Page 82 of Forbidden Puck
I clapped my hands with excitement. “Nowyou're talking.”
“Then we'd better get up.”
We staggered out of bed, both of us bleary-eyed and exhausted. My skin was covered in a salty, sticky glaze—a reminder of last night's marathon love-making session. We'd truly done italluntil the sun came up.I liked to think that I was making up for lost time, and making sure my 'first time' was plenty memorable.
But it was a new day, and that meant a new start. I took a shower, and when I emerged fresh and clean and soft, Ryan was waiting for me in his bedroom with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Here you go,” he said, passing the mug to me. “My turn to shower.”
Ryan showered and dressed in a hurry, magically transforming into a crisp, clean-shaven, and devastatingly handsome man who, in another fantastically fitting suit, could've graced GQ's cover. Minus the slightly swollen black eye, anyway.
“You ready?” he asked me.
“Yep.” I took his arm. “You lookdashing, by the way.”
“And you look lovely.”
The plan was to eat brunch and spend the rest of afternoon in downtown Boston. We'd go to the airport from there, so I had to pack my bags to bring with us. I felt a sadness in the air that we were going to leave each other so soon.
Ryan carried my bags, and we took the elevator down to the lobby. We waited at the curb outside for the valet to return with Ryan's car. It almost slipped my mind that he would have a car, but,duh,of course he'd have a car.
While we waited for the valet to deliver his car from the parking garage, I tapped my chin and wondered what sort of car Ryan drove. I imagined a brightly-colored exotic sports car that would come roaring up the garage ramp, tires screeching to a halt in front of us, the engine's idle a menacing, organ-rattling hum. He was a professional athlete, after all, and that was the kind of exuberantly tacky stuff they filled their lives with to show their status.
But when the valet emerged with Ryan's car, I was pleasantly surprised to see a perfectly modest cobalt-blue BMW coupe. A fancy car, no doubt, but not one that screamedrich millionaire athlete.
“What a nice car!” I told him.
“Thanks.”
Ryan got his keys from the valet, gave the young man a tip, and opened my door for me. The cabin was infused with that 'new car smell,' and the comfortable black leather seats were taut and pristine.
“Is this car new?” I asked.
“I got it three years ago. When I signed my contract with the Brawlers.”
“Wow, it still looks and smells new.” I ran my fingers over the smooth and flawless dashboard. He'd obviously taken good care of it.
Ryan put the car in gear and off we went. He mused, maybe a little self-consciously, “I don't drive a bright red Lamborghini like Lance does.”
“No, but Lance is loud and obnoxious, and he needs a car that projects those qualities out into the world. This? This suits you. It's classy and luxurious and elegant on the surface, but it packs a lot ofrawrunder the hood.”
Ryan laughed. “Nice. I like that—a lot ofrawr.”
“Not to mention … sex appeal.” I reached over to his lap and walked my hand across his built thighs, teasing the long bulge that thickened down one leg of his pants.
“Damn, Ella. Don't get me too worked up …”
“You don't want to walk into your posh brunch spot with a raging boner?” I giggled.
Ryan shook his head and stifled a laugh. “Man. See. Youknowyou're bad, don't you.”
“Maybe.”
I snuck my hand into his lap and started rubbing his length.
“Oh, God,” he sighed. “That's so good …”
But then there was a buzzing in his pocket, against my hand. It was his cell phone. I fished into his pocket for it and handed it to him.
