“Anything.”
“Why me?”
The words hit like a slow punch.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
She gave a half-smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you’re not short of offers, Jordan. Models. Younger tennis girls with longer legs and less sarcasm. You could literally have anyone up here right now. So why am I the one sitting in your flat?”
Her words hit me sideways. Not because it should have inflated my ego, but because I could tell she meant it. This wasn’t about me. This was about whatever damage some prick had left behind. And I hated how fucking familiar that sounded to her.
I shifted toward her on the couch, arm slung along the back. “Is that what you really think?”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but she couldn’t look at me.
I watched her for a second. When I’d first met her, I’d pegged her at late twenties. She seemed so confident and put together. The kind of woman who knew what she wanted. Now I knew she was older than me, and suddenly a lot of things made sense. The way she could read people without even trying. The way she held herself like she’d learned the hard way not to give too much away. The way she clearly didn’t see half the good things I saw in her.
And that? That pissed me off.
“Kate.”
She looked up.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, quiet but firm. “Properly. Ridiculously. Make-me-forget-my-own-name beautiful.”
She blinked and looked down again, like she didn’t know what to do with that. Like being complimented made her want to run.
And fuck me, if that didn’t make me want to say it again and again. Until it stopped surprising her. Until she accepted it.
“But that’s not even half of it,” I went on, my voice dropping low. “You’re sharp. You’re hilarious. You see people. You cut through the bullshit without even trying. And you’ve got this way of making me feel…seen. Not just as the tennis guy. As me.”
Her eyes flicked up. And there it was—that flash of disbelief. That hesitation, like someone had made her feel too much or not enough, and she’d never quite shaken it.
I reached out, fingers brushing her jaw gently. I tilted her face toward mine, because I needed her to hear this and actually believe it.
“Kate,” I said, low. “I told you, I don’t do this.”
Her brows pulled in. “Do what?”
“This. Sitting here, telling a woman why I want her. Why she’s in my flat instead of anyone else.”
I let out a rough breath.
“But you’ve got it backwards. It’s not that Icouldhave anyone, it’s that I don’twantanyone else.”
Christ, she still didn’t get it. She was still looking at me like I was just being nice, like I’d pat her knee and change the subject.
Who the fuck made her think she wasn’t enough? Who made her think she wasn’t the best thing in the room?
That was it. The line in the sand.
Before I could think any further, I kissed her.
Slow at first, because I needed her to feel every ounce of what my words couldn’t touch. Her lips were soft, yet a little hesitant. But the moment she fisted my shirt, pulled me closer, I felt her hesitation snap. She kissed me back as if she’d been holding her breath for years. That was the moment I was gone.
I pulled back just enough to breathe, to see her cheeks flushed. She looked completely done for in the best way.
“We can stop,” I said, my thumb brushing her cheek. Searching her eyes for any glimmer of response. “If it’s too fast…if you’re not sure…”
