Risky Play (Red Card #1)(67)

A look of vulnerability crossed her features as she wrapped her arms around my neck, seeking another kiss. One I was more than happy to give her.

I ached for her in a way that bordered on painful.

And she was the only cure for it.

I felt my body throb inside hers, felt every breath she took like it was my own, experienced each wave as she rolled her hips.

Her lips trembled when I kissed her again, an ethereal feeling soared through me when it was me she clung to, when it was me she trusted with everything.

When I had no right for it to be me.

I dug my hands into her backside as her body started to shake.

No words.

I didn’t want words between us.

Words you could misunderstand.

But this?

Our bodies joined together?

No misunderstanding. Just trust. Love. And completion. I withdrew from her then welcomed another open-mouth kiss as I drove home.

I felt her whisper my name across her tongue.

I smiled when she came apart all over me.

Body limp, she collapsed against my chest. “Now we’re both sweaty.”

I ducked my head against her perfumed neck, a mixture of sweat and the lavender body wash she kept at my house.

“Mack?”

“Slade?”

“Don’t ever give up on me.”

She probably didn’t realize how hard that was to say out loud.

Or how much I needed her to replace the one person in my world who had promised to always have my back.

“Promise,” she whispered. “As long as you never wear leather pants again.”

“I’m burning them later, thought we could celebrate with some wine—since you go back to your old job tomorrow.”

Her face fell.

“Hey.” I took her chin between my fingers. “None of that, you love your job, just think, we’ll both be at work, then we can come home and have food, wine, all the sex, never in that order since sex always comes first, but same idea.” I winked.

“Sounds good.” And yet again her smile felt forced.

“Are you okay?” I found myself being that guy, the one that was so stupid he couldn’t tell what was bothering the woman in his life.

“Slade!” Matt pounded on the door. “I gave you eight minutes. Time to open up.”

“Was it eight minutes, though?” I called back. “Could have sworn it was at least twelve . . . eight . . . eight, my ass.”

“Weird, I thought it was five?” Mack said with a straight face.

I smacked her on the ass. “Careful there . . .”

She grinned just as Matt hit the door again, with what sounded like both hands.

“Fine, fine, give me a few minutes.”





Chapter Forty-Eight MACKENZIE

I wasn’t being fair to him.

He said he loved me.

Loves me.

And I still had doubts.

Not because of the photo shoot but because of what Jagger said. I wanted to ask him if he took Jagger’s girlfriend out from underneath him. I wanted to ask about the pregnancy.

But I felt trapped with knowledge I shouldn’t have, all because I wanted to clear things up with Jagger—my fault.

And bringing up something painful that could create a chasm in our new relationship—also my fault.

My time was up, though.

It was the first day I was expected back at my family’s winery, and while I was excited to be there at my old job doing what I loved . . .

It also meant I was going to see less of Slade.

What if things changed?

What if he suddenly realized that I wasn’t what he wanted?

Or worse, what if I started to turn into one of those jealous girlfriends and pushed him away like his ex had?

I was ready to rip that model’s hair from her skull, and the worst part? Every few minutes she’d look over at me with this knowing, manipulative little witch look that had me ready to slap her across the face.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

I was just thankful that Slade wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it.

But what about next time?

What about the next photo shoot?

And the next?

What about when the season started up again in a few months?

Agh!

I was going to drive myself crazy.

I needed wine.

Good thing I was walking into a winery!

Slade: Kill it today.

I smiled down at my phone.

Me: I get to drink wine all day—I’ll be just fine, but if I need you to pick me up later . . .

Slade: I would love to pick up my drunk girlfriend—only if that means she comes with a brand new bottle of that pinot noir.

Me: Did you just . . . are you talking dirty to me?

Slade: With its effervescent spice, and did I taste a hint of raspberry?

Me: I want you naked. On the bed. With two glasses of wine when I get home . . .

Slade: I’ll bring some chocolate for that palate of yours—and Mack?

I was grinning so hard.

Me: Yes?

Slade: I love that you called my house home.

I sucked in a breath. Little prickly tears stung the backs of my eyes as I texted back.

Me: Home is where you are.

Slade: Love you, Mack. Try to stay sober.

I hadn’t said it yet.