Her eyes dropped closed, pushing away the sounds of the surrounding night. The ticking of the hallway clock. The crickets. The leaves rustling on the breeze. A second ago they had closed in on her, gripping her like icy fingers and trying to pull her away from the man in front of her.
Stella leaned her head against Brandon’s chest, focusing on his heartbeat and the steady in and out of his breathing. The solid wall of muscle. His hand moving in slow circles over her back. The other hand playing with her fingers, then holding them in a solid grip. Like a promise. That he would never violate her or force her to step outside her comfort zone. And she knew he would back away if she gave him the word.
Except she didn’t want him to. Because this was…nice. To be held. Understood. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in for longer than she could remember.
Her hand loosened its grip at his waist, releasing the soft cotton that had been bunched in her fingers. With her next slow exhale, she flattened her palm and slid it around and up his back. Inching along and allowing her fingers to explore the groove of his spine.
“That’s it,” he urged in a low voice next to her ear. “It’s just you and me.”
No one had ever taken the time to comfort her, or even be aware of the battle raging just below the false confidence. She’d time and again thrown all that out there to save face. But there was no saving face with Brandon. He kicked right past her defense mechanisms, where she was most vulnerable. The thing was, he didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t judged, hadn’t asked what was wrong with her like most guys did when she had a panic attack.
He eased and soothed and understood. Hadn’t once tried to push her past what she was comfortable with. As soon as he sensed her unease, he’d back away and give her the room she needed.
Man, she loved him for that.
Loved him.
Shit.
Then he did something totally unexpected. He started humming.
Stella couldn’t tell what the tune was. And it didn’t even matter because the deep rumbling of his chest, vibrating against hers did more than just calm her waning anxiety. In its place was awareness. An acute, sensitized awareness of every little inch of them pressed together. From her breasts nudging the curved perfection of his pecs, to their stomachs kissing each time one of them breathed, down to his feet bracketing hers.
Brandon didn’t have any moves up his sleeve, of that much she was sure. There was no ulterior motive, no end game resulting in him getting laid. He was doing this for her because he was selfless and giving and way too good for her.
“What’re you humming?” she asked against his chest.
The hand on her back tugged her closer. “Just something I used to hum to Matt when he was a baby.”
She pulled back and looked at him the same time her uterus skipped a beat.
“And now you’re crushing on me,” he stated.
Crushing? Try falling.
He withdrew her hand from his back and lifted it to his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat when he pressed his lips to her knuckles, long enough to feel the firm heat of his lips. Then he released her.
Wait, that was it? He wasn’t leaving, was he?
She opened her mouth to object, but he beat her to it.
“You’re not ready for more, Stella.”
Okay, yeah. He knew what she’d been about to say. She wanted more. She wanted to fist her hands in his shirt and drag him through the door. She wanted him to press her to the solid wood and show her something other than the gentleman who’d coaxed her through an oncoming anxiety attack.
Instead he left. Turned and strolled toward his truck, leaving her to gape after the solid perfection of his ass and wonder where they went from there.
Eleven
The Bobcats lost their sixth game in a crushing overtime defeat.
Four days later, Brandon stood back and watched practice, hands draped over the chain-link fence as Blake ran the team through drills and plays. Recruiters were all over the place, watching the kids, talking to the coaches and making notes on their clipboards. Both the schools that he and Matt had been considering were in attendance. Brandon snagged his kid’s attention and motioned for him to focus on his coach.
“If you don’t smile, your jaw’s going to shatter,” a soft voice said next to his ear. Only one woman he knew was almost tall enough to reach his ear.
Brandon turned his head and caught sight of Stella. But she didn’t stay to chat. Just patted him on the shoulder and brushed past, swaying that sweet ass as she made her way to Annabelle. The two immediately started laughing it up. Stella tossed one last look at him, waved, then turned back to her friend, her long ponytail swishing over her shoulder.
What the hell?
Had something changed between them since he saw her a week and a half ago?
When he’d sensed a serious freak-out coming on, all he’d been able to think of was holding her. The panic had flared in her eyes and tore at his heart. How long had she been living with that? Had she been battling that alone? And what about the asshole who’d made her that way? Because Brandon was almost certain a man had triggered her intimacy fears. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t what his mind had conjured up. That she hadn’t been violated in the worst way imaginable. But there had been a violation. Something that had rocked her trust in other people, specifically men.
Another reason why they couldn’t go beyond mild flirtations. Or maybe some kissing. As much as he would love to tangle in the sheets with her, Brandon knew Stella wasn’t ready for that. Underneath the glib joking and scorching kisses was a woman not yet ready to surrender herself that way. So he’d wait.
He took out his phone and sent her a text. What drug are you on?
A second later came her reply. I resent your implication.
He grinned as he countered her. Seriously. You’re being nice to me, so what gives?
I’m always nice.
Really? He glanced at her from the thirty or so feet away she was standing with Annabelle. He could practically see her eyes rolling from behind her sunglasses.
Okay fine. I thought about staying for a chat, but Rhonda Powell is sitting at the top of the bleachers, plotting for a way to take a bite out of your sexy ass.
He lifted a brow in her direction and answered her.
You think my ass is sexy?
You know it is, so get over yourself.
He hooked his elbow over the chain-link fence and texted her back. Why don’t you come over here and talk to me instead of typing?
Brandon watched her fine backside as she climbed the bleachers with Annabelle, her head bent over her phone as her thumbs flew across her keyboard.
You’re the one who started texting me. Besides, Rhonda scares me.
He leaned against the fence and texted Stella back. Nuh-uh. You’re not scared of Rhonda. Fess up.
On the field, Blake blew his whistle. Brandon watched the action, keeping one eye on Matt and the other on his phone. After a moment, too long actually, she answered.