The Player and the Pixie
Page 71

And by intimate encounter I meant lots and lots of hot, satisfying, sweaty sex.
Ronan didn’t deserve my disloyalty. With that in mind, I decided to ignore the text messages even though they had me all aflutter with nervous excitement and unbearable longing.
On the other hand . . .
Sean was going to keep asking to see me.
Going to his room to clear the air would be good.
I needed to set him straight, let him know he wasn’t to try anything this weekend.
No more longing looks.
No more suggestive texts.
I didn’t want to ruin a single moment for Ronan and Annie.
Yes. Smart plan. I must see him to tell him I can’t . . . see . . . him . . . Right?
With new determination, I shot off a text.
Lucy: Be there in 5. We need to talk – Just talk.
I went to the suite I was sharing with Annie and dropped off my things before heading to room 206. The entire way there my heart was in my throat, as I prepared a speech in my head. Lifting my hand, I knocked on the door, and seconds later Sean opened it.
I caught my breath slightly at the sight of him. Seeing him the other night had been nothing compared to this. Here we were alone, with nothing to stop us from touching, just like Sean claimed he’d been dying to.
“Lucy,” he said, like my name was an answer. He smiled and his expression was open and hopeful, excited and pleased.
And, crap, crap, crap, crap! My heart leapt. A wistful kind of warmth traveled up my spine, down my limbs, and curled around my brain, making me forget the speech I’d been practicing.
“Sean,” I said, and it was the sound of my voice—all dreamy and full of anticipation—that snapped me out of my stupor.
“Been out on the yacht with the fam, have we?” I asked with shaky confidence. He wore a navy long-sleeved rugby shirt with a white collar, beige chinos, and boat shoes. I smirked at the outfit, wanting to disarm the moment with humor.
He grinned, as though he thoroughly enjoyed my teasing, but said nothing. Just continued to stare at me.
I cleared my throat, my attention snagging on the phone he held in his hand. A video played on his screen. It only took me a second to recognize it was footage from the karaoke session the other night and I winced.
“Is that on YouTube?” I asked, my cheeks heating in embarrassment.
Sean smiled at me so warmly, with such fond affection, that I thought my heart might explode. “It is. You never told me you had aspirations for a hip hop career.”
“Turn it off, please. I’m going to murder Orla. I was so drunk during that.”
“I’m quite enjoying it, actually,” said Sean as I stepped into the room and he returned his attention to the video. “Did you just sing the words ‘your booty don’t need explaining’? Oh my God, Lucy, I’m making this my ringtone.”
I swiped for the phone “Shut up. Maybe your bubble butt inspired my song choice. Ever think of that?”
“Well, we did suffer quite a few weeks apart. I suppose your daydreams of my rear were working their way into strange areas of your life.” He paused, watching the video in quiet for a moment before lowering his voice to a sexy rumble. “You’ve got some very intriguing dance moves. Perhaps you should give me a private show.”
“Oh sure, I’ll just go put your jersey on for it too, shall I?” I deadpanned, a whisper of panic making my spine stiffen.
His grin was wide. “That would be much appreciated, yes.”
I just shook my head at him, swallowing my anxiety. I knew he’d be all too happy to sit and watch while I pranced around in nothing but his team jersey. A moment of quiet ensued as I sat at the end of the large bed that took up a good portion of the room.
This was fun. I was having fun with Sean and our clothes were on, hence the panic.
The easy rapport we’d developed felt comfortable and therefore dangerous. This wasn’t friendly banter. This was conversing like two people in a relationship. Two people who liked and had committed to each other.
He seemed to circle me like a predator circles its prey, and prickles beaded my skin. I could feel his attention but was too afraid to look, so I stared at the carpet. If I looked at him I knew I’d forever forget every word of my speech and let him have his way with me.
Or rather, let us have our way with each other.
Staring directly ahead, I asked, “Could you sit?”
“Why?”
I finally looked up at him, my voice unsteady. “Because you’re making me nervous standing over me like that.”
His lips curved slightly. “I quite enjoy making you nervous.”
My gaze turned pleading. “Sean.”
He swallowed, nodded once, eyes growing intense as he walked to the armchair across from me and took a seat. “In your text you said you wanted to talk.”
I gripped the edge of the bed, my palms sweaty. “Yes, I just wanted to clear a few things up.”
“How very formal of you. I have to admit, Lucy, this isn’t exactly how I expected you to greet me after all these weeks apart.” He sounded put out.
Unconsciously, I toyed with the pendant around my neck—Sean’s pendant. His eyes went to the movement and they seemed to heat when he saw what I was wearing. “You’re wearing the necklace.”
“I love it,” I said without thinking.
“I can buy you another.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I rather like seeing you in diamonds. You should have more of them.”