Page 135 of Falling Offsides

Lush greenery welcomes us through the tree-lined driveway to the gothic entrance of the French castle-like building. I’m completely starstruck with my surroundings. The atmosphere is nothing like the photos I’ve seen before. It’s quiet and laid-back. So low key that some of the apprehension I was feeling about coming here, ebbs away.

There’s no one staring when Auguste pauses in front of the valet and leans in. His fingers delicately untie the scarf from my hair before he twists the frizzy baby curls at the front of my face into a semblance of tidy.

“Mmm… goddamn beautiful,” he muses to himself aloud.

Again, all I can say is, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he snickers back, wrapping the scarf around his hand and then inhaling it.

There’s a content smile on his face when he stuffs it in the inside pocket of his jacket and gets out of the car. The pep in his step evident while he rounds the front of the Lexus and opens my door for me, offering me his hand. And I take it like my life depends on it.

The patio is gorgeous,vaulted arches painted with the vibrant colors and decorated with an array of floral arrangements. All different sizes and in mismatched urns and vases. The light stone has a glow to itfrom all the candles scattered that brings the inside outside—dim, romantic. This is the kind of place where secrets are kept in the shadows. Stolen touches, fleeting kisses.

“We’re the first ones here,” Auguste says, taking my purse and placing it on the table next to his place setting.

His green stare is speckled gold as he tugs me into him. I don’t get time to breathe before he’s on me. His lips crash into mine, and I meet him with everything I’ve got. Tongue, teeth, fingers tugging his jacket open so I can get closer to him. Meanwhile, he’s devouring me all over with his hands.

“Auguste…” I moan into his mouth as his fingers slide under my dress, groping my thighs at first and then raking upwards to the curve of my ass, just barely teasing the tail of my lace underwear.

There’s no way I can control the urge to explore him the way he is exploring my body. My body presses flush to his while my nails rake up his back. I’m enthralled by the push and pull of his hard muscles beneath my fingertips. Addicted to the friction of our bodies seeking more and more of each other out.

“This is a dangerous game, Snow,” he mutters against my lips with a growl, fingers twisting into the sides of my thong like he’s about to tear it off me.

“You started it.”

A hand yanks free of my underwear, cupping the back of my neck while his rough thumb tangles in my curls. “I’m gonna end it too.”

My stare darts up to his. Holding. Waiting. Anticipating where and when and how. Because I need it so much. There isn’t a part of me that isn’t yearning for him to make me feel good—to rough me up with his lust and longing.

And then—like some cosmic joke—the music shifts from quaint background to a darker, heavier beat. Languid and throbbing along to the pulse of my yearning in my core.

Auguste pulls back, breathless. A grin on his full lips when he says, “Dance with me.”

I want to say no. That I can’t move. That if he keeps touching me, I’ll implode. His family will arrive any moment…

Still, I take his hand, and suddenly, he’s swaying us slowly. His arms surround me. My cheek presses to his chest. The music wrapping around us like a secret.

In a purposeful maneuver, his knee pushes between my thighs. Witha roll of his body, his thigh slots to my aching center. Every time he moves us, the friction sends a frisson of white-hot need through me.

Nothing else matters when we’re this close. To each other. To unraveling.

All that’s going through my mind are the words he told me earlier: I like you a lot. You’re somebody to me.

Engulfed in his arms, his body rutting and grinding with mine to the music, it’s easy to forget I have no business being anything to him. Easy to forget I’m leaving soon. In this moment, we’re not on borrowed time. We’re forever.

Tilting my head back, I palm his jaw, urging his face to mine. Rough lips to mine.

His stare is holding mine, waiting for me to take or to ask… to beg like he asked me if I am willing to do.

The answer was yes then and it’s yes now.

“Kiss me.” I gasp when his mouth parts, teasing me. “Kiss me like you mean it. Like… like…”

“Like?” The heat of his breath swells in my throat. “Like what, Court?”

“Like I really am somebody to you… and… and you like me… a lo?—”

I don’t get to finish the sentence or the thought preparing me for his assault. It’s instant. Merciless.

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