Page 15

CHAPTER 15

CHRISTINE

D ropping my keys on the console table, I follow Griffin to the kitchen.

He grabs two bottles from the fridge, handing me one. “Thanks.” I open the cap and take a couple of sips, then place the water on the counter. “I like your friends.”

His smile is amused. “They’re your friends now too.”

My lips curve. “I guess they kind of are.”

“For sure. Face it, you’re part of the crew now. In fact, I think they like you better than me.”

I laugh. “That might be a stretch.”

“I don’t think so. You’re nicer than I am, and better looking too.”

A choked sound escapes my throat. “Yeah, I might be nicer than you. But you’ve got me beat in the looks department.”

He shakes his head, as if I’m not making sense.

“What?” I ask.

“My teammates are guys. I promise they think you’re more attractive than I am.”

I snort. “Good point. But they’re used to Scarlett and Autumn, and those two are gorgeous.”

“Your beauty eclipses all others.”

“Stop.” I wave my hand at him.

“No, I won’t.” He sets his bottle on the counter, then pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me. “You seem to have a difficult time accepting compliments.”

He’s right. I do.

“Why is that?” he asks, his expression now serious.

My hands press flat to his chest, the steady thrum of his heart beating beneath them. “I’m not sure where it originated from. I’ve never liked having attention on me.”

“Is it embarrassing when you do?”

“Sometimes. But mostly it feels awkward and makes me want to climb out of my skin.”

“I’ll make an effort not to call attention to you in front of others, but when we’re alone…” He traps my chin between his thumb and finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I plan to shower you with compliments.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

His hand moves up to brush a lock of hair from my eyes. “I’m not doing it out of a sense of necessity. But if I want to compliment you, I will. Maybe in time, you’ll realize I never say anything I don’t mean and you’ll grow more comfortable hearing praise.”

“I doubt it. My mom has been generous with complimenting me my entire life and it’s still awkward.”

“Isn’t it a rule that parents automatically make everything more awkward than it is?” he asks, grinning.

“That would explain a lot,” I say, tracing a fingertip over one of the buttons on the front of his shirt. He places a hand over mine, holding it against his chest.

“Thank you for coming to the game. It means a lot that you were there cheering me on.”

“I’m glad I went. You played so well.”

He smiles. “You were my good luck charm.”

I laugh. “I don’t think that’s true, but it was an exciting game to watch, and my blanket kept me nice and warm.”

He smiles. “Good. I’m glad it helped. I couldn’t have you sitting there turning into a snow woman.”

“Well, I guess I should get some sleep with tomorrow being my first day of classes.”

He releases hold of my hand and his arm falls from the small of my back. “What time do you need to leave?”

“Around eight. My class doesn’t start until nine, but I want to allow for traffic delays and also give myself extra time to find my way around campus.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. I’m actually gonna hit the sack now too. It’s been a long but exciting day.” He grabs his water bottle, returning it to the fridge. Snatching mine from the counter, I put the cap back on and clutch it in my hand as we leave the kitchen. We head up the stairs and he walks me to my door.

“Thanks again for today and also for going to Rogan’s. I liked seeing you hanging out with my friends. You fit right in.”

“That has more to do with how friendly they are than anything I did.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss your natural charm. They’re not that welcoming with just anyone.”

“Well, I’m sure it helps that I live with you.”

“If they didn’t like you, that wouldn’t matter. We’re all selective about who we spend time with.”

“It seems like you spend most of your time with your teammates,” I say.

“Yep. Our circles are small and tight knit for a reason. We don’t want outside noise fucking with our heads. We’re also careful about allowing new people into our group. Autumn works for the Silverbacks organization, so she already had access to us. We knew she wouldn’t post personal shit about us on her social media, and Scarlett is her best friend.”

“And what about me?”

“Autumn searched for your social media accounts but she said all she found was a book account.”

My mouth falls open. “What. The. Fuck? That seems kind of extreme.”

His head tips as one of his eyebrows quirks. “Is it really, though? The last thing we need is someone who’s part of our inner circle sharing private information about any of us.”

“Did you ask her to look me up?” It’s one thing if she took it upon herself, but if he was the motivation, that would be so much worse.

“No, I didn’t know she had until Rogan told me.”

“Did she run a credit check on me too? Or maybe hack into my chart at my doctor’s office?”

He bops me on the nose. “Calm down, Christine. All she did was search social media.”

My eyes narrow to a squint. “For a guy with all your experience with the opposite sex, you should know the worst thing you can say to a woman who’s worked up is ‘calm down.’”

He chuckles deeply, and I hate myself a little for the effect it has on me. Warmth curls low in my stomach, dousing my anger and replacing it with desire. I’ve always assumed in books when the heroine physically reacts to the hero’s laugh, it’s just the author using their creative license. But here I am, experiencing it first hand, and it’s more visceral than I dared to imagine.

“You’re sexy when you’re annoyed, with your flushed cheeks and shining eyes. It makes me wonder what you look like when you orgasm.”

A gasp slips from me. “Griffin!” My gaze darts around, avoiding making direct contact with his chocolate one. I take a step backward, coming into contact with the door.

He follows me, a laugh rumbling from deep in his chest. “I couldn’t help myself. You’re so pristine. I had to ruffle your feathers a little, so to speak.”

There’s a damp spot between my legs telling me he ruffled more than feathers.

“We probably shouldn’t be talking about such personal stuff,” I say.

He braces his arm against the door above my head, and leans in closer, his lips brushing my ear. “God, you’re so fucking adorable.”

I barely suppress a shiver, and it takes all my focus to force my brain to think rationally. “I’m trying to be serious here. After we kissed we said we shouldn’t do it again.”

His face hovers above mine. “And we haven’t. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it and wondered if it was as hot as I remember.”

Me too.

“Oh God.” It’s all I can do to hold myself back from closing the distance between our lips and putting an end to all the wondering. Instead, I bang my head back into the door, as if it’ll knock the sexual tension away and replace it with common sense. But it’s no use. At this point, all rational thought has fled my brain.

His fingertips skim the curve of my cheek, moving down to my neck in a feather-soft caress that stokes a flame inside me. He cups the base of my throat in his large hand and flexes his fingers. “Fuck it.” He slams his lips down on mine.

My mind goes blank like a bare canvas as Griffin’s lips move over mine. All I can do is feel and respond, parting my lips as his tongue seeks entrance. He deepens the kiss, and it quickly turns passionate and demanding.

With one hand still on my neck, his other arm wraps around me, pulling me flush against him. He slides his thigh between my legs, and I rub the aching part of me against his rock-solid muscles while our tongues tangle together.

My hands slide up his chest and over his shoulders, exploring the hard planes of muscle. Every inch of him feels like he’s hewn from granite. A small moan slips from me, and he growls in response, his hand tightening around my neck. My head spins, and I don’t know if it’s from a lack of oxygen or an abundance of desire. I only know I’ve never experienced anything as potent as this kiss. My body is burning up, nerve endings scorching hot like a phoenix about to burst into flames. If I thought our first kiss was amazing, this one is completely mind-blowing. Even though I know we shouldn’t be doing this and it could complicate everything, I don’t have the strength or desire to pull away.

Griffin’s hand slides from my neck to the back of my head, tangling in my hair and tugging gently to tip my head back. His lips leaving mine, he trails hot, damp kisses over the tip of my chin and down the front of my throat. He nips at my pulse, eliciting a gasp from me before soothing it with his lips and tongue.

“Christine,” he whispers against my skin, his voice thick with longing, “We should stop.” Yet his touch betrays his words, continuing to kiss and caress me with urgency. My hands wander over his sturdy back, feeling the tension and strength of his muscles beneath my fingers.

“We should,” I echo, my voice shaky and breathless, even as I find myself leaning into him, torn between pulling away and giving in.

He groans and captures my lips in a searing kiss that sends a rush of heat from my head to my toes. His hand leaves my hair, sliding down my side, and his thumb grazes the side of my breast. Even through the fabric of my shirt, the touch ignites a storm inside me. Griffin suddenly breaks the kiss, stepping back, and runs a hand through his hair, his breathing ragged as he looks at me with eyes darkened by a mix of desire and regret. “We shouldn't have done that,” he says, his voice thick with conflict.

I nod, my own breaths still uneven. “I know,” I say, though my heart sinks with disappointment. But beneath that, a part of me wishes for more.

He takes another step back, widening the gap between us. “I should go.”

“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips as a myriad of emotions swirl within me.

Griffin turns and strides down the hall and into his room without another word or a backward glance. I slip inside my room, closing the door behind me, and sink down onto the edge of my bed, my legs suddenly weak.

My mind races as I replay the kiss over and over. The passion between us and the intensity of emotion was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. But Griffin is right—we can’t let it happen again.

No matter how badly we both want it to.

Rising, I move over to my computer desk and sit down in the chair. Opening my laptop, I log in to my doc and scroll to the point I left off. My fingers fly over the keys as I use what just happened between Griffin and me as inspirational fuel for my story. As I write the hero, Jameson, I picture him in mind. Originally he had dirty-blond hair and green eyes, but now all I see is dark eyes and hair. He’s slowly morphed into Griffin, and instead of picturing Becca as I write the scene, I’m seeing a vision of myself.

His hand slides into my hair while the other pulls me flush against him. I melt into the kiss, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. A soft moan escapes me as his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

The world falls away, narrowing to just the two of us in this moment. There’s no motorcycle club, no hierarchy to respect, and no one to interrupt us. I’m drowning in the taste of him, the feel of his muscular body pressed against mine, and the intoxicating scent that is uniquely Jameson.

He tears his lips free, resting his forehead on mine as we wait for our breathing to slow. “This is wrong,” he says.

“I know.”

“But it feels so goddamn right.”

I close out of my doc and shut my laptop. Every writing class I’ve ever taken has taught me to write what I know, and I’ve always struggled with that advice. I felt like I didn’t have enough experience with romance to do the genre justice, but it’s also the only thing I want to write. Now all it’s taken is kissing a gorgeous man to get my creative juices flowing and to have the ability for my art to imitate my life. But the coolest thing of all is there’s no kiss I could write that would ever measure up to experiencing the real deal firsthand.

Griffin Moore might be a hero on the football field, but he’s a god when it comes to kissing.