Page 18 of Blindsided By You

I like the proximity—but how much I like it is disturbing. I push up from my chair, thinking to put some distance between us—well, as much as is possible in this tiny space. It seems like a good idea, until, sensing my movement, he swivels his head. As I edge past him to place a folder in the filing cabinet, I’m hyper-aware of his eyes level with my legs.

The skirt I chose this morning suddenly feels too short. I feel naked. Exposed.

And I don’t mind at all.

Instead, vanity flares—knowing he’s getting an eyeful of legs sculpted by relentless leg presses and hours on the stair climber. I’m enjoying his heated gaze, wanting it to be more, maybe a hand sliding along my skin, maybe even venturing higher.

But my flush turns from faint warm pink to a surge of ruby-red heat when his gaze travels downward, landing on my feet.

My slippers.

Fluorescent, fuzzy, utterly ridiculous.

It’s a holdover from my early days at Imagine PR, when I first discovered the joy of slipping off my power heels under the desk in favour of something more comfortable. Back then, I knew how to make a discreet swap, maintaining the illusion of professionalism.

Too late now. No salvaging this. Geordie’s gaze flicks back up, long lashes shadowing eyes bright with amusement, dimples pressing into his cheeks.

“Getting to know you all over again definitely has some surprises,” he says, grinning. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

He taps one slipper affectionately, and the simple gesture—casual, familiar, but also intimate—fills me with warmth. Despite knowing so little about each other now, despite our history being mostly fragments of past versions of ourselves, there’s an ease between us. A glow. I can’t deny the happiness that spins off of it.

As Geordie declares the power socket safe, packs up his tools, and heads into the house to check the smoke alarms, it’s all I can do not to follow.

Just to soak up a little more of him.

This is already getting out of hand. And we’ve only just begun.

Chapter 9

GEORDIE

Atfivetonineon Saturday morning, I’m the last one on the bus. Fussing over Mum like an overprotective granny has made me late. Ready-to-eat meals for two in the freezer. Dad-proof instructions tacked to the fridge. Piles of freshly chopped firewood stacked by the hearth. A last-minute refresher course on working the new television and getting the game live. Hopefully, he can follow my instructions.

For an intelligent man, it’s beyond me why technology baffles my father, or why he treats cooking like a dark art. I just hope he gets the television right. Mum’s almost as excited at the prospect of spotting me in the crowd as she might be if I was running onto the pitch to face the mighty All Blacks.

If I thought I could slip past Coach unnoticed, I’ve got another think coming. My mates greet me with a chorus of catcalls. Fortunately, Razor just glances up, giving a nod as if mentally counting the last of his charges on board is his final responsibility for the day, then returns to his newspaper. Or maybe he hasn’t noticed me at all. Maybe he’s found the article Dad read aloud over the breakfast tablethis morning, where they’re talking up Scotland’s chances of a win tonight. Whatever the reason, Razor seems in a good mood.

I scan the length of the bus. It’s spacious and way more luxurious than those of my rugby playing youth. Appropriate for the team destined to win the County rugby competition this season with the famous Robbie Sharpe at the helm. Ours.

Halfway down, I spot her. Jenna. Sitting alone.Alone. No one beside her, across the aisle; hell, not even in the seats in front, or behind. As if she’s a bloody leper and they’ve fenced off the space around her to keep from catching her disease.

Razor spelled it out the first day she showed up, leaning on the fence at the practice field. Back then, wrapped in a big padded jacket, hood up against the unexpected August cold, she might as well have been wearing a Scottish version of a burka. The layers gave no hint of the spectacular curves beneath.

As she glanced across at us, while handing her father some paperwork, was it only me who suspected those eyes, like liquid chocolate, offered a promise of hidden beauty? Now they’ve seen her without the barrier of a puffer jacket, everyone understands the reason for Razor’s threat.

“Any of you horny little bastards so much as look at her…” he’d muttered. Staring each of us in the eye, one by one, waiting for us to nod in acknowledgment, his voice rose to a vicious growl. “Let’s make one thing clear. Just because Jenna’s not paid club staff like at the Highlanders, it doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply. She’s off limits. Bother her, and you’ll answer to me. Touch her, and you’re off the team.”

His words echo in my brain. I shove them aside. Plenty of spare seats, but I know exactly which one I’m taking. If the universe handsme an opportunity to sit next to the woman I’ve obsessed over for a week, I’m not going to spit in its face.

On Saturday night, I thought I imagined it at first—the flicker of interest in her eyes. Then Connor interrupted before I could push beyond small talk. But inside the house, the connection remained. She hadn’t flinched away from my touch, accepting my hand at her waist, my thumb grazing the top of the rounded arse that’s since featured in my dreams. Imagining it pressed hard against my stomach as I stood in the shower…

I force myself to stop. These are not helpful images at this moment.

Beyond the sheer, crippling sexual attraction and my hope for something deeper, Jenna stirs something else in me. She tries so hard to be fiercely independent—and she is—but I feel an instinctive need to take care of her.

It was there from the start. Seeing her raw grief when we spoke of her mother. The sadness, regret, and guilt she shared when I got her alone again. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her it would all be okay.

Then at practice, when Connor spilled the details—jilted a week before her wedding by some bastard who probably traded her for someone else—I had the urge to hunt the fucker down and rip him apart.

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