Page 46 of Third Strike Smitten

Either way, Killian heeds my instruction and parts my lips with his kiss, and holy fucking shit, his tongue just touched mine. His lips are soft but the scrape of his stubble drags heat all the way up my face and into my hairline. The brush of his tongue is fast and hungry, almost clumsy, like he’s been holding back for too long and now that the door is open he can’t quite decide what to do with himself. His free hand finds the small of my back and presses me into him, all tight muscles and shaky exhales against my body. And now here I am in a stadium hallway in front of God and suit-wearing executives wondering what kind of a lover Killian Haynes might be, given the way he kisses like the world is ending.

I mean, I’m not really wondering.

Because none of this is real anyway.

I’m just doing this to make a good scene in front of important decision-makers.

But if it were real…fuck.

A girl could become addicted to Killian Haynes’s mouth real fast.

We finally break apart and the first thing I notice is that Killian’s eyes are darker than usual in the bright hallway lighting.

“Jesus,” he groans, his forehead dropping to mine again. “That was...”

“Yeah,” I agree, because I can’t form a more coherent thought.

He pulls back slightly, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture that feels more intimate than the kiss itself. “We should probably...”

“Go,” I finish for him, still dazed. “Right. Can you take me home before we go to Shepherd’s? I’d like to change first.”

Killian nods, “Yeah. Me too. You don’t mind being with me?” The vulnerability in his expression guts me.

“What? No.” I tell him, shaking my head. “Not at all. We can leave my car in the lot. It’ll be safe here.”

He nods and then his hand finds mine again. “Thank you, Isla.”

“Of course.”

We continue down the hallway, the stares of the suited men following our every move. When we reach them, Killian gives a curt nod and a professional smile as he simply says, “Gentlemen.” He lifts our combined hands and kisses the back of mine before guiding me around the corner and down the stairs to the parking garage.

When we reach the parking lot, he leads me to Diane and opens the passenger door for me.

“Thanks.”

Once he’s behind the wheel, Killian grips the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white. “FUCK!” He shouts, scaring me a little. For a long moment, he just sits there, staring straight ahead.

After giving him a minute of silence, I place my hand gently on his forearm. “Talk to me, Killian.”

He takes a deep breath, then another before he finally says, “I overheard someone from the front office talking about a possible trade today.”

“What? Who?”

His voice rough. “I heard them say something about ‘restructuring the team’ and someone said my name.”

“That can’t be right,” I say, even though my heart is currently falling into my stomach. “Did you hear the full conversation?”

“No. I didn’t want to stick around but I heard enough of it.” His jaw tightens.

I turn in my seat to face him more fully. “Killian. Look at me.”

He does, but I wasn’t prepared for the rawness in his hazel eyes. “You don’t know the full context of what you heard,” I say carefully. “I’m sure front offices talk about restructuring all the time. It’s a business. It doesn’t always mean what it sounds like.”

“Isla.” My name in his mouth comes out flat and tired, like he’s too exhausted to argue but also too exhausted to agree. “I know this organization. I know how they move. When they start talking about restructuring in the same breath as a player’s name, it means something.”

I don’t push back again because I can hear in his voice that he’s not catastrophizing and he’s not spiraling. This is different. This is the quiet, certain dread of someone who’s been in this world long enough to recognize the writing on the wall.

“Okay,” I say softly. “So, what’s the plan? What did Bishop say?”