Page 106 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“No.” He sets up on the lounge chair beside me, dragging it as close as he can get. When he sits down, I take him in, feeling safe behind my dark sunglasses. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt—big surprise there—and a bathing suit, the shorts shorter than I would’ve expected.
They ride high on his thighs and my mouth dries right out. I’ve obviously seen him in shorts lots of times while running, but I’m usually trying too hard not to die to truly appreciate his legs.
His corded, defined thighs are covered in a dusting of dark hair. They’re long and powerful and definitely more flexible than the average man’s. His light brown skin soaks up the sun around us, casting him in this golden glow.
I want to run my hands right to—yup, there it is. The outline of his ... How do the old romance novels put it? Manhood. His manhood already strains against his shorts. How much can a woman take before she loses all sense of self-preservation?
Because I think I’m rapidly approaching the limit.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he growls.
“Like what?” I say innocently. “You can’t even see my eyes.”
“I don’t have to.” He shoots me a knowing look. “You’re going to make it uncomfortable to be around other people.”
My laugh is full and uninhibited. “What’s the difference? You’re always uncomfortable around other people.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the twitch of his mouth shows me he knows I’m right.
“Can I have my phone back, please?” I try to make my voice soft and flirty. At least, I hope that’s what flirty is supposed to sound like.
He laughs, and I watch the planes of his face change from harsh and scowly to playful and happy. His beard is thick but shorter than the last time I saw him. He must’ve trimmed it after the playoffs were over.
“You’re evil,” he whispers, turning to face me and leaning close. “But two can play this game.” He pockets my phone and lowers his sunglasses, giving me a view of his intense, dark eyes. “If you want it, come and get it.”
He’s serious. And flirting. This is definitely flirting.
I take in his features, searching for signs that he’s joking. He’s going to pull my phone out of his pocket any moment and hand it back to me with another devastating smile.
Except he doesn’t.
Oh, he wants to play? I’ll play.
I slide out of my lounge chair, undoing the tie on my wrap sundress. Letting it fall open, I reveal my swimsuit. Flashes of the woman who danced on him last night flit through my mind and I try to banish them. It’s easier given how he’s looking at me. Even with his sunglasses on, I can see his jaw straining. My bathing suitis not super skimpy per se—the high-waisted design covers my scars and stretch marks, but it cuts quite high on my ass, showcasing the dips on my sides. I feel pretty sexy with this plunging neckline in a deep green colour, bringing out the colour in my eyes.
Removing my sunglasses slowly, I keep my eyes glued to his and take one step towards him before placing a knee on his chair, swinging my other leg over to straddle him.
His eyes rake over me, taking in my curves, soft but strong. I feel the way it caresses me, giving me more confidence. My dress falls off my shoulders as I inch up his body, hands tracing his chest.
When I’m right over his hips, I hover, practically on my hands and knees.
He sucks in a breath as I lean down, my full breasts almost spilling out of my top. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, a muscle feathering in his jaw. If there’s one thing I’m not self-conscious about, it’s my boobs. I’ve got great boobs.
I drag a hand down his chest, wishing I was touching his skin. When I reach the spot where his shirt overlaps with his bathing suit, I linger, playing with the fabric, running my fingers across the waistband.
My touch burns where I connect with skin. I can’t help it—I trace the lines of his hip bones, feeling the tantalising V of his muscles. I smirk, seeing the evidence of what I’m doing straining against his shorts.
I keep moving my hands, leaning closer to his face so our lips are a breath apart. He doesn’t noticewhen I slide my hand into his pocket and grab my phone until I wrench away, standing abruptly and doing a little happy dance.
“Got it!” I say with a bright smile.
He looks like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on his head, his eyes widening with shock as the fog of lust clears.
“Evil, evil woman,” he mutters, adjusting himself in his bathing suit.
I giggle, dashing away as he gets up. I toss my phone onto my chair because he has revenge written all over his beautiful face. Uh-oh.
He charges at me, and before I can even scream, his body collides with mine as he tackles me into the pool.
