Once again, Shelby outdid herself. I would never tell my mother this, but Shelby’s food is some of the best I’ve ever eaten. And that banana pudding pie, wow, I don’t even think she realizes how good her food is.
“Thank you for helping me clean up,” she says, loading the last of the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Of course. You cook; I clean. Those were my mother’s rules, and they kind of stuck.” I shut off the faucet to the sink and wipe my hands dry.
She smiles appreciatively and then holds up another bottle. “Do you want some more?”
“Sure.” I pull two new glasses and watch as she pulls the cork and pours the wine before we move to the couch. I wait for her to sit first, and after she’s tucked into the corner by the armrest, I take a seat right next to her. After pulling her feet onto my lap, I unfasten the tiny buckle on the cork heels she likes so much. Her shoes drop to the floor, she wiggles her toes, and groans as I begin massaging the cramps out of them.
“Have you been wearing these all day?” There are strap lines indented in her skin.
“Yep. Before I saw you at the manor this morning I ran to the grocery store to get a few things I needed for dinner. All I did was change clothes before everyone got here.”
“I don’t know how you do it, there’s no way I could walk around in shoes like these for eight to ten hours a day.”
She giggles. “Meg, Lexi, and I once ran a stiletto run in New York City.”
“Why?” Just the thought is appalling, then again, I look at and admire her spectacular legs. Rocking heels all day has left them toned and solid.
“Why not? The race raises money for ovarian cancer, and we made it a girl’s weekend.”
“At least it was for a good cause.” I grin at her.
Dragging my thumb across the arch of her foot, she sinks farther into the couch. As I continue to press into her feet and up her calves, her head falls to my shoulder, and she lets out a low hum every so often on a tender spot.
“When I leave here, I’m gonna have to go on a diet. I’m so full.” She rubs her stomach, looking as if she wants to curl up and go to sleep.
My mind sticks on her words leave here, I didn’t know she was looking to move away from Charleston, but then again, I guess I don’t really know much about her at all.
“How do you do a diet working in the food industry? You cook food all day long.” I tickle the bottom of one foot, which makes her giggle and jerk her leg, giving me the perfect view up the skirt of her dress.
“Not nice.” Her blue eyes shine at me knowingly, but she slowly returns her leg to my lap. Much to my pleasure, her dress stays pushed back. It’s too tempting not to touch, so I run my hand up and down her leg once. She doesn’t stop me, and she doesn’t take her eyes from mine.
“We do cook all day, but I’m not eating it. Sure we taste as we go, but we don’t eat big meals, and we never have food lying around like I’ve had here.”
“Well, I second that. We usually don’t have food like yours lying around, either. We’ve really enjoyed it.”
“Thank you, that means a lot,” she whispers.
I nod and look at her feet, admiring her pink painted toenails.
“Tell me about the video. What happened to you that day?” She props her elbow up on the back of the couch and leans her head against her hand to watch me.
“Most of the game was played under the shadow of the clouds, and the clock was ticking down on the third quarter. The quarterback from the other team lined up behind his center and shifted to lean on his left leg and wiggle his fingers. He scanned the defensive line, and his eyes narrowed at how we were aligned with his team, and he called out, ‘Set!’ It was the way he said it, there was a slight dip in his voice, and if I hadn’t been paying attention, I would have missed it because it was that quick. His linemen dropped into their stances, and all of his teammates gave a slight turn of their head to hear the call—a call they should have already known from the huddle. That was when I knew. The bastard was calling an audible.
“Everyone has a tell, and I’m good at recognizing them. Hell, the guys have been joking around with me for years that I should head to Vegas and clean house, but gambling isn’t my thing. Anyway, I knew what was happening, so I kept my eyes on their quarterback, and I watched every breath he took, and every twitch he made.
“‘Green twenty-two,’ he called out, shifting his weight over and slightly back to the left leg, freeing his anchor foot. ‘Green sixteen,’ his elbows lifted out from his rib cage opening his frame. When he remained tight, they ran the ball up the middle. When he was loose, he was planning for a first down pass. But this, the open frame, it only means one thing and adrenaline spiked through me. ‘Hut hut,’ he called, rocked forward on his toes, and quickly reached for the ball. He was going to sprint backward and pass the ball. And not just any pass . . . Hail Mary style.”
“Isn’t that risky?”
“It is, but they didn’t really have another choice at that point. Prior to this play, he’d attempted four other passes to the same running back, but they were desperate to put some points on the board.”
“So, you guys were winning?”
“We were.”
“What happened next?”
“I watched him and went after the guy I figured he would most likely pass to. I took off, and just as I was closing in on him, he turned and looked for the ball. I remember feeling the guy coming up behind me, but that’s it. What you see in the video, I don’t remember. I woke in the hospital nine days later.”
A sharp inhale comes from Shelby, and I leave the game in my head and focus on her. Wide eyes meet mine, and I briefly wonder what it would have been like to wake from that coma to her beautiful face.
“The theory is that I already had a slight concussion going into the play, making this one amplified times ten.”
“You didn’t know you had a concussion?” She frowns at me, concern etched across her face.
“I suspected, but when you’re in the game, headaches can come from a lot of things, and there’s just no time to think about them. Plus, we’re conditioned to suck it up and play through it. The phrase, ‘Are you injured, or are you hurt?’ is thrown around a lot, and when you’re being paid to perform, this is the law when it comes to pain. On average, there are one and a half concussions per NFL game. They happen, we deal with them.”
“Really? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Aren’t there long-term problems with concussions?” She frowns.
“There are, and unfortunately, a lot of players are suffering long-term consequences because of them. The league has tightened its view on concussions, and they are taken a lot more seriously now than they were even five years ago. I’m still experiencing what they call Post-Concussion Syndrome, which is nothing compared to what some other ex-players deal with. The severity of the injury could have been much worse considering the impact. I do have some attention difficulties, but mostly I suffer from migraines. They told me that the symptoms would be gone by now, but they aren’t. I haven’t figured out what sets them off, but damn if they aren’t debilitating.”
“How often do you get them?” She pushes her hair off her face and then stretches her arm out reaching for my hand.
“At least once a week, sometimes twice. You’ve seen two since you’ve been here, plus I had one the day you arrived.” I weave my fingers in between hers and rub the inside palm of her hand with my thumb.
Her frown deepens. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, I thought I’d have a much longer career than I did. I really love the game.” And I do. People play for a lot of different reasons, but me, I loved everything about it: from being a part of a team, the strategy, even the travel. And there’s nothing like winning.
“But you love this, too, right?” she asks, curling her fingers around mine.
“I do. And I was always set on buying my dad out and taking over, but what guy doesn’t have dreams about winning the Super Bowl and the hall of fame? Especially when you get as far into the game as I did.”
She gives me a small smile and nods her head in understanding.
“What about you, has your dream always been to cook?”
“Yes, but a little bit more than that. I told you when I was a kid that I watched a lot of the Food Network Channel, but like I mentioned at dinner, my dream has always been to have my own show.” She breaks eye contact with me like this admission is hard to say.
“So, you really want to be on television?” I don’t know why this surprises me, it shouldn’t. She’s gorgeous, everyone loves her, and she makes amazing food. Maybe it’s the thought of having to share her with the world, but that would be dumb because she isn’t mine to share.
“Yes, but not just any television, I’ve always wanted to be a part of the Food Network family. More than you can even imagine. I was a communications major in college and then I went to culinary school. I’ve set myself on this path to build a strong case for myself. That’s why this project is just as important to me as it is to you. It’s just one more thing that puts me one step closer.”
I didn’t think it was possible for her to get any sexier, but I was wrong. Part of me is torn loathing the idea of her being a workaholic, but the other part of me admires her dedication to what she ultimately wants. Listening to her and hearing the drive in her voice . . . such a huge turn on.
“Tell me about where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”
She pulls her hand from mine and shifts so she’s sitting a little taller. Walls just went up around her, as she tries to throw off an air of indifference.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she shrugs, but I can tell there is.. “I grew up in a small town in South Carolina where traditions and stereotypes seem to be one in the same.”
“What do you mean?” I resume rubbing her feet, and her shoulders drop just a little.
“Well, every Sunday, we showed our faces at church like the happy little family, but Monday through Saturday the whole town knew my father was having an affair with my mother’s best friend. Who, by the way, would also attend Sunday service and kiss my mother on the cheek in greeting.”
“You’re joking?” I frown. “Didn’t your mother know?”
“I don’t know. She claimed she didn’t, but looking back, I don’t see how that’s possible. She had to have known. But where my mom turned a blind eye, the husband of the woman didn’t approve. The whole mess got pretty ugly, and in the end, my father claimed he only married my mother to get closer to my grandfather, who was the town mayor, and that he never wanted kids.”
I try to imagine what it would be like to hear my own father say this, and I can’t. Maybe this drive in her comes from a deeper place than I thought.
“What an asshole.” Fury slides into my veins at the life she was raised in.
“Yep. My grandfather didn’t take too lightly to the situation, either. He fired my father, who was the police chief, and ruined any possibility of a political career for him. My father divorced my mother, my mother’s perfect little Southern stepford life imploded, and she ended up having to find a job. Needless to say, we were never the same.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” She looks away from me and reaches for her wine glass, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I really know to say.
“Don’t be. It’s shaped me into who I am, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. What I’ve learned and what I value above all in people are character and honesty. She was fake, he was fake, they used each other, and he lied. I have no place in my life—ever—for any of that.”
Unease rushes under my skin, and a cold sweat breaks out on my back. I should tell her, now would be the perfect time to clear the air and admit to what we’ve been doing, but I don’t think she’ll respond kindly to it. It doesn’t matter that I’ve told her and shown her more than I ever have another woman, she’ll still see ‘our plan’ as betrayal. Just knowing that I have the potential to hurt her, I feel like I’ve betrayed myself.
Pushing her feet off my lap, I get up and grab our glasses to refill them. Oblivious to my internal panic, she smiles at me and then follows me into the kitchen. I drag my hand over my face before I squeeze the back of my neck and shake off the guilt.
Three days.
Three days until her stay here is over, and then maybe one day, we can look back on this and laugh about my stupid plan.
Handing over her wine glass, I scan her from head to toe as she walks over to the window and looks out at the night sky. She’s shorter without the shoes on, her hair is slightly messy from running her hand through it, and she looks like a fantasy come true in this dress.
“Why do you wear dresses all the time?” I ask, stepping up behind her. This dress looks like a men’s dress shirt, and I let my mind believe it’s one of mine.
“Why not?” She glances over her shoulder at me and smiles.
My fingers slip under the edge and graze up the outsides of her thighs. Goosebumps trail across her skin. I love that she continually reacts this way to me.
“Don’t act like you don’t love them. I know you do, more than once I’ve caught you staring.”
“Not denying that, I really do,” I say, sweeping her hair back off her shoulder and then taking the wine glass from her hand. I set both of the glasses down and wrap my arms around her so I can run my nose up the column of her neck. Her head tilts to the side, and she lets out a sigh as my lips pepper kisses over her skin, tasting, sucking, memorizing. Dragging my teeth along her jaw, I turn her chin and sink into the warmth of her mouth.
What is it about kissing her that makes me delirious?
Twisting in my arms, she steps closer, and I tangle one hand in her hair and rest the other on her lower back, pulling so there’s no room between us. Fervor burns through my veins. She’s a perfect fit against me, and I devour her mouth as if it’s the last time I’ll ever get to taste it. Shelby matches my intensity, and her fingers manage to become restless as she finds the top button on my shirt.
I pull back—not to stop her because heaven knows I don’t want to stop. It’s the urge to see her eyes full of the heat I know . . . hope will be there.
I’m not disappointed. Her eyes are slightly glazed and wild and her chest is rising up against the fabric of her dress, and I ache to see her flawless skin. Pushing her back against the wall, I’m enthralled with the way the moonlight makes her glow.
When I slip my finger around the top button of her dress, she doesn’t stop me. I pop it open and then slowly trail one finger down her skin to the next. She shivers even though her skin is warm, and I love that I know she tastes like vanilla and honey. One by one, the buttons open until I reach the bottom, revealing a sliver of her skin peeking out straight down the middle. Softly, my hand flattens across her chest and slides down the middle, between her breasts, over her stomach, and grazes the top edge of her panties before sliding over her hipbone and up the bumps of her spine. When I reach the clasp to her bra, I snap it open and am reminded why I love that she wears strapless bras, too.
With her standing before me like a goddess of the night, her lips swollen, her hair wild, and sexy, any willpower that I had left against her is eviscerated. No one has ever left me feeling like this. I’m always the one in control. I have always set the pace, giving and taking exactly the way I want to. Yet, here with her, I feel completely out of my element. It isn’t that my confidence is gone, it’s that she makes me want to drop to my knees and beg.
“Zach.” Hearing my name whispered from her lips causes my chest to constrict and everything south of my waist to tighten.
My eyes find hers, they’re dark and sultry and my heart rate picks up. “Yeah?”
“More.” She breathes out with an assertiveness that has me slipping my hands inside the dress. They slide up her stomach and palm her breasts. Her head tips back and hits the wall as she arches her back, pushing into me and letting out a low moan. Moving my hands outward, I slide her dress off her shoulders and then dip my head back to her skin.
My tongue runs over the swell of her breasts and finally, when she lets out an impatient noise, I latch on while massaging the other. I could taste her from head to toe every day for the rest of my life and it would never be enough. Feeling her hands on my shirt, she resumes unbuttoning it as my fingers dip under the edge of lace resting on her hipbone.
Cold air hits my skin as she drags my shirt off, and I slip my hands around the backs of her thighs and lift her against me. When her legs wrap around my hips, I almost stumble from how good she feels surrounding me. Her warm hands glide across my shoulders, and sink into the back of my hair as I pin her against the wall and crash my mouth against hers.
“Stay with me tonight,” she mumbles against my lips, and I chuckle.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.” I press my hips against her and tighten my grip on her ass so she knows exactly how I want this night to go.
“Good.” She lets out a soft groan.
Damn this girl.
Without breaking the kiss, I turn and carry her to her bedroom and then drop her on the bed. She lands and looks a little wild with bright eyes, her hair messed up, and her lips swollen and damp from our kisses. I watch her as I toe off my shoes and remove the rest of my clothes before crawling onto the bed after her. She scoots away from me with a come-and-get-me smile. When I wrap my fingers under the piece of lace that’s hiding what I most desperately want, she stops playing games and lets me pull the fabric down her legs.
Never in my life have I seen anything as perfect as she is. I knew she had an awesome body, and for almost two weeks, I’ve imagined what she would look like bare, but nothing prepared me for this.
“You’re so beautiful.” I run my palm up her leg, needing to touch her. The muscles in her stomach tighten, and her fingers curl into the sheets, but she never breaks eye contact with me.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases. “Come here.” She pulls on my arm.
Instead of moving up her body, I move down, wanting to take my time exploring every dip, and every curve, everywhere.
Hours pass as Shelby and I forget about who we are, what we’re doing, when she’s leaving, and what this might mean. We lose ourselves in the feel of each of other, and I block the emotions that make me feel as if I’m losing myself to her. I focus on how, with each exhale, her breath rushes out, and my name is whispered past her lips and against my skin. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.