Page 67 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Team captain,” he reminded her as he freed her breasts and his shirt in one admittedly impressive maneuver. “Comes with the territory.” The sexy smugness with which he spoke was overloud in her ears, calling every nerve ending to attention.
As if there was any part of her makeup that could ignore what this man was doing to her.
Decidedly not.
But whatever sex-crazed witty rejoinder had been on her lips was tossed aside as Alec shifted on the couch, preparing to undo his fly, while Hugh let out an overloud cry.
With a startled yelp, Marisa threw an arm wide, offsetting her entire equilibrium, as well as Alec’s. Together, they tumbled onto the carpeted floor, her foot clotheslining the contents of the glass coffee table.
Alec’s hand shot out and cupped Marisa’s head to his chest, cushioning what would have been a nasty blow against the table’s edge. Once the rest of her had settled safely, wedged between the soft, high pile and Alec’s broad body, she exhaled through a nervous laugh.
His only response was a sweet kiss to her forehead and a delightful display of tenderness as he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Don’t know why Cal insists on glass furniture, but if it’s stars you want to see, I’d rather my body claim the credit.”
That annoying heat in Marisa’s cheeks returned. “You’re too athletic for your own good.” And mine, apparently.
Alec squeezed her bare hip with his large hand, and a curious concern flitted through his eyes, as if he were trying to uncover a deeper meaning behind her thoughts. “I’m beginning to think that all those years on the pitch, tackling blokes twice my size and running until my lungs ached, was all just conditioning for whatever sort of service you’d need from me. If my strength and agility are what you require, then take it all, Marisa. Give them a purpose. Make them yours.” Then he swallowed, and Marisa marveled as the tendons in his throat shifted in preparation. “Make me yours.”
In all the years she’d been struggling to fulfill other people’s purposes, turning herself inside out to feed their expectations, she’d never imagined what the reverse would feel like. To have requirements of her own and a man like Alec want to fill them. And not just want to fill them, but would eagerly show up and do the work without asking for a list of justifications in return.
She had no idea what to make of his declaration. Any response she could think to push out seemed wholly inadequate.
What she did know was that his statement was needlessly encouraging because her body was already begging for more of his touch.
“I don’t want this to end,” she said, lifting her leg higher so more of her filled his palm, making his eyes take on that unfocused haze she loved to see.
“Don’t worry,” he said, lifting her hand and placing a hungry kiss on her pulse point. “Obsessions never do.”
For the second time in as many minutes, another foreign sound broke through her swoony stupor. This one, however, wasn’t barking. It was crinkling. And sticking to her elbow.
“What the hell?”
Pasted to her sweat-slicked forearm was a single sheet of paper that really shouldn’t have been as sticky as it was. She sniffed the air. “Why do I smell frosting?”
Before Alec could reply, Marisa plucked the intruder from its handhold on her and finally noticed the slew of papers she’d knocked off the coffee table. She gathered them up and couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of her voice. “Is this your latest contract? Printed on my icing sheets?”
Alec scratched the back of his neck. “It was the only paper I had handy, and I wanted to review what Brennan sent over this morning. Because blue light and tiny text give me headaches on a good day, yes, I’m one of the few people under forty on the planet who still print things out to read them.”
“I’m not sure you have any business being adorably defensive.” Marisa sat up, covered her breasts with a nearby throw pillow, and tried not to smile as Alec flipped Hugh off, presumably for good measure, before snatching up a pair of reading glasses that had also managed to go flying.
But Marisa didn’t even have time to imagine how sexy he’d look in black-rimmed spectacles because her misty eyes were too busy blurring every other word of the contract. Her voice thickened with strain as she looked at him and asked, “Is this for real?”
“Aye.” He nodded, his expression full of sincerity. “Argentina’s amenable to my terms. I was going to sign it after the Ball. I’ll still be keeping my flat in England for the time being, might even rent it out as an investment, but once the season starts, I’ll be able to travel a bit more freely when I’m not . . . actively coaching.”
Actively coaching meant living in Argentina, an entire hemisphere and culture away from West Meadow, New Jersey.
“You’re really doing this?” Marisa worked to keep the strain out of her voice but had exactly zero luck now that the tears had begun to fall. “But you’ll be taking a pay cut. You won’t be playing anymore.”
Alec took the papers from her shaking hands, dammit, and set them down on the table, then gave Hugh a big, long side-eye that had the dog slinking off down the hall. Then he pushed the offending table away and pulled her down on top of him.
Something like determination steeled his features, as if she’d hit on a nerve he’d trained himself to deflect. “I’m not choosing Argentina,” he said, his voice gentling. “I’m choosing you.”
Whatever emotions Marisa had been managing to keep at bay roared to life, erupting with a passion that fused their mouths. He rose and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, but it was messy, their actions uncoordinated.
The subtext and intent were real, though, and somehow, that sort of seemed like the crux of all of this.
He was unapologetically and deliciously real. Always had been.
Desperation lit a fire within her belly as she helped him rip off his jeans and whatever inhibitions that still stupidly decided to cling to their bodies. She’d have none of it. Nothing but Alec.
