Loving Him Off the Field(28)

Where temptation wasn’t sitting in front of him, crooking a freckled finger his way.





Chapter Eight




Aileen squinted at the door Killian left swinging in his wake. That was . . . odd. And not all that complimentary. She stood and used the bathroom mirror to inspect her back. Bandages of varying sizes covered the area between her shoulder blades and down to the middle of her back. She used a fingertip to touch the lowest one she could reach.

He’d been so cautious, so light-fingered, she almost couldn’t feel it. The peroxide had sucked, of course. It always did. She was twenty-six and still hated having to use that junk. But when he’d started rubbing her back while spreading the ointment, she’d almost moaned in delight. The feel of his fingers over her uninjured skin had been magical.

He would have gotten a wrong impression. She wasn’t here to seduce him. She was here to do her job.

She slipped her bra and shirt back on, careful to not rub against the bandages. And she looked around the bathroom. Pretty clean, for a bachelor. No beard shavings spread over the counter, or dried toothpaste coating the sink basin. No wet towels on the floor or funky smells. She commended him on his cleanliness . . . even as she realized she was being stupid. He likely had a maid service come in and take care of the place.

But at least he cared enough to arrange it.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. She closed the door and took a few minutes to use the bathroom and wash her hands. It wasn’t snooping, she reasoned as she dried her hands, if she made general observations on her surroundings. He’d led her in here himself. She hadn’t broken in. It wasn’t like she was opening his medicine cabinet or anything.

She stepped into his bedroom and was again struck by how . . . stark it was. There were a few spots on the walls that looked as though they might have had photos hung up at one time, but even those were few and far between. Nothing very personal. Not even a photo of his parents or his diploma or teammates.

Though maybe the diploma was in the second bedroom. Could be an office. She could always ask to see it later.

As she stepped into the living room, she searched for him. As the fridge closed, she walked toward the kitchen and found him leaning against the back wall of the narrow room, a bottle of beer at his lips.

“I’m going to head out.” She backtracked to the sofa for her bag and phone. “It’s been a long day for me, and I need to get some thoughts together before I get my next day.”

Her back was to him, but his silence was heavy enough that she didn’t need to see his face to have an inkling about his stormy mood.

Striving for unaffected, she chirped, “See ya!” and bolted for the door. She didn’t slow down until she reached the parking lot, then skidded to a halt. Her car was back at the practice field. Right.

Shit.

“Let’s go, Freckles.” Killian’s voice, so close behind her, made her jump. “You could at least give a guy five damn seconds to put his shoes on before you leave.”

She flushed, feeling the heat from her chest to the roots of her hair. “I forgot you drove me,” she mumbled before climbing in the passenger side of his car. He walked around, and she spent the five seconds she had alone pep-talking herself out of being an idiot on the drive home.

Not that she had to worry. He cranked up the music the moment the car was on.

Okay, then. No small talk this time around. Suited her just fine, since she had no freaking clue what she would say. It felt . . . wrong, somehow, to interview him in the small confines of the car. Like she would be breaking some sort of unspoken rule to bust out her phone and start recording.

So she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, reliving the moments in the bathroom. She’d felt so vulnerable, stripped to the waist, with nothing but her shirt clutched to her front. His touch had been soothing. He probably would find that insulting to hear, she mused. She stole a quick glance at him as he changed lanes. His body was stiff, his face set in grim lines that radiated the warning Back Off. He considered himself a hard man, a man without people, an island.

Which was all bullshit, of course. But he’d also hate to hear that.

He pulled up to the lot with her car and parked two spaces over. As he reached for his door handle, she waved him off. “Don’t get out, I’m fine.”

His scowl told her Yeah right, and he did it anyway. But she just got out her own side and walked swiftly toward her car, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Which meant he did, of course. “I said, I can do it. You don’t have to play the gentleman and open my doors or anything.”

“Who says I’m playing?” He seemed easier now that they were out in the open air again. His teasing tone—so rare she secretly treasured it—was back. As she opened her door and tossed her bag in the passenger seat, he got a good look inside. “Holy hell, Freckles. Were you raised in a barn?”