Floored - Karla Sorensen Page 0,6

they can help. They have to work as one moving piece."

"Mm-hmm," she managed. "I-I see it." Lia cleared her throat delicately, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed her fingers curl into a fist.

She smelled fresh, and I turned just slightly, placing my nose in the crown of her hair.

I inhaled.

She exhaled, a shaky gust of air as it passed her lips.

"The back and forth of the game is what makes it so beautiful," I whispered. "It's like water. There's an ebb and flow, a movement that never quite stops. That's what makes it so hypnotizing."

Her knee pressed against my leg, a helpless gesture she may not have even realized she'd made because her chest was rising and falling so rapidly.

My voice got deeper. "That's why you can't look away for a single moment. Because that moment might change everything. See," I murmured, sliding my hand over her back until my fingers found the curve of her waist under the cotton of her shirt, "that pass was perfection. If one person hadn't paid attention, if one person wasn't exactly where they needed to be …" I paused, watching a player dart up from midfield, watching one of the strikers hook the ball high in his direction, and the other drilled it into to corner of the net with a perfect header. The stands erupted, the players gathered to celebrate, and an unwitting smile curled my lips. Bethnal Green, the arseholes, would gain three points on the table today.

When I glanced sideways, Lia was smiling too.

"There it is," I whispered. Her face turned, and our mouths were a hairsbreadth apart.

"What?" She spoke so quietly I could barely hear her.

I licked my bottom lip, and her navy eyes tracked the movement. "The moment you see it, how utterly perfect this game is."

Lia blinked, backing away slightly, and I fought a wave of disappointment.

Her hand reached for her pint glass, and as she lifted it to her mouth, the one I very much wanted to taste, the sound of a loud crash and breaking glass had her jumping. Beer sloshed over the lip of her cup, dousing the front of her shirt. She cursed, her face twisting up in frustration.

"Hold on," I said, leaping out of my chair to snag a bar towel from Carl.

Carl headed back to the kitchen to find the source of the sound, and I rubbed the back of my neck as Lia sopped at the mess all the way down the front of her black shirt. It wasn't even remotely supposed to be cut in a sexy way, but it clung to her chest nonetheless, making the line of her bra visible against the wet material

She laughed under her breath. "What a perfect end to this day," she said. "I'm going to smell like a frat house until I get back to my flat."

"No spare in that bag of yours?" I asked.

Lia shook her head. "Of course, I decided I didn't want to look like a tourist today and left my backpack behind." She continued to use the towel to sop up the beer. She looked miserable.

I glanced around again, making a split-second decision before I could think too hard on it. The couple in the corner had only looked up once but returned their attention to each other shortly after Carl had left the front.

"If you'd like a clean shirt, there's a spare room upstairs," I told her.

Lia's hands slowed, and it took a moment for her to look up. Her eyes studied my face intently.

"Only if you want," I said quietly. "Or I can get one for you and be right back down. There's a toilet downstairs where you could change if you'd rather."

She set down the towel and lifted her chin to meet my gaze head-on. "I like the upstairs option."

Bloody hell, I did too.

I took a deep breath and decided not to weigh the intelligence of walking this beautiful woman upstairs into the empty flat of my brother's pub, where I could close and lock the door. Where there was a sofa. And a bed. Hell, a kitchen table would do at that point.

Carl returned from the kitchen.

"Everything all right?" I asked.

He nodded. "Vickie dropped a glass. All good."

"Right." I tilted my head at Lia. "I'm going to get her a clean shirt from upstairs."

His eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back.

He'd worked for my brother long enough to know there was no point in talking a McAllister out of whatever course they