Page 28 of The Knockout Rule

She pictured him in suspenders and a bowtie and surprised herself by flushing at the appealing image. There would be no flushing while shopping. Mission Disguise Eric was underway. She planted one hand on her hip, held the hat up with the other. “Would anyone expect Brick Smash to wear this too-cool-for-school hipster hat?”

His attention flitted around the store, like he was a cop on a stakeout. “No.”

“Then bend your big body down and let me put it on you.”

He gave her a bland look, but there was no missing the slight upturn of his lips. He bent low enough for her to place the hat on his head. She didn’t mean for her fingers to trail through his buzzed hair—spiky and soft—or graze the shell of his ears. His breath hissed. More tingling sparked through her body.

She bit her cheek and forced a swallow.

Hat on and tingles squashed, she stepped back and examined her work. “If we add shades and a wig, and those suspenders and bowtie you mentioned, you’d be incognito.”

“You’re not putting me in suspenders.”

“You’re no fun.”

He adjusted his hat, the movement so awkward it was adorable. “You’re worse than my niece, whose favorite thing after stuffed-animal tea parties is playing dress up. She’s seven, by the way.”

“She sounds extremely mature. Please tell me she put you in a dress.”

His cheeks reddened. “There may have been a feathered boa and nail polish.”

God, that was just too much. Too cute and sweet, and the shop’s temperature suddenly felt Hades hot. She swiveled and marched to the cashier. Paid for the hat, then dragged Eric out to find sunglasses. She unfortunately lost the fight for suspenders.

Partial costume in place, they finally hit the ice cream shop. Tourists milled around them, no one giving the large man with the flat cap and cool shades a second glance.

She held up her strawberry cone for him. “One lick, as promised.”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his tongue poked out, swiping the corner of his upper lip as he studied her ice cream cone. “One lick,” he agreed.

He gripped her hand, moved it closer while he dipped his head and proceeded to give a Not Safe For Work lick, slow and erotic, lapping up the strawberry sweetness so languidly her insides turned liquid. Also? He moaned.

Eric released her, licked his lips again. “That was amazing.”

If amazing was turning ice cream licking into food porn, then—yeah, sure, that. “You can order a cone if you want.” But if he licked a whole one, she feared what her body might do.

“Naw, I’m good.”

At least one of them was. She might never date a boxer, but attraction apparently wasn’t an impulse under her control. She focused on eating her ice cream. Eric’s focus seemed to stay on her, lingering longer than felt comfortable, no conversation offered to bridge the silence. With his sunglasses on, she couldn’t see his eyes, decipher why he was suddenly so quiet, so intent on her. Then he turned toward the walkway.

A moment later, he said, “I bet that couple just met last night. Crazy Vegas outing.”

She followed his line of sight. A young couple in trendy clothes was in that clingy stage of happiness where touching was their oxygen. Jealousy tightened Isla’s ribs. Yeah, she really missed dating. Flirting. Having a special someone in her life. Without meaning to, her attention slid to Eric. A fascinating someone who was easy on the eyes and had been fun and sweet today. A man who fell under a strict category: Off Limits.

She forced down a mouthful of strawberry goodness. “They’ll for sure get married by Elvis tonight.”

He watched the couple, who stopped to kiss. The man then whispered something to the woman, who blushed and giggled. Eric’s lips quirked up. “Annulment by month’s end?”

“Heartless much? They’ll be telling their grandkids about their wild Vegas wedding.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Where Eric had looked amused before, a different look crossed his face now: envy, longing. “They found their soulmates in Vegas,” he said softly.

The couple had sure found something, all right.

She and Eric people-watched a bit longer, making up stories, teasing each other, while she enjoyed her strawberry bliss, thoughts of food porn and off-limit crushes fading as their conversation moved to Eric’s family and Isla’s new business venture. They tossed pennies into the fountain and found a cute stuffed pony for Eliza, a firetruck shaped eraser for Asher. All that time, she didn’t stress about her father—wonder how he was doing, worry if he was tired or nauseous. For the first time since arriving in Vegas, she didn’t feel like she was alone in a crowded town bustling with people.

9

Eric dodged pedestrians along the Vegas strip, which had become a habit in this town. Whit was by his feet, Preston beside them, on his phone as usual. The sun was scorching hot. Eric was sweating buckets, new sunglasses on to avoid eye contact with the throngs of tourists. Some pedestrians pointed at him and whispered. Others paid him no mind. With the glitzy hotels, buskers, fountains, and music blaring from passing cars, a six-foot-six, 249-pound boxer could often go unnoticed. Still, he should have worn the hipster hat Isla had bought for him.