Everyone who works within the New York Warriors organization knows that star player August Fletcher refuses to talk to most people...and especially team reporters. All except Quinn Castle, that is.
Quinn doesn't know why the broody football player...
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QUINN FELL ASLEEP on the way back from Sunny's. Considering it was only a ten-minute drive, it was a good indication of just how tired she must be.
I should have made her take a break way earlier than I did. There was no reason she should have been hustling as hard as the rest of us, even though Sunny had commented more than once that having an extra set of hands had been a godsend today.
I told him not to get used to it; Quinn would return to New York before we knew it. He hadn't been impressed by that response, and now I worried that my uncle was planning to kidnap a Warriors reporter just so Wednesdays were a little more bearable.
As for me, I thought today was incredibly unbearable.
Every time Quinn's body brushed against mine, my own body reacted. The slow simmer beneath my skin grew hotter. And even though being near Quinn Castle felt like ongoing torture, I was getting far too accustomed to being burned. Far too accustomed to leaning in to whisper in her ear, brushing my lips across her skin. Far too accustomed to trailing my fingers along her back. Far too accustomed to having her body pressed against mine.
Because that dance...what the hell was that dance?
I should be somewhat consoled that Quinn clearly enjoyed herself as much as me, but I couldn't find it in me. I had a hunch that Quinn viewed dancing and flirting with men in bars as a casual, routine event. But there was nothing about that dance that felt casual to me. It felt like I wanted this woman. Badly.
Always had, but wanting her when I only saw her in small doses during stuffy interviews was manageable. This, though? This did not feel manageable. This did not feel right. She was here for a job, and I'd brought her to my family's bar, acted like a jealous fool when she started dancing with another man, and then encouraged her to grind up against my hard cock.
Fuck, what was I doing?
I glanced to the other side of the car, noting how moonlight cast across Quinn's pretty features as she leaned her head against the window. Her expression was soft and vulnerable, which did nothing to ease the guilt plaguing me.
Quinn Castle was young and carefree, still navigating the earlier days of her career. There was no reason washed-up men like me should be dancing with pretty girls like her in a bar.
Besides, I hadn't forgotten what she said earlier today.
You don't like reporters, so I'm trying not to act like one.
She claimed she wasn't putting on an act, and to an extent, I believed her. But it didn't change the fact that there were things she wanted from me, and part of my brain wondered if she danced with me, flirted with me, and laughed with me because she thought this was how she had to act for me to give them to her.
The chemistry, the heat...that had to be real, though. Didn't it? There was no way that was fake. It couldn't be. I heard her breath hitch, felt her body react to my touch.
