Page 111 of Breaking Point
My head snaps away from his chest, but only for a moment. Like a magnet, it pulls me right back.
“My turn for what?” I’m practically drooling.
Maybe I am no better than a dog.
Grayson steps forward, all his muscles invading my space so perfectly I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t realize I’m trying to get a whiff of that tantalizing cologne he wears.
“Take off the jersey, Blaze.”
The roughness of his voice, the command—it’s nothing like the soft-spoken, blushing man I’ve seen the past few weeks, but God does my body respond to the deep timbre of his demand. And that name again. What is it about that damn name that makes my stomach flip?
Without a thought, I’m pulling the jersey over my head, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of disappointment in Grayson’s gaze as he finds I kept my long undershirt on beneath the jersey.
Does he want to see me shirtless?
My mind stops working entirely.
Does he find me attractive?
Shaking my head, I stop the train of thought. Of course he doesn’t, we are in an agreement, an agreement in which we have to be a united front and I’ve ruined that tonight by wearing Kieran’s jersey.
This isfake.
The electricity humming beneath my skin and the warmth flooding my belly and the urge to kiss him is entirely one-sided.
But what about the moment in the kitchen?a tiny voice pops up to ask. It’s replaced by another one, one that sends a bucket of ice over my head.
He will leave when this agreement ends.
I stomp on that thought as I hand him the jersey. He tries to give me his shirt in return but I shake my head. “I can just wear my undershirt.”
Grayson frowns at my sudden retreat, and no doubt at the slight coldness in my voice. “You’ll freeze,” he points out.
“It’s a stuffed bar. I’ll be fine.”
I go to move past him, but an arm shoots out, stopping me. Then hands me a balled-up gray T-shirt. “Take the shirt, Bella.”
Slowly turning my head to him, I’m foolish enough to lock my gaze on his blue eyes.
He pushes it into my hands as he pleads softly, “Please put the shirt on, Bella.”
“What are you going to wear?”
His lip twitches. “Worried people will look?”
Scoffing, I still refuse to wrap my fingers around the shirt. “You’re a famous hockey player. They’ll look regardless.”
His brow quirks. “Jealous?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to save you from a headline.”
He drops his head an inch from my lips. “Blaze, we’re already a headline after tonight.”
The kiss cam.
Lifting my chin, I purr, “Then let’s not make it two.”
His eyes narrow.
