Page 36 of Hearts Don't Lie
“Theso whatis that you mentioned only the women. Said I was a player. Now you’re adding parties and the price I pay for”—he looked up at the starlit sky, then back at her and gave her a sexy grin—“playing soccer passionately. Strikers and effective mids draw cards.” He pushed off his chair and squatted in front of her. “Do you miss me? You keep tabs on me.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar. You do.” His fingers brushed over her calf and he watched the reaction—the trail of goose bumps. “The honest truth?”
She nodded, her eyes big.
“My partying is behind me. The women? The vast majority of them have been window dressing. Vacant heads on nipped-and-tucked bodies or agenda-driven females hell-bent on bagging some fucking famous, rich, professional athlete. None of them were interested in me, the real Hardin Ambrose,” he said bitterly. “It’s lonely at the top, honey. I’m so fucking tired of it.” Hardin closed his eyes. “I want out,” he whispered.
Mac’s glass clinked as she set it down. He sensed her kneeling in front of him and then was sure of it when her scent wafted over him and delicate, strong fingers moved over his head and into his hair, massaging his scalp like she used to do in high school. “No one serious?”
“No.”Not like you. Like us.Her touch was soothing, taking away his stress. Intimate. He bowed his head, leaning into her touch, his body igniting, feeling her everywhere. After a few minutes, her fingers left his head and skimmed over his face to gently bracket his scruffy jaw.
He lifted his chin and opened his eyes when her sweet breath caressed his face.Can she feel me trembling?
She was on her knees between his splayed legs. Her eyes had turned dark, their pupils dilated, and were unflinching as she seemed to consider what he had shared.
Hardin recognized that look and his heart galloped in response, feeling as though it would burst from his chest. His hand covered one of hers and lifted it to his lips, leisurely kissing each finger. “I miss you so much it burns a hole in my gut,” he said, his voice cracking, eyes searching hers.
Mac blinked and her hand moved to her heart. “I’ve missed you too,” she said, her voice quivering. She stood. “I need to blow the candles out.”
“Uh, okay,” he said, watching her extinguish the candles, knowing he sounded deeply disappointed that she was calling an end to the night. He could spend forever with her.
A mischievous grin lit her eyes, then she giggled. “Wow, the Hardin Ambrose I knew was never one to give in so easily.” She grabbed the wine bottle by its neck. “Get the glasses. Let’s getfurtherreacquainted.”
He passed by her on the way in, then waited while she flipped off the party lights and locked the back door, wholly committed to letting her lead, watching her lock the bunny in its cage and then following her to the front of the house and into her bedroom. It wasn’t the largest master by a long shot, but it was cozy, and Mac had stamped it with her artistic flair. Nothing matched and yet it totally worked.
Hardin enjoyed the feeling of his bare feet sinking into the thick shag rug while he admired the large colorful painting of sunflowers—her favorite flower—done with a palette knife. “Yours?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, lighting the candles on her dresser. “Sunflowers have always brought me joy.”
“I remember. You gave me a smaller one, similar to this. It hangs in my villa. This is beautiful, Mac. Do you still paint?”
“When there’s time. So rarely.” She set down the bottle and glasses on her nightstand and faced him, her expression expectant and sure, seeming to pass the lead back to him.
The air crackled in the silence, and he found himself at a loss for words as they held each other’s eyes, understanding she had opened herself up to him. All he had to do was accept her offer. He realized he was scared shitless.
Of being turned down.
Of disappointing her.
Of finding out what they had in the past was a dream.
His swallow and shaky breath were audible.Dammit.
“Are you scared?” She spoke barely above a whisper, but he heard her clearly.
“Yes.” His exhale whooshed out of him. “I am. Christ, I feel like a damned virgin all over again.”
“Both of us were virgins, Hardin.”
True, and their coming together had been sweet and pure. He stepped closer, his heartbeat slamming in his chest. Energy crackled between them, so much so that he felt every fiber of his being strain toward her. Magnetized. Mesmerized.
Hardin caressed the soft underside of her jaw and throat with the pads of his thumbs and rested his forehead against hers, inhaling her scent, attempting to calm himself. Her pulse jumped crazily under his touch.
“Goddammit, Hardin,” she whispered. “Just kiss me. Please.”
