“I’m sorry, sugar. I forgot I had a drink in my hand.” He moved the napkin to press against a different spot. “You should take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. Wherever he touched her, those dancing ripples of pleasure radiated over her skin.
“I hope it’s okay if I do this, but it’s going to be a mite sticky if I don’t.” He slipped one hand under the back of her blouse to swipe the napkin over her damp skin.
She closed her eyes and shivered in delight when the rough tips of his fingers brushed over her shoulder blade. “It’s fine,” she breathed in a husky voice.
“All cleaned up,” he said, withdrawing his hand. She could feel him pull her blouse away from her back and flap the fabric slightly to dry it.
“It’s fine,” she repeated, turning so he would let go of the blouse.
“Where were we, sugar?” he said, reaching for the glass in her hand.
She clasped it against her chest. “We were someplace we shouldn’t have been.”
He’d spooked her, going too fast, but her mouth had tasted of sweet berries, rich dark chocolate, and sparkling champagne. And innocence. He wanted to taste more. But he had learned the virtue of patience on the playing field. So he settled back in the seat and gave her an inch of extra space. “Sugar, I was happy with our destination.”
“Friends, Luke,” she said firmly, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under that pretty silky top.
“Maybe we’ve gotten to know each other as friends and we like what we’ve found out.”
She scooted six inches away from him, and he sighed.
“That was unprofessional of me,” she said, her voice tight.
He turned on the seat and skewered her with a look. He wasn’t going to have her job dragged into this. “You are officially off the clock. I’m your tour guide from here on out, so just sit back and relax.”
He demonstrated what he wanted her to do by stretching out his legs and crossing them at his booted ankles before he swallowed the rest of his champagne. Grabbing the bottle for a refill, he offered it to her, and she nodded.
But she didn’t change her position. “I’m not used to sitting back and relaxing.”
“Truth is, I’m not, either.” That’s why he’d decided to make this a memorable day off.
She looked thoughtful, although her cheeks still held the flush of their kiss. He didn’t want her thinking. He wanted her feeling like he was. Hot. Bothered. Needing more of that sexy body pressed against him.
“Don’t you relax in the summer at the ranch?” she asked, the movement of her berry-stained lips pulling at his gut.
He forced himself to think about the twice-a-day workouts in the ranch’s gym, the early-morning runs, the hundreds of laps in the pool. “The older I get, the harder I have to work to stay in shape. It’s a year-round project.”
He felt her gaze like a physical touch as she skimmed it down his body. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it,” she said, her flush intensifying.
His groin tightened. “Thanks, sugar.”
So she felt what he did, even though she tried to hold on to her professional persona. Must be something about the code of concierges.
He nudged the strawberries toward her. “Don’t let them go to waste.”
She picked one up and bit into it. She did that thing again where her eyelids fluttered closed for a split second as she savored the taste. She liked sensual pleasures, whether she wanted to give in to them or not.
The limo glided to a halt, and she swallowed the bite of berry.
“Okay, time for audience participation.” He boosted her toward the door, although it was really an excuse to fold his hands around the curve of her waist. The flash of pain in his side didn’t dampen his pleasure one iota. She grabbed for her tote, but he kept moving her. “You won’t need that or your jacket. We’re going straight in the door, and everything’s on me.”
She squeaked a protest, but he knew how to use leverage and momentum, so she was out before she could stop herself. His bruises grabbed at his ribs when he followed her, but he ignored the hurt. They stood in an alley in front of a stainless-steel door lit by a single purple light.
She eyed the blank door. “Where are we?”
“A friend’s place.” He knocked and looked straight up at the security camera that was concealed in the light fixture.
The door swung open, releasing the pounding sound of dance music into the night. “Mr. Archer, a pleasure to welcome you to Cleats. Mr. Greene will be delighted to see you.” The bouncer waved Luke and Miranda into the back foyer.
Luke took Miranda’s hand and started down the dark hallway toward the music. She pulled him to a stop. “This is a friend’s place?” she said, her gaze accusing.
“The club belongs to my friend Larry Greene. He played on the Empire for a few years before he retired and bought the club.” Luke had financed his teammate’s purchase and been repaid with more interest than he’d asked for or wanted. Larry welcomed all football players, former or still in the game, and gave them a break on the drinks but demanded that they behave. It turned out to be a winning combination, because the football players drew fans . . . and beautiful women.
Tonight, though, Luke was here for the music. On the dance floor, he could hold Miranda close to him again. He might pay for it in pain, but he’d played with worse.