Fuck it.

  I kicked off my shoes and padded over, perching on the edge of the armrest. Diego grinned up at me, his arm looping around my hips. Despite the football game and the long evening at the museum, he looked refreshed. His black hair flopped over his forehead and his body relaxed into the seat. His grip tightened on my hips, pulling me closer, urging me to relax onto his shoulder. Or I just wanted to do that. Either way, as the music cued up and the lights around the fountain dimmed, I dropped my head onto his shoulder.

  Bright lights mirrored water cannons as the song took off. The crowds of people surrounding the water melted away. I closed my eyes to the show, my focus entirely on Diego’s fingertips pressed into my hip, the soft push of his palm pulling me off the edge until I slid off the armrest and onto his lap.

  “This is cozy.”

  Diego’s soft brown eyes bored into mine, a look of intensity I’d only seen him wear on the field. I shivered. “This is the part where you tell me it’s a joke. All of this is a joke.”

  “Call my bluff.” His voice rumbled beneath the pounding of my heartbeat. I blinked, the words piercing my lust, but not quite shifting into a place where they made sense. “If you don’t want this, call my bluff. But fuck, Cassandra, do I want this.”

  The proof of that was imprinted on my ass. He cupped my chin, a calloused thumb riding over my cheekbone. I shook my head. “No. I want this too.”

  His lips crashed onto mine, sucking all the oxygen from my body and leaving me feeling light-headed. His tongue teased my lips open as his hands reached under the hem of my shirt. Each brush of his fingertips lit me up like a Christmas tree, my entire body buzzing with an energy that concentrated between my legs.

  I gripped his hair in my palm, my other hand brushing down his jaw and cupping his neck, my thumb strumming over his Adam’s apple that’d been driving me nuts all night. His fingers brushed down my spine, pausing over the lacy clasp of my bra and continuing a frustrating meander further down. He slipped his palm down the back of my pants, fingers spread as he palmed my ass.

  “Fuck, you are sexy,” he growled into my ear before nibbling my ear lobe. A laughably untrue compliment at any other time than now. Because hell if Diego didn’t make me feel sexy. And not a drunk at three a.m. and sort of horny sexy. A type of sexy that felt more circumstantial than sincere. His eyes drank me in like I was an oasis in a desert. Like I was a present on Christmas Day. Like I was exactly what he wanted.

  An insane thought that I reveled in, regardless.

  “You’re missing the show,” I rasped out as his lips traveled down my neck and his fingers played with the straps of my bra. His thumb brushed the band, tracing the back down to the swell of my breast and back up. I arched my back, urging him to dip his fingers under the fabric, and when that didn’t work, I ground my ass against his lap.

  He nipped my shoulder, the light jolt of pain somehow making the throbbing between my thighs worse. So much worse. “Is that what you want?”

  The biting? The kissing? The unbearable teasing? Absolutely.

  “Yes, please.”

  His lips curled in a smile against my skin. “You want to watch the show? Okay.”

  He lifted me out of his lap before I realized my mistake. My palms pressed against the cool glass of the window, catching my balance at the same time as he steadied me, palms on my hips. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it was a great idea, anyway.” He pulled my hips into his as one hand wound its way up my stomach. My shirt bunched under my arms and I pulled it off as his hand cupped my covered breast.

  I closed my eyes, setting my forehead against the window with a groan. “This is torture.”

  “Torture?” His breath was hot against my ear. He’d stripped off his shirt and his torso grazed my back. “Torture is having you call at two in the morning to invite me over and having to say no.”

  His fingers unclasped the bra and my knees buckled in relief as he pulled the scrap of lace off. It fluttered to the floor along with any rational thought I had left. He palmed my breast, and I lost all the irrational thought. I rubbed against him, the pain between my legs unbearable.

  “Not yet,” he muttered into my ear. “Patience.”

  One arm wrapped around my chest, he eased down my pants to the closing chorus of Viva Las Vegas. The AI voice on the television announced another song in fifteen minutes.

  “Do you think you can wait fifteen more minutes?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t think I would last one more minute. Hell, probably not five seconds if he kept talking in that low grumbly fuck me voice.

  “Me neither,” he admitted into my ear as his fingers hooked my thong, pulling it down my legs.

  I writhed against the cold glass, faintly aware I should be actively taking part but unable to make my body cooperate. Diego removed his pants and rustled around in the duffel bag that I’d set by the door. A second later, his dick slid between my thighs and his arms wrapped around my waist. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Cassandra.”

  I closed my eyes, head falling back against his shoulder as my arm wrapped around to grip his ass. “Mm-hmm.”

  He shook his head. “No. Say it. I want to know that you want this as much as I do.”

  I was hopelessly wet. Hopelessly horny. Hopeless. “Fuck me, Diego. Please. I want it so bad.”

  I opened my eyes and stared up at him. His jaw tensed and he drove into me. He filled me completely, my entire body brimming with electricity as he pressed his palm against the window, the other gripping my waist. I leaned back into him. His hard muscled chest molding against my back as his hand slipped down my hip, navigating through the small patch of hair before his thumb swiped across my clit.

  My hips bucked, and I moaned, the pleasure of having him around me and in me almost too much to take. His thumb made another pass and this time, he didn’t wait for me to move. He loosened his grip on the windowpane, curling his arm around my chest, his fingers playing with my nipple in the same intoxicating rhythm as his hand on my clit.

  “Diego, I’m close,” I panted. I wasn’t just close. I was done. Head over heels. Obsessed. Finding an orgasm with the last guy I dated required dinner, a toy, and an engraved invitation, but Diego had me on the verge of coming within the span of a cheesy song from the ‘60s.

  “Good.” He tightened his grip on my chest, pulling me flush with him so his breath warmed my ear. “Because I’m not going to last long, baby. After I’ve been thinking about you like this all night. Fuck, all week. Since the first time I saw you. And I want to feel you orgasm while I’m burrowed deep inside you. I want you to feel how bad you need me.”

  “I need you,” I said through shuddered breath, already losing my grip on reality. I pressed both my palms against the cool window, leveraging against the glass to drive Diego deeper into me. Once. Twice. Three Times.

  My body tensed as waves of pleasure washed over me. Diego thrust one last time, his arms tensing around me as my limbs turned limp and my mind went completely blank.

  “Perfect,” he murmured into my hair. “So perfect.”

  “Liar. But I like hearing it, anyway.”

  He swept me up and placed me on the bed, my body exhausted and my mind in overdrive. Instead of a perfect post-coital nothingness, questions about what just happened clouded my mind. What about the contract? What about the rest of the season? What about us?

  I beat back the thoughts.

  “Noa and Lena are in the room next door, right?” I asked as my mind careened around the events that ended with me in bed with Diego.

  Silence. I pushed up to face Diego, only temporarily distracted by his very chiseled, very shirtless torso. “Right? Because I haven’t heard anything from their room and now that I think about it, Lena put her suitcase in the living room before we left for the game.”

  “Wow, that’s where your head is at?” Diego grinned.

  “You tricked me.”

  “You didn’t really give me an opportunity to correct you.” His fingertips skated along my bare back, eyes dropping down to my chest appreciatively. The edge of his lip pulled up into a grin that made my body sizzle and reminded me how screwed I was now that we’d slept together.

  I settled back into his arms, setting my chin on his chest. “Fair point.”

  “So, huge mistake?”

  “What happens in Vegas, right?”

  An imprint of a frown formed on his face before fading away. “Right.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  DIEGO

  Three days after coming home from Las Vegas, my night with Cassandra felt like a fever dream. We’d woken up that morning for another round of mind-blowing sex and then boarded a plane where…everything carried on like before.

  Cassandra held my hand for photographers. She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek when we were spotted at dinner.

  The rest of the time? Friends.

  Just Friends.

  Painfully friendly.

  What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas…for Cassandra, anyway.

  Tonight, her head rested on my shoulder, her arm on my thigh as she trudged through a field on screen, looking for a chocobo. So friendly.

  “If you’re getting bored, I can take off,” she said, not pulling her eyes from the screen.

  “No, this is fine.”

  Not fine. Cozy, sure. Frustrating, absolutely. But as an alternative to not having her at all, perfect.

  I dipped my head, inhaling clove and cinnamon.

  “Got one,” she said, straightening. The top of her head brushed past my chin. A fraction of an inch closer and I would have a bloody nose and an awkward explanation of what I’d been doing.

  I leaned forward, pretending to be invested in the game and not in the woman holding the controller, scooting closer to her. She fought the bird until it nearly died before nabbing it with a triumphant cry. She lifted her arms as she turned and wrapped me in a hug.

  The controller dug into the back of my neck, and her knee jabbed my thigh. Not a perfect hug, but damn near close. She pulled away with a shuddering breath. The excitement faded from her sparking green eyes, replaced with shock and then…well, it sure as hell wasn’t teasing. Her plush bottom lip disappeared into her mouth.

  “Cassandra.” Reluctantly, I loosened my grip on her waist and cupped her cheek.

  “This isn’t Vegas, Diego,” she said, but instead of pulling away, she slid her hands onto my shoulders and down my chest. Her gaze followed her fingertips.

  “No, but does it have to be?” I brushed my thumb over her cheek, willing her to look up and into my eyes.

  Her palms stilled, her head giving the barest hint of a shake. “I don’t know. Does it?”

  Her tongue slid across her bottom lip, and my grip tightened. I tilted my head, and her eyes fluttered closed.

  POP

  Her eyes opened. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, leaning forward again.

  “Do you hear that?”

  I didn’t hear anything besides the beating of my heart. “No. Probably the TV.”

  Her hands dropped from my chest. “Where’s your water heater?”

  “My what?”

  She stood up, eyes scanning the exterior of the room before moving to the door. “Your water heater. I think it burst.”

  Shaking my head, I stood as she raced out of the room, walking into a small river rolling through the hallway.

  “Fuck!” I swore, running to meet her.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she waved away my panic, pulling open a door to the laundry room and releasing a flood. “Your water heater is in here.”

  “I can handle this.”

  She laughed, eyes dancing back to me. “You know what to do with a busted water heater?”

  I didn’t.

  “Alright, teach me.” I crowded into the small laundry room behind her. Water gushed out of the tank, providing the bare minimum of distraction from Cassandra’s body so close to mine.

  “It’s easy. Just shut the water valve.” She grasped a red handle at the top of the tank and pulled it perpendicular to the pipe.

  Nothing happened. She cocked her head.

  “So, does it take a while for the water to stop?”

  “No.” She grabbed the other handle, shutting the valve. Nothing. “Lift me up. I can’t see the top of this thing.”

  I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up. Her ass pressed against my stomach as she leveraged her feet against the tank, angling her head to get a better look.

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  “What’s not good?”

  “Where’s the water turn off for the house?”

  “My what?”

  “Front yard, I’d imagine. Can you put me down? Someone installed the inlet and outlet backward.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She buzzed past me, and I followed her up the stairs.

  “It means you need to get a shit ton of towels, and I need to figure out how to shut off the water to your house. Do you have a toolbox?” she asked. I grimaced. “Okay. Not a big deal. I’ll grab some stuff from the kitchen and figure it out. Can you make some berms? You’re gonna want to contain the water and hope it doesn’t warp your floors.”

  “I can call someone. You don’t need to worry about this,” I reassured her. Could I just let the basement flood and convince her upstairs? Probably not.

  “Unless they can come in the next fifteen minutes, maybe it’s better you let me handle this. Don’t worry. I’ll charge you for my time.” She scooped up an assortment of utensils from the kitchen with a wink and darted outside.

  I gathered up every towel in my house, stopping to google what the hell a berm was before I set a rolled-up towel at each doorway and sopped up the water gushing out of the heater. By the time I secured the doorways, the flood coming out of the water heater had receded to a trickle.

  Cassandra returned, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow and her hair in disarray. “Well, that was an adventure. I’ve never turned off a main water shut off with a spaghetti server before. Also, I owe you a pair of tongs.”

  She dropped to the ground, grabbing a towel from the pile beside me and sopping up the water.

  I could find an open receiver in double coverage. I could deadlift five-hundred pounds. I could run a sub-five second forty-yard dash. But what the hell could I do off the field?

  Not much, clearly.

  “How’d you learn to do that?” I asked in awe.

  She shrugged. “I’m capable of anything if I’m brave enough and watch enough DIY videos.”

  “Wow,” I blinked. “That’s a life motto.”

  “It’s served me well. I conned someone into giving me a job as an apartment manager thanks to that motto.”

  I sat back on my haunches, turning to face Cassandra. “You’re phenomenal.”

  “I’m a college dropout with a resume longer than most chain store pharmacy receipts and a family that thinks I’m squandering my potential. But, yeah, I guess I can also shut off the main water valve.” She kept her eyes glued to the floor, soaking up a small pond gathered in front of the bathroom.

  My stomach clenched at the biting assessment. One that sounded completely unlike the woman who let problems roll off her like water off a duck. The woman who didn’t give a shit what anyone thought.

  Or so I thought. The brief glimpse into her thoughts took me off guard. Made me mad at whoever put those thoughts into her head.

  “And all I can do is throw a football and run. I can’t identify water heaters or mix a bourbon sour or charm a group of tourists.” I brushed her arm, letting my fingers slide down her forearm and my hand settle on hers until she looked up. “You’re a Renaissance woman, and that’s way better.”

  Her eyes reluctantly met mine with a shy smile. “A Renaissance woman. I like that.”

  I like you.

  The words stalled on my lips as she swept up the soaked towels in her arms, some sense of order restored to my basement and her confidence. She dropped the towels into the washer and turned to face the broken water heater. “I could swap that one out, but honestly, you’re loaded. Get a tankless heater.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” I admitted. “So, I’m gonna need some help picking one out.”

  “I’ll call a plumber in the morning.” She held her hand up as I opened my mouth to object. “Just let me handle it. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything other than football.”

  “Is that all you think I’m good for?” I asked with a grin. I set a hand on the washer, crowding her space.

  She leaned closer. “Maybe that’s not all you’re good for.”

  “Are we going to talk about Las Vegas?”

  “Do we have to?” She glanced up at me with a wan smile. “What if it goes poorly and I don’t want to find someone to replace your water heater anymore?”

  “I’m willing to chance it if you are.” She pursed her lips, drawing a sigh from my lips. “I don’t think I can forget about that night as easily as you can.”

  “I didn’t ask you to forget.” She tilted her head up, crossing her arms. “We shouldn’t have slept together.”

  “But we did.”

  “But it’s not happening again.”

  “Why not?”

  Cassandra sucked in a breath at the question, and my stomach tumbled. Why not? Sure, the contract complicated things. Her sister complicated things. My job complicated things. But over the last three days, I couldn’t come up with a single reason that we shouldn’t at least try.

  “We have chemistry. We have fun. We work well together.”

  She cocked her head, strands of tawny brown hair sticking to her damp skin. “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “I’m asking if you want to give us a shot. If you want to date me. Not a joke, but for real.”

 

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