Page 126 of Tangled with the Tight End

His kiss is sweet—chaste and quick, but still intimate enough to throw me off balance.

“Good morning,” I say as Declan pulls back.

I reach out and run my hand down his jawline. He leans into my palm and smiles down at me.

“You sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“I’m good. I have to meet some dogs this morning before I come back to drive you to the practice facility.”

“Meet some dogs?” he asks, maneuvering back to the coffeemaker and grabbing my steaming mug.

He reaches out and sets it on the island, and then he pushes it along toward me while using one crutch to support himself.

I almost tell him to be careful, but I’m not Winona, the home health aide, right now—even though I introduced myself that way to Darlene.

“Creamer? Sugar?”

“Both? But I can get them.”

“Sit there,” he says, turning and winking at me. “I like serving you.”

His words are like honey on a biscuit. I stare at him. He doesn’t look away.

Declan’s so breathtakingly gorgeous. Most days I forget he’s Declan O’Connell and what that means outside this house to the millions of fans, reporters and coaches. He’s just Declan to me. But that alone is overwhelming enough. His physical presence fills a room. That jet-black hair, his ever-changing hazel eyes. I even love the way the tendons in his neck and forearms flex when he moves. And here he is, saying he likes serving me.

“Like what you see?” he asks me, wagging his brows playfully. His smile tips and his eyes narrow and crease with playfulness.

“What?” I swallow a lump in my throat. My neck prickles with heat. I’m so busted.

“I like what I see,” he says, turning the tables unexpectedly. “You don’t even know how beautiful you are, Winona. How much I’ve wanted you …”

“Me?” It’s probably not the smoothest answer, but he’s catching me off guard—his words so direct and potent.

Declan thinks I’m beautiful. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me—his eyes roaming over my face and down my hair as if he’s brushing through the strands with his fingers.

Then, as if he didn’t say the sweetest words a man has said to me in years, he pivots to bring me cream and sugar, and I busy myself fixing my coffee, taking a sip as soon as it’s stirred.

“So, you’re meeting dogs?” Declan stands next to me, leaning back on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

He’s close enough that I can smell his warm, early-morning scent.

“The owner wants me to walk them and occasionally dog-sit,” I say. “She says I need to meet them so she can tell me their idiosyncrasies.” I smile over the rim of my mug. “Her words.”

“I can’t wait to hear about this one,” he says. “But no animal could possibly have more idiosyncrasies than that goat.”

We both laugh.

It feels so natural, just sitting here in Declan’s kitchen, drinking coffee and laughing.

The memories of our kisses float in the air between us, in the lingering glances, the way his eyes crinkle up more than usual when he laughs at something I said. We’re talking, but underneath our conversation a thread tugs between us—new and taut.

Declan smiles. I smile back at him. He’s leaning toward me again and I think he’s about to kiss me when the doorbell chimes through the hallway.

The vacuum cleaner turns off and Darlene shouts, “I’ll get it!”

Declan leans back, grabbing his crutches and propelling himself across the kitchen. He stops short just before running into a red-haired woman who’s dressed in a tight cream T-shirt and designer jeans. She’s wearing heels, but Declan still has a good six inches on her.

“Can I help you?” Declan asks, backing up slightly.