Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(65)

Not my breasts or my nakedness, but that he’s interested in my face.

“You’re stunning,” he murmurs as he snaps another picture.

I can’t help that my lips curl into a smile. It actually makes his breath catch, which makes my breath catch. He takes another picture, then he starts working the phone again. After a few taps, his brow furrows in concentration until he finally says, “There. Texted them all to my phone.”

He then turns the phone downward one more time, hovering it right over his cock, which has softened but is still quite impressive in size. He snaps a pick, handing my phone back to me with a grin. “Now you can look at this when we’re apart.”

“Oh my God, you didn’t just take a dick pic, did you?”

He smirks as he presses my phone into my hands. “You know you want it.”

I sort of do. While he rolls off me to the mattress again, I pull up the photo he just took and it’s really quite beautiful.

Of course, everything about his body is beautiful to me.

I scroll through the pictures he took of me, and I’m embarrassed. True to his word, they’re all above my neck, but my expression is one of such intense longing—for him—that my face flushes hot. There’s no hiding the fact I’m falling for him hard.

Tacker is on his back, his own phone now in his hand. He doesn’t try to hide it from me, but his expression is intense as he works. I’ve never seen his home screen before. There’s a beautiful blonde’s photo set as the background.

Without ever having seen her before, I know it’s MJ.

He puts in his password, pulls up his text, and methodically saves each photo he took of me and texted to himself.

When he’s done, he puts the phone down and grins lecherously. “Got my spank bank loaded for the coming road trips.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re gross.”

“You adore me,” he counters, pulling me into him. He wraps his arm around me, going quiet for a long moment. “I’ve got a ton of photos of MJ on my phone. It’s kind of weird having you there with her.”

There’s no hiding the way my body tenses and instinctually tries to pull away from him at this proclamation.

Tightening his hold, he continues talking. “Don’t be upset by that.”

“I’m not,” I assure him, leaning my head back so he can see my eyes. See the truth there. “I’m not threatened by what you had with MJ, Tacker. I promise.”

“Many women would be,” he points out.

“Do you feel less for me because of her memory?” I ask this not because I need the answer, but because he does.

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze finally coming to me. There’s a telltale flush of pink in his cheeks. “Sometimes… I feel a lot more. Not because of her memory, but because of who you are.”

It’s not until I hear those words and feel the release of pressure from my chest that I realize… I was indeed bothered by MJ’s presence on his phone. Immediately, I feel shame and self-loathing that I couldn’t be more of a professional in my assessment of the situation, even though, deep down, all of my education means exactly squat when it comes to my own matters of the heart.

“I’m going to go see her parents next week,” he says. Once again… my body jolts. This time in pure surprise at the change of subject.

“You were close to them,” I point out. It’s something I learned in counseling—that Tacker was closer to MJ’s parents than to his own dad and stepmom. But like with all his other relationships after the crash, he’d pulled away.

He admitted the guilt was the worst when it came to them, because he had convinced himself he’d killed their only daughter. When I pressed him, though, he also had to admit they’d never made him feel that way. They’d never held him accountable. Instead, they’d only wanted to share their grief with him.

Since then, he has seen her parents periodically, forcing himself to be there for them. He told me they were the only people he ever made an effort for, so it makes me happy to know he’s going to see them.

“I want to tell them about you,” he continues, tracing my cheekbones with a fingertip. “I think they’d like to know.”

Cupping his cheek, I stroke the stubble there. “I think you’re an amazing man, Tacker. They’re incredibly lucky to still have you in their lives.”

“It seems like I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs right before bringing his lips to mine.

What starts out as a gentle kiss of gratitude turns hot with the mere touch of his tongue to mine. Then his fingers are inside me, and I’m melting all over again for him.





CHAPTER 28




Tacker


It’s the last week of regular season play, and we’re on the downswing. Two more away games, a last home game, and then we are in the playoffs. We’ve played so well this season that we’ve clinched the number-one seed.

This game should be easy. It’s against my former team—the Dallas Mustangs—and they aren’t even in playoff contention. But I can’t gloat about that. It has nothing to do with me leaving the organization. I was good—the best they had—but one man does not make an entire team.

I have no hard feelings against the Mustangs for cutting me loose in the expansion draft. I was a burden to them following the crash, first with my physical injuries and then with my emotional, which led me to sit out the entire last half of the season.