Jaxson
She wasn’t wrong.
I was perfectly capable of finding trouble all on my own, and with her in the seat next to me, I didn’t have to look far.
The first time I’d laid eyes on Grace Tanev on the tarmac at the Tampa Airport, I hadn’t known she had that last name attached to her. I hadn’t known those toned, tanned legs under the sundress she wore were off limits, or that the curious smile she’d thrown at me was her laughing in her head at my expense.
She’d known I was observing her with intent, that I wanted her.
And she’d had a grand ol’ time watching me put the pieces together once I realized she was Vince’s little sister.
That was months ago now, and I’d dropped the thought of her easily with us being in the heat of a winning season.
But when she’d walked onto this bus tonight, I’d felt that same spark in my chest, the one that made me want to grab her by the waist, sit her in my lap, and bark at any one of my fucking teammates that dared get too close.
That fire had been doused, however, when Vince told her to sit with me — tacking on that I was the only one he could trust.
Fuck me.
Now, her leg was brushing mine, bare and smooth under the little black dress she had on for the night’s occasion. She also had a delicate pair of crystal-studded heels strapped around her ankles — one of which she not-so-subtly dragged along my leg when she switched positions.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
And if I didn’t show restraint, my teammate would have my ass.
“Why are you so tense?”
Her question snapped my eyes back to hers.
I hadn’t realized I’d been trailing her again, but it was a habit I was hard-pressed to break when I had a fucking knockout right in front of me.
She was the kind of beautiful that socked the breath out of you, a one-two punch to the gut every time she flashed her bright smile in your direction. Long blonde hair, plump pink lips, emerald green eyes laced with fire — all wrapped up in a sweet little package that made me want to toss her onto the nearest bed just because I knew I could do so easily.
“That’s a blunt assumption,” I said, regaining my composure.
“It’s a fact. Look at you,” she said, waving her hand over me. “Your shoulders are up by your ears, and there’s a vein popping out of your neck.”
I had to bite down my laugh, along with the urge to tell her that my tension came mostly from keeping my hands to myself right now.
“You read body language, I take it.”
“I do,” she said with a smug smile, admiring her nails before she took another sip of her beer. I noted that her nails were cut short and void of polish, which made me even more amused by the gesture. “Palms, too.”
“You read palms?”
“And tarot cards.”
My eyebrow ticked up. “How very witchy.”
“Careful, or I just might put you under my spell.”
She wiggled her fingers with her eyes all big and bug-eyed in an attempt to rattle me, but I kept my gaze fixed on hers, taking a lazy swig from my beer.
She dropped her hand against her thigh with a smack, her lips flattening at my lack of response. “See? You’re ramrod stiff.”
The corner of my mouth quirked up.
If only she knew how ramrod stiff she could make me.
The party bus rolled to a stop at the edge of 6th Street, and my teammates spilled out into the rowdy Austin night one after the other. I sucked down the last of my beer, ready to join them, and as soon as my hand was free — Grace grabbed it.
It was so small in mine, so smooth where mine was rough, warm where mine was cold. And I felt it, from that very first touch — a jolt of electricity like Zeus himself had cast down a bolt of lightning. It was a warning sign and an invitation to the brave all at once.
I took the bait like a fucking sunfish.
“Come on,” she said, tugging me down the aisle.
She let go only long enough to throw herself at the stripper pole in the middle of the bus, looking more like a primate swinging from a tree than anything close to sexy, before she snagged me again and pulled me behind her.
“Let’s dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
She sucked her teeth, glaring at me over her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to be a fuddy duddy tonight. Not on my watch. So, drop your ego at the door, Brittzy.”
She smiled auspiciously when I laughed at her using the nickname only my teammates called me by. Then, she stopped her forward movement, turning around until she was pressing up onto her toes with that smile right in my face.
“Tonight? You dance.”
I tongued my cheek, shaking my head at her before she was skipping into the first bar with me having no choice but to let her pull me with her. I half-expected Vince to stop me with a hard fist to the chest when she hauled me right past him, but he was completely oblivious — already tangled up in Maven at the edge of the long bar.
Grace weaved us through the thickening crowd, pushing farther and farther until we were damn near crushed between those dancing in the back and those swarming the DJ booth at the front.
When she found the spot she liked, she twisted so quickly I practically ran into her. Her arms threaded around my neck as much as they could with me being so much taller than she was, and I had no choice but to find her hips with my hands — more to stop us from toppling over than anything else.
She beamed up at me, mischief and a dare sparkling in her eyes.
Then, she swayed her hips where I held them, side to side in a slow, teasing rhythm as she leaned in even closer.
“Don’t look so scared,” she said over the music, and then she turned, her back against my chest.
I removed my hands, holding them up like I was surrendering as she backed up even more, until her ass was slowly rubbing against the zipper of my slacks.
Fucking Christ.
She leaned her head back against my chest, smirking at the expression on my face before she grabbed my hands and moved them to her hips again.
“Relax,” she said, the word drowning in the bass thumping from the speaker. “It’s just dancing.”
My nostrils flared when she slowed her tempo even more, one hand gripping me by the back of the neck while the other covered one of my hands on her waist. She wound her tight little body against me, and from this angle, I had a perfect view of the two modest swells hidden under her thin-strapped black dress.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
I groaned, biting my lip and looking up at the ceiling. I was halfway through naming all the Canadian provinces and territories when Grace dragged one finger along my jaw line.
It was slow and methodic, that fingertip taking my chin down with it until I was looking at her. The amusement in her green eyes died a little when mine found hers, something hotter slipping in on its heels.
And I was a stupid sonofabitch with a death sentence apparently, because I muttered a fuck it under my breath and gripped her hips against me even tighter before fitting us together.
The corner of her lips quirked up in victory, but she didn’t tear her eyes away. She just watched me as my hands gripped the fabric of her dress, bunching it a little the more we moved. The beat was heavy and bass-driven, the crowd like a heartbeat around us. And just when I had the hang of it, Grace switched her tempo from side to side to just leaning against me and barely rolling her body.
I watched the wave-like movement of her chest, stomach, and pelvis, all while feeling every inch of the dance against me. The bottom of that body roll had her ass rubbing against me in a way that left me no fucking choice but to pop a boner.
I felt like a goddamn high schooler instead of a thirty-year-old man.
Snapping out of my daze, I matched her movement again, and when I did, it was enough to have me cursing under my breath.
We were practically fucking on that dance floor.
It didn’t matter that we were fully clothed. She pressed against me just as hard as I gripped her to me, and all my restraint was obliterated with her ass rubbing against my cock.
Grace closed her eyes, leaning her head against my chest, and then she wrapped her hands over mine and started dragging them over her body. It was slow and subtle, so much so that anyone around us wouldn’t have noticed.
But the second she ran my hand up her rib cage, I stopped breathing.
Grace had the decency to pause, but then she laced her fingers over mine and, together, we cupped her breast.
I was toast.
“Fuck,” I ground out, and chills erupted over her shoulder where I’d muttered the curse. I tested the weight of her, palming her more confidently and feeling the fabric of her dress with my thumb until I struck gold, finding her nipple peaked.
She let out an exhale of a moan when I thumbed that precious discovery.
Then, in a strange fucking twist of events, the song cut out suddenly.
And a loud, high-energy country song swept in to take its place.
