a broad appreciation for the opposite sex, including the female ref I spouted off at during an intense moment of the game.
