Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

Which was probably why I was back at the office at seven at night, bringing Annabelle dinner.

“You’re a lifesaver!” she exclaimed as I walked in. “I just took two more calls, both from donors! We’re going to be able to fund the completion of construction plus some.”

“That’s great!” Amazing what having an entire NHL team repost your announcement could do for fundraising.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough for picking up dinner. I’m famished.”

“Can’t have you wasting away,” I said as I put takeout from Luigi’s, Sweet Water’s only Italian restaurant on the lone clean desk in the room—mine.

“Like that’s going to happen,” she said in a mocking tone.

I caught her gaze, then let mine rake down her body, taking in every curve the sheath dress let show. “Losing even an inch off that arse would be a tragedy.”

“Uh-huh.” Her cheeks pinkened—which was quickly becoming my favorite shade on her. “Let’s get this dished so I can get back to my desk.”

“You can’t eat at your desk.” Her shoulder brushed my arm, and the contact sent a jolt of awareness down my spine just like it did every time we accidentally—or purposefully touched.

“Yes, I can, and I have to.” She reached for the bag, but I snatched it up by the handles and lifted it higher than she could reach. “Seriously?”

“You cannot eat at your desk. You live at that thing. You need a break.”

She huffed, then jumped a little for the bag. I simply raised my brows and the bag higher.

“What are you? Five?” She growled.

“I’m not lowering this until you agree to take a break.”

“I have at least ten more emails to return tonight, not to mention going over the reserve budget one last time before I send it to the mayor’s office tomorrow. Now give me my dinner!” She lifted her hand slowly, and I jerked the bag out of reach again just in time.

“As soon as you agree to take a break. It’s pretty simple when you think about it, lass.”

She glared up at me. “You have no idea how much pressure I have on me right now.”

“I’ve been in this office five days a week for the last month, Annabelle. I’m well aware of everything you have going on. I know you’re overworked, which is why I’m doing something about it.”

She eyed the bag. “You know what’s on my plate, sure, but not the pressure. You make millions of dollars a year playing a game. A game, Connell. This is probably the most important thing I’ll ever do for my town!”

I ignored her jibe at my chosen career and instead took a step forward. She took one back. “I honestly don’t think that’s true, but even if it was, then you aren’t going to do anyone any good this stressed out.”

“I’m not stressed! I’m under pressure! There’s a difference!”

“Is there?” I took another step, and she retreated. “You live in this office right now. You’re not sleeping enough or eating regularly.”

“I have too much to do!” she snapped as we continued our path across the floor. “I have to answer all of these donation questions, meet with the contractors, approve the plans for the observation deck, contact media about the grand opening, and that has nothing to do with every single tiny detail that goes into planning the opening, and did I mention that we don’t even have ostriches yet? I can’t sit down and eat because my brain won’t shut off, you giant...guy!” Her back hit the wall, and I grinned.

“You should really take more time to plan out your insults, lass.”

She blinked up at me as if realizing she had nowhere else to go, and I closed the distance between us, bracing my forearm against the wall on her left. “Where...where did you put the food?”

“I left it back on the desk.” I shrugged.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’ll need both my hands to get your brain to shut off for a minute.”

“I have work to—”

I stole the rest of her words with my mouth. Damn, her lips were plump and sweet and too fucking perfect. The simple caress felt like lighting the wick on a stick of dynamite—a tiny lick of heat that would eventually explode if we weren't careful.

My lips brushed over hers once more before I lifted my head slightly. “Head clear yet?”

Her brown eyes widened, and my stomach tightened at the haze of desire I saw there. “Not yet,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to my lips.

Hers parted.

I took them. My fingers tunneled through the hair at the nape of her neck as I claimed her mouth, sweeping inside to taste her. Fuck, she was sweet and tasted like the apricot tea she loved.

Her soft little moan was even sweeter. Fingernails bit into my back, and I growled. The strength of the need that hit me shook my control, but I still couldn’t stop myself from kissing her over and over, taking her mouth with deep strokes and teasing licks.