Page 13 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

Her brown eyes get so big as I lay down that gauntlet, and I swear I could get lost in them.

Then Annabeth slides her hand into mine like it belongs there, and when she says, “Let's dance,” I don't hesitate.

I take her out to the floor like she’s already mine.

The band’s playing something low and sultry, all slow bass and smoky strings.

The kind of song that’s made for tension and temptation.

And Annabeth? She melts into me like she’s finally stopped fighting whatever’s happening between us.

I wrap an arm around her waist, not giving a single damn who’s watching.

Let them stare.

Hell, let them take notes.

This is how you hold a woman like her— like she’s precious and powerful and sexy as hell.

She leans into me, one arm curled around my neck.

Her cheek brushes my shoulder, and I tighten my grip, pulling her closer.

“You still okay, Angel?” I murmur against her temple.

She nods. Then tilts her head just enough to look at me.

“Yeah, Luca. I really think I am.”

There’s something in her voice— soft but certain.

Her lips are parted, eyes full of heat and hesitation, like she’s finally letting herself want this.

Want me.

And then, like a lightning strike to the chest, she whispers, “I think I’m ready to find out what this could be.”

I freeze.

Just for a second.

Because fuck .

That’s it. That’s the moment.

I’ve been circling this thing for the past forty-eight hours, trying not to push too hard, trying to respect the deal, the fake-date setup, the pretend lines we drew in the sand.

But now she’s saying it.

Out loud .

And the look in her eyes?

That’s not pretend.

That’s not maybe.

That’s yes .

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Say that again.”

Her breath catches. “I want you, Luca. I want this to happen. Us .”

That’s all I need.

Without another word, I lead her off the dance floor.

Past the gawking relatives.

Past the music and the judgment and the ghosts of every moment she’s ever been made to feel like she’s not enough.

She is .

More than enough.

And now she’s mine.

We reach the elevator, and I press the button like it’s gonna make the damn thing go any faster.

My other hand never leaves her waist.

When the doors slide shut behind us, I turn to her, heart hammering in my chest.

“You sure?”

Her nod is shaky but determined. “Yeah.”

“You change your mind, you tell me, and we stop. Got it?”

She looks up at me— eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed —and whispers, “Got it.”

When the doors open, I grab her hand and lead her down the hallway.

We don’t speak.

We don’t need to.

The tension between us says everything.

I open the door to our suite, step inside, and turn to her.

This is it.

No more fake.

No more pretending.

Just us.

And I swear, if she lets me, I’ll spend the rest of the night— and maybe the rest of my life —showing her exactly how much she means to me.

Now, I’m used to high-stress situations.

Stadium lights in my eyes.

Ninety thousand screaming fans.

A scrum collapsing on top of me.

Game on the line.

Blood pounding in my ears.

Pressure? I live in it. Thrive in it.

But this?

This isn’t pressure.

This isn’t work.

This is goddamn destiny .

And nothing— nothing —has ever felt more right than having Annabeth Martinez in my arms.

She’s warm and soft and curves in all the places I dream about. But it’s more than that.

It’s her .

The way she looks at me like I might be worth trusting.

The way her breath catches when I touch her.

The way she says my name like it matters.

This isn’t a game. It’s not a dare or a stunt or something we’ll laugh about later.

This is real .

She’s real .

And I want her with every damn beat of my heart.

I grip her hips, grounding myself. My jaw clenches to keep from saying something too raw, too soon.

Because if I open the floodgates now, I’m liable to confess things I’m not supposed to feel this fast.

Things like: I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment you bid on me.

Things like: No one’s ever made me feel like this.

Things like: You’re mine, Angel. And I’m yours if you’ll have me.

But instead I just breathe her in—cinnamon and sea salt and something sweet I can’t quite name.

And I promise myself one thing.

Now that she’s finally here?

I’m gonna make damn sure she never regrets it.

Not tonight. Not ever.