The problem was, he’d never been with a girl like this. Didn’t know the first thing about making a nice girl feel safe and comfortable.
Not when he’d spend the past fifteen years perfecting wicked.
Finally, he decided on, “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.”
And it was true; she’d been the only square peg in a room full of round holes. Hell, she might as well have been wearing a halo for all the innocence pouring off her. Now that he was close, he realized she even smelled innocent, like fresh strawberries in a sunny field, or some shit like that.
At first, he’d been too busy congratulating himself on his reverse psychology of finding a sweet girl in a club to think about how this was actually going to go down. But now that she was staring up at him like a doe caught in the middle of a busy freeway—and he was as hard as he’d ever been without touching more than her fingertips—he realized this was going to be a first for him: He was going to have to work for it.
Or else risk losing the one woman he needed.
“You noticed me? ” Champagne sloshed out of her glass and splashed across her chest as she gestured at herself in clear surprise.
Cole looked down—even further down that he was already looking just to see her eyes—and realized she had a pretty good body. Maybe even great. It was hard to tell with the pink, shiny dress she had on, but from his vantage point her cleavage was pretty awesome. Awesome enough that his cock was begging to come out and play.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he began, but then, figuring she might buy his lie if he pulled his gaze back up to her face, he forced himself to stop ogling her tits and actually did look into her eyes.
Cole was stopped cold by eyelashes so long that when she blinked, the curling tips brushed against the tops of her cheekbones. Her eye color was unlike any he’d ever seen, a combination of blue and green that had him thinking of cool mountain lakes and perfect summer days.
She blinked, smiled, and the way her eyes lit up stopped his breath for a second.
“No, not beautiful,” he said, almost to himself. “Stunning.”
Her eyes got even bigger, along with her smile—and his cock. “They are?”
He moved closer, those big eyes of her acting like a magnet on him. A lock of her hair fell in front of one of them and he reached out to slide it to the side, his fingertip barely grazing her skin.
He felt her tremble beneath his touch, even as something shook inside him.
What the hell was going on here?
He’d come looking for a good girl. Not another one-night stand.
But he couldn’t think straight anymore. Not when all he wanted was this woman beneath him, naked and panting, her blue-green eyes flashing with ecstasy as she came in his arms. Not when all he could think of was relieving the heaviness in his groin with the woman who had put it there.
Stop drooling and woo her, asshole.
“Dance with me.”
He had her hand in his and was halfway to the dance floor, borderline desperate thoughts of pressing his thick erection against her belly riding him with every step, when he felt her tug at his arm.
It was a surprisingly strong tug for such a little thing.
“I don’t even know your name.”
She hadn’t said anything to him about football yet, so he’d already guessed that she was one of the few people who weren’t fans, thank God. A chick looking for fame would only complicate things further. Still, he didn’t want to risk anything by giving her his full name, just in case she recognized it from the papers and got ideas.
“Cole.”
She cocked her head to one side, managing to look cute and sexy at the same time, and his erection pressed hard enough into his zipper he wouldn’t be surprised if it marked his skin.
“You know,” she said, “I think I could have guessed that. You look like a Cole.”
“And you look like an angel.”
Her lips turned up in another smile and knocked the wind out of him. Again. He’d already thought she was pretty. But when she smiled, she was breathtaking.
“Almost.” Her smile trembled and she looked shy again. “My name is Anna.”
He couldn’t wait another second to touch her, to know whether her curves felt as soft as they looked, and tugged her closer, pulling her as close to him as they could get in a public bar with their clothes on.
Lord, but he wanted to get even closer. No clothes between them, no other music than the sound of her passion as he made her come with his hands. His mouth. His cock. Jesus, he could feel the pre-come rushing already. Just from holding her.
“Dance with me, Anna.”
Her name was soft on his tongue, just as soft as he knew her skin would be when he finally got her clothes off.
She didn’t push him away, but she did shake her head and bite her lip before saying, “I don’t really dance.”
He had to laugh at that, appreciating the flash of irritation in her eyes at his response.
“Are you saying I’m going to be your first?”
His question hung in the air between them, heavy and pulsing with double meanings.
Jesus, he’d never been with a virgin in his life. Never wanted to be. Not when he appreciated a woman’s experience so that it was wasn’t up to him to do all the work. But the things he wanted to do to this woman—right fucking here, right fucking now—were crazy.
Batshit crazy.
Her flush—and lowered eyes—answered his question. “No. Of course you’re not my first.”
“Are we still talking dancing, Anna?”
Her gaze shot up to meet his again and she opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She looked so cute, standing there trying to figure out how to respond to his very forward question. He knew he wasn’t being fair, playing with her like this, but it was so much fun.
He was having fun.
Cole Taylor didn’t have fun. He was all business, all about crushing the competition.
Sure, he partied as much as the next rich, single, pro-football player, and of course he took the best-looking women in the world to bed, but it wasn’t so much about having a good time as it was about taking his due.
And yet, standing in the middle of a Las Vegas nightclub with a woman whose name he’d only just learned—but whom he wanted more than any woman he’d ever met—Cole felt completely off his game.
The truth was, he was tired. It had been a long, frustrating day looking for a nice girl to take to his grandmother.
His dying grandmother.
“Cole? Are you okay?”
He blinked and looked into Anna’s clearly concerned ocean eyes, felt something soft and warm on his forearm and realized she’d reached out to touch him.
Women looked at him in lots of ways—with dollar signs in their eyes, with lust, with anxiety when he was about to dump them—but never with concern.
Never like they actually cared about him.
“My grandmother is sick.”
Shit, where had those words come from?
She moved even closer, put her other hand on him. “I’m so sorry.”
He worked to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I am, too.”
Together they stood like that for several moments, her comfort flushing through his veins, heading straight for his heart.
“Are you sure you’d still like to dance? Maybe we could find a quieter place and we could talk instead.”
She was right. He didn’t want to dance. But he didn’t want to talk, either.
He wanted to kiss her.