Page 78 of Hard to Hold

Our gazes hold as if he’s not sure he believes me or not, but then nods after a beat. “What else did you have to do that enabled you to escape Cannon—and his fifteen handlers—telling you what to do every five seconds? How did you avoid being stared at like you’re an alien?”

“Or maybe they’re staring because you’re incredibly handsome and talented?”

“That too.” He winks and we laugh.

“Let’s see. I negotiated a deal for a baseball player, worked on a trade for an NBA star, and then finalized some endorsements for one very overenthusiastic, Olympic gymnast. Oh, and how can I forget the two hours on the phone stroking various athletes’ egos to make sure they know I love them and no, their careers are solid and they shouldn’t be worried.”

“Busy day.”

“Busy indeed.” He pulls my chair even closer. “But you missed one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s only one thing you should be stroking, Kincade,” he murmurs as his eyes darken with desire.

“Is that so?” I ask as he leans forward and captures my lips with his.

“Definitely.” A kiss. “You’re contractually obligated. Remember?” He quirks an eyebrow, a half-cocked smile on his lips.

“Then by all means, let me make sure I fulfill it.”

Our lips meet as our fingers entwine.

It’s crazy to me how easy it is to kiss him. To be kissed by him.

Rush McKenzie is doing things to me that I’m not used to. Random kisses in the kitchen. Distracting me when I’m working.

And strangest of all, I want to get to know him better.

But is that only because I know he’ll be going soon?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

LENNOX

RUSH JINXED ME.

After I teased him about having to play the part for Cannon and the MLS, I’ve been dragged to each and every event over the past few days. A benefactor rah-rah session at the Santa Anita Raceway. An interactive fan experience at Banc of California Stadium, where Rush partook in running drills with youth players. A board meeting, where I discussed comprehensive compensation packages that might lure players away from other, more successful leagues. And on, and on.

That’s a lot of face-to-face and smiling with random people when I’m more used to the one-on-one aspect of negotiating and sealing deals.

The only upside to the exhaustion? Rush. Being with Rush. Laughing with Rush. Waiting for those few stolen moments where I look up and meet his eyes across the pitch or room or wherever and see that soft smile of his.

An even better upside? Knowing everyone in that room wanted to be the one going home with him, and technically, I was.

And now? Three glorious days off from the MLS grind. I have my own clients to tend to, but I can do that from Johnny’s little piece of heaven of a house and backyard.

That’s why I startle when Rush comes strolling into our bathroom while I’m mid-brushing my teeth.

“Get dressed,” he says, his grin wide and mischievous.

“That was the plan,” I say around my toothbrush.

“No. I mean, get dressed, I have somewhere I want to take you.” I glance his way in the mirror to his boardshorts and plain black T-shirt.

“Where?”

“That’s the best part. Nowhere in particular.”