Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(21)

In fact, I just sit, right there, on the turf.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow creasing with worry and joins me on the ground.

I’m speechless as I gaze around the stadium, and it occurs to me that this could have been me, on stage, singing in front of sixty-seven thousand people, rather than small little clubs around Seattle, or reception halls full of wedding guests. If Leo hadn’t made the decision to go without me, I would have been singing in places just like this one.

“Meg?” Will’s worried voice pulls me out of my trance and I shrug.

“You must not get stage fright either,” I murmur.

“Only during the play-offs,” he replies and pushes my hair back over my shoulder. I love how he’s always touching me.

“You’re a lot to take in, you know?” I ask him.

He smiles shyly, and frowns for a second, looking down at this hands. “I can be, yeah. But remember, this is just what I do. It’s only part of who I am.”

“It’s important to you,” I remind him and he nods.

“Very. I’ve played football for as long as I can remember.” He takes one of my hands in his and plays with my fingers. “Football got me through school, Meg. I knew I had to get good grades and stay out of trouble if I wanted to stay on the team. And I did. I wanted the camaraderie with the guys. I had some really smart coaches who pushed me and taught me. It earned me a scholarship to college, and I worked my ass off there too.”

He takes a deep breath and looks up, his eyes taking in the stadium, the scoreboard, the ads. “This is all I ever wanted, and I was lucky enough to get here.”

“This isn’t luck,” I state firmly and his gaze whips to mine, surprised. “Will, this is the result of you working your ass off and earning it. I may not know everything there is to know about football, but I know that it’s not easy, and I know that I’m so very proud of you. Not because of your contract, or the jersey you wear – which you look damn hot in, by the way – but because you’re doing what you always dreamed of. How many of us can say that?”

His eyes soften as he cups my cheek in his big hand and rubs his thumb across my lower lip. He leans toward me and brushes his magical lips over mine, and then sinks into me, pushing me back to lie on the turf. He runs that hand down my face, over my breast, and rests it on my hip as he continues to make love to my mouth, his tongue searching and dancing. Our breathing quickens, and dear God, I want him.

He pulls back and gazes down at me. “Someone’s probably watching us,” he murmurs. He kisses my forehead and then lies on his back beside me. We just lay here, breathing hard.

“I should tell you something,” I whisper.

“What?” I feel him look over at me, but I just look up at the black night sky above the brightly lit, empty stadium.

“I want to suck your dick in your car.”

“What?!” He pushes up on his elbow, leans over me, and makes me look him in the eye. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Your car makes me crazy, Will.” I lick my lips and grin. “All I’ve thought about since the other day is going down on you in your car.”

I’ve never seen anyone spring to their feet so quickly in my life. He pulls me to my feet as well and starts stalking back the way we came.

“Slow down! Will, your legs are longer than mine!” I’m practically running behind him, and he stops abruptly and turns back to me. He looks pissed, his eyes narrowed and on fire, mouth tight, jaw clenched. I take an involuntary step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like such a whore, I just…”

“If you ever call yourself a whore again,” he pushes his face into mine, his nose only centimeters from touching my own, “I will take you over my knee and spank the hell out of you. Do you understand me? You turn me inside out. I want to f*ck you seven shades of Sunday, and I want to make long, slow, sweet love to you for days. I’m craving you, goddamn it, and you can’t just say shit like that to me when I know what you taste like, and what you look like and I need desperately to know what the f*ck you feel like.”

I blink at him, completely thrown.

Well, okay then.

“Now, as much as I want to strip you naked and take you on the fifty-yard-line, I don’t need those photos surfacing on the internet any more than you do.”

And with that he bends down and in one swift move, lifts me onto his shoulder and begins carrying me off the field, just as quickly as he was before.

“I can walk,” I remind him.

“Not fast enough,” he mutters and slaps my ass.

“Hey!”

“You deserve that and more, now shut up, Megan.”

Holy f*ck.

We get to the car and he sets me on my feet, and then helps me into the passenger seat. He walks briskly around the car and folds himself easily behind the wheel, starts the car and pulls out of the garage, speeding toward the freeway.

His handsome face is scowling and he won’t look at me.

I’m not sure what to think. Why is he so pissed off? Too much sexual tension? Well, join the club, sexy man.

“So…” I start but he interrupts me.

“Don’t talk.”

What?

We’re back on Interstate 5, heading north this time, and he’s driving way past the speed limit. He passes the exit for my place, and I frown over at him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Suddenly, he’s pulling off the freeway, turns left, and follows the road to an exclusive part of Seattle. The homes are set back from the road with gates. He approaches the end of the street, pulls into a drive and enters a code for the gate.