Page 3 of Tight End
“You planning to take me up against this wall, Mr. Shaffer?”
Her dry question made me smirk.
“Not unless you ask me real nice.”
My voice came out lower and rougher than I intended.
Her nostrils flared, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips again. It took everything I had to hold back my groan.
I dragged my eyes from her mouth—full and pink—to her badge, dangling from a lanyard between her incredible tits.
“Have dinner with me, Marissa.” It was more a demand than a question.
The surprise on her face was quickly replaced with suspicion. “How do you know my name?”
I flicked the badge with my thumb.
“Oh. Right.” Her voice was sheepish, and her cheeks went pink again. That blush looked good on her, though. I couldn’t wait to find out just how much of her body would be that same color when I made her come.
Her deep blue eyes lifted to mine. “Is this how you get dates? Tell a woman she’s your type so she swoons and drops her panties right there on the floor?”
“Off the record?” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Duh. No one would believe I had this ridiculous conversation with you anyway. I’m nobody.”
That hit wrong. “Not to me.”
Her brows pulled together like she wasn’t sure whether to be touched or call me out for being full of shit. “You don’t even know me.”
“Exactly.” I dipped in just close enough to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “That’s why you should have dinner with me.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue. Instead, she just stood there staring up at me, her eyes unsure and her breathing shallow as hell.
I tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and added, “Please?”
Her shoulders dropped half an inch, and her expression softened. Then she finally agreed. “Okay.”
I didn’t wait for her to change her mind. I laced my fingers through hers and started walking her toward the side exit. She followed without protest, our joined hands swinging between us like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When we reached the door, I glanced over my shoulder at her. “And to answer your question, I’ve never told another woman she’s my type. I didn’t have one before you.”
2
RAIDEN
The hostess led us through the low-lit restaurant with practiced efficiency, weaving between tables while Marissa stayed close by my side. It was a small, upscale place I liked on the Upper West Side. Dim lighting, quiet jazz, and waitstaff that never even acknowledged my fame. Nor would they put up with another patron interrupting my meal. It wasn’t flashy, but I loved it.
I was already fighting the urge to touch her—my hand on the small of her back or my fingers curled around her wrist. Anything to ground myself in the fact that she was real and sitting down to dinner with me. She moved like a dancer, and I knew from the second I saw her that she’d trained her body to obey under pressure. I hadn’t known the sport at first, but it clicked the moment she mentioned it—figure skating. The balance, control, and how she carried herself like she was always half a breath away from a triple spin.
The hostess stopped at a curved leather booth tucked in the back corner. Marissa slid in, tugging off her coat and shaking out her hair like she wasn’t aware that every move she made hit me right in the chest.
Dinner should’ve been a slow burn. Candlelight. Conversation. A glass or two of wine. But with her across from me, the wick was already soaked in gasoline, and I’d been holding the match since the moment she walked into the press room.
Marissa looked fucking edible. She’d pulled her hair down, and now it fell in loose waves to the tops of her breasts. The lighting gave her skin a warm glow, and when she leaned forward on her elbows to look at the menu, her tits were propped up on the edge of the table. I didn’t even pretend not to stare. She caught me and arched her brow but didn’t say a word. Just let a smirk curve her mouth.
This siren was trouble. I knew it in my bones.
“I don’t usually say yes to strange men who pull me into side hallways.” She glanced up at me while she skimmed the appetizer list. “Just FYI.”
