Page 24

“You got Levi one of your jerseys?” I can barely get the words out as emotion clogs my throat.

“Yes.”

So we’re back to one-word answers.

“Why?” I breathe as I tear my gaze away from the small Whales jersey. This time, nothing comes out of his mouth. It’s in his eyes, though, the intensity morphing into something softer. When I don’t speak, he clears his throat.

“For mon petit loup ,” he whispers.

My heart throbs with an emotion so thick, I feel it everywhere in my body. It slams against my rib cage and my eyes well up with unshed tears, blurring my vision.

He’s thrown me off by coming here unannounced. Even if Mrs. Hastings hadn’t poked her busybody nose out into the hallway, I would have let him in eventually. Can’t a woman let a man sweat anymore?

But now I’m the one sweating. Is it sweat? I feel wet .

I can do nothing but stand up and face this enigma of a man who ignores me, says the worst things at the worst times only to silently support and encourage me, and apparently, brings me the best, most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.

Growing up with Paige, who inherited her notoriously terrible gift giving from my mom, opening presents became somewhat of a joke—something that brought tears of laughter.

Seriously. After my near-death experience last year, my sister wanted to gift me a cemetery plot. Luckily Adam talked her out of it. I love it, though, waiting to see what hilarious thing she’ll come up with next. She doesn’t even do it on purpose.

Ian seemed to think he was gift enough. He did give me Levi, but I don’t think that counts since my son was technically an accident. The best kind of accident.

But this? I’ve never had this kind of gift before. One that’s so thoughtful it damn near brings me to tears because the gift isn’t just for me. It’s for Levi—for us together. Is this Julien’s way of telling me he wants me?

I don’t see any other way I could take this. It gives me boldness I’m not used to when it comes to men. All the shit I used to give Paige about her dating life came from a place of pure hypocrisy, not that I’d ever tell her that.

I slowly lower the jersey and take a step towards Julien.

“Why?” I say again, hoping he’s feeling what I am.

I watch as Julien’s broad chest rises and falls on a big inhale and exhale.

“If you come to a game again, wear it,” he says gruffly .

“You like seeing me in your jersey?” I revel in the way he watches me, his dark eyes turning molten.

“Yes. I won’t be distracted if you’re wearing it,” he says tightly.

I freeze in place. Wait, what?

My stomach sinks. Maybe I was wrong, but what else am I supposed to think when he brings me one of his jerseys and one for Levi too? Serves me right for jumping to conclusions.

“You were distracted when I wasn’t wearing a jersey?” I say. Even I can tell my voice is guarded.

“I don’t want to lose again.”

Ice water plunges through my veins, chasing away the heat of passion that had built. Instead, the icy rage burns.

What. The. Fuck.

“Excuse me? I don’t think I quite heard you right. Are you saying you lost because I was there without a jersey on?”

“Yes.”

I let that word settle in my bones. I tried, I seriously tried this time to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“So instead of acknowledging you had a shitty game, you’re going to blame me for coming to your game without a jersey?”

“Without my jersey.”

The nerve of this man. “And how the fuck was I supposed to get my hands on one of your jerseys? Or even know you wanted me to wear it? Did I somehow miss that lengthy conversation? Or am I just expected to read your mind? You know what, Julien, thanks, but no— ”

I tug the jersey off over my head and start to pack them back up, as much as my heart aches that I won’t see Levi in it, knowing he likes Julien.

A large, warm hand engulfs my forearm, halting me. How did I miss this giant of a man moving towards me? I glare at him, his hand burning my skin with heat. I feel the flush spread right from my neck to my face, liquid heat pooling in my stomach. Lower. I’m throbbing—anger and desire mix in my blood.

I see the same emotions reflected in his eyes and then he’s moving, pulling me into him by the arm he’s holding like a vise. He’s a magnet, and I’m powerless against his pull as I crash into his chest, bracing myself on the wall of muscle with my palms. He’s over a head taller than me and I feel tiny as his hands move up my arms, holding me against him.

“Don’t,” he finally says.

“Don’t what?” I meant to pack more bite into the words, but I can barely think what with him pressed against me, unleashing a flood of sensations. I can feel all of him.

“Don’t give it back. It’s yours.”

I use up my last shred of common sense and shove away from him. There’s no way in the entire universe I’d be strong enough to push him if he didn’t let me. He releases my arms and takes a step back, face hardening.

My breathing is heavy as I fight the urge to close the distance between us again, the loss of his heat more unpleasant than I would’ve thought .

I watch as he straightens. Hurt crosses his hard face, but then it’s gone. “Do you want me to go?” he asks carefully.

When I don’t answer, he takes a step towards me.

“Tell me to go, ma têtue .”

That is so unfair. He shouldn’t be allowed to be this fucking sexy and also speak a romantic language. Even if he’s calling me stubborn.

“Leah.” He says my name so softly in his deep, rich timbre, hypnotizing me to the spot as he moves. We’re as close as we can get without touching when he raises an enormous hand and, more gently than I could’ve imagined, drags a finger down the side of my face, landing on my chin.

“Tell me to go,” he whispers, tilting my head with one knuckle. Shivers. My useless arms do nothing but dangle at my sides.

“If you ever blame me for losing again, I swear to god, I’ll—” But my threat is cut off, my mouth suddenly occupied.

His lips crash into mine, and it’s the exact opposite of his touch against my face. There’s no other word for it—he claims my mouth.

With one hand still on my chin, he buries the other in my hair, holding me firmly against him. I fall forward, melting into his body, my hands flying up to brace against his chest as I surge onto my tiptoes so I don’t have to strain my neck so much.

I might’ve lost my balance had he not been prepared to catch me.

The hand on my chin moves to grasp my waist, steadying me. I feel anything but steady at this moment. The kiss is devastating in the best way, hard and insistent.

He nips at my lower lip, causing a gasp to escape my mouth. His tongue is there, chasing away the sting of the bite, and he’s inside my mouth, claiming me deeper. I meet him stroke for stroke, relishing the taste of this man wrapped in mystery.

There’s a fire in my blood, my body alive like it’s never been before. I need to be closer to him. Like our minds are in sync, our mouths stay fused together as Julien slips his hands under my thighs, lifting me up and spinning me around so my body slams against the door.

I briefly think of Mrs. Hastings—she probably heard the thump against the door—but my mind doesn’t stay there for long. The man holding me up will not allow my attention to fall on anything but him.

We break from the kiss, both gasping for air. His mouth moves from my face, down my neck and over my collarbone, tasting and licking, teasing me. My core is pressed against his stomach and my hips move automatically, seeking the friction I desperately need.

He growls into my skin at my movement, my hands threading in his thick hair. His beard scrapes my skin, leaving a trail of delicious pain in the wake of his soft lips. He comes back to claim my mouth again, my hips continuing their search for more.

The hands on my thighs tighten as he adjusts himself, giving me the contact I’m desperate for.

I moan, finding friction, and Julien is there to swallow my sound with his mouth. There’s a rumble in his chest as he moves with me.

“Julien,” I gasp once he frees me, grinding his hips into me. I feel the briefest contact with the very hard length of him before he shifts me away, cursing .

“Fuck, tu es même meilleure que dans mes rêves .” The French spills from his lips, lifting my desire to heights I didn’t know were possible.

“I need more,” I breathe. I may die if I don’t get the right contact. But he silences my plea, ignoring my demand by returning his mouth to mine. My lips are swollen, but I open for him, greedily accepting whatever he gives me.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders, releasing my mouth, our heavy breaths mixing. I squeeze my legs around his tree trunk of a torso so he can move his hands. He has me pressed so firmly against the door, I don’t move as he explores my body.

I nip his lip, pulling him back to my mouth, kissing him just as fiercely. His hands play with the hem of my shirt, teasing me before he snakes them under the thin fabric, branding my skin with his touch. They move up my sides, his fingertips grazing the curves of my breasts.

An involuntary moan escapes me, louder than before. Julien curses again, or at least I think he curses—he’s speaking French.

“Tell me to stop,” he says as his lust-filled eyes meet mine. He presses into me and I’m about five seconds from the orgasm I feel building.

“Don’t fucking stop,” I tell him. I beg him. My hips beg him when he still doesn’t move.

A twinkle of amusement flickers in his eyes as he takes in my face, the desperate movement of my body, my swollen lips, probably red and twice their normal size from the scratch of his beard.

“You’re close,” he whispers. It’s not a question .

One of his hands trails down the small gap between us, teasing me, his fingers playing with the band of my shorts. God, I need him.

His finger dips beneath the fabric, scraping against the crease of my thigh. A gasp leaves me. “Julien—”

“MAMAMAMAMA.” Levi’s loud cries pierce through everything else, dousing us in cold, frigid water. We freeze in our embrace, our chests heaving. My legs twitch, probably with the desire to stay right where they are. But Levi’s cry comes again.

Julien rests his forehead against mine and then slowly lets me down, making sure I’m steady on my feet. His gaze doesn’t leave mine the entire time, and his hands are still under my shirt, gripping my hips.

Holy shit. I almost let this man fuck me against my front door with my kid in the next room. I push away from him, and he releases me immediately, taking a step back, shaking his head as if trying to clear the fog. I know because I’m doing the same.

“I have to go,” I whisper.

“Of course,” he says, no anger or frustration in his voice. Something sad flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone when he gives me a small smile. Ever so gently, almost reverently, he cups my face with his hands, thumbs rubbing along my cheekbones. He places the lightest kiss on my swollen lips.

“Good night, mon rêve .” With another light kiss, he turns me towards Levi’s room, and then he’s gone.

“MAMAMAMA.” Levi is still crying.

I walk as though I’m in a dream to soothe my son.

The cock blocker.