Page 99 of The Striker
“I like you in my clothes,” I tell her. “And I like my scent on your skin.”
It’s yet another way of marking her as mine. Maybe I can convince her to take one of my sweatshirts when we get back to Richland.
Pulling away, I note the exhaustion evident in her expression and lead her over to the bed. She needs rest. It’s been a long day for her, and while I’d love nothing more than to strip her bare all over again, I know Cecilia needs a good night’s sleep.
After pulling on my discarded boxer briefs, I drop onto the bed and tug her down beside me. Pulling her body flush against mine, her back to my front, I breathe in the coconut scent of her shampoo. A wave of contentment sweeps through me.
This is how we’re supposed to be.
The warmth of her body against mine is exactly what I need, and I squeeze her small frame tighter to my chest.
“You’re breaking the rules,” she whispers, her voice soft but playful. An admonishment without any real heat.
I chuckle, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “Rules were made to be broken, weren’t they?” I whisper, trailing kisses along her neck.
“Mmm,” she murmurs and settles into me.
“Relax,” I tell her. “It’s only one night. Or would you rather I go to my room and send Adriana back here instead?”
“No. You can’t do that.” She huffs out a breath. “They’re probably both asleep already, anyway.”
“Then it’s settled.”
She sighs. “One night.”
“One night.” I let the lie fall from my lips.
“Then we follow the rules again,” she says.
Unlikely. After having her in my arms and holding her through the night, I know there won’t be any going back for me. But she needs the lie in order to relax, so I give it to her.
As exhaustion begins to claim me, I feel myself drifting off. The steady rhythm of Cecilia’s breathing lulls me into a state of relaxation until her near-silent words have me opening my eyes again.
“I think you should go to the wedding,” she says quietly, rolling over in my arms to face me. Her gaze searches mine. “I know it hurts you not having a relationship with your family.” I stiffen at her words, and she places her hand on my bare chest. “This can be your chance to fix things with your mom.” I open my mouth to argue, but she brushes her fingertips along my lips. “Treat it as an olive branch, Gabriel. Because I think that’s what that invitation is. Don’t miss out on that opportunity because you’re scared of being hurt again.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy with some other unspoken meaning. Is she also talking about us? Is she afraid of missing out on this, on what we have, because she’s worried about getting hurt?
I try, and fail, not to read into it. I’m hearing what I want to hear instead of listening to what she actually says. There’s genuine concern in her eyes, and a part of me knows she’s right.
But the idea of facing my family, of confronting the painful memories that come with that, fills me with apprehension. It might be an olive branch, but if it isn’t … if it was a mistake …
“I don’t think—” I begin.
“Please,” she murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I really think it can be good for you.”
How the hell am I supposed to deny this woman?
Reluctantly, I nod, knowing deep down that this might be a mistake. “Okay,” I concede. “I’ll go.”
But I have a condition, one that breaks yet another of our rules. “But only if you come with me,” I add, my voice barely above a whisper. “You have to be my date.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, and hesitation flickers across her features. It would be a public outing, a breach of our carefully constructed boundaries. But as she meets my gaze, I see the resolve in her eyes.
After a moment of contemplation, she nods, her lips forming a small smile. “Okay,” she agrees softly. “I’ll go as your date.”
Cecilia leavesbright and early on the bus with the rest of her team. I try to convince her to ride back with me on my bike, but she declines.
I know what she’s doing. I’m not blind.
