The image of Jared standing beneath the hot, steamy spray, soaping up those gorgeous muscles while sliding his hands all over his body set her skin on fire. “Next time you run, let me know. I should go with you.”
He cocked a brow. Sexy bastard. “You like to run?”
“Not really.” Understatement. She hated it. “But I need to. I’ve eaten too many muffins lately.”
“You look good to me.” He ran his gaze over her and she sat a little straighter. It was early in the morning and she wasn’t dressed yet, though she’d taken a shower last night. She wore one of the Hawks T-shirts Harvey had sent her after they first got married and a teeny pair of cotton shorts, with fuzzy white slippers on her feet.
She looked ridiculous.
“I appreciate the compliment but I think my butt is spreading.” She hopped off the barstool and craned her neck, checking out her backside. “I need to stop baking.”
“I kinda like it.”
Sheridan jerked her head in his direction so sharply she almost gave herself whiplash. “You like it?” He liked her backside? Finally. After that kiss in the limo, that night at the restaurant opening when he’d had his hands all over her, she’d thought he would make more moves. Until she said everything happening between them was fake and he’d leapt away from her like she was a contagious leper.
He rarely touched her unless he had to for public appearances and those had been few and far between. A couple of requisite appearances at the home football games, though her sitting in the stands wasn’t quite the same as them having intimate one-on-one time together. Though it was pretty damn hot, watching him play. Seeing him move out on the field, commanding the game, hearing the fans cheer him on. Pride rippled through her every time she heard them shout his name.
Funny how she’d seriously thought she’d prefer him leaving her alone. She’d quickly realized something. Once she’d been touched, kissed, caressed by Jared Quinn, there was no going back. She wanted more.
Lots more.
“Sure.” He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders. “My wife is a sweet little homemaker. Helps clean up the image even more, you know?”
Her heart sank. Of course. All of it had to do with image and her looking like a nun, which in turn made him look like a saint. By the time their year contract was up she figured he’d appear so clean he’d squeak. He and Flynn Foley would be neck in neck on who would acquire their halo and angel’s wings first.
“Right. Sheridan Quinn, the happy homemaker.” She grabbed her plate and coffee cup and shuffled to the sink, setting them inside. She’d wash dishes later.
Looking at the leftover muffins sitting under a glass dome mere feet away from her, she contemplated having another one. Then imagined her butt spreading so wide Jared wouldn’t be able to cover it with both his hands—and those hands were ginormous. Enough was enough.
“Want a muffin?” she asked, lifting the glass dome in offering.
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t.” Patted his flat and hard as a rock stomach. “Need to cut the junk when I’m in training.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to take a muffin in each hand and hurl them at him like grenades, watch with barely restrained glee as they bounced off his head. God, he drove her crazy. If he so much as touched her with the tip of his pinkie finger she would launch herself at him like a starved woman, she wanted him so badly.
It wouldn’t be pretty. He’d probably freak out and think she’d gone insane. He might even go running from his house and never return.
“I’ll throw them away then.” She plucked two fat, still warm blueberry muffins from the tray and headed toward the garbage can. Weariness settled over her as she pressed her foot on the pedal, the stainless steel lid opening.
“You’re going to toss perfectly good food?” He sounded incredulous.
“I shouldn’t eat them. You won’t eat them.” She was about to let the muffins slip from her fingers when he was right there, his hands beneath hers, the muffins falling into his open palms. “What are you doing?”
He stood close. Detrimentally close. She could feel his body heat radiating toward her, the brush of his arm against hers, the scent of him like sweaty man in a forest. Her braless nipples tingled, hardened into tiny points beneath her oversized T-shirt, and she wondered if he would notice.
“They’re still warm.” He lifted his lids, his searing blue gaze meeting hers for the briefest moment before it dropped to her chest.
Yep. He noticed.
“You want them?” she whispered.
“What?”
“The muffins.” Oh, God, he probably thought she meant her breasts. This couldn’t get any more embarrassing. “Eat them now or I’m throwing them away.”
As if in slow motion he set the muffins on the counter, then turned to face her. “This isn’t about muffins.”
She pressed her lips together, afraid she might say something stupid. Like beg him to fuck her, because that was exactly what she wanted. Not sweet, slow making love or a frantic quickie.