The sweetest little hint of a smile tugs on the corners of her lips. She lets go of the door and reaches for something in her purse, moving toward me swiftly, her heels making purposeful clicks with every step. And then she’s so close I can smell her—the vanilla shampoo and the rich but faint flowery scent of her perfume. It warms my blood. She presses one palm flat to the lapel of my jacket and I feel the other one snake into my pocket, my eye catching a glimpse of paper between her fingers as they move.
“You remind me of my big toe,” she whispers, her head tilted up to face me. I tilt mine down so I can look into her eyes, and now our lips are just inches apart and perfectly lined up.
“Why is that?” My voice is low and deeper than normal. The urge to kiss her is more overpowering than the urge I had earlier to punch the mirror, so I start to lean forward, but she immediately uses her hand on my lapel to push me back gently.
Our eyes lock and she replies, “Because I’ll probably bang you on my coffee table later.”
And with that she’s gone—just spins around, flings open the door and disappears so swiftly that I swear there’s a whooshing sound. I reach into my pocket, pull out the paper she placed there and carefully unfold it. It’s a page from the Thunder HR handbook, the page about employee fraternization, and at the top of the page, in her beautiful cursive, is the word “midnight” and her address.
6
Dixie
Holy shit, I did it. I am going to do it. I am going to do him. I really am. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not my fault. It’s that kiss. I’ve been kissed before. I’d actually say I’d been kissed a lot. But his kiss was different. It was the beginning of something I’ve been longing to finish ever since.
I climb the crappy staircase to my apartment, taking the steps two at a time. As soon as I unlock the three dead bolts Jude insisted on installing when I moved in, I close the door behind me and start sniffing. Good, the usual smell of soy sauce and fish that wafts up from the sushi place below me isn’t as strong as normal. Still, I decide to light most of the Anthropologie candles I have peppered around the place. Then I gather as much mess as I can—shoes, piles of clean and dirty laundry, papers brought home from work, purses, coats—and shove it all into my walk-in closet. That baby is why I rented this place.
I spend another ten minutes darting around to tidy up, then run to the bathroom and dab a little more perfume on my wrists, smooth my hair and reapply my lipstick. I glance at the clock. I told him to come by at midnight. That way he could hang with the guys for a little bit, if they asked, and I had time to come back here and get ready.
But I still have twenty minutes and the waiting is going to make me doubt my decision. I head into the kitchen and decide to busy myself doing the few dishes in the sink—a mug, a bowl and a spoon.
I have to do this now. I realized that as the night went on. Not tomorrow, not next week, now. Elijah will be on the team one day in the not so distant future, and then it’ll be against the rules. And I am so impossibly attracted to him that I just need to get it out of my system. If I don’t work him out of my system before he’s a player for the Thunder, my job is going to suffer because I won’t be able to do anything but drool over him, and chances are I’ll slip up and somehow end up with my lips on some part of him and then I’ll lose my job. I know it’s just a physical attraction. He’s hot and charming in a completely off-the-wall way that I’ve never experienced. But he’s too wild and doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. So not my type. Still, I’ve never had a stronger chemistry with someone, and it’s time to indulge that, so I can get back to my life and my goals.
There’s a soft knock on my door. The mug clatters from my hand and shatters in the sink. Shit! The second knock is much harder. “Dixie!”
“Come in!” I call absently and reach for the faucet to turn off the water.
“Well, this is unexpected.” His voice fills my apartment, not because he’s yelling but just because he’s got that kind of voice.
I turn and realize instantly why he’s got an amused look on his sexy face. My hands are encased in rubber gloves, one with a dish brush in it and the other with a large chunk of mug. All the while I’m still wearing my sexy dress and high heels. He looks completely turned on right now.
“You have a maid fetish?” I question.
“No. And this isn’t maid…This is…” His green eyes sweep up and down my body. “I don’t know what this is but yeah, it’s a fetish.”
I laugh and drop the chunk of mug in the trash, drop the dish brush on the counter and start to pull off the rubber gloves. I toss the gloves on the counter. “Sorry. Show’s over. And so is my mug.”
“Debutante does dishes?” He’s still trying to define my look. “No…maybe heiress does dishes? Or…sexy businesswoman does…”
“Goalie?”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Now that’s a fetish I’ll confess to having.”
He’s just standing there staring at me and smiling. I could honestly look at that smile all damn day long. I can’t explain what it does to me. It’s honestly the most charismatic, charming and sexy smile I have ever seen. It draws me to him like a cat to a laser pointer.
“Can I get you something? Beer? Water? Wine?”
“Just you,” he replies casually, still smiling.
Oh God, we are really going to do this. Suddenly I feel nervous. Still, I find myself walking slowly toward him. He reaches toward me, palm up, and I drop my hand into his and then suddenly, with a whoosh, I’m over his shoulder. My head is dangling over his back and my ass is on his shoulder, my feet hanging at his waist.
“Sweet Dixie,” he says as I squirm. “This is going to be fun.”
I feel his mouth, more specifically his teeth, as he turns his head and bites my butt cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to notice. So I haul off and smack his ass, since it’s the only thing within swatting distance. And then his hands grip my waist and I’m flying through the air then land on my back in the middle of my bed, which is covered with throw pillows since I use it as a couch too.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at him. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have since we met?” he says.
“I wasn’t…” He raises an eyebrow at that. Just one—his left one. I bite my bottom lip. “At first.”
