Slow Heat

“A ton is relative.”

“You work with kids. You build ballparks for them to have a place to play. You and Pace create clubs that provide coaching, something positive to do after school.”

He shrugged. “Money’s meant for spending.”

“Don’t do that,” she said quietly. “Don’t underrate what you do.”

“Okay, as long as you don’t overrate it. Look, I have money, more than I need. So I give it. The end.”

She sighed and shook her head. So she wasn’t going to get him to admit he had more substance to him than a rock, fine. What did she care?

“And you’re one to talk, Princess. You haven’t exactly been doing the deep thing either. Or the love thing, for that matter. Why not, if you’re all for it?”

“Because if I’m going to let someone into my life, it’s going to be for the long haul. And yet I’m surrounded by players. Literally and figuratively.”

“Ah.” Amused, he nodded. “Because if you’re going to go for it, the ball and chain and all, you want someone serious, like you. Good plan, I’m sure you’ll laugh a lot. And hey, the sex should be perfunctory.”

“We’ll laugh,” she said, a little defensive.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we’ll have great sex.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Won’t you both be too busy reading the manuals to make sure you’re doing it right?”

Even knowing he was baiting her, she couldn’t keep her quiet. “You know that I do it right. You had a damn good time in that elevator, too. I remember. You-” He’d come hard with her, holding her through it, pressing his pelvis to hers for long moments afterwards as if to savor the last of their pleasure, and remembering it had a blush creep up her face. “You had a good time, too,” she finished softly, unable to stop from meeting his gaze for the confirmation.

He played with a strand of her hair, twirling that strand on a finger, reeling her in until they were nose to nose, as if they were lovers for real. “Is it your turn for fishing now?” he murmured.

Dammit. Yes. She lifted a hand to push him away, but remembered that they were out in public, and therefore a couple, and left it on his chest. “I don’t need to fish. I know it was good for you. Just as you know…” She broke off, deciding to let it pass.

But did he ever let an awkward moment go? Hell, no. He jumped on it with both feet. “Just as I know it was good for you,” he murmured, eyes heated and sparkling as he paused meaningfully. “Twice.”

More heat flooded her cheeks and she sat back, ignoring his soft laugh. In the end, when he’d still been buried inside her, he’d dropped his forehead to hers, and in perhaps the sweetest memory she had of him, he’d let out a low breath, kissed her jaw, and whispered, “Going to be hard to walk away from you, Sam.”

Granted, she’d been supremely plowed at the time, but she could remember clinging to him, having to bite back the urge to ask why he’d have to walk away at all.

And then, in the name of self protection, she’d walked away first.

She’d made herself, to avoid thinking about it too much, to avoid the wondering, but mostly to squelch that secret little hope that they could make something work between the two of them.

In the haze of the next morning’s hangover, she’d been able to admit that had been the alcohol talking. They could never make anything between them work, not when at their core, they were two totally different people, with two totally and completely different sets of hopes and dreams.

“Sam?”

She looked at him.

“It was good for me,” he said softly. He paused a moment, watching his fingers play with her hair. “I’m just not sure that a repeat wouldn’t kill me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You were like a freight truck, Princess. Hot and fast and too much for me to handle.”

Yeah, right.He couldn’t possibly mean that. Unless he meant… “Are you saying I’m high maintenance?”

“On the contrary.” With that enigmatic statement, he lifted two fresh flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed her one and gently knocked his to hers in an unspoken toast.

“You confuse me,” she said.

“Ditto.”

They both sat back now, eyeing each other like two formidable boxers in the ring, deciding on their next strategy. By all rights, they would probably kill each other if they ever were insane enough to try for round two. So why a secret part of her was still tempted, she had no idea.

She chalked it up to the sentimentality of being at a wedding, to the fact that she’d been in close quarters with him for over twenty-four hours now, and the forced intimacy had gone straight to her head.

And to the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him in that tux, and wondering how long it would take her to get it off of him.

A flash went off right in their faces, and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin.

Wade didn’t react, except to soothe her by running a hand up her arm.

“Sorry.” The wedding photographer smiled. “Can you two scoot closer to each other?”

No. Closer was a major league bad idea all the way around. If she scooted closer, she’d possibly jump him.

“Just shift into each other a little,” the photographer coaxed, gesturing to them with his hands. “Come on, give me a romantic shot.”

Sam looked into Wade’s face questioningly but she should have known better. Always game, he tugged her in. He wrapped an arm around her waist, then tugged a surprised gasp out of her when he bowed her back, low and deep. Leaning over her, he gave her a kiss.

For show, she reminded herself as her fingers ran up his strong, warm arms, past rock-hard biceps to his hard chest, which she held on to. For show, she had to remind herself yet again when he nibbled at the corner of her mouth, encouraging her to open to him. And when she did, he slid his tongue to hers in a lazy, sexy, fiery, perfect kiss that made it difficult to keep her balance.

Luckily he was fully supporting her. Far before she was ready, he pulled back, straightened her up, and shot a quick grin at the photog. “You get it?”

The photog winked and backed off, and by the time Wade looked down into Sam’s face she’d managed to collect herself.

“They’re going to be serving soon,” Wade said with clear relief, eyeing the servers bustling around, getting ready. “Mark promised me steak.”

Sam managed to find her brain. He wasn’t affected by that kiss, and so she refused to be. “Good to know you won’t be needing a Mickey D’s run.”

“Yeah, though I haven’t ruled it out for later.”

The music changed, quickened, and the dance floor began to fill up. He stood up, stripped off his tux jacket, and held out a hand.

She stared at his long fingers and felt her stomach tighten. “What?”

“Let’s dance.”

No. Hell, no. “Pass.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because I don’t want to?”

“You like to dance,” he said. “I’ve seen you at lots of Heat functions.”

He was right. She liked to dance. Not that she was necessarily any good at it, but she liked the feeling of letting go. Of not having a phone to her ear or an event in her head or a situation to make the best of.

But dancing with Wade would be a mistake. It was hard to fake anything on the dance floor. She’d forget that she was having a hell of a hard time remembering why she needed to guard her heart around him.

“You like to dance,” he said again slowly, understanding dawning. “But you’re afraid you can’t control yourself