Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(130)

“We’ll see.” I flick my lashes up to catch his eyes. “I’ll be in LA half the time anyway. I’ve been looking at a few apartments near La Jolla.”

“Stop looking,” he insists, frowning. “I want you here with me.”

I slide my hands over his shoulders and down his arms to twine our fingers, hoping to distract him from something we might not agree on yet. “I got you a gift!”

He angles a wry look at me. He peeps my game.

“Lotus, baby, we—”

“An anniversary gift.” I switch off the music in our ears.

His steady stare and a few beats of silence tell me we’ll revisit the living arrangements later.

“You don’t want to give me the gift after dinner?” he finally asks.

“Now seems as good a time as any.” I drag him by the hand into the bedroom, pushing his shoulder until he’s seated on the bed. “Close your eyes.”

He deliberately keeps his eyes open, going so far as to stretch them wide for emphasis.

“Kenan Admiral Ross.”

“Aw, hell.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “My mother gave you that.”

“She’s very forthcoming after a few drinks.” I grin saucily. “Mama gave up all your secrets.”

A deep chuckle shakes the broad slope of his shoulders. “I knew I should have kept you two apart.”

“Close your eyes,” I order again, walking backward to the closet, watching him the whole time. “And no peeking.”

I’m like a kid at Christmas, only instead of being eager to open my gift, I can’t wait to give it.

The package is so huge, I struggle to drag it out of the closet and to the bed. Fortunately, it’s protected by thick shipping paper.

Once the gift and I stand before Kenan, I wave my hand in front of his face.

“Stop waving your hand in my face,” he says with a grin and still-closed eyes.

“Are you peeking?” My question ends on an indignant squeak.

“No, I just have the heightened senses of a bobcat,” he jokes.

“Do bobcats have heightened senses?”

“Who the hell cares?” Kenan asks with good-natured exasperation, his smile widening. “Can I open my eyes now? Shit.”

I laugh so hard I have to bend at the waist. I’m having way too much fun with this.

“Okay,” I say, after I’ve composed myself. “You can open.”

When he opens his eyes, they latch onto me and then shift to the gift, which stands about a foot taller than I do. It’s large and square and shrouded in brown paper.

“Is this . . .” His eyes dart between me and the large square. “Did you—”

“Would you just open it? Shit,” I repeat his curse mockingly.

He stands and covers my hand holding the gift up by the corner. Instead of tearing into it, as I assumed he would, he bends, loops his other arm around my waist, and kisses me so deeply, I can’t breathe and sway on wobbly legs when he’s done. He feathers kisses down my chin and neck.

“Kenan,” I protest weakly, trying my damnedest to stave off the horniness. “Behave. Open it.”

He smiles and releases me to rip the paper away and reveal the photograph from Chase’s exhibit.

“God, Lotus.” Kenan looks between me and the photograph several times like he’s not sure which one he wants to stare at most. “It’s so beautiful. I don’t know what . . . thank you. You know how badly I wanted this.”

“Yeah, I heard you offered twenty-thousand dollars for it.” I laugh and caress his face. “What a schmuck.”

“Oh, I’m a schmuck?” With seemingly little effort, he hefts the huge photograph up and walks it over to prop it against the wall. He strides back to the bed, his eyes glinting with wicked intent. “Say it again.”

I hold my breath, allowing the anticipation to coil between us to the point of snapping. “Schmuck!”

I take off running to the other side of the mammoth bed. He chases me, almost catches me, but I jump up, my feet sinking into the soft mattress, and leap to the other side. I feint left and right, running around and over the mattress a few times before his iron arms close around me and gently wrestle me to the bed.

“Please don’t tickle me,” I beg, laughing before he’s even started.

“So I’m a schmuck?” He slips one arm under my back, pressing me to him and making it impossible to do anything but squirm and relish our closeness.

“No, you’re not a schmuck! And you’re not a grumpy old man either.”

“You didn’t call me a grumpy old man,” he says with a frown.

“Well, I just did! Suckaaaah!”

And then his persistent fingers dig into my ribs, finding every soft, ticklish spot. I kick and flail and arch my neck and contort my body as much as possible, but he won’t be deterred.

“Oh, my God,” I protest. “Please don’t make me pee in this dress the first time I wear it.”

He finally relents, lying on his side, resting his head in the heel of his hand as he watches me.

“That is the only thing that saved you.” His features, already softened with humor, grow even more tender with affection. “I love your photo. It’s going on that wall so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”