Read Game For Love: Devil of the Gridiron (Kindle Worlds Novella) for Free Online Page A

each step. But he was doing his best to put her at ease. So when he came back with the glasses and a cork, she forced her shoulders to lower and her limbs followed the quiet demand to relax.
    “You have a view of the Golden Gate bridge,” she said, using way more than two words. “Why don't you keep your windows open?”
    “I guess you can say I've become jaded with my view.” He notched his head to a panel on the wall. “You can lift the blinds if you want.”
    She wanted. Indecision filled her for another second as she stood at the panel on the wall, but she cut off the light in the nook since he'd finished pouring. The remaining illumination gave the room a nice glow. She grabbed her glass before settling at the window seat instead of the table. With the onset of nightfall, fog had crept in over the bay, and soon, only the top lights of the bridge would be visible.
    She sipped her Chardonnay and soaked in the view, awed at the simple but somehow extravagant pleasure. “Do you ever look back and wonder how you got here? Got all this?” She searched for his gaze.
    His jaw clenched at the question, which was a surprising reaction to a simple inquiry. “I have moments,” he finally answered.
    Adam pushed off the table, and within two steps, she had to clench her glass. Being near him was like standing next to a power line during a thunderstorm. The air didn't crackle but sizzled with energy.
    The hairs on her arms rose to attention right before he slid behind her on the window seat. “There's a warm, kind woman sitting in my house admiring the view. This is a moment. None of this should be mine, even temporarily.”
    She tensed. “Why?”
    He brushed aside her hair to expose her neck. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to talk about my wayward past when I'm about to use my mouth in the most interesting ways?”
    A week ago, before she met him, her answer would have been ten—Charlotte would have wanted to know every detail before she let him touch her. But the interlude in the classroom had only been a teaser to what he could do. She wasn't just thinking about his mouth and hands.
    He'd talked to the boys as though they were equals, not charity cases for a PR spin to make him look good on paper. He hadn't told them “if you work hard, one day you'll be like me.” Something she heard much too often, both when growing up and when she had a visitor in her classroom.
    Adam showed them he could cook his own meals if he wanted, put down chili just like them, laugh at raunchy jokes, and be a guy that knew his past yet wanted something different for his future. Sure, there were more important details or wounds they could dredge up, but did she need them tonight?
    “Three,” she answered.
    He pressed a kiss to the top of her shoulder that forced her to grip her wine glass.
    “I've lost my edge. You should have said negative fifty.”
    Laughing probably only encouraged his ridiculousness, but she did it anyway. “Adam.”
    The clink of wood meeting glass stopped her laugh. Her pulse skidded when he wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her closer. This position probably did nothing for him, with his hip pressed into her ass, but Adam tugged at her dress's strap, his mouth drawing a trail of heat down her skin. He laved his tongue over her flesh before sucking his way up to the crook of her neck.
    When had he balled her hair in his hand? The tight pull tugged at her scalp and only added to the sensations playing over her. He added teeth then yanked down the front of her dress. Her breasts spilled out.
    How could she care when every lick and suck made her panties drip with arousal? The scrape of his nails over her sensitive tips was punctuated with the sharp sting of on her neck. Her back arched on its own accord—she needed more. So much more of his lips, his touch.
    With another scrape of his nails, her dress pinned down her arms and bared her to the waist. A sharp shatter of glass edged between