The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2)

“I…I don’t know.”


He stared at me for a beat, the astonished hurt in his eyes making my stomach drop. Standing from his kneeling position, he walked to the other side of the room as he ran a hand through his blond locks. I watched as the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension. He let out an irritable breath before resting his hands on his hips.

“You’re making something that could be so simple into something really complicated here, Lucy,” he said in frustration, still not facing me.

“There’s never been anything simple about you and me,” I returned. “We both knew it could go no further than the physical from the very start. I told you—”

“Yes, but that was before. Things are different now. I’m different.”

I couldn’t help giving him a skeptical look. “Are you? The last I knew you were keen to go out and start practicing your newly gained ‘skills’ on other women.”

Okay, so that was a low blow, but I was feeling desperate and defensive.

His icy blues turned dark as they surveyed me, his jaw working. When he spoke he crossed to me; his voice rose with every word until he was near shouting. “That was me talking shit and you know it. I wasn’t keen to go out and find other women. I was keen to stay in bed with you. Or grab coffee with you. Or chase celebrities with you. Anything, as long as we were together.” His gaze was erratic now, wandering over my features like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or strangle me.

I could barely speak, so enthralled by the look in his eyes. My next words were a weak whisper. “That’s bullshit.”

“Does this feel like bullshit to you?” he growled before yanking me from my seat, cupping both my cheeks, and pulling my mouth to his.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’d forgotten how utterly devastating his kiss could be.

As soon as his lips met mine, I lost the battle with myself. His tongue swept into my mouth and I knew I was helpless to stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted this—him—more than words could say, and when he lifted me, I locked my legs around his waist, holding on for dear life like I never wanted to let go.

My back hit the soft, plush mattress and he climbed atop me, my thighs on either side of his waist. His tongue slid against mine in a seductive dance and the vague thought hit me of how he’d always been an amazing kisser, despite everything else. A second later he broke the kiss, swearing profusely as he lowered his head, pressing his face into my chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he ground out, fingertips pushing into my back as he held me. I tried to catch my breath while I ran my hands through his hair.

“Sean, are you all right?”

“Yes, I just . . . I’m trying really hard not to come and embarrass myself right now, but I haven’t touched you in weeks.”

His unexpectedly candid statement took the wind out of my sails and I almost laughed. He’d been the one to grab me and toss me on the bed, after all.

“Then come,” I said.

He arched a brow.

I lifted a shoulder, too exhausted to fight off my overwhelming need for him any longer. “Maybe having sex now will make things easier at the ceremony tomorrow,” I said, like I was trying to convince myself of the idea’s merits, rationalizing like a true addict.

Sean frowned. “What about after the ceremony?”

I shifted, rubbing myself against him, feeling him tense. His gaze grew darker.

I rushed to say, “Let’s just . . . Listen, let’s just get through the ceremony tomorrow without tearing each other’s clothes off. Then we’ll talk about what comes after.”

He chuckled, some of his previous tension slipping away as he placed a soft, worshipful kiss on my lips. “That would make for some very interesting wedding photographs.”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled at him, struck by the light, airy feeling of joy it gave me to share a moment of humor with him. “Indeed.”

But then his humor tapered the longer he stared at me. An unusual and unmistakable worry creased his forehead. “I’m not going to be satisfied with just one more time, Lucy. This isn’t goodbye.”

I swallowed, nodding somberly, and pressed my palm to his strong jaw, needing to touch him. I whispered, “I know.”

Heat and promise filled his gaze, his attention traced the line of my eyebrows, nose, lips, and strayed to my neck and chest. He began unbuttoning the shirt I wore and pressed hot, hungry kisses to my breasts. Taking my lace-clad, pebbled nipple between his lips, he gave it a sharp bite, and I gasped. My thoughts turned to mush as soon as he started moving down my body until his face was between my thighs. He nuzzled me there, and I let out a sharp yelp at the sensation before he flicked open the buttons and pulled off my jeans.

“What do you want?” he asked, staring up at me as he slid a finger beneath the hem of my knickers, finding me wet.