Sexy Six (The Bennett Brothers 2)
I take the iPad from her and toss it to the end of the bed, then I tug her close, trapping her under me. “It wasn’t funny at first glimpse when I realized you are now going to be dubbed a sex symbol with those fucking legs in that dress, but watching you freak out about a kiss makes it comical. I’m glad they have a shot of you in my arms. Maybe it will keep some of the vultures away.”
“Nick!” Her screech becomes muffled when I bury my head in her neck, kissing a trail to her collarbone.
“Hmm?” I mumble.
“Are you taking me seriously?”
“Not especially. I have other things on my mind.”
“Should we talk about this?”
“Nope, we should stop talking and go back to how I should have started the morning. Kiss me.” I balance on an elbow and cup her chin. “Forget about everything but this.” I skim my lips over hers. “Forget the phone calls, the press, the pictures… I want you to remember nothing but waking up in my arms.”
Our eyes meet, and I watch whatever she was thinking start to melt away. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, but somehow, you calm me. My mind was racing, thinking about those pictures and being the object of hordes of gossip, but when you looked at me like that, it disappeared.”
There’s so much I want to sa
y, but my head screams that it’s too much too soon. So instead, I grin and kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s part of my charm?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m not cocky. I’m needy, and right now, I need a kiss from my hot as shit girlfriend who is far too sexy for her own good. We have about three minutes before both our phones start blowing up with this, and I’d like to spend that three minutes kissing you.”
Her face relaxes, and a small smile forms. “Well, when you put it that way—”
I don’t let her finish before I lower my mouth and slide my tongue between her lips. She doesn’t put up a fight, welcoming me and following my lead.
Less than two minutes later, our phones start ringing, but neither of us moves to answer them.
Chapter 13
Grace
“MAMA! You have to quit calling,” I hiss into the phone and search for somewhere to hide. I duck behind a large tree in the corner and shift my overnight bag that is digging painfully into my shoulder.
“This is the last time. I promise,” she lies. I know from experience, Sharon Monroe is keeping a list, and every time a new question pops into her head, she writes it down and calls, wanting instant answers.
“What do you need now?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because I am in a hallway and I don’t want Nick to hear me.”
“Ohh, is it fancy?” She couldn’t care less of my situation.
“Yes, Mom. He lives on the twentieth floor of a luxury high-rise. It’s very fancy. Now, can I go? I promise to call you tomorrow before the game.”
“I only need a minute.”
“Mom, I don’t think you understand. I’m hiding behind a decorative palm tree, slinked up to a wall. If someone walks out, they will think I’m a stalker. Can I PLEASE call you tomorrow?”
“It’s not every day that a mother finds out her only daughter is dating a famous football player. I’m still upset I had to learn this from the internet. So no, you can give me a minute of your time.”
Guilt… I’m convinced my mom has mastered the art of guilt. It’s not so much her words but how she uses them—a touch of hurt, a dash of accusation, and the wounded tone that works every time. Even Logan crumbles when Mom pulls out the guilt card.