Page 25

He slammed the door shut behind him and immediately began yanking at the straps and laces, but the gloves stuck. Sweat glued everything in place, and frustration rose with the heat.

The door creaked open behind him.

Miranda slipped in, breathless and still giggling. She closed it behind her, muffling the sounds of the crowd. “Seriously, that was the best thing I’ve seen in years. You okay in there?”

“I thought I was helping,” he grumbled. “Instead, I’m the punchline.”

She rose on her toes and tugged off his helmet, then leaned in and kissed him—a soft, laughing peck, full of affection. “You were helping. You were incredible. The kids were thrilled. The crowd lost their minds. You’ll be on every Savannah social feed and local TikTok by noon tomorrow.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cupped his cheeks, kissed him again, longer this time. Her lips soothed away the crankiness like magic.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You made Opening Day fun again. I owe you.”

He studied her face, flushed from laughter, eyes still sparkling. “Really? You owe me?”

She tried to school her smile into seriousness. “Absolutely. What’ll it be? Coffee? Breakfast? Dinner?”

He pulled her in close, mindful of the clunky armor but no less determined.

Her body softened against his, the heat between them suddenly sharper than the sweat baking beneath his suit.

He dipped his head until he could smell the hint of chai clinging to her breath, and a trace of mint from her toothpaste.

“All of the above,” he murmured. “Dinner...then dessert...then breakfast in bed. Yours. Or mine. I’m flexible.”

Her pupils dilated, arousal blooming in her expression like a storm cloud rolling in. Her smile turned sultry—slow, seductive. “And when would you like payment, Sir Knight?”

He abruptly let go, and she stumbled back, wobbling slightly on her heels.

“As soon as I get out of this medieval torture device and scrub the Wayne off me,” he deadpanned. “Did the guy ever shower?”

Her laugh was surprised. “I wouldn’t know. We didn’t hang out much.”

She stepped close again, fingers already working at the buckles of his gloves, peeling him free layer by layer.

She moved to his shoulders, then knelt to undo the leg straps.

He followed her lead, and as the last piece of armor dropped, including the pelvic guard, his cock stirred—freed from compression and practically throbbing at the sight of her on her knees in front of him.

The image made his blood heat and his breath catch. She only had to turn her head slightly…

“Miranda,” he warned, voice rough, needy.

She looked up, calm and calculating—and then reached under the waistband of his briefs. Her hand curled around him, soft and sure. He groaned, deep and low, as she dragged her thumb across the wet tip.

He wanted to stop her. He should stop her. But his body had other ideas. His hips rocked forward instinctively.

She licked her lips. “No noise, Mr. Wainright. Or someone might check on us. What do you think they'd say?”

His jaw clenched as he bit back a growl, tension curling through him like a live wire. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He just needed.

She dipped her head and swirled her tongue over the head of his cock before taking him deep, all in one practiced motion. He damn near blacked out.

Her cheeks hollowed, tongue dancing around his length. Pressure and suction combined in waves, each more intense than the last. He gritted his teeth, braced himself against the wall, and surrendered. No thoughts. No control. Just her.

He came fast, harder than he intended, jerking forward with a helpless groan as pleasure rocked through him. She held him steady, her mouth gentling him with soft licks until the tremors stopped.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the bench, dazed. Her head rested on his thigh, blonde hair tangled, pins scattered like confetti. One of his hands was buried in her hair, and he didn’t remember grabbing her.

He ran his fingers through the loose waves, brushing them from her neck, stroking her scalp in gratitude and awe. The buzz of the crowd beyond the door barely registered.

Eventually, she stood and grabbed a bottle of water, gulping down half before handing it to him.

He drank it in two swallows, still catching his breath. “Miranda…”

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “That was a preview. I’ll see you in the owner’s box later.”

She gestured to the locker room door behind him. “Shower’s through there. Use the employee one.”

Then she was gone, slipping into the corridor with a quick glance to ensure no one saw her exit. The door clicked shut.

Lucas slumped back against the wall, heart pounding like a war drum.

If that was a preview, the full show might just kill him.

L ater, long after the game had ended and the sun had dipped below the horizon, the field sparkled under the stadium lights.

The traditional Opening Day celebration buzzed with laughter and chatter.

Families picnicked in the outfield, kids raced the bases with wild abandon, and employees mingled with players over drinks and food truck tacos.

Lucas nursed a cold beer, standing just beyond the edge of third base, watching the festivities unfold. The Knights had won—won, dammit—eight to two. Their first Opening Day victory in four years. For a team mired in poor starts and long odds, it was a hell of a beginning.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Wainright.”

Cole Hammonds clapped him on the back, harder than necessary. Lucas turned, slow and deliberate, and gave him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Cole was grinning like the cat who'd swallowed the damn canary.

“Nice trick, Hammonds,” Lucas muttered. “Watch your back. I owe you.”

The words tasted of amusement, but heat pulsed beneath his skin as his mind flashed to the locker room earlier—Miranda’s mouth on him, the press of her lips, the wicked sparkle in her eyes. The anticipation was still there, thrumming through his blood like a bass-line.

Cole’s grin didn’t budge, but his gaze hardened, something sharp and assessing beneath the laid-back exterior. Lucas recognized it—two predators circling, each pretending not to care who had the bigger teeth.

“Miranda seemed happy with your performance today.” Cole’s tone was deceptively light, casual even, but the gleam in his eyes was anything but.

Lucas didn’t look away. He hadn’t built his reputation by backing down. “Yeah. Opening Day will be one to remember—at least until the next game.”

Cole stepped in closer, pushing into Lucas’s personal space. Their hands were nearly touching, but Lucas stood his ground, spine straight, refusing to flinch. They were the same age, the same height, both men used to taking charge, and now, apparently, on opposite ends of the same woman’s life.

Lucas raised his beer and finished it with a slow, deliberate pull, eyes locked on Cole’s the entire time.

“I know there’s something going on between the two of you,” Cole said, voice low. “It’s not my place to interfere—but since her father’s not around, I look out for her. I don’t care if this is serious or just a game to you. Either way, don’t hurt Miranda.”

Lucas’s expression cooled, voice a deliberate drawl. “Or what? You planning to step in? Because unless you’ve got a personal interest in her, I don’t see how her personal life—or mine—is your business.”

Cole’s jaw clenched. His shoulders tensed beneath the polo. “Miranda’s like a sister to me. That’s all. But I care about what happens to her. I don’t trust you, Wainright. And I don’t want to see her get burned.”

Lucas took a slow breath. “You’ve been spending too much time with Seamus. I’m here to do my job, period. What’s between Miranda and me is personal. Separate. And none of your business. So, do us both a favor—stay out of it.”

He clapped Cole’s shoulder once, hard, then pushed past him, done with the posturing, the suspicion, the stale beer and the forced smiles.

He stalked toward the edge of the field, muscles tight, adrenaline still humming. Miranda must have spotted the tension in his body because she broke away from a conversation with two marketing assistants and came across the grass toward him, heels sinking slightly in the dirt.

“Everything okay?” she asked, concern flickering in her expression. “Did you and Cole have words?”

He made himself relax his jaw, unclench his fists. But all he really wanted—achingly, viscerally—was to drag her into the shadows, press her against a wall, and finish what they’d started hours ago.

“I think,” he said, voice low and rough, “I’m ready for my payment.”

She flushed immediately, cheeks turning a gorgeous shade of pink that matched the streaks of sunset still clinging to the sky. She bit her lower lip, her teeth grazing the soft skin, and glanced around, suddenly cautious.

“I can’t leave yet,” she whispered. “The party’s still going. Everyone’s watching.”

Lucas leaned in, letting his mouth brush the shell of her ear, close enough that the words vibrated along her skin. “You have two hours. I’m coming to your condo. Be naked.”

Her breath caught and he felt the shiver tremble through her. She nodded, just once, her eyes dark with promise.

He turned and strode off the field, his pace clipped, heat crawling up his spine. Social niceties were over. Two hours. Just two.

The longest goddamned one hundred and twenty minutes of his life.