Page 40 of Playing the Field

“Ana?” Graham emerges from a dimly lit hallway off the side of the main lobby. His hair is dripping and the fabric of his clothes is dark with water spots.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I tear my eyes away from him and glance around, trying to find an escape route, but there is none. He’s seen me and I can’t back out now. I tilt my chin up defiantly and turn back to him, keeping my eyes trained only on his face.

“I assumed you weren’t coming so I went for a swim,” he explained, gesturing to his damp appearance.

My traitorous eyes follow his hand, lingering on the way his shirt clings to his chest and biceps. “I stopped for dinner and drinks,” I mutter and hold up the six-pack and takeaway bag. What I really want to say is that I shouldn’t have come at all.

“I see that,” he responds with a chuckle and gestures to the elevator doors as they slide open with a soft beep. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” I agree and step into the small compartment, making sure to give myself a wide margin of space.

Graham’s lip twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. “Nice hoodie,” he comments as the doors slowly close and the elevator starts its ascent.

I look down at my clothes, a blush burning up my neck as I remember my goal of looking like a bum. “I got it at my first in-person match,” I respond and keep my eyes trained on the floor numbers as they light up, trying not to look at the man currently invading my personal space.

He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body. The air around us is thick with so much tension and electricity that the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. From the corner of my eye, I watch his eyes travel up and down my form and his teeth sink into his lower lip. My thighs press together as desire ripples through me.

What is it about elevators?

“What’d you bring?” he asks to break the tense silence, nodding at the bag I’m clinging to.

I look down at the bag before chancing a glance at his face, which was a mistake. His pupils are dilated and he’s looking at me with the same hunger I remember from Cape Town. My stomach flutters and I can feel myself getting wet. “The Dragon Palace,” I whisper breathlessly, shifting from one foot to the other.

His body shifts closer to mine, like he’s being pulled by an invisible force, and my breath catches in my throat as he reaches out and pushes a strand of hair from my face. “That’s my favorite place. They have late hours and the best egg rolls.”

“Mhmm.” I have to actively fight the urge to lean into his touch. Another current of electricity ripples through the small space between us and I have to close my eyes. My body feels like it’s being drawn to him, despite my best efforts.

Graham moves silently until he’s standing directly in front of me, the bulk of his body pushing me against the back wall of the elevator. My eyes fly open, a protest poised on the tip of my tongue, but he swallows it with a searing kiss. His lips are firm against mine, pulling a soft gasp from my throat.

His hands gently cup my face as he presses himself against me, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. His tender caresses are a stark contrast to the roughness of his lips, and the difference makes my head spin.

I pull away, panting heavily. My fists are clenched around the takeaway and the beer so tightly that my knuckles ache. He presses his forehead against mine, chest heaving as he tries to regain his composure. The elevator dings and the doors slide open, but he doesn’t move.

After several moments, he backs away from me and holds out his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

I bristle internally, my teeth sinking into my tongue to prevent the sarcastic reply from escaping. Instead of taking his outstretched hand, I brush by him and stop just inside the open-concept kitchen. “Fucking elevators,” I gripe under my breath as I take in my surroundings. I can’t help the gasp that leaves my lips as I take in the inside of the penthouse. I knew it was high up, but I was not prepared for the view.

I place the food and beer on the white marble countertop and drift toward the wall of windows on the far side of the living room. Ignoring the faint footsteps behind me, I trail my fingers along the back of the black leather sectional as I venture farther into the room. The blanket of lights along the cityscape is nothing short of breathtaking from this height, and even though the night sky is shrouded with winter fog I can still make out the stars.

The sound of a beer cracking open pulls my attention from the windows and I turn to accept the bottle Graham is offering. He clears his throat awkwardly and takes a sip from his bottle. “So…” he starts and leads the way back into the kitchen, opening a cabinet to pull out two plates. “The Tigers, huh?”

I nearly choke on the bite of egg roll I’d been chewing, sputtering and clutching my chest where the offending piece of cabbage was lodged. “Really? That’s what we’re starting with?”

He chuckles and shrugs his shoulders slightly. “To be honest, I have no idea where to start.”

I fold my arms across my chest and lean my hip against the counter. “How about from the moment you saw me in that conference room and acted like you didn’t know me.” My voice is sharp and cutting, but it hits the mark. “Then you decided to take on a fullback on the pitch like a psycho because he knocked me over!”

He flinches and drops a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, followed by rice and two egg rolls. “You weren’t exactly leaping into my arms either, Ana,” he counters with a quirk of his brow. “It’s Dr. Bellows,” he mimics and pops a bite into his mouth.

I tear my eyes away from his mouth, trying not to linger on the way his lips move while he chews. “I thought you wanted to keep it professional. You were sending mixed signals. I didn’t think you remembered me,” I admit and stare down at the egg rolls on my plate.

“Didn’t remember you?” he asks and sets his bottle down hard, causing me to look over at him. “Ana, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the morning you walked out of my hotel room.” His eyes are blazing with unkempt emotions. “I spent months Googling your name and hospitals, trying to find you.”

“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the question from slipping out. My chest feels too tight and my eyes are burning from holding back the tears building behind my lashes.

“Because one night in an African hotel wasn’t enough for me,” he says, his voice low. “The way you pushed me. The way you heard me. The way you saw me.”

“That was a different time, Graham. It was basically a different lifetime,” I argue softly and take another sip from my bottle. I watch him swallow hard as his eyes drop to my lips against the rim.