Chapter 10 #2
It took a second for her mind to supply the translation.
In a flash, she was back in a different park, leaning against a tree, watching him turn tricks with a soccer ball that no normal human could manage.
A rush of heat went through her at the memory, and though he’d been fully clothed, the speed and agility he’d demonstrated hinted at a high level of body awareness and muscle cont—
She cleared her throat and cut that thought off, though the flash in Ciaran’s eyes was evidence enough that her thoughts had been clear on her face. That, or he’d caught her eyes boring into him like she could see the muscles, and other things, through his clothes.
“My firm is in the finals of some Corporate Challenge tournament. It’s this Saturday back at the pitch you saw us playing on in Central Park.”
Jal tried to cross her arms, but she made a mess of it with the cup in her hand. After a moment twisting her arms this way and that, she managed the pose with the cup balanced on her elbow, but the struggle had only served to lighten the mood rather than convey the annoyance she had intended.
She made every effort to keep the daggers shooting from her eyes, but the half-smile she couldn’t completely suppress ruined the effect. “Tell me, why exactly should I attend this game?”
He blinked at her for a moment, then said as if it should be obvious, “To bring me luck.”
She wanted to laugh, she really did, but the earnestness in his voice seemed to tug at a string he’d somehow wrapped around her heart. “I don’t know, Ciaran…”
Some of that wicked gleam that had come into his eyes outside the restaurant returned and Jal’s heart kicked up a notch. The distance between them seemed to melt away.
It took a moment for her to realize that she had been the one to move. It was as if that string had drawn her to him simply through the intoxicating color of his eyes. When she did stop, it would take only a deep breath, one she found herself too breathless to take, and their bodies would touch.
“I tell ye what, lass,” he said, his voice descending into that deep burr, “I’ll stay on my side of the pitch and you can stay on the other.
I won’t come over unless you give me the all clear.
” The long column of his throat seemed to ripple as he swallowed.
His face moved an inch closer to her. “I would like you there, though.”
“Again, why?” To her dismay, her voice was disconcertingly breathless.
“Just having you there will give me more confidence, knowing that someone’s supporting me,” Ciaran murmured, and claimed another inch.
Jal’s chuckle cut off when his chest brushed her arm. His eyes flared and he closed the distance until she could feel his breath on her lips. “I’d rather ‘support’ the other team to see if you get pounded.”
There was an amused puff of air on her lips. “Ouch,” he murmured. “That stings, Jal.”
“You deserve it.” Why was he so close? More importantly, why wasn’t she moving away?
His hand slid inside her jacket and onto her waist, but his touch was light, only the barest bit of pressure to suggest she should move closer.
“Be that as it may,” he said and his lips brushed across hers, the contact so brief she wasn’t entirely sure if she had imagined it or not. “Please… don’t make me beg.”
She could just picture it… him down on his knees, his hands reaching for her, sliding around her thighs, her bare thighs—wait, why were her thighs bare?—his mouth moving clos— “I can’t, Ciaran.” she insisted against his lips. “I’m…. busy.”
His breath left her skin as he pulled back enough to look at her.
Her eyes lifted to his, and it was like she was poured back into her body all at once. Her arms were still crossed, the cup still balanced on her arm, and he was everywhere. His hand on her waist, his face inches from hers, the tails of his coat wrapping around her legs in the breeze.
She took a step back and for the second time, the cold air rushed into the gap between them with a fury that made her shiver.
“You’re busy?” he asked curiously, and for a moment she was sure that he would keep pressing, but he didn’t. He released a breath that ended on a bemused chuckle. “Aye, that’s fine, but if you change your mind, it’s this Saturday, four o’clock.”
She uncrossed her arms, the one not holding the untouched cup falling almost limply to her side. “I’m sorry that I can’t be there.” She found herself saying.
“Me, too.” he replied and his tone made her wonder which rejection had affected him more. But then he straightened his shoulders and winked. Gesturing to the cup he said, “better drink up, I bet you’ll like it.”
His sleeve brushed hers as he walked away, and though she whirled around to watch him go, he didn’t look back.
Once he was gone, heading in the direction of his offices at the foot of Fifth Avenue, she gently pried back the cover over the drinking hole and took a cautious sip though the liquid was fully drinkable by this point.
The sweetened tea slid down her throat and rekindled some of the warmth that had left her when she’d broken contact with him. Her eyes popped wide, and she stared again in the direction he’d taken as if she could see through trees and buildings to find him.
She took another sip and checked the cup for a label. Matcha green tea with honey and cinnamon. How could he know? She wondered, even as she greedily drank down the rest of the cup. The man was full of surprises.