I feel my face blush as his gaze drops to the bare skin of my legs.
“It’s criminal, really.”
I blush bright red as I roll my eyes. “Alright, alright, drop the smooth talk. You already married me, you know.”
He chuckles. “Hey, just saying. Great ass, too.”
I quickly look away to hide the goofy grin and bright red flush on my face.
There’s an arrogance - a bold cockiness to the way he speaks like that to me that I’ve never heard before. It’s flustering, because the way I was raised - every finishing class, every lecture on proper form and polite conversation - tells me I should be getting up right then and storming away from the brash, crude man sitting next to me.
…If not slapping him, for that matter.
Except I don’t want to do any of those things, because there’s something sinfully wicked about the way he looks at me. There’s something about that cowboy smile, and that smug scoundrel look in his eyes that’s totally unlike any man I’ve ever known before.
And it’s exciting.
I swallow quickly as I turn back to him, every intention of pushing the heat from my face and tossing some quip back his way. Except when I do, he’s eased back in his chair, hands clasped behind his back, cowboy hat tilted at an angle, and his legs stretched out and propped up on the low patio table in font of him.
God is he hot.
And just like, that, my vain attempt at not blushing like a scandalized schoolgirl in front of him goes out the damn window.
Because arrogant jock or not, the man lounged out and grinning next to me is gorgeous.
And very shirtless.
Oh, right, and legally my husband.
And I know I should walk away from this right now. I know I should put one foot in front of the other, smile for the press, and play the part for the next six months. Because all this is is a business transaction, and business transactions do not involve drinking expensive red wine on gorgeous Spanish terraces smelling jasmine and sage.
And they certainly don’t involve criminally attractive football players with dangerously low-slung pajama pants clinging to their insanely well-defined hips.
I quickly shake my head as I forcibly drag my eyes away from the wickedly attractive man next to me. I can feel my pulse beating like a hammer as I reach for the shared glass of wine and take a quick sip from it.
A business transaction, that’s all.
The words sound flat inside my head, because even after saying them three times - repeating them like a mantra - I’m still here. I’m still sitting here on a moonlit Hollywood mansion terrace drinking thirty-four year-old Bordeaux with some insanely hot millionaire football star.
This is how bad decisions are made.
I quickly set the glass down and stand.
“I should go to bed.”
Austin stands, raking his fingers distractingly across that unfairly sexy chin. “Need a hand?”
I blush. “With going to bed?” I swallow quickly, biting at my lip. “I think I can manage.”
“You sure?”
My head snaps back, my eyes darting to his as I just nod. “M-hmm.”
Austin grins. “Okay, I just gotta ask one thing.”
Yes? God yes?
Because part of me wants to say yes to anything this man says. Part of me wants to throw every last bit of caution and level-headed thought right off this balcony and say yes to anything he wants of me.
But then, I might be crazy enough to get married to a man I don’t know for money, but sleeping with him after a transition like that feels…
I shiver.
It feels wrong, and not in the good way.
As wildly attractive the shirtless man in front of me is, saying yes to something like that goes a tad beyond indecent proposal.
“Austin, I don’t think so,” I say quickly, blushing furiously. “That is not part of our-”
“Yeah, not what I was going to say.” He rolls his eyes. “I already told you I don’t pay for that.”
I can feel my whole body buzzing at the proximity to him - standing so close to me, his eyes piercing right into mine.
“I’ve been wondering.”
“About?” I manage to croak out, feeling my pulse skip slightly as he takes a step closer towards me.
“About us taking our clothes off last night before passing out.”
My face burns bright red, and I quickly look down from his eyes. “We didn’t-”
“No, I know that.” His voice is like honeyed leather - deep and rich.
“But we clearly thought about it.”
My breath catches as I glance back up into his face, instantly losing myself in those hazel eyes.
And I might not remember a thing about that part of the night, but I know just from looking into those eyes that he’s of course right.
Of course I thought about it.