“Thanks.” I placed my palm in his, and the electric shock it sent up my arm was impossible to ignore.
Let’s be real. Everything about the man was impossible to ignore.
“Come inside.” He turned, tugging me behind him.
“I should probably get home…” I trailed off as we made it to the front door.
“I just want to check your injuries,” he insisted as he pushed through the opening.
Nerves clambered up my throat as I crossed the threshold. I had never been in his space before, and just the scent ofhimclinging to the air had me immediately regretting this decision.
For a former NFL player, he lived modestly. The neighborhood was above average, but a far cry from a million-dollar estate.
“Nice place,” I commented as we entered a large living room.
A leather sectional was placed in front of a massive fireplace, the mantle a beautiful shade of weathered wood. The space was all neutral tones, earthy and masculine.So, Preston.
“Thanks.” He dropped my hand and motioned to his dining table. “Take a seat.”
A light flipped on overhead as he strode into the open-concept kitchen. My gaze drifted to the far wall of the dining room, where an assortment of family photos was displayed.
I slowly walked over, zeroing in on a young Preston. He must have been about fifteen. He had the same sparkling blue eyes but lacked the muscle and confidence he held now. Next to him was a young blonde girl. She possessed the same alluring blue eyes.
“Is this your sister?” I asked, peering over my shoulder as he made his way toward me.
“Yeah. That’s Liv.” His smile was genuine. It was clear the love he harbored for her.
“She’s beautiful.” I looked back at a more recent picture.
“She’s the best.” He pulled out a dining chair. “I think you two would get along.”
It was lonely growing up as an only child. I begged for a sibling, but my mom had no intention of having any more. I was an accident she didn’t plan for to begin with and motherhood was not her strong suit.Obviously.
“Where does she live?” I walked over to the open chair and took a seat to appease him.
“She lives in Dallas.” He motioned a hand for my ankle as he spun the chair next to me before dropping down. “It’s too late now, but she’s usually on the six o’clock news.”
“Oh, is she a reporter?” I lifted my leg, allowing him to slip off my tennis shoe.
The roughness of his hand had goose bumps peppering the skin on my bare calf.
His eyes flickered up to mine. “She’s an interpreter. She does ASL for the hearing impaired.”
“That’s an incredible career.” I swallowed as his fingertips danced down my skin, tilting my ankle to the left.
“She’s done well for herself. I couldn’t be prouder.” He ran a thumb over the spot above my ankle bone. “Any tenderness?”
I shook my head. “No.” It came out in a whisper because that thumb remained gently stroking the spot as he locked eyes with me.
“It doesn’t look swollen.”
Another stroke.
“It was just a tweak,” I added, the air all of a sudden thick.
He placed my ankle back on the floor, then reached out to grip the edge of my chair. He easily tugged it across the tile floor.
The movement put me right between his parted thighs, and I almost stopped breathing when his fingertips casually pinched my chin between them. “Let’s see that cheek.”
