“Oh. My. God.” The words are muffled, spoken against my ribs a fraction of a second before she bolts upright in the bed, yanking her body away from mine like my skin burns. Her absence makes something sag in my chest.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before her jaw drops open. “I drooled on youagain?” She doesn’t seem to think twice before reaching out to wipe her slobber off my chest as though we aren’t essentially strangers. “I never drool. How embarrassing.”
What’s embarrassing is the morning wood that’s decided to enter the chat. I can only hope she doesn’t—shit. Shit. Don’t look.
Aw fuck. She’s looking. She’sdefinitelylooking.
The most adorable pink stain blooms in her cheeks as she makes eye contact with my early morning anaconda.
“Uh… I…” She points at the door. “I’m gonna go pee.”
“If it helps, my dick doesn’t know this is supposed to be fake. He just sees a stunning woman with wild bed head who dribbled all over me, again, and thinks it’s go time.” I flash her a confident,easy smile that juxtaposes the tightness in my crotch.
Her mouth falls open, her cheeks darken even more, and her hands jerk to her head. “Oh my Goooood. I’m so glad you agreed this wasn’t going into a news story because this…” She points at her wild mane. “This would get a lot of social engagement.”
She hops off the mattress and makes her way around the bed toward the bathroom. As she walks, her shorts lift, and it’s really fucking hard not to stare at the toned, strong muscles of one of the best fly-halves in the women’s league, or the extra sliver of pale arse cheek as the fabric hikes with each step.
When she closes the door, I contemplate my life choices. It’s going to be impossible to be with this woman for a whole week and not want to bang her brains out. My dick is painfully hard. The memory of how soft and tight and hot her pussy is, is engrained in my mind.
Could I rub one out while she’s in the bathroom? Take the edge off?
No. I can’t do that. If she walks in and finds me with my hand on my cock, she’s going to think I’m a sex-crazed creep and flee back to Ireland. I wouldn’t blame her, either.
I will my erection to deflate with every ounce of strength I have in me, and when he refuses to give in, I sit up in bed, back against the headboard, and cover him with a pillow. She shouldn’t have to see him poking at the sheet like he owns the place.
And as soon as she returns, I can hit the shower, sit my arse down on the accessible bench, and jerk off until my hand falls off if I want.
Except, when she walks in, she’s wearing an emerald green bikini that does nothing to soothe the raging hard-on under the pillow in my lap. In fact, my dick somehow gets harder, balls throbbing, and aneedy ache fills my gut.
Fucking hell, this woman is going to be the death of me.
I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat.
“What? Did I get toothpaste on me?” She seems truly clueless as to why my body is making weird noises. She touches the three-bird tattoo on her collarbone, then looks my way for confirmation.
“Nope. You just…” I wave an arm at her. “You look incredible.”
It takes a beat, like she’s really hung up on the idea that she might have toothpaste on her somewhere before she reacts. Her face lights up like Belfast City Center at Christmas time, taking the wind right out of my chest. There’s a flicker of anger in me that it takes something so small for her to beam at me like that, but I bask in her warmth.
She quickly schools her face, replacing her elation at my positive appraisal of her body with a mask of indifference verging on irritation. “Don’t objectify me, journalist.” She spits the word like she’s reminding both of us of where the boundaries are.
If she didn’t hate everything I stand for, I’d totally put the moves on this woman. But no amount of chemistry that may or may not still be simmering between us will erase what she believes of me.
The fact that I relentlessly pursued a case against her brother and father for my own benefit, for financial gain, or worse, for the spotlight and attention. When in actuality, it was none of those things.
She looks at the bottle of suncream in her hands, then at me, the stitch of a frown between her brows getting deeper as it dawns on her that she shouldn’t have been quite so snappy at me since she needs my help.
She cautiously offers the suncream to me. “Could you?” She gestures to her back. “Would youmind?”
“Oh, absolutely. Nothing saysworkplace boundarieslike rubbing down the woman who called me a parasite.”
She snorts. “I’ll take my chances. Parasites can die off in the sun, and we have a week. Give it time.”
I take the bottle from her. “You sure you trust me not to spell something rude in SPF 50?”
“You spell? Don’t make me laugh, I’ve seen your articles.” She throws her head back in indignation, like the idea is ridiculous. Nothing on her face gives away her amusement other than a lively sparkle in her eyes.
“Isn’t this breaking a rule or something?” I tip my head.
