Page 100 of Unmanageable

The motel phone stays on the cradle. Cash’s hand stops an inch above the plastic receiver. He freezes, his shoulders locking tight beneath his t-shirt as he stares at the wall for a second before slowly turning his head to look at me.

“Scottie,” he warns, his voice dropping an octave. “Don’t play games right now.”

“I told you,” I say, my voice steady, though my heart is practically trying to kick its way out of my ribs.

My fingers reach down to grab the hem of my sweatshirt. I pull it up and over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the pile of discarded board game pieces on the floor.

I’m left in just my black cotton tank top and leggings.

“I am entirely here, Cash. I want this.”

I push myself to my feet, my pulse hammering as I cross the short distance to the bed. I sit on the edge of the mattress, turning toward him.

A low grunt escapes his throat, and the last string of his control snaps.

His large hands find the hem of my tank top, his knuckles brushing against the skin of my stomach, sending a violent shiver straight up my spine. Cash pauses, his eyes checking mine for a green light.

“You sure, Sharky?” he rasps, his chest heaving. “Because once I take this off, I’m not stopping.”

I nod, my throat too dry to speak, and lift my arms. He pulls the shirt over my head and flings it somewhere behind him, leaving me in a black sports bra. His gaze lingers for the briefest moment before one corner of his mouth lifts.

“Still hiding from me?” he tsks.

I roll my eyes. “Are you going to keep talking, or…”

“Bossy,” he says with a quiet laugh.

He slides his hands to my sides, his thumbs brushing lightly against my ribs before he catches the hem of the bra. “Arms up, Sharky.”

I lift them again, and he eases the sports bra up and over my head, letting it fall beside my tank top.

The cold motel air hits my bare skin, and I instinctively tense.

His gaze drops down to my chest, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Oh, look at you. Look how red you’re getting. Is the big, bad sports agent getting shy on me now?”

“Cash, shut up,” I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

He leans down, his eyes locked onto mine. “Fucking beautiful, Scottie. I knew you would be. You’ve been acting so tough all week, but you’re shivering.”

“It’s just cold,” I lie.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that,” he teases, his mouth meeting mine.

His tongue slides against mine, claiming my mouth while his split knuckles scrape pleasantly against my hip, pulling me tighter and higher against his chest until my breasts are crushed against him.

I let out a shaky sigh into his mouth, my hands wrapping around his neck, my fingers burying into his hair.

My gaze flicks down between us. “You’re forgetting something.”

His brow furrows for half a second before his eyes drop to my legs. “Right.” A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “Can’t leave you half wrapped.”

He eases back just enough to hook his fingers beneath the waistband of my leggings, peeling them down my hips. “Lift up for me.”

I do, biting my lip as he works them over my thighs, then my calves, tugging each ankle free before tossing the leggings toward the growing pile of discarded clothes.

His eyes travel back up to mine, the last hint of teasing disappearing from his expression. Without taking his eyes off me, he grabs the back of his T-shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing it aside.

“Now, where was I?” he murmurs.