Page 83 of Love & Heart Braking

A slow grin spread over his lips. “It’s a big problem, I agree. Why sit here like this when we could be… more comfortable?”

“My thoughts exactly,” I said demurely. “I’ll be the Deities.”

He tilted his head. “The team with a batter that just missed three times?”

What? I checked the screen.

Devereaux leaned forward, lips at my ear. “Your belt.”

Dang. Off to a good start. I unbuckled the belt around my waist and pulled it free of the loops on my shirt dress. Devereaux held his hand out, and I slapped the belt down with more than necessary force.

His grin widened.

Eyes challenging, I lifted my cookie and took a bite.

The teams switched, and I’d just finished my cookie when a batter took off around the bases and the crowd roared.

“Home run,” I mused. It was possible that I’d chosen the wrong team. “Looks like I’ll need to take these heels off.”

“The shoes stay on,” he purred. “That dress though. You’ll be much cooler without it.”

“So thoughtful.” My heart picked up tempo.

Standing, I unbuttoned my dress all the way, then brushed back my hair with both hands, so the ends gaped open—my version of his long coat flashing.

A growl slipped from him. Devereaux ran his cool gray gaze over my heels and legs to my nude panties before continuing over the flat of my stomach to my breasts. I wasn’t a woman who needed a push-up bra, but I’d worn one for the occasion anyway. The plunge bra had a tie front, and he eyed the nude ribbons. I could almost hear him wondering how easy loosening said ribbons would be.

His gaze met mine.

I slipped out of the dress and tossed it to him.

Devereaux lifted the dress to his nose, inhaling deeply.

Heat flushed my chest, but I sat again, crossing my legs.

“It’s a tragedy that you wear clothes,” he told me, never more serious.

I cocked a brow. “The gods were fond of their tragedies.”

Devereaux trailed his fingers over my thigh, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the slightly rough sensation that soothed as much as it agitated.

Around us, the breeze whistled slightly, the air warming as it hit the charm.

Another inning rolled by.

“Best pitcher in the league,” Devereaux said during a lull in our conversation.

Oh yeah? A centaur could be doing an upright jig, and I wouldn’t have known. My entire focus was on his hand that remained firm on my thigh. His touch was doing things to me.

“That a strikeout to you,” he said not long after. “What’s it gonna be?”

I studied the berserker. “Your chest.”

Devereaux’s lips twitched. “You want me to take my chest off?”

“Your shirt, I mean.”

A rumble filled him, and he released his claim on my thigh to draw his shirt off in the hot-guy way, reaching a hand back overhead. I feasted my eyes on his tight abdomen and then the expanse of his firm chest. Three years cursed was a fair exchange for this sight.

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