Page 72 of Drop the Mitts

His hands skimmed her thighs, her hips, her ribs, until he was tugging the shirt over her head and tossing it somewhere into the dark. Her skin was soft and flushed, goosebumps blooming everywhere he touched.

Their mouths crashed together, frantic now, messy and open and starving.

She pulled his shirt off in return, her hands exploring like she was memorizing muscle and bone, fingers curling against his shoulder blades as she gasped into his mouth.

He rolled, hovering, pressing a kiss to her throat, to her collarbone, to the delicate line beneath her ear.

“André,” she murmured, and his lungs struggled for air.

Their limbs tangled beneath the sheets, hot and slick. Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, and that time, she didn’t stop. He fumbled with the edge of her shorts, his mind going blissfully blank.

André sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and tumbled with her over the edge.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Grace

The next morning,Grace stared straight ahead, hands folded tight in her lap. The truck hummed along the highway, snow swirling in lazy gusts past the windshield, the wipers thumping in a steady rhythm. The inside smelled like Hope’s baby wipes, Jenna’s morning coffee, andhim.

She couldn’t get a single second from the night before out of her head. The feel of him in the dark. The sound of his voice murmuring against her ear.You with me?

Oh, she’d been with him.

Twice.

Then Grace woke up early and escaped to the breakfast buffet before he stirred. Not that she was embarrassed, she just didn’t know what to say. Had she been thinking clearly the night before? Yes. And no.

All of it had been exactly what she wanted in the moment, but in the light of day, her mind spiralled out of control. What now? Was he going to move on now that he got what he wanted? Washe going to want to do it again? She sure as hell did, and that’s what scared her the most.

Now André sat two feet away, his hand—the hand that had explored every inch of her body—resting on his thigh.

Jenna and Country chatted in the backseat, soft and easy. Hope gurgled between them in her carseat.

Grace couldn’t breathe.They’d slept together.He hadn’t pushed, not in the least. If anything, she’d been the instigator. She’d gone to bed without a bra knowing full-well what that meant. She’d reached her hand to his, touched him first.

Right that second she wanted to reach over and run her fingers down the vein in his forearm. She pressed her nails into her palm instead.

What was in his head?She’d been clear, hadn’t she? André had been the one to suggest they make thingsfun. She’d only taken him up on his offer.

But that didn’t explain why he hadn’t looked her way once since they got in the truck. Was he pissed she’d left that morning? Had he expected them to wake up and cuddle?

The silence between them crackled while the miles ticked by. Endless highway. A straight shot south to Calgary. Country was mid-story about a player busted for vaping in the locker room at the tournament when he leaned forward and patted the back of André’s seat.

“Hey, proud of you, man. What’s this now? Nine days? Ten?”

André made a noise low in his throat, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Eight. But who’s counting?”

Grace blinked. “Counting what?”

André didn’t look at her.

“Nicotine.” Country grinned. “This guy’s off it. First time in years.”

Grace’s head whipped around so fast her hair slapped her cheek. She stared at him. “Wait. What?”

André kept his gaze on the road.

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