The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,30
at me in shock for a full second and I want to throat punch myself just to distract my thoughts from the wary expression crossing her face. Did I mess everything up? Indy clears her throat and says the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard, “I felt it too.”
“You did?” I reach forward and tuck some of her hair behind her ear, my hand cupping her face. God, her skin is so smooth. So soft.
She nods.
“I don’t want to be just friends, Indy.”
“You said that already.”
I smile. “I know. But I don’t want to lead you on either.”
“You’re not. I get what you’re saying. Today was fun, it was easy and chill. But if we hang out and have some fun and things happen…”
“If things happen…” I repeat, desperate for her to finish that thought. Does she want things to happen? Does she want to do this, things, with me, knowing it won’t lead to anything real?
“If things happen and we both know the score, then what’s the harm in that?” she asks finally and excitement bursts in my veins like Pop Rocks. She wants this, me, as much as I’m craving her.
I lean over the island and turn her face so she’s staring right at me. I need her to understand my next words and be okay with them before I drag her to me and kiss her senseless. “No harm, babe. Just promise me, you’ll be straight with me if things get too…complicated.”
“Same goes for you,” she says simply and I can tell she means it. Jesus, who is this woman? I’ve yet to meet a woman so sure of a casual, fun, hook-up with me and yet, Indy has surprised me at every turn.
I place a hand over my heart and don’t miss the way her eyes zero in on the movement, how the tip of her tongue peeks out between her lips. “Same goes for me,” I promise.
“Cool.” Indy grins. When she looks at me, I don’t see indecision or uncertainty in her eyes. I see a woman who truly understands the score and wants the same thing that I want: some fun, some genuine conversation, and some smoking hot sex.
“Would now be too early to get naked?” I ask, keeping my voice light in case I have to turn my question into a joke. But I’m not fucking joking.
Indy places down her coffee mug and stands. In one stroke, she tugs her sweater off and stands before me, all creamy skin and delicious curves, clad in a black lace bra. “Not too early.”
I growl, walking toward her. She grins, backing away toward the stairs. Before we begin to climb them to my bedroom she pauses and glances at me over her shoulder. “I should tell you, Noah, that I don’t usually do this type of thing.”
“What type of thing?” I ask even though I know the answer.
“Casual.”
Some of my excitement evaporates. Is this going to be too difficult for her to commit to? The fact that there is no commitment. “Okay…”
“But with you”—she shakes her head, her eyes gleaming—“I don’t know. It’s almost a relief that we have a history, a friendship, so that I can be myself with you and know that you’re not taking it the wrong way.”
Relief washes through me at her words. “Just be straight with me, Indy.”
She blushes, swiping her tongue along her bottom lip. When she meets my gaze again, the heat in hers is undeniable. Her nipples harden, tempting me through the lacy cups of her bra. Jesus, I want her in my bed. Now. Five minutes ago.
“I want you, Noah Scotch. I want you to set my body on fire and make me feel all the things I’ve been missing out on.”
At the truth in her words, at the plea in her tone, I growl and swoop her into my arms. Carrying her up the stairs, I love the sound of her breathless giggle. I love the feel of her silky hair sliding across my arms.
“I got you, Indy.” I toss her in the center of my bed.
She smirks at me as I yank my shirt off and pop the button on my jeans. I stride toward her and wrap my hands around her ankles, tugging until she’s spread out beneath me. I peel off her leggings and groan at the sight of her black silk thong that leaves so very little to the imagination. “You always wear underwear like this?”