I could comb the city, unearthing the deficiencies, exposing the Olympics for what they were. What Blaine had done for me was huge, but I didn’t want to be indebted to him for giving me a one-of-a-kind exclusive that no one in the press corps had. Part of me knew people would pay big money for the kind of access I had to him.
I piled my hair on top of my head, fastening it with a clip. The wispy ends fell around my face. I brushed one aside and remembered Blaine’s fingers grazing my skin. I closed my eyes for a second. And let myself remember.
5 weeks ago
We stood in the parking lot looking at the lights swirling around us. Sydney was a beautiful city.
As Blaine clutched my hand, I realized how strong and wide his hands were. They made mine feel small and sheltered.
He towered over me, and I wondered how distraught I was to walk out here with him. But was he a stranger? Everyone in the world knew who he was. I had been covering his story since I arrived in Sydney.
I did know things about him. I knew he didn’t have a family cheering for him in the stands. I knew he was twenty-seven. I knew he had eaten more calories per day than I did in a week.
I had interviewed hundreds of players, but none of them had the effect on me that Blaine did. I reminded myself this wasn’t an interview. I didn’t know what it was. Only that I was standing outside with one of the most revered athletes in the world and his fingers were threaded through mine as if somehow, for just this moment, I was his.
He leaned close and I could smell the fresh soap on his skin. He must have showered after the meet and run across the street to get a celebratory pint.
I liked the clean scent. I was surprised by how many things I liked about him.
I didn’t know how I fit into his night. Why was I staring into his eyes when he could be sharing his victory with anyone else?
The night air felt good on my face. I took a deep breath.
“Feel better?” he asked.
I was afraid to speak. Afraid that it was all a dream. That he would turn away, walk back into the pub, and act like we had never met. Or that I would snap back into reality and realize I was committing the cardinal sin of my career—fraternizing with an athlete. My job at Sports Now was over, but I had carved out a career in sports reporting. One night with a notorious playboy and I risked stamping a career-ending reputation on my resume.
I nodded. “Thank you. I can breathe out here.”
“It sucks being sacked, love.”
There was that word again. I knew it had its own meaning here, but every time he said it I melted a little inside.
“It’s okay if you want to go back inside. I’m fine. Really. Thanks for making sure I was okay.” The last thing I wanted was to be thrown a pity party by Blaine Crews.
“You don’t think I’m going to leave a pretty girl out here, do you?”
“Maybe she doesn’t need to be rescued,” I said coyly. “Besides, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Why don’t we change that?” I could see his smirk through the darkness. He was charming and sexy, but oozing with cockiness. It was easy to see where the label came from.
His hand snaked around my waist, dragging me toward him. My nose filled with the clean scent of his skin and the beer on his breath. His mouth moved against mine before I knew what had struck.
Instinct and primal need swept through me when I felt his tongue glide across mine. Damn, he was a good kisser. His hands cupped my face as we sank deeper into the kiss. If I wanted to breathe, I couldn’t. If I wanted to speak, there weren’t any words. There was only Blaine, me, and a raging fire that had sprung free the instant he touched me.
9
Blaine
?
Her lips were fucking edible. I kissed her hard, sucking and biting, stealing every breath I could from her body. She leaned into me. I didn’t need to read any more signs. She wanted this as badly as I did.
I stood back to gaze into her eyes.
“Let’s get out of here.” I tugged on her hand.
“But don’t you want to celebrate?” she asked. “They’re going to be disappointed.”