Page 47 of Summer Affair
Finding himself uncharacteristically nervous, he cupped the bill of his ball cap, then asked himself what the hell he was doing. Clay didn’t get nervous—ever. Around his opponents, the press, and especially not around women.
Giving himself a mental check, he started to knock when the front door opened.
Jillian.
Even in bare feet, sweats, and a light dusting of flour, she looked beautiful. Her face was fresh, her hair in a ponytail, and her bright smile made his chest tighten.
“Come here.” She slid her small hand into his and tugged him down the steps and around to the side yard. In a move that he didn’t see coming, she fisted her hands into his shirt and tugged him against her. And then—
Then …
Holy Christ, then.
The sweetest woman he’d ever met was kissing him in a way that could never be defined as sweet. Oh no, she was kissing him long and heated and—
And …
Her tongue boldly explored his mouth. And if there was any lingering doubt about this non-verbal communication, she sank her teeth into his lower lip and grinned.
He opened his eyes, and she was looking up at him through her lashes, her expression dialed tothis is happening so hang on to your seats.
He hung on to her seat all right, yanking her against him and raising the heat from smoking hot to surface of the sun. She felt warm and soft against him and tasted like cupcakes. One of those red velvet kinds. But she felt all woman. Oh yeah, her hands were sliding up his chest, giving a sexy little purr that said she liked what she found. Her body,hot damn,her body was on a direct course for his, and Clay thanked God, the Universe, Luther Vandross, and whomever else was listening that Jillian—sweet and genuine and so out of his league—Conner had chosen him.
Sweet.
The one word almost made him pull back. There were a few others too. Mainly ones that had to do with what his brother was going to do to him if he ever found out that Clay—lives in Seattle, commitment-phobe, isn’t interested in anything longer than summer—was set on kissing Jillian until they both passed out from lack of oxygen.
Jesus, how did this all go from an accidental peck on the lips to acting as if a dual swipe right had led them to one hell of an after party. Like they were simply two people who’d found each other wildly attractive. No history, no ties of family, no friends, nothing to keep them from trying this connection on for size.
He could testify that she was the perfect size and he couldn’t wait to try her on. Her arms were around his waist, his hands now on her ass, and she was rolled up on her toes, in a move that always made him grin. They might be a good ten inches apart in height, but she somehow fit perfectly.
She might have shy moments every so often, but she was never shy about what she wanted. No guessing, no mind games. Jillian was a hundred percent the real deal. And it was refreshing as hell.
She finished the kiss the way it began, with a nip to his lower lip. “That’s how I wanted to end the other night.”
He brushed a smudge of flour off her cheek. “I’d have wanted it exactly like that, but you’d be wearing less clothing.”
That earned him another kiss, a cute peck on the lips. He stopped and did a double take. When the hell had he started using words like “cute” and “peck”? He looked down at that beautiful smile looking back and decided he didn’t care.
“Sammy’s almost ready,” she said, not moving. She was leaning against the house, her hands back to gripping the bottom of his shirt, holding him to her.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “How long is almost?”
“At least another kiss.”
He moved to do just that when he twisted wrong. “Shit.” He winced, then grabbed his knee. It wasn’t a searing pain, but it was enough to remind him that he had less than five weeks to put this knee situation behind him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her mom’s tone slipping in. She took his hand and led him to the front porch. “Here. Sit down. Can I get you an ice pack?”
“Jillian, I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced. “I’m just a worrier, so I worry.”
He began to say she didn’t need to but instead he said, “Me too.”
At his admission, he blinked. Just like he didn’t do nervous, he also didn’t do worry. It was a waste of energy. But something inside him was blaring that he was missing something. Something like family dinners, his niece’s milestones, a life bigger than football.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
