Page 80 of Holiday Interference
“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he says. “I couldn’t focus at practice. Couldn’t sleep. I even”—he huffs a breath, like the words are ridiculous but true—“I kept hoping I’d see you at the next game, even though I knew it was stupid.”
I smile, watery and aching. “It wasn’t stupid.”
His thumb swipes a tear off my cheek before it falls.
“I wanted you to be here tonight. I wanted you to see me play. I wanted”—
he swallows—“I wanted to know if there was still a chance.”
I step closer until my chest presses against his and wrap my arms around his waist.
And I hold him like I’ve wanted to every second we’ve been apart.
“There is,” I whisper. “This is it.”
His arms tighten around me, breath warm at my temple, and for one suspended second, we just stand there.
Hearts pressed tight. The world quiet.
Then I look up, and he’s already looking at me like he can’tnot.
“I’m still scared,” I whisper.
His jaw tics. “Me too.”
“But I want you anyway.”
His breath catches.
And I kiss him again.
Harder. Hungrier. No hesitation.
The SUV is parked just feet away, shielded by shadows at the far end of the lot, and when he cups the back of my neck and walks us backward, I know exactly where this is going.
My heart is pounding.
My hands find the lapels of his suit jacket, then slip beneath, sliding over his chest, his ribs, the hard line of muscle underneath his shirt.
“Back seat,” I murmur against his mouth.
He growls.
Literally.
The sound hits me low and deep, winding into my spine as he yanks the door open and pulls me inside with him.
We don’t bother with finesse. Just tangled limbs, breathless laughter, buttons popping.
He sheds his jacket in one motion. I straddle his lap before he’s even settled, the stretch of my dress riding up my thighs.
He’s hard, rock-solid under me. I grind down instinctively, and we both curse under our breath.
“Noelle,” he rasps, gripping my hips. “You sure?”
I don’t answer with words.
I roll my hips once more and tug open his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. My hands press to his chest—hot, smooth skin over a wall of muscle—and I swear he shudders under me.
