Page 121 of Tangled with the Tight End

I can’t help myself. I’m light as corn silk blowing in a fall breeze. Happy. I’m so very happy.

“No,” he says, taking his free hand and poking into my side until I laugh and bend toward his hand, grabbing at him to stop him from tickling me. “It’s my I want to kiss you face.”

“Well,” I say, tracing my pointer over his lips. “It makes me want to buy whatever you’re selling. Give me all the Nikes.”

He chuckles and then his lips are on mine. Nipping first, playful and free. I’ve never joked with a man when he was kissing me. Never poked fun in the heat of the moment. But with him, it feels natural—easy. Declan’s kiss goes from light and playful to serious and tender, so heartfelt I could shed tears.

How has he come to mean so much to me in such a short time? I know him. And I can’t get enough of him.

I lose myself in the feel of him. His strong arms and back, the way he’s hovering over me, the sounds he makes as he kisses me. My hands rove over him, through his hair, across his never-ending shoulders, down his back.

He drags our kiss on, our mouths dancing. Time and space blur. Then he softly leaves one more kiss on my lips and pulls away, breathless, a look of awe in his eyes.

I sigh a contented sigh. He falls back onto his pillow and tugs me with him. I’m careful not to knock his leg—which he seems to have forgotten. I curl myself around Declan, snuggling in and allowing myself to fall just a little bit for him.

He called me unexpected. I don’t think he’s right. People can see me coming a mile away. I’m quirky and forthright, funny and thoughtful. What you see is what you get.

Declan, though? He’s layers of hidden goodness. Warmth and vulnerability. Intensity. So attentive, especially when you think he isn’t noticing much. I run my hand in lazy circles over his shoulder and down his bicep.

I yawn lightly. The rain turns the tall glass windows into water features, the gentle rush settling me deeper into Declan’s embrace. His heart beats under my cheek, a steady thrum. The lazy strokes of his hand down my hair soothing me to the point of drowsy contentment.

I lift my head, staring down into his eyes. “Weeks?”

“Weeks,” he nods softly.

I shake my head in disbelief and snuggle down into his arms again.

“I had no idea,” I murmur into his chest.

“I fought it at first,” he says. “Didn’t think you wanted me.”

“Oh, I wanted you,” I tell him. “But I couldn’t imagine you wanting me. I would have kept fighting my feelings if you hadn’t pulled your Nike face on me.”

“Please, stop calling it that.” His chest rumbles with his laughter.

He says that, but I can tell he loves my teasing.

“Would you rather I call it your Doritos face?”

“I’d rather,” he says, swiftly tucking his arm around me and flipping us in one fluid motion so he’s looming over me with a playful smirk on his face. “You call it my I want to kiss Winona face.”

“And should I call it that, say … at lunch with the team?”

He chuckles, brushing the tip of his nose over mine. “You should not be talking about my face when the team is around. My face is between you and me.”

“Your face is too far away,” I say. And he solves that problem by bridging the distance with another kiss I feel from my head to my toes.

“Your ankle,” I say when he pulls back.

“I’m good.”

“You need to get some rest. I think the rain has died down enough. I should go.”

“Stay here,” he encourages me. “I’ve got a jersey you can sleep in, and yoga pants. Remember?”

“You just want an excuse to put me in your jersey,” I tease him.

“You’re not wrong.”