Page 68 of Scoring the Player
I can’t think.
His scent sends my pulse into a frenetic spin.
Drawstring…throat.
“Hey.” His eyebrows crease. “What’s wrong?”
“Please.” I want to melt into the floor as soon as the word slips past my lips.
I don’t beg.
“What?” he murmurs, lifting my chin.
God, those eyes.Beyond their warmth, ferocity, and intelligence, something terrifying stares back at me.
Notsomething. An offer.
It’s a mystery, the easy recognition of what I’ve never known. I was raised under the exacting hand of cruelty, so it’s no surprise that I recoil from it.
Devotion.
A suffocating promise with its risen chest, iron back, and pledge of quiet sacrifice.
“Those wheels are spinning too fast,” he says.
And on loosely screwed axles.
What am I doing?“I need to g?—”
“No.” His lips lower to mine, a gentle brush before he pulls back. “Stop running from me.”
I don’t know how.
I mean to push him away, but my legs spread, and my mouth takes over, hungry for another taste. I fight with his belt, faintly aware that I’m being undone too.
“Wait,” he breathes, pulling back. He stares down at me and drags his thumb across his lips.
I reach for him, but instead of covering me again, he lies next to me.
He doesn’t answer or react to my stare.
I follow his gaze to the overhead fresco.
Meh.
Mythical men immortalized in stone and ivory are no match for his sun-dipped, sinewy expanse and sculpted proportions.
I flinch when his hand reaches into my pocket and fishes out Rocco’s card and the server’s phone number and then rips them up.
I grin.He saw all that?
“I blame your face.” He groans. “Way too many complementary features. Or the tats and the sexy lilt that screams ‘I’m badder than death.’
I snort. “I wasn’t planning to call either of them.”
After a moment of silence, he asks, “What about me? Were you planning to call me?”
I return to staring at the ceiling. “I tried. A few times a day. I didn’t know what to say.”
