‘You’re going to be amazing,’ he whispered, almost crooning, as his lips touched her skin. ‘Just amazing.’ He kissed along her jaw. ‘You are amazing.’
Heat flooded her system, galvanizing her again—only this time the energy pulsing through her was born not of fear, but of desire. She wanted closer, wanted to cling. The one thing she’d wanted for days was now in front of her. Teasing, tormenting, captivating—just out of reach.
‘Go out and have fun,’ he said.
She didn’t care about the damn dancing any more. The fun was right here.
‘Kiss me,’ she said softly.
He did, but not where she wanted. Another series of kisses down her throat. He brushed the swathe of hair from her neck, clearing the path for his lips with skillful strokes of his fingertips.
She leaned closer, felt one hand at her back as he adjusted to take her weight, crushing her to his length. She threw her head back, abandoned, as he pressed ever more passionate kisses across her skin. His teeth nipped, his tongue flickered to soothe the tiny scratches, his hands held. She discovered just how muchshe loved to be held by him. How much she’d wanted it. She yielded to him completely.
‘Roxie,’ his tone warned, his voice rasping.
Her body burned for more. ‘Kiss me properly.’ She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted to be absorbed entirely in his embrace.
She could feel the acceleration in his breathing as his abdomen was sealed to hers, could feel the hunger rising as his kisses swooped lower, across her chest, down to the curve of her amplified breasts. He licked down the deep vee of her Lycra top. She felt the hardening in his body as hers softened—his bulging erection insistent against her belly.
‘Gabe,’ she begged.
He dragged his mouth from her skin. ‘I’ll kiss you properly after the show.’ A hot, rough mutter.
Her heart banged. ‘No.’ She rolled her hips against his, teasing the only way she could. ‘Now.’
Both his hands gripped her butt, holding her still—flush against his strained jeans. ‘After.’
‘No,’ she sighed, rubbing against him. The tiniest of movements that his grip allowed, but enough to send her to the brink of ecstasy. ‘Please.’
‘You’re going to be late,’ he groaned, his mouth dropping to her collarbone again, his pelvis rocking powerfully against hers. ‘You can’t be late.’
‘Don’t stop.’ She didn’t care how desperate she sounded.
He moved against her once more, his kisses frantic on her skin, his groan harsh in her ears. Her nipples screamed for his mouth to cover them, the hunger in her womb was all heat. Oh, she wanted him, wanted, wanted, wanted.
‘Please kiss me,’ she begged. ‘Please.’
But then, with a set jaw he stepped back. ‘Afterthe show.’
Panting, she couldn’t believe it. She shook her head but was too breathless to plead more. He took her upper arm in a firm grip and walked, swiftly guiding her back down the corridor towards the changing room. He pushed the door open but kept walking—leaving her.
‘There you are!’ Chelsea called from inside. ‘I was wondering.’
Roxie had no choice but to go in. So warm, so excited, so amazed. Slowly her smile spread. He’d changed his mind. He was hers. No way could he deny them now. She’d felt the way he shook for her, how hard, how strong his hunger was.
‘Ready?’ Chelsea asked. ‘You look great.’
A quick glance in the mirror showed sparkling eyes, her cheeks glowing. Blood racing. Every cell singing in excitement. And her make-up still perfect.
‘I amsoready.’ She beamed. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.
In the distance, the music thumped, amping the crowd higher. She heard the calls, the whistles. She laughed aloud as they ran through the tunnel and out onto the pitch. The noise burst into her. It was crazy, it was fun and it was only the beginning. She moved fast, her body fluid, free, totally relaxed, zinging on the anticipation. She’d never loved dancing so much. Never felt so aware of her body.
She wasn’t aware of anyone watching her, the crowd a distant blur, and inside her mind she saw only him, his breathlessness, his dark eyes gleaming beneath half-closed lashes. She danced thinking of nothing and no one but him, of his expression as he’d moved closer, of the way he’d seemed to savor every touch of her skin. Being that desired was incredibly intoxicating. And the heady pleasure released her from any anxiety, any self-consciousness. She danced only for him and for herself.
During the game she knelt on the sideline with the other dancers. For this part they held pompoms, which they were to shake and shimmy at high points in the game—i.e. when the boys scored. Which they frequently did. She was loving it now—looking forward to dancing more at half-time. All nerves eviscerated.
She knew exactly where Gabe was—impossible to miss him with his neon green vest over his jeans and DOCTOR printed in large lettering across the back. Far sexier than the numbers on the rugby pitch. He ran on a couple of times to deal with blood injuries. She saw him moving to ice a couple of boys’ knees and ankles when fresh players were subbed on in the second half. She was so aware of him, felt such a connection, it was a wonder the world couldn’t see the string attached from her eyes to him.
