Page 42 of Tempting the Player
With a sigh, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card before handing it to me.
I take it and smooth out the crumpled paper.
“Roger Brayson, Independent Photographer.” My stomach drops as I read it aloud. I read it three more times unnecessarily.
“He was...” I trail off, feeling sick.
“Paparazzi. Yeah. Archer and Brogan talked to him. He was trying to get some new photographs without you realizing who he was.”
I huff a short laugh. “Mission accomplished. I thought...I thought he was chasing me.”
“Hewasfucking chasing you.” Hendrick’s jaw tightens.
“I’m so stupid.” I stand, still holding the card. I ran and I freaking hid like a serial killer was after me, and he just wanted some photos. Embarrassed tears threaten, but I will them back. “I can’t believe this. I have myself so worked up that something is going to happen that I’m inventing bad guys. I’m officially losing my mind.”
I aimlessly walk around the room as I let the full reality of it all settle in. For weeks I’ve been on edge, letting some random incident freak me out, but I am done with it. I want to go home, sleep in my own room, and wake up tomorrow ready to put this all behind me.
“I am so embarrassed. I made you come save me from a guy with a camera. And I know this guy.” I hold up the card. “He’s been here since last semester. I was just so panicked when I thought someone was following me.”
Hendrick steps in front of me and places both hands on my face. I look up and into his intense hazel eyes. “Listen to me. Some guy you didn’t recognize was tailing you around campus when you were alone. You did the right thing by calling me. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I try to pull away, but he won’t let me.
“Say it,” he says, eyes darting to my mouth. “Say it, Jane.”
“I did the right thing.”
“You did,” he says, like he doesn’t think I believe my own words. I’m not sure I do either. “I don’t care if the guy is harmless or if it’s a little girl selling cookies, someone makes you feel uncomfortable, then you call me.”
I don’t understand him. Even if what he’s saying is true, why does he feel some sort of duty to make sure I’m okay after I got him fired?
“Why haven’t you left town yet?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze drops to my lips again.
Understanding seeps in slowly. I didn’t read him wrong. Some part of him wanted me that night at the party. Some part of him still wants me.
So tired of feeling scared and anxious and like my world is in chaos, I do the thing I wanted to do weeks ago—I lean in to kiss him. Stopping millimeters from his lips, I glance up, giving him time to stop me. My heart beats rapidly in the seconds I wait for any reaction from him. And just when I think we’re going to be locked in a stare-off until I make a move, he cups the back of my head and guides my lips to his in a crushing kiss.
My hands loop around his neck, and he scoops my legs out from under me, encouraging me to wrap them around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down, kissing me the entire time.
He holds most of his weight off me, but I pull him down tighter against me. Our bodies align so well, like we were both made for this exact position.
As his tongue sweeps into my mouth, one hand slides under my sweatshirt and rests on my stomach. Calloused and rough fingers caress me softly and cause a shiver to roll through me. He kisses exactly like I thought he would: dominating and powerful.
I lift my hips, searching for him to ease the throbbing between my legs. With a low grunt, he presses into me, giving me the friction I crave. I’m all passion and need, clawing to get him closer and grinding against him unapologetically.
When he pulls away, I could cry with frustration. His brow is creased but his eyes are filled with so much want it makes my pulse quicken.
“Don’t stop,” I plead.
After another beat of hesitation, he moves his free hand down to cup me through my jeans. His thumb strokes up and down the seam, digging in with the perfect pressure to send my body soaring toward release.
He keeps a steady, slow pace that matches the rhythm his tongue sweeps over mine. No matter how hard I try to go faster, to pull him past the line of control, he doesn’t let me. It’s maddening. And pure bliss.
And longer, and sooner, than I want, the ache in my body turns into a tingling sensation that I feel everywhere. I moan and scream into his mouth as I come, and he swallows my cries as he keeps kissing me like he’s not even close to done with me.
I reach for the button of his jeans at the same time a heavy thud followed by voices breaks the bubble we’re in.
