Page 20

seventeen

. . .

[Declan]

In the morning, I’m hesitant. Not that I didn’t enjoy every second of what happened between us. In private, we’ve encased ourselves in a bubble in which only the two of us exists. But outside the walls of this house is the reality that we work together, and she has reservations about that status.

“I’ll follow your lead here,” I admit as we stand across from one another in the kitchen, each cupping a coffee mug. I need to get to the ballpark soon. I imagine she does as well.

Her head tips to the side.

“Are we friends again?”

“I’d say we’re more than friends.” Her mouth lazily curls, sending my spent dick into spasms. I haven’t been this horny in years, but it’s just as I thought it’d be. I’d want more from her.

“I mean out there.” I nod toward the door. “At the park.”

Her expression falls as she lowers her mug to the countertop. A weak shrug moves her shoulders. “I can’t risk anyone finding out what happened here.”

Slowly, I nod like I understand, and on some basic level I do. But we’d been friends before last night. We’ve known each other for years.

“This job is too important to me.”

As far as I know, there isn’t a no-fraternizing clause, although The Den might have one between their staff and the team.

“So, we keep this between us?” Why do I feel like I’m thirty again, sneaking into her bedroom late at night or needing to find an excuse to see her for a minute to steal a kiss?

“Us?” She arches a brow. “For now.”

“I can do that.” I can keep our secret.

For now.

Our first night matchup against Colorado went better than expected, except for one pesky field reporter interviewing me during the game who remains her standoffish self.

While one night certainly didn’t guarantee a new relationship, I still hoped for more.

A sheepish glance between us. A shared smile of understanding.

We’d spent an incredible night together.

So, when I return to Isaiah’s home late after the game, I’m prepared for a fight. I didn’t like being ignored or dismissed or whatever it was she was playing at by keeping up a professional veneer without even a friendly grin.

Instead, when I enter the house, I find India naked in her bed.

Her bedroom has changed a bit over the years while retaining feminine touches. Fake plants and fluffy throw-pillows. A heavy duvet in a large-print floral pattern. Even the woman on top of the cover is different in so many wonderful ways. The outline of her body. The confidence in her stare.

Then again, I see the same momentary flash of vulnerability I saw last night. That moment after she told me I was eye-fucking her. Her gaze softened just a bit, hesitated even, like she was afraid I’d reject her. As if I didn’t want her in the worst way.

And I’d give anything to have one real smile from her.

“Well,” I stammer. “This is a surprise.” I’m caught between the irritation that brewed on the ride over here and the sudden stimulation of her naked.

Her breasts are on display, while a white throw blanket covers her lower belly and upper thighs.

Her long, toned legs extend from beneath the covering. She is a work of art.

As she watches me, I reach behind my neck and tug my shirt over my head.

“Why is that move such a turn on?”

My cheeks heat as I drop the shirt to the floor and toe off my shoes. Climbing over her on all fours, I catch on her eyes, the sterling color shined to perfection without her glasses in the way.

“Why are you such a turn on?” I lower my voice as I brush back the hairs along her forehead, knowing the answer. There is something extra special about India. Something magical about her. Her confidence. Her boldness. Her tenderness.

Her father and her ex have missed the mark, underestimating her strength and perseverance. Dismissing the beauty of her talents.

The corner of her mouth hooks upward. “Because you want to get your head between my thighs.”

There is no question in her voice. It’s an invitation. And I do want to be between those lush thighs, but I have other intentions first.

Humming, I lower my mouth to her neck, nibbling along her throat before sucking on her collar bone. She tips back her head as I move down her sternum, where I skip her breasts and continue to her belly. At the same time, my hand skims up her outer thigh pushing the blanket higher over her lap.

The shortness of her breath suggests she’s excited by where this is headed. She wants me. At least like this. And it gives me pause.

“You know what?” Without fully revealing her center to me, I cup my mouth over the blanket and exhale a hot breath against where I’m certain she’s wet. “I think I’ll hold out on getting my head between those fine thighs.”

“Why?” she chokes out.

“Dare,” I whisper, while I eye the dusty peak of her nipples, erect and tight, and begging for the twirl of my tongue around them.

“Dare,” she exhales, encouraging me to continue.

“You smile at me tomorrow during the game. And I’ll consider making you my feast afterward.” It isn’t really about the smile. It’s about acknowledgement. And being genuine. I want more of her. The real her.

While she’d told me why she ignored me upon first taking the job with The Den, and I respect her reasons, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly, cordial even toward one another.

The intention of my dare was to be playful, domineering, edgy even.

But instantly, I sense I’ve made a mistake.

India presses me back by the shoulder and reaches for the blanket, tugging it upward and tucking it beneath her chin, clutching the material with both hands.

The vulnerability that was only a flash earlier is on high beams now.

“Hey.” My throat thickens at the possibility I’ve offended her and the fact she’s shutting down on me.

She turns her head, eyelids blinking as she looks away from me .

Placing my fingers beneath her chin, I turn her head to face me. “Truth,” I whisper. “Talk to me.”

Averting her eyes once more while keeping her head still, she remains silent. Maybe she feels exposed, being naked underneath me, but I’m thinking this is more about laying herself bare. I’ve hit a nerve.

“You know why I can’t,” she says.

“You can’t smile at me?” I reiterate.

“It’s more than a smile.”

I puzzle over her words a moment. “It’s not a proposal. It’s not even a contract. It’s a smile.” Something that suggests I’m not in this alone. That this situation, while sudden and new, isn’t one-sided.

“I was trying to seduce you tonight.” Her voice is rough and hushed.

“I’m seduced,” I remind her. My dick is ready for takeoff but on standby because there’s something I’m missing here.

“But you want a smile?”

I stare down at her confused expression and wild eyes. “And that’s too much to ask?”

“Maybe some days I don’t want to fucking smile.”

I’m stunned silent by her words. The pain lancing through them, highlighted by anger.

“Maybe I’m tired of men always telling me to smile when I really want to scream and stomp my feet.

I want to throw something or lash out. But I don’t get to do that when I’m angry, or upset, or confused and lost.” She exhales heavily.

“Men are merely passionate when that happens. But women are labelled hysterical and illogical.”

I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. Even bigger than ignoring her for months because of how she acted toward me during that first interview. My skin is too tight, my insides twisted. I never intended to make her feel this way.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Sorry for every man who ever made her feel this way, but especially apologetic that I’ve just lumped myself into the club when it wasn’t really about a smile.

She licks her lips and blinks a few more times. “I need to be careful.”

“With your job?” I ask tentatively. I don’t want to jeopardize her position with The Den.

I respect how she feels like she might be in a precarious position.

What people think , compared to the truth.

She deserves the job. She’s qualified for it.

I’m not asking her to tell the world about us, not after only one night together.

I simply don’t want to be used for nothing more than sex.

I need something tangible. It doesn’t have to be a smile.

I could be any kind of sign that she really sees me, like I see her.

Instead of being upset about something so trivial, I should be paying closer attention to how India communicates in other ways.

Her stunning vulnerability with me is her smile. She isn’t trusting anyone else with this side of her.

“With my heart.” India’s voice is so fragile when she answers. Yet her words pummel me with their force.

For half a second, this admission is like a fucking grin with full teeth and spread lips, but then my brows wrinkling with shock. “And you’re afraid I’ll hurt you?”

She looks away from me once more and then presses at my shoulder again, insinuating she wants me to move off her, but I’m not going anywhere until I understand what’s going on here.

“What am I missing?” Because I’m clearly in the dark.

“You know about Malakai, right?”

“You’re divorced.” Isaiah told me although the information came like an afterthought. He was chatting about some client and mentioned Penn was visiting India because of her divorce .

I’d jumped into an inquisition, barraging my friend with questions he didn’t want to answer .

When? What happened? What did he do to her?

Isaiah passed on sharing the particulars, other than when her divorce was final last summer.

“ Malakai is a douchebag .” That’s all he’d given me. “ India just wants to move on .”

It didn’t make sense. Richard Baker loved the guy. He’d practically hand-picked the investment banker for his daughter. Malakai was a huge fan of the Vegas Victors.

She tips back her eyes, like she can see over her head. “He slept with an intern. She was a college student.”

“What the fuck?” I hiss, scrambling back to balance on my knees, ass resting on my heels.

I am not repulsed by India, but the situation.

An intern? College-aged? A few choice words other than douchebag come to mind to describe Malakai.

There is no excuse to cheat on your wife, especially with a near-child.

“He said I wasn’t sexy anymore.”

I fall forward, balancing on my arms again, caging her in. “He’s fucking blind.” My eyes scan her face. That crazy, dark hair. Those enticing silver eyes. The fullness of her lips.

“And he hated my career.”

“That’s fucking dumb.” She is an award-winning field reporter. Honored by a professional baseball team. She is practically a celebrity in the media industry.

“He said I never smiled anymore.”

Fuck . Just fuck, fuck, fuck! Why would she smile for him? I bet he belittled her job. He evidently belittled her appearance. And whether his affair was one night or ongoing, it was a sign that he was a dick. He didn’t deserve India’s brilliance or her beauty.

He didn’t warrant her smiles.

And fuck the idea of her smiling at me. I don’t need them either. This woman laid herself bare for me both with her body and now this nugget of truth.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Indie,” I whisper, stroking her hair again, brushing it back from the top of her head, and using a nickname I haven’t used in years. “And I’m a fucking idiot, too.”

I lower to kiss her, soft and sweet, pressing my apology into the tenderness of our meeting lips. But I’m also angry. Angry that someone treated her so poorly. Angry that someone hadn’t seen her worth, her talent. Angry that I’d pushed her as well.

Pulling back, I press upward once more, extending one arm while using my other hand to rip the blanket off her body.

“What the hell?” she cries out, but I don’t give her another moment to question my intentions.

Sucking on her neck, I imprint on her skin, “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.” Then moving down her chest with my tongue, I blaze a trail directly up the hill of her breast and swirl around a dusky nipple before drawing the peaked nub into my mouth and staking my claim on her.

“You’re smart and talented and enticing as fuck,” I groan as I move from one breast to the other to repeat my mission.

I’m out to prove she’s seductive and sensual, both very different terms from sexy.

As I move down her belly, taking my time to swipe over her flesh and suck her skin, she eventually relaxes, giving in to my attention.

When I reach the tops of her legs, where the curve of those lush thighs dip to her belly, I take my time to tease her with my tongue and nip her tender flesh until she’s panting again.

Then I dive between them. Not needing a dare to devour her. Not requiring a provision.

I simply desire the truth between us.

But most of all, I want her.

With my tongue against that sensitive nub, I slip my fingers inside her, and India bows backward, giving into my affection, and allowing me to show her how every seductive she is.