The All-Star Antes Up
Page 95
Evidently, the writer didn’t want to tangle with him, either. He flung up one hand in a gesture of self-defense. “I don’t, in fact, have a Twitter account.”
“Can’t keep it to a hundred and forty characters?” Luke asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“Can’t come up with a hundred and forty characters,” Gavin shot back.
“Sorry, man.”
Gavin waved his hand in casual dismissal and disappeared out the door.
“What was that about?” Miranda asked.
Luke shook his head. “A bestselling novelist with writer’s block.”
“Ouch. I wondered why there hadn’t been a new Julian Best book in a while.” How easy it was to talk to him again. His lips curved in sympathy with Gavin’s problem, and she had to force her gaze away to focus on getting into her boots. “Let’s move some cheese.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it again, silently following her through the door into the holding room.
“Whoa! That’s one strong smell,” he said.
“You can almost taste the air.” Miranda sniffed. She’d come to love the cheese cave’s overload of scent.
Luke surveyed the shelves stacked with all shapes and sizes of cheese. “We’re going to need more help in here.”
“Two of us are enough.”
He turned sharply. “You’re not going to lift a single chunk of cheese. Just supervise.”
“Quarterbacking again?”
“What’s the point of having a bunch of athletes here if you don’t let them use what God and the weight room gave them?”
She climbed onto a high wooden stool. She was too tired, both physically and emotionally, to put up a fight.
His eyes widened. “You’re not going to argue?”
“I’m happy to sit down.”
Every line in his face softened as he walked toward her perch. Knowing he was going to touch her and knowing how she would react, she cast around for an escape route, but her back was against a wall, and two shelving units loomed on either side, trapping her.
“Miranda.” The low rumble of his voice vibrated through her. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I was a real jerk Friday night.” He cupped her shoulders ever so gently with his big hands. “Will you accept my apology?”
Shivers of delight ran through her, and her eyelids drifted closed as she savored the feel of his hands on her. Had he asked her a question? Something about an apology. “Yes,” she murmured.
“Thank you.” She opened her eyes just enough to see him bend his head toward her, so his lips brushed her forehead and then her cheek. Then his grip went tight, bringing her breasts hard against the wall of his chest and sending sparks of pleasure shimmering through her rib cage. He pushed his knee between hers, spreading her thighs around his hips as he moved in close. She felt the ache of emptiness low in her belly and the need to be filled by him.
“I’ve missed you. Missed this.” His mouth slanted over hers, his lips hard and warm and male.
She felt his touch as a blossom of heat in every molecule of her body. Yes, desire pooled inside her, but it was also the sense of being in the right place with the right arms around her. The resonant timbre of his voice, the silky thickness of his hair, the perfectly calibrated pressure of his chest against hers—all danced together and set her heart flipping in her chest.
“Ahem.”
A blush burned up Miranda’s cheeks and she tried to jerk away, but Luke’s grip didn’t loosen.
He moved his lips one inch away from hers to say, “Go away, Miller.”
“Boyo, I understand you want to win the bet, but it’s colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss outside.”
“So sit in the truck with the heater on,” Luke growled.
As much as she didn’t want to, Miranda wedged her hands against his chest and pushed. It was a token gesture, since she couldn’t budge the quarterback if he didn’t want to move. “Luke, they’re all waiting for us.”
She felt his body give against her palms and he lifted his head. “I really hate your guts, Miller.”
“I consider that a compliment from the Iceman.”
Luke released her and stepped back. “Suit up, jackass. I’m going to need your help in here.”
“Do you have a Twitter account?” the author asked.
“With three quarters of a million followers. My assistant runs it, so you’re safe.”
Gavin disappeared out into the changing room, where they could hear him rustling around.
Something the writer said surfaced through Miranda’s embarrassment. “What bet was he talking about?”
“Nothing. A stupid bar conversation.” But he didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“What does it have to do with me?”
“Miller’s a troublemaker. Ignore him.”
“Take his advice. He’s correct.” Gavin slouched into the storage room dressed in a coverall and boots.
Luke gave him one of those icy stares that made Miranda shiver before turning back to her with a warmer look. “Where do we start?”
Her blush subsided as the two men loaded the cheese into containers and hauled them out to the door. Watching Luke’s hands carefully cradling her brother’s handiwork sent little tendrils of desire winding through her. When he bent and straightened, the too-snug coverall rippled over the shifting muscles of his back and thighs. The memory of how those muscles felt under his skin when he moved over her sent a flood of prickling arousal through her breasts and lower.
“Can’t keep it to a hundred and forty characters?” Luke asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“Can’t come up with a hundred and forty characters,” Gavin shot back.
“Sorry, man.”
Gavin waved his hand in casual dismissal and disappeared out the door.
“What was that about?” Miranda asked.
Luke shook his head. “A bestselling novelist with writer’s block.”
“Ouch. I wondered why there hadn’t been a new Julian Best book in a while.” How easy it was to talk to him again. His lips curved in sympathy with Gavin’s problem, and she had to force her gaze away to focus on getting into her boots. “Let’s move some cheese.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it again, silently following her through the door into the holding room.
“Whoa! That’s one strong smell,” he said.
“You can almost taste the air.” Miranda sniffed. She’d come to love the cheese cave’s overload of scent.
Luke surveyed the shelves stacked with all shapes and sizes of cheese. “We’re going to need more help in here.”
“Two of us are enough.”
He turned sharply. “You’re not going to lift a single chunk of cheese. Just supervise.”
“Quarterbacking again?”
“What’s the point of having a bunch of athletes here if you don’t let them use what God and the weight room gave them?”
She climbed onto a high wooden stool. She was too tired, both physically and emotionally, to put up a fight.
His eyes widened. “You’re not going to argue?”
“I’m happy to sit down.”
Every line in his face softened as he walked toward her perch. Knowing he was going to touch her and knowing how she would react, she cast around for an escape route, but her back was against a wall, and two shelving units loomed on either side, trapping her.
“Miranda.” The low rumble of his voice vibrated through her. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I was a real jerk Friday night.” He cupped her shoulders ever so gently with his big hands. “Will you accept my apology?”
Shivers of delight ran through her, and her eyelids drifted closed as she savored the feel of his hands on her. Had he asked her a question? Something about an apology. “Yes,” she murmured.
“Thank you.” She opened her eyes just enough to see him bend his head toward her, so his lips brushed her forehead and then her cheek. Then his grip went tight, bringing her breasts hard against the wall of his chest and sending sparks of pleasure shimmering through her rib cage. He pushed his knee between hers, spreading her thighs around his hips as he moved in close. She felt the ache of emptiness low in her belly and the need to be filled by him.
“I’ve missed you. Missed this.” His mouth slanted over hers, his lips hard and warm and male.
She felt his touch as a blossom of heat in every molecule of her body. Yes, desire pooled inside her, but it was also the sense of being in the right place with the right arms around her. The resonant timbre of his voice, the silky thickness of his hair, the perfectly calibrated pressure of his chest against hers—all danced together and set her heart flipping in her chest.
“Ahem.”
A blush burned up Miranda’s cheeks and she tried to jerk away, but Luke’s grip didn’t loosen.
He moved his lips one inch away from hers to say, “Go away, Miller.”
“Boyo, I understand you want to win the bet, but it’s colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss outside.”
“So sit in the truck with the heater on,” Luke growled.
As much as she didn’t want to, Miranda wedged her hands against his chest and pushed. It was a token gesture, since she couldn’t budge the quarterback if he didn’t want to move. “Luke, they’re all waiting for us.”
She felt his body give against her palms and he lifted his head. “I really hate your guts, Miller.”
“I consider that a compliment from the Iceman.”
Luke released her and stepped back. “Suit up, jackass. I’m going to need your help in here.”
“Do you have a Twitter account?” the author asked.
“With three quarters of a million followers. My assistant runs it, so you’re safe.”
Gavin disappeared out into the changing room, where they could hear him rustling around.
Something the writer said surfaced through Miranda’s embarrassment. “What bet was he talking about?”
“Nothing. A stupid bar conversation.” But he didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“What does it have to do with me?”
“Miller’s a troublemaker. Ignore him.”
“Take his advice. He’s correct.” Gavin slouched into the storage room dressed in a coverall and boots.
Luke gave him one of those icy stares that made Miranda shiver before turning back to her with a warmer look. “Where do we start?”
Her blush subsided as the two men loaded the cheese into containers and hauled them out to the door. Watching Luke’s hands carefully cradling her brother’s handiwork sent little tendrils of desire winding through her. When he bent and straightened, the too-snug coverall rippled over the shifting muscles of his back and thighs. The memory of how those muscles felt under his skin when he moved over her sent a flood of prickling arousal through her breasts and lower.
