Chapter Seventeen

Lance glared at the vultures who’d been circling, adding an extra glower at the dude who’d been ogling Charlotte’s legs.

Not that he could blame him, but those were his legs to ogle.

Rational thought had fled the instant he’d seen her on the floor, dancing and laughing, and he didn’t even care if his brother gave him shit.

Finally he reached her, and his hand automatically went to her hip. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was thinking the same about you,” she said, her voice slightly breathless from the dancing. Her cheeks were flushed, too, and holy shit she was beautiful.

He glanced around at the gyrating bodies and felt completely out of place. This was what he got for charging without thinking. He jerked his chin in the direction of the bar. “Wanna grab a drink?”

Before Charlotte could answer, Stacy gave her a firm shove, hard enough Charlotte wobbled and gripped on to his arms for support.

“Have fun, you two,” she said with a grin. He’d have to thank her later.

Still, he waited to make sure Charlotte was on board with the plan to grab a drink with him instead of tossing her over his shoulder like the caveman she’d turned him into. He raised an eyebrow, and the tiny groove in her cheek came out as she nodded. “A drink sounds good.”

He took hold of her hand so he wouldn’t lose her in the push and pull of the moving crowd, and an electric current twisted up his arm as she laced her fingers with his.

Once they reached the bar, he ordered a whiskey neat and turned to get her order.

“The same for me,” she said to the bartender.

He couldn’t keep the surprise off his face.

“When in Rome,” she said with a shrug. “Also, whiskey was what my dad always kept in the house, and sometimes when friends came over, we’d break into his stash, so it’s my go-to when I want something with a kick.”

“Underage drinking?” He gasped. “You broke some rules?”

“Back in the day.” She reached for the tumbler the bartender slid across the bar and tipped it back in one big gulp. “Speaking of the rules”—she lowered her voice into flirtatious territory as she batted her dark eyelashes at him—“your hand is in danger of breaking section three of the handbook, Mr. Quaid.”

He hadn’t realized he’d hooked it over her hip, but now tantalizing heat was replacing the blood in his body, compelling him to tighten his grip. He tipped back his own drink and tugged her closer so her body was flush with his. “I’m still a bit fuzzy on the rules.”

“Sounds like I’d better give you a lesson.”

Usually he’d groan and prepare for a lecture, but she hadn’t moved away, and her voice had a sultry edge, as did the curve of her lips.

“This is the line…” She put her hand over his and moved it higher on her side. Then she moved it down, sliding it along her hip and leaving it on the curve of her ass. “This would be breaking it.” She moved it up again. “Fine.” Back down to her ass, and his fingers twitched of their own accord. She tsked. “Definitely breaking it.”

Desire inundated his system and his thoughts grew fuzzy—and not from the whiskey.

“Also, this…” She pressed the front of her body against his. “Too close, lots of improper touching—it’d definitely make other coworkers uncomfortable, too.”

His throat went dry, and he rasped out, “Good thing none of our coworkers are here.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s the positive spin to you firing them all.” Her smile turned haughty, and no amount of thinking of plays or drills could keep him from hardening against her stomach.

The pulse beating at the base of her throat fluttered, and he reached his other hand up and cupped her neck, his thumb resting against that rush of blood.

“See, I’m used to football rules. Whenever I’d put my finger on those laces…” He moved his hand to her lower back, spreading his fingers and holding her flush against him. “Protect the ball at all costs. Don’t get sacked. Because when you get sacked, a lot of times things get dirty.”

“Ooh,” she said, and he gave her a look.

“Head out of the gutter, James. I mean that players might take advantage of the fact that refs can’t see very well. They might rough the passer a bit.” He gently jostled her. Then he lowered his mouth to her ear. “There’s even been some biting.”

He sank his teeth into the shell of her ear, and she arched against him, as if she couldn’t help herself. Which made it that much harder to control himself.

He didn’t even care if they were creating a spectacle. All he cared about was that she wasn’t pulling away.

“With the helmets,” she breathed, “ear biting seems highly unlikely.”

His lips brushed her temple as he said, “Did you want me to bite somewhere else?”

Her fingers dug into his biceps, and her breasts bumped against his chest as she inhaled and exhaled. “Lance,” she whispered, and the want flooding his insides turned to need. He needed this woman.

But a deal was a deal. Or a decree or whatever the hell it was. She had to make the move. He stayed perfectly still, silently urging her to rise onto her toes and kiss him. “Mm-hmm,” he finally said.

She peered up at him, suddenly shy. “I…” She glanced around. “There are all these other women here, undoubtedly wanting a shot at dancing with you. There’s a chance someone might snap a few pics to send out to the gossip rags, and it’d be free PR, the NFL’s newest eligible bachelor out on the town for a night.”

Talk about whiplash. He was thinking of kissing her breathless and whisking her out of the club, and she was worried about PR?

“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t care about PR?”

“You can’t just not care about it,” she said.

“Fine. If I leave your side, other guys will hit on you, and that’ll piss me off and then I’ll get into a fight, which would be bad PR.” Since he wanted a reason to keep touching her, keep this night going where he wanted it to, he took a few breaths to calm himself down the best he could and tugged her toward the floor. “This bachelor only wants to dance with you. And, Charlotte, that’s coming from a guy who would usually run the other way at the mention of the word dance.”