I couldn’t hustle Amanda out of that restaurant fast enough. Susanna wasn’t lying—the desserts were delicious. And after the game I played, I allowed myself to totally indulge. In the food. The wine. The cannoli.

And as soon as we get to the hotel, I plan on indulging in the woman beside me as we exit the restaurant.

The moment we walk outside though, we’re immediately bombarded by flashing lights. Cameras. Shouting, insistent voices.

Paparazzi.

I throw up a hand at the line of people with cameras, slipping my other arm around Amanda’s shoulders and pulling her into me. She presses her face against my chest, trying to shield herself, and I glare at the small group of three men and two women who continually snap photos of us.

“Tuttle! Tuttle! Tell us who’s your new lady love!” one of them yells, his voice seemingly in time with the flash of the cameras.

“None of your damn business,” I tell them, guiding Amanda beside me, headed toward the black Mercedes SUV I requested via Uber a few minutes ago. The driver must’ve seen what was going on, because he hops out of the car and rounds the front of it, opening the passenger door for us.

“Get in,” I tell Amanda and she does as I say, sliding inside quickly, averting her face, her hair falling against her cheek.

The cameras are still flashing as Cannon and Susanna approach me, concern written across both of their faces. “What the hell is going on?” Cannon asks, wincing from the cameras’ flashes.

The photographers start yelling his name—and Susanna’s.

It appears they’re even more interested in them.

“Better go find her father’s car and get her out of here,” I tell Cannon grimly. “Looks like the paparazzi found us.”

“We’re out,” Cannon says, grabbing hold of Susanna’s hand and pulling her toward him. “Text me later. Let me know you two made it back to the hotel.”

“You do the same,” I tell him before I get into the car and slam the door, watching through the window as Cannon and Susanna hurry away, hand in hand.

The flirtation was strong between those two tonight. I can tell Cannon’s totally into her—something I’m not used to seeing. He’s a pretty quiet, keep-to-himself guy. But I have a strong feeling they aren’t going to end up at her favorite pub.

More like they’re going to end up in Cannon’s hotel room bed. That’s my plan for ending our night too.

Or at least, it was.

“You okay?” I ask, turning to face Amanda.

She nods, her eyes wide when they meet mine. “That was…intense.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect them to find us.” Or to care. I rub my jaw, trying to ease the tightness there. “Don’t know how they did.”

“They must’ve followed us,” she says, her voice soft.

“They must’ve.” I glance at the driver, our gazes meeting in the rearview mirror. “Hey, thanks for helping us get away from the photographers.”

“No problem, mate,” the driver tells me, his eyes even wider than Amanda’s. “Aren’t you one of those American footballers?”

“No comment,” I tell the driver grimly, refocusing my attention on Amanda. I pull her close, so she’s pressed snug against me, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I place my hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The driver remains silent, zipping through the still busy streets like a mad man, and I’m grateful for his speed. I’m anxious to get back to the hotel and away from the chaos.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I tell Amanda after a few silent minutes, hoping she’s not too shaken up over our earlier encounter the media. “Don’t let what happened with those photographers bother you.”

“Okay.” She says the word slowly. It’s clear she’s doubting my reassurance. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

She glances up so our gazes meet. “Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes.” With Selena Gomez it did. Hell, I’d meet a beautiful, famous woman anywhere and the photogs went nuts. The media would label us as a couple when all we did was chat for two seconds at an event.

It’s frustrating as shit, how they constantly leap to conclusions. My fictional sex life is way more exciting than my real one.

“Only with other celebrities?” Amanda asks.

I think of Mia. “Pretty much with anyone I’m seeing.”

“Oh.” Her voice is hollow. She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Harvey told me he didn’t want us seen together while we’re in London.”

I’m immediately irritated. “Who cares what he wants?”

“Um, I do. He questioned me today.”

Sitting up straighter, I remove my arm from her shoulders, trying to fight the irritation rising within me. “Questioned you about what?”

“My intentions.” She pauses when I frown. “Toward you.”

I gaze off into the distance. “That’s none of his damn business.”

“He seems to think it’s his business.”

“What exactly did he say?” I ask, turning my attention toward her once more.

“He thinks I might be using you. He finds it suspicious, how I all of a sudden came back into your life. He believes I want something from you,” Amanda explains, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah, you want something from me all right.” She blinks, clearly shocked. “My body.” I smile, trying to lighten the moment, but she’s not having it.

Amanda scowls at me, shaking her head. “Seriously, Jordan. He doesn’t trust me. At all.”

“So?”

“So, if he sees photos of us together coming out of a restaurant splashed all over the internet, he’s going to flip.”

“I don’t care if he flips. He can talk to me if he has a problem.” She starts to protest again, but I touch her lips, silencing her. “Don’t worry about Harvey, Mandy. I mean it. I’ll take care of him.”

She blinks up at me, worry filling her dark eyes. “But I don’t want to make things hard on you.”

“I can handle anything Harvey throws at me,” I say with confidence. And I mean it. I’m not scared of Harvey Price.

I don’t want Amanda scared of him either.

“Forget Harvey. Forget the photographers. Forget everyone.” Reaching out, I brush a few wayward strands of hair away from her cheek, lightly caressing her skin. I need to distract her. “We good?”

“Of course, we’re good.” She smiles faintly and I tug her close to me once again, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Having her so close, it feels natural. Right. “I’m also kind of sleepy,” she murmurs, nestling her cheek against my shoulder. “I think it was all the food.”

“I’m not that tired.”

She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine in the dim light. “Wait a minute. You said you were exhausted earlier. In the restaurant. That’s why we left.”

I shrug. “I lied.”

Her lips curve. “So you were just trying to get me alone.”

“Well, yeah. I thought you knew that after what I said to you earlier.” I touch her cheek. Her skin is so soft. Everywhere.

“Well, I thought that’s what you meant, but you confused me. One minute calling me dessert, the next minute saying you were exhausted.”

“I’m never too tired for you.” I touch her lips, her chin. Back to the corner of her mouth. I love this mouth. I’ve kissed it so many times, I’ve lost count. When I was a kid, I would fantasize about kissing that mouth. I’d also fantasize about those lips on other parts of my body.

Turns out the reality is way better than the fantasy.

“So it’s true? You’re going to feast on me when we get back to the hotel?” She’s talking in hushed tones, like she doesn’t want the driver to hear what she’s saying.

I’m sure he can understand every word, not that I’m going to point that out to her.

My voice drops an octave, my dick twitching at the glow in Amanda’s eyes. She’s aroused, I can tell. “Is that what you want?”

She nods. “Yes,” she breathes.

“Then that’s what you’ll get.” I tilt my head, my lips hovering above hers. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

She angles her head and lifts her chin, trying to connect her lips to mine, but I shift away, not kissing her yet.

I want to draw this out. Torture us. I’m a glutton for punishment.

“You’re mean.” She pouts.

“You won’t be saying that when I’ve got my face between your legs,” I point out, feeling evil.

“Jordan.” Her tone is faintly accusatory, though her eyes flash with heat.

“You know you want it,” I tease.

“I always want it,” she admits, her fingers landing on my jaw, caressing me there. “I always want you.”

I grab hold of her wrist and bring her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles. She spreads her fingers wide and I turn her hand over, my mouth on her palm, her fingertips on my cheek. I let go of her hand, but she doesn’t stop touching me. Her fingers are still on my cheek, dropping to my mouth. I gently kiss them and she smiles just before her hand returns to her lap.

We remain quiet, never looking away from each other, and I’m tempted. So tempted to tell her how I really feel. Right now, in the back of an Uber. That I’m in love with her, that I’ve never really stopped loving her. Does she feel the same?

How would she react if I actually said those words out loud?

I’m not sure if I’m ready to find out.