Page 18 of Protecting Player #73 (Portland, Settlers #1 | Gridiron Warriors)

T.K

B rea doesn’t notice me, not at first, which allows me to admire her. She concentrates on the braids until they’re just right, pulling her hair back to see where she wants to add more or remove one or two. Her movements are thoughtful and unhurried.

The dress she bought today is even more stunning up close, hugging her slight curves. It’s a simple garment, yet she’s like a figure out of a painting. The color softens her, showcasing her natural calmness, while drawing out the warmth and confidence she carries like a second skin.

I love her femininity–from the dresses she wears with matching shoes, to the ribbons in her hair. Everything somehow just fits her perfectly, like each piece of clothing has been carefully crafted for her and her alone.

Watching Brea like this, catching a quiet moment hidden from the world, she’s my little secret, and I wish it could stay this way forever.

There’s something appealing about how unaware she is of her beauty, how she never tries to impress anyone.

She’s always herself, and in those layers of unawareness lies a rareness that makes me realize how lucky I am and just how much I love her.

“What?” She’s caught me, and still, I can’t stop staring. Especially after she explains her elegance and why she chose her particular style.

The impulse to touch her is overwhelming, so I move forward to copy her movements as I grab a lock of her hair. I twist it into a braid that is messy and nothing like hers, but she smiles and hands me a tie to keep it in place.

“You’re stunning, pup.” I compliment her a lot, but she seems shocked by this one. Maybe it’s my softer voice, the sincerity in my tone, or perhaps she finally realizes that I’m head over heels for her.

“Thank you, Tate.”

Fuck , I love when she says my name. Only my mom calls me that, and usually because I’m in shit. From Brea, it sounds like a prayer and a promise.

As she gets to her feet, my eyes slowly roam up and down her frame, appreciating the subtle curves of her hips and tits, and the hint of mouth-watering cleavage. The dress’s hem ends halfway up her thighs, making her legs look longer than they are.

Licking my lower lip, I suck it between my teeth and bite hard to stop myself from picking her up and dragging her to bed. This woman of mine is too damn delicious to let out of my sight.

“You’re staring at me like I’m your last meal.” Her hand drapes gracefully on my chest over my heart.

“I’d like you to be.” Winking at her stunned expression, I grip her free hand and bring it to my lips, kissing each knuckle.

“How am I supposed to let you out of the house when you look so fucking good?” Wrapping my other hand around her waist, I drag her closer, hissing when her belly rubs against my raging erection.

“You”–she pats my chest–“are so very good for my confidence.” Leaning forward, she kisses my chest in the opening of my button-up shirt, then giggles when the hair tickles her nose.

“We better leave before I decide to eat you all night instead.”

Her innocent little gasp tantalizes me. No matter what I do or say, she’s always bewildered by the filthy things coming out of my mouth, but never really protests.

Leading the way back out, she gives me the directions to her parents’ place, and for the first time in recent memory, I’m nervous.

The last thing I want is for them to dislike me.

If they disapprove, it’ll be impossible to convince Brea to marry me in Vegas, and that’s a problem I can’t contemplate right now.

“Brea!” Her mom smiles and waves from the front porch, which is deep and wide, with thick tapered columns resting on river rock bases.

It’s not flashy, but more so solid and grounded, reminding me of home.

It appears to have stood here for a hundred years and plans to for a hundred more.

The cedar shingles are weathered just enough to provide character.

Brea races up the flagstone path. “Hi, Mom.” They don’t hesitate to embrace at the bottom of the steps as I admire the yard, kept simple but sharp–neat lines from a fresh mowing, a few native shrubs that don’t need pampering.

The purple hydrangeas are in full bloom, and their fresh floral scent fills my nostrils as I watch the two women whisper together.

Hanging back a bit, I give them their moment before Brea escorts her mother over. “T.K., this is my mom, JoAnne. Mom, this is Tate.”

“T.K. Weston, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She smiles warmly as she shakes my hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. King. Brea is an amazing woman, and I can see why, now.” A blush warms her face as she winks at my flirting.

“Please call me Jo. I have a feeling formality is not needed here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She bats my hand as she pulls away with a shake of her head.

Brea’s dad now stands in the doorway, watching us as we walk up the steps. “Sir,” I say. He eyes my hand critically before offering his own.

“It’s nice to meet you, T.K. Big fans of yours in this house.” Brea mutters something and hides her face, causing her dad to grin widely. “Call me Mark. None of this ‘sir’ bullshit.”

“You got it, Mark.” Her parents step inside, leaving the door open as Brea turns into my chest to hide her furious blushing. “You’ve already told me.” I remind her of her confession about crushing on me for years.

“Yeah, but now, you’ll get to see the evidence,” she groans.

Leaning in close to her ear, I whisper, “I can’t fucking wait.”

She must pick up on the heat in my voice because as she pulls back to meet my stare, a similar lust sparkles in her beautiful gaze. “You make me question everything.”

“How so?” I know the answer, but I want her to say it, craving to hear her need for me.

“I want the marriage and commitment first. I need to know I’m not just some one-night stand.

” I try not to take offense at the last part.

“And you make me want to throw that all away because I’ve never felt even a small amount of what I do for you with anyone else, and it scares the crap out of me. ”

Any offense gets shot down by her last reveal. “You’re not a one-nighter for me, pup. You’re forever, and I’d hope to hell you would know that by now.”

“I do, Tate. That’s why it’s so damn scary.”

She’s displaying vulnerability, and there are so many things I can do or say in this moment, but I settle on one simple request. “Be my wife, pup.”

Her jaw drops, and tears fill her eyes; however, before she can answer, we’re called inside to grab some drinks and join the older couple on the back patio for a BBQ.