emerald irises sparkled under the rays filtering in from the glass ceiling, and his white teeth gleamed brilliantly with his inviting grin.
But as I watched him strip off his weightlifting gloves—completely mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements—I realized it wasn’t just the awesome bod I was instantly attracted to. It was the man’s captivating aura. He oozed sex appeal, no doubt about it. But he also exuded a vibrant energy I found electrifying, particularly with that easy yet oh so stunning smile of his. His natural charisma was tangible. I felt it to the tips of my toes.
So it was no wonder my gaze followed him as he wiped his hands with a fluffy white towel and then rubbed a bit of sanitizer on them from the dispenser on the wall. During this time, I still hadn’t found my voice.
All cleaned up—though there was a bead of perspiration in the indentation at the base of his throat that caught my attention and, had it been a drop of water, I would have had a hell of a time resisting the urge to whisk it away with my tongue—he held his hand out to me. His very large, strong-looking hand. It was covered with bronze skin that appeared to be smooth and supple. He had hands meant for pleasuring women, and I was damn sure he didn’t disappoint.
With a hint of amusement in his deep tone, because I was clearly gawking, he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Williams.”
“Claire,” I was quick to say, finally getting my raging hormones under control. Enough so that I could speak, at any rate.
It was imperative he called me Claire, because I didn’t want an ounce of formality between us. He was too sinfully delicious for an arm’s-length association. In fact, I took a small step toward him as I slid my palm against his. Though sparks of excitement ignited deep in my pussy from a simple touch that felt unbelievably intimate, I managed to ask, “Do you mind if I call you Jack?”
His grin widened and the exuberant smile lit his dazzling eyes with more vibrancy than the sun. “Not at all.”
“Fantastic.”
That was it? Really ? The best I could muster by way of intelligent conversation? I had a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a master’s in communications, for Christ’s sake!
Mentally shaking my head, I tried pulling myself together.
I added, “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”
Oh yeah. That was so much better.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at my own stupidity. Luckily, Jack didn’t seem to mind my sudden lack of communicative skills. He said, “I’m the one who owes you thanks for writing an article on the club. I’m really trying to snag the female demographic—their athleticism should be supported and respected as much as male athletes, don’t you think?”
“Um, yes.” The brain just kept blipping out.
God, I was a moron of epic proportions.
But did I mention Jack Reed was the sexiest man to ever walk the face of the earth, all crazy-wicked dreaminess wrapped in a shell of scorching-hot male flesh and muscle that made him one seriously gorgeous powerhouse of a man?
Okay, there. My stance on Jack Reed was duly noted.
Next to me, an indiscreet huff from my photographer, Pete, told me he found my lack of concentration annoying. He wasn’t used to me being such a puffball, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
He introduced himself to Jack, since I was still having trouble composing my derailed thoughts. “I’m Pete Russell, one of the magazine’s photographers. I’m going to snap some photos, if no one objects.”
Jack nodded as Pete laid a small stack of papers on the reception desk—the signed waivers and nondisclosure forms Jack had required we execute before we even set foot on the premises with a camera. We were under strict orders not to photograph any of the professional athletes, but the lobby and grounds were fair game. As long as we didn’t get any humans in the shot or invade anyone’s privacy.
Pete wandered off while my hand remained in
But as I watched him strip off his weightlifting gloves—completely mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements—I realized it wasn’t just the awesome bod I was instantly attracted to. It was the man’s captivating aura. He oozed sex appeal, no doubt about it. But he also exuded a vibrant energy I found electrifying, particularly with that easy yet oh so stunning smile of his. His natural charisma was tangible. I felt it to the tips of my toes.
So it was no wonder my gaze followed him as he wiped his hands with a fluffy white towel and then rubbed a bit of sanitizer on them from the dispenser on the wall. During this time, I still hadn’t found my voice.
All cleaned up—though there was a bead of perspiration in the indentation at the base of his throat that caught my attention and, had it been a drop of water, I would have had a hell of a time resisting the urge to whisk it away with my tongue—he held his hand out to me. His very large, strong-looking hand. It was covered with bronze skin that appeared to be smooth and supple. He had hands meant for pleasuring women, and I was damn sure he didn’t disappoint.
With a hint of amusement in his deep tone, because I was clearly gawking, he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Williams.”
“Claire,” I was quick to say, finally getting my raging hormones under control. Enough so that I could speak, at any rate.
It was imperative he called me Claire, because I didn’t want an ounce of formality between us. He was too sinfully delicious for an arm’s-length association. In fact, I took a small step toward him as I slid my palm against his. Though sparks of excitement ignited deep in my pussy from a simple touch that felt unbelievably intimate, I managed to ask, “Do you mind if I call you Jack?”
His grin widened and the exuberant smile lit his dazzling eyes with more vibrancy than the sun. “Not at all.”
“Fantastic.”
That was it? Really ? The best I could muster by way of intelligent conversation? I had a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a master’s in communications, for Christ’s sake!
Mentally shaking my head, I tried pulling myself together.
I added, “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”
Oh yeah. That was so much better.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at my own stupidity. Luckily, Jack didn’t seem to mind my sudden lack of communicative skills. He said, “I’m the one who owes you thanks for writing an article on the club. I’m really trying to snag the female demographic—their athleticism should be supported and respected as much as male athletes, don’t you think?”
“Um, yes.” The brain just kept blipping out.
God, I was a moron of epic proportions.
But did I mention Jack Reed was the sexiest man to ever walk the face of the earth, all crazy-wicked dreaminess wrapped in a shell of scorching-hot male flesh and muscle that made him one seriously gorgeous powerhouse of a man?
Okay, there. My stance on Jack Reed was duly noted.
Next to me, an indiscreet huff from my photographer, Pete, told me he found my lack of concentration annoying. He wasn’t used to me being such a puffball, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
He introduced himself to Jack, since I was still having trouble composing my derailed thoughts. “I’m Pete Russell, one of the magazine’s photographers. I’m going to snap some photos, if no one objects.”
Jack nodded as Pete laid a small stack of papers on the reception desk—the signed waivers and nondisclosure forms Jack had required we execute before we even set foot on the premises with a camera. We were under strict orders not to photograph any of the professional athletes, but the lobby and grounds were fair game. As long as we didn’t get any humans in the shot or invade anyone’s privacy.
Pete wandered off while my hand remained in
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