“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make a dick grab?” He’s smiling as he lets go of my wrist.
I smack his shoulder lightly. “So crude.”
“You’re the one trying to maul me at the table in a public restaurant.” His smile is wicked. “Not that I mind.”
His words, the look on his face, leave me breathless. “We should go,” I whisper. “Don’t you think?”
“We still have approximately ten desserts coming to our table,” Jordan reminds me, just before he leans in and kisses me. His lips are soft and warm, and taste vaguely of wine. “Then we can leave.”
Those four words are so full of promise, I have to press my thighs against each other to stave off the sudden want.
“Do you two want to go out with us after we finish dessert?” Cannon asks, interrupting our moment.
We both turn to look at him, then at each other. “Sure,” I say as Jordan says, “No,” at the same time.
“What are your plans?” I ask, my cheeks hot. I’m sure they could guess what our plans are.
“Not sure.” Cannon turns to look at Susanna. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Go to a pub?” The color in her cheeks is high, and I’m wondering if she’s thinking of doing something else.
Like some alone time with Cannon.
Jordan yawns, his movements exaggerated, and he covers his mouth. “I think we’re going to have to pass. I’m exhausted.”
“No problem,” Susanna chirps, her gaze meeting Cannon’s. “I’ll take you to my favorite pub.”
“Sounds fun.” Cannon smiles down at her. I can’t help but think these two are making a possible love connection.
“You okay with going back to the hotel?” Jordan asks me.
“Yes, sure. Of course. I totally understand if you’re tired,” I say sympathetically. “Do you want to leave now?”
“And miss dessert? No way.” Jordan leans in, whispering in my ear, “Though you’re the dessert I want to taste later.”
My cheeks go hot at his words.
I can’t freaking wait.
I couldn’t hustle Amanda out of that restaurant fast enough. Susanna wasn’t lying—the desserts were delicious. And after the game I played, I allowed myself to totally indulge. In the food. The wine. The cannoli.
And as soon as we get to the hotel, I plan on indulging in the woman beside me as we exit the restaurant.
The moment we walk outside though, we’re immediately bombarded by flashing lights. Cameras. Shouting, insistent voices.
Paparazzi.
I throw up a hand at the line of people with cameras, slipping my other arm around Amanda’s shoulders and pulling her into me. She presses her face against my chest, trying to shield herself, and I glare at the small group of three men and two women who continually snap photos of us.
“Tuttle! Tuttle! Tell us who’s your new lady love!” one of them yells, his voice seemingly in time with the flash of the cameras.
“None of your damn business,” I tell them, guiding Amanda beside me, headed toward the black Mercedes SUV I requested via Uber a few minutes ago. The driver must’ve seen what was going on, because he hops out of the car and rounds the front of it, opening the passenger door for us.
“Get in,” I tell Amanda and she does as I say, sliding inside quickly, averting her face, her hair falling against her cheek.
The cameras are still flashing as Cannon and Susanna approach me, concern written across both of their faces. “What the hell is going on?” Cannon asks, wincing from the cameras’ flashes.
The photographers start yelling his name—and Susanna’s.
It appears they’re even more interested in them.
“Better go find her father’s car and get her out of here,” I tell Cannon grimly. “Looks like the paparazzi found us.”
“We’re out,” Cannon says, grabbing hold of Susanna’s hand and pulling her toward him. “Text me later. Let me know you two made it back to the hotel.”
“You do the same,” I tell him before I get into the car and slam the door, watching through the window as Cannon and Susanna hurry away, hand in hand.
The flirtation was strong between those two tonight. I can tell Cannon’s totally into her—something I’m not used to seeing. He’s a pretty quiet, keep-to-himself guy. But I have a strong feeling they aren’t going to end up at her favorite pub.
More like they’re going to end up in Cannon’s hotel room bed. That’s my plan for ending our night too.
Or at least, it was.
“You okay?” I ask, turning to face Amanda.
She nods, her eyes wide when they meet mine. “That was…intense.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect them to find us.” Or to care. I rub my jaw, trying to ease the tightness there. “Don’t know how they did.”
“They must’ve followed us,” she says, her voice soft.
“They must’ve.” I glance at the driver, our gazes meeting in the rearview mirror. “Hey, thanks for helping us get away from the photographers.”
“No problem, mate,” the driver tells me, his eyes even wider than Amanda’s. “Aren’t you one of those American footballers?”
“No comment,” I tell the driver grimly, refocusing my attention on Amanda. I pull her close, so she’s pressed snug against me, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I place my hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The driver remains silent, zipping through the still busy streets like a mad man, and I’m grateful for his speed. I’m anxious to get back to the hotel and away from the chaos.
“You’re awfully quiet,” I tell Amanda after a few silent minutes, hoping she’s not too shaken up over our earlier encounter the media. “Don’t let what happened with those photographers bother you.”
“Okay.” She says the word slowly. It’s clear she’s doubting my reassurance. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go for it.”
She glances up so our gazes meet. “Does that happen often?”
“Sometimes.” With Selena Gomez it did. Hell, I’d meet a beautiful, famous woman anywhere and the photogs went nuts. The media would label us as a couple when all we did was chat for two seconds at an event.
It’s frustrating as shit, how they constantly leap to conclusions. My fictional sex life is way more exciting than my real one.
“Only with other celebrities?” Amanda asks.
I think of Mia. “Pretty much with anyone I’m seeing.”
“Oh.” Her voice is hollow. She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Harvey told me he didn’t want us seen together while we’re in London.”
I’m immediately irritated. “Who cares what he wants?”
“Um, I do. He questioned me today.”
Sitting up straighter, I remove my arm from her shoulders, trying to fight the irritation rising within me. “Questioned you about what?”
“My intentions.” She pauses when I frown. “Toward you.”
I gaze off into the distance. “That’s none of his damn business.”
“He seems to think it’s his business.”
“What exactly did he say?” I ask, turning my attention toward her once more.
“He thinks I might be using you. He finds it suspicious, how I all of a sudden came back into your life. He believes I want something from you,” Amanda explains, looking uncomfortable.
“Yeah, you want something from me all right.” She blinks, clearly shocked. “My body.” I smile, trying to lighten the moment, but she’s not having it.
Amanda scowls at me, shaking her head. “Seriously, Jordan. He doesn’t trust me. At all.”
“So?”
“So, if he sees photos of us together coming out of a restaurant splashed all over the internet, he’s going to flip.”
“I don’t care if he flips. He can talk to me if he has a problem.” She starts to protest again, but I touch her lips, silencing her. “Don’t worry about Harvey, Mandy. I mean it. I’l
l take care of him.”
She blinks up at me, worry filling her dark eyes. “But I don’t want to make things hard on you.”
“I can handle anything Harvey throws at me,” I say with confidence. And I mean it. I’m not scared of Harvey Price.
I don’t want Amanda scared of him either.
“Forget Harvey. Forget the photographers. Forget everyone.” Reaching out, I brush a few wayward strands of hair away from her cheek, lightly caressing her skin. I need to distract her. “We good?”
“Of course, we’re good.” She smiles faintly and I tug her close to me once again, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Having her so close, it feels natural. Right. “I’m also kind of sleepy,” she murmurs, nestling her cheek against my shoulder. “I think it was all the food.”
“I’m not that tired.”
She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine in the dim light. “Wait a minute. You said you were exhausted earlier. In the restaurant. That’s why we left.”
I shrug. “I lied.”
Her lips curve. “So you were just trying to get me alone.”
“Well, yeah. I thought you knew that after what I said to you earlier.” I touch her cheek. Her skin is so soft. Everywhere.
“Well, I thought that’s what you meant, but you confused me. One minute calling me dessert, the next minute saying you were exhausted.”
“I’m never too tired for you.” I touch her lips, her chin. Back to the corner of her mouth. I love this mouth. I’ve kissed it so many times, I’ve lost count. When I was a kid, I would fantasize about kissing that mouth. I’d also fantasize about those lips on other parts of my body.
Turns out the reality is way better than the fantasy.
“So it’s true? You’re going to feast on me when we get back to the hotel?” She’s talking in hushed tones, like she doesn’t want the driver to hear what she’s saying.
I’m sure he can understand every word, not that I’m going to point that out to her.
My voice drops an octave, my dick twitching at the glow in Amanda’s eyes. She’s aroused, I can tell. “Is that what you want?”
She nods. “Yes,” she breathes.
“Then that’s what you’ll get.” I tilt my head, my lips hovering above hers. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”
She angles her head and lifts her chin, trying to connect her lips to mine, but I shift away, not kissing her yet.
I want to draw this out. Torture us. I’m a glutton for punishment.
“You’re mean.” She pouts.
“You won’t be saying that when I’ve got my face between your legs,” I point out, feeling evil.
“Jordan.” Her tone is faintly accusatory, though her eyes flash with heat.
“You know you want it,” I tease.
“I always want it,” she admits, her fingers landing on my jaw, caressing me there. “I always want you.”
I grab hold of her wrist and bring her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles. She spreads her fingers wide and I turn her hand over, my mouth on her palm, her fingertips on my cheek. I let go of her hand, but she doesn’t stop touching me. Her fingers are still on my cheek, dropping to my mouth. I gently kiss them and she smiles just before her hand returns to her lap.
We remain quiet, never looking away from each other, and I’m tempted. So tempted to tell her how I really feel. Right now, in the back of an Uber. That I’m in love with her, that I’ve never really stopped loving her. Does she feel the same?
How would she react if I actually said those words out loud?
I’m not sure if I’m ready to find out.
I wake up the next morning completely naked and sore in the best possible way. Jordan kept me up most of the night. He was insatiable.
He was amazing.
Keeping my eyes closed, I stretch my legs out, surprised my toes don’t bump into Jordan’s muscular, hairy legs. I raise my arms above my head, the bones in my neck cracking with satisfaction, then roll over, reaching across the mattress to find it…
Empty.
As in I’m the only one in the bed.
Huh.
I sit up, pushing my tangled hair out of my face, yanking the sheet up with me to keep my upper body mostly covered. The room is quiet and dark, and I know I’m alone. Jordan isn’t here. He’s not even in the bathroom.
So where did he go?
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I check my notifications to see I have a text from Jordan.
Meeting with Harvey. Will be back soon. xo
He sent me the text over a half hour ago.
I chew on my lower lip as I contemplate answering him, my sudden nerves making me anxious. He’s having a meeting with Harvey? God, this has to be about me.
Us.
The restaurant.
The photos.
Immediately I bring up a new browser, Google Jordan’s name and then click images. The photos from last night pop up, one after the other, and while yes, there are quite a few of me and Jordan—though you can barely see my face thank goodness—there are even more of Cannon and Susanna.
The headlines are all about Lady Susanna this and Lady Susanna that. One of the tabloids calls her Lady Sus, and for some weird reason, it sounds kind of lewd. As I read one of the articles, I realize she’s a bit of a minor noble celebrity here in Great Britain. And to think she played it off yesterday like she was no one important, but clearly she was being modest.
It’s almost like everyone in London—everyone in the United Kingdom—knows exactly who Lady Susanna Sumner is.
But I can’t be distracted by the Lady Susanna and American Footballer scandal for too long. My paranoia kicking in big time, I finally give in and send Jordan a text.
Are you almost done? Everything okay?
He takes a few minutes before he finally responds and I work on destroying my thumbnail with my teeth while I wait.
Everything’s fine, he finally says. See you in a few.
I set my phone on the bedside table with a sigh and glance around the empty room. Well. I can’t sit around and let the morning slip by. I’ll make myself crazy. So I climb out of bed and take a long, hot shower. Ponder my outfit before I finally get dressed. Blow dry my hair till it’s nice and smooth. Curl the ends. Carefully apply my makeup—because hello, now every day in London is going to possibly turn into a photo op.
After all that, Jordan still isn’t back yet.
In fact, it takes another thirty minutes for him to finally return. I’m seated on the edge of the bed, eating the breakfast I ordered from room service because I was starving, when he opens the door and strides inside our room, his steps hurried, his expression…grim.
“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, his gaze flicking to mine for the briefest second before he heads straight into the bathroom and closes the door.
He could barely look at me.
What gives?
I shove my worry aside and continue eating, though it feels like I’m chewing cardboard. My stomach is twisted in knots, my hunger evaporating with every bite and I feel like crap for not finishing such an expensive yet basic meal, but I can’t do it.
I just…I can’t.
Is he mad at me? Did Harvey fill his head with lies? I’d hope to God he’d believe me before he ever believed Harvey, but who knows? Jordan’s image is very important. He doesn’t just make his money playing football. He also has extremely lucrative endorsement deals. One wrong step and he could lose out on millions.
But what’s wrong with having a steady girlfriend? Especially if the steady girlfriend is someone from his past who’s loved him for years? Seriously, what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with me?
Jordan’s in the bathroom only a few minutes, and when he finally emerges, I’m already on my feet, pacing back and forth in front of the window that overlooks the city. I come to a stop when he blocks my way, a solid wall of sexy muscle that doesn’t so much as budge.
“Hey.” He grabs hold of my sh
oulders and gives me a little shake, but I keep my head bent. I know I’m being ridiculous, but it’s like I’m almost too scared to face him. “Mandy. Look at me.”
I lift my head, my gaze meeting his, and I see nothing but kindness there. He’s so completely open with me—he has been since the moment we reentered each other’s lives. And that’s such a difference from our previous time together. Young Jordan was full of mystery. Turbulent. Brooding. Sometimes even…heartless. He drove me crazy, especially in the beginning of our relationship. He ran so hot and cold. When I was with him, I never knew what I was going to get, or who I was dealing with.
“I talked with Harvey,” he says firmly. “I set him straight.”
“Set him straight how?” My voice is weak. A little shaky. I know I’m overreacting when I shouldn’t.
“I asked him about the conversation yesterday between you two and he said he was just looking out for me. That he was protecting my best interests,” Jordan explains.
I’m sure Harvey believed that. I’d go as far to say that I believe it too. Jordan Tuttle’s image is very important to the franchise.
“But I told him more like he was protecting the team’s best interests, and what you and I are doing, doesn’t affect the team whatsoever.” His expression turns thunderous. “And I also warned him that he couldn’t bully or insult you. That if he has a problem with anything, he should take it up with me, since we’re together.” When I remain quiet for a beat too long, his eyes narrow. “Amanda. We are together, aren’t we?”
“Is that what you want?”
His hands fall away from my shoulders and he takes a step backwards, as if he needs the distance. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“I—but we promised to take this slow.” God, why did I just say that? I sound like I’m backtracking.
He laughs, but the sound lacks humor. “You’re with me in London. We’ve been together as much as possible since you reached out to me on Instagram. You know I don’t make time for just anyone. So I’d call what we’re doing pretty fucking serious.”
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