Page 60 of Flag On The Play
Instead, I stop cold.
My breath catches.
Finlay is sitting there.
Holy shit.
He’s sprawled across the plush leather couch, legs spread, arms draped across the backrest, wearing a fitted black button-down that hugs every inch of his broad chest.
His eyes lock on mine, and the cocky grin that stretches across his face has my knees going weak.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
I blink. “You’re supposed to be in Seattle.”
“We flew back this morning.”
He gestures around. “Thought I’d come see my girl.”
His girl.
The words hit me like a soft blow to the chest.
I walk toward him, heart hammering, pulse skittering like a damn hummingbird. “So you just showed up?”
He shrugs. “Needed to see if you were as distracting in person as you were on the phone.”
I sit beside him, my thigh brushing his. He smells like spice and soap and the very definition of trouble. “And?”
He leans in, voice low and dangerous. “Worse. Way worse.”
My lips curve. “That a complaint, Reed?”
“Not even close.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls something out, and presses it into my palm.
A small heart charm for my bracelet. It’s delicate, elegant, nothing flashy.
My throat tightens. “What’s this?”
“A reminder,” he murmurs. “That I’m not going anywhere. That no matter where I am, on the field, in a hotel room, across the damn country, you’ve got me.”
The club is loud, but somehow, all I hear is my heartbeat. All I feel is his hand on mine.
“You came all this way just to tell me that?”
He leans closer, lips brushing my ear.
“No, baby. I came to make sure you felt it.”
I’m overwhelmed with everything I’m feeling, but before I can make sense of any of it, he pulls me onto his lap, his big hands settling on my hips like they belong there.
He brushes the damp hair off my face, his gaze locked on mine.
“I also couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside you,” he growls, his voice nothing but gravel and need.
And then he slams his mouth to mine.
