Page 88 of Breakaway

He stared at her, then rubbed his face. The lost look on his face almost did her in, but she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“Sit down.” She pointed to the arm chair. “And talk.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, god, Jase. I saw the newspaper article. You were arrested! You barely played half of the game Monday night and then you got in a fight and took a stupid penalty and cost your team the game.”

He winced.

She was just getting started. “So you didn’t call me. Fine. We don’t owe each other anything. Really. All I wanted to know was that you were okay. Then you call and don’t say a word about what happened. Then I see that in the paper and watch you blow the game—I was worried about you!”

She pushed her bangs off her forehead and blew out a long breath. That had actually felt pretty good. Except she was still worried sick about him.

Jase sat in the chair, not saying a word, hands on the armrests.

“What’s this all about? Tell me. Did you freak out after you asked me to move in with you?”

He stared at her.

“’Cause if you did, just stop. We didn’t even talk about it. I don’t know if I evenwantto move in with you. It was no reason to go nuts.”

“That’s not it,” he said in a low voice.

His shoulders slumped and again she went all soft and warm inside, wanting to throw herself into his lap and hug him and make him feel better.

“Then what is it?”

“You were worried about me?”

“Of course I was!”

She shook her head.

His lips pressed together he nodded and sat forward, head bowed. Then he lifted his head. “I never thought you’d be worried about me.”

She sank down onto the couch, legs feeling woolly soft. “I love you, Jase. Of course I’d be worried about you.”

“Oh, fuck.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Sorry, Remi. I should’ve called you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry you read about that in the paper. I was an idiot. But it’s done.”

She shook her head, not convinced this wasn’t some major crisis.

“That’s it,” she said slowly. “Were you celebrating that night? At Sage?”

“Celebrating?” His laugh cracked. “Hell. Yeah. Sure. Celebrating.”

All she could do was sit there and look at him.

“C’mere, Remi. Please.” He held out a hand and despite her practical, sane, sensible nature, she rose off the couch and went over to him. He tugged her down onto his lap and she snuggled in against him, so big and warm and strong. His hands tightened on her body and he buried his face against her hair. She felt his chest rise and fall with his breathing, faster than usual, felt his heart thudding beneath her palm.

“I need you,” he whispered. “So much.”

She nodded against him, then lifted her head. She didn’t realize she was crying until his mouth touched hers and they both felt the wetness. He groaned and used his fingertips to wipe away her tears as they kissed.

“Don’t cry, Remi. Please don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”

How could he say that? More tears squeezed out of her eyes, despite the kisses he laid on her mouth, his hands holding her face.

The kisses grew hotter, their need for each other accelerated. Their hands roamed over each other’s bodies, sliding beneath clothes to find skin, his finding her breasts, hers gliding over the satiny muscles of his back.

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