Traded by Lisa Suzanne

CHAPTER 25

I smooth down the front of my dress and stare at myself in the mirror a beat.

I should change.

It’s too short, too tight, too low cut, too...everything I shouldn’t be wearing tonight with someone I can’t seem to stop lusting after even though he purposely pushes every single one of my buttons.

But it’s what I picked out for my best friend’s bachelorette party months ago, and tonight’s the night, and somehow Jack is coming with me even though this is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas after we just got back from Los Angeles last night.

I won’t be able to drink since I’m supposed to be the responsible one, and everybody at the table will censor themselves in front of the football superstar.

And I guarantee by the end of the night everyone in our group will know I’m the face behind the viral cat burglar meme because that’s just the kind of thing Jack would do to further mortify me.

Nerves play in my chest, but I have to act like they don’t.

I’m not nervous for the party.

I’m nervous to spend this sort of time around Jack. I’m nervous about what he might do.

My heart races and my tummy does a little flip when I make my way down to the kitchen and spot him already there waiting for me. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, and he’s standing by the sink staring out the window into the backyard.

His arms are folded over his chest and he leans casually against the counter. I glance at the biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt.

He is so freaking hot.

I study his profile for a beat—the shadow of scruff of his strong jawline, the sharp cheekbones, the straight nose, the full lips that already know how to work against mine.

God, I want to kiss him again.

I ignore the twinge between my thighs, and then he turns to look at me.

His eyes flick to my chest. “Nice dress,” he says, playing it off like he was checking out the dress when the heat in his eyes tells the story that he was checking out the body beneath it.

“Thanks.” The single word comes out all hoarse and raspy, and I clear my throat. “Shall we?”

He raises a brow. “Shall we...what?” His voice drips of sex, and I remind myself that this man is engaged to another woman.

It doesn’t matter why he’s engaged, and it doesn’t matter if he wants to be engaged. He is, and that makes him off-limits.

I glance toward the hallway that leads out to the garage. “Leave?”

“We shall.” We start walking toward the garage. Since I already determined I’m not drinking tonight, I volunteered to drive. No sense letting him drive and risking my life in his giant truck on the way to my bestie’s bachelorette party.

We head toward Caesar’s Palace because the bride wanted to party on the Strip. We booked VIP bottle service at a nightclub, so that means we have a table to sit at when our feet hurt from dancing, our club cover charge is paid for, and we have a waitress to keep the drinks flowing all night.

Which is great for everyone except me.

I’ve already paid my share—a cool three hundred fifty bucks to cover my own fun along with a portion of the bride’s...and now I’ll have to add a little more to cover my companion.

I pull into valet and drop my car, and we get out and walk toward the hotel entrance.

Jack is stopped immediately. He signs an autograph.

And another.

And another.

A group of people makes a circle around him, and we’re not even in the doors yet.

He takes selfies. He shakes hands. He hugs fans. And he smiles through it all...but it’s as I study him that I see a little something else through the smile.

He doesn’t want to be here.

Not here here...I think he’s fine with attending this party with me, maybe even a little curious about it, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s doing this thing with his fans because he has to, not because he wants to.

What must that life be like? I’m getting sort of an inside look at it now, I suppose. We went to that restaurant with his family, where we were left alone in a back booth. We’ve been out and about over the last two weeks, but he’s never been mobbed like this.

Those other times, though, he wore a baseball cap or sunglasses. He did things that seemed to be just enough to keep the attention off him like the expert he’s likely become through years of experience. He did things that made people look over at him with curiosity or with that familiar question in their eyes as they wondered whether that was really Jack Dalton or maybe just someone who looks like Jack Dalton.

Tonight, that’s not the case.

And something about that fact makes me really sad for him. He’s this big, tough guy, so strong and controlled and disciplined, and he’s been in the business long enough to know this is his life. But this is the first time I’ve actually seen this sort of thing firsthand.

The psychologist in me wants to analyze the situation. Does he want to escape because he doesn’t like the attention?

From everything I know about him, he loves attention. He loves the spotlight. He loves his fans.

Is it because he’s not happy about being traded to the Aces?

That could be it.

Is it because he’s here with me?

His eyes meet mine as he poses for one more selfie. Sorry, he mouths.

My chest tightens as I realize that’s exactly what it is. He feels bad that this is happening, that the attention is centered on him when he came here to do something for me.

I’m at once shocked and warmed. He’s not exactly been the nicest to me, but somehow this feels like a breakthrough...like we’ve turned a corner and could almost be something resembling friends.

Even now that I think about it, I realize the fact that he even agreed to come here tonight with me puts us solidly on friendly terms. I’m not quite sure why he agreed to it, but here we are.

He escapes the mob of fans thanks in large part to one of the valet drivers who helps clear the crowd before he escorts us to our destination, and it’s as we’re making our way to the club that I glance up at him. His eyes are down on me, and I look quickly away.

I have to.

I can’t be held responsible for my actions when someone as hot as Jack Dalton looks at me the way he just did.

“Thanks for understanding back there,” he says, his voice low.

“What choice did I have?” I ask, going for modesty.

He shrugs. “Some women stand back and let me work. Some women try to take their place in the spotlight. Thank you for being the former.”

He doesn’t have to say that Michelle is the latter. It’s clearly evident in his tone.

We’re led back to our VIP table, where Shannon and the rest of the bridesmaids are already midway through their first drinks of the night.

“Holy shit, it really is Jack Dalton,” Shannon says loudly enough so everyone at our table can hear her over the music. She stares at him in awe.

He offers her his signature lady killer smile. “It really is. Which one of you is the bride?” Shannon raises her hand, and his smile widens. Good Lord he’s handsome. I’m ready to drop my panties right here.

Until he says his next words. “Kate slipped me a hundred to give you a lap dance later. I told her I would’ve done it for twenty.”

“Wha—oh my God! What?!” I screech, and everyone around the table laughs.

Yeah, yeah. Ha freaking ha. He’s teasing me again, and I guess I need to lighten up a little, but I’m not in the mood for his antics.

Shannon introduces the five ladies in the bridal party, starting with her sister, Sara. Everyone here is local to Vegas, which is fairly unusual as far as Vegas bachelorette parties run, and everyone is in awe that Jack Dalton is really here at their little party.

“Let’s have some fun, ladies!” he says, and he’s met with cheers and whoops from around the table from everyone except me. I fold my arms over my chest and sulk as I sink back into my chair while the others hold up their glasses in a toast. Jack looks at me and raises a brow, and then he picks up a glass, fills it with vodka, and hands it to me. He lowers his mouth a little closer to my ear. “Come on, Katie Cat,” he says, and his warm breath tickles my ear. “That includes you.”

“I can’t drink,” I point out. “I drove, and I’m responsible for you.”

“I’ll behave myself. Your best friend only gets married once. Just for tonight, let’s reverse roles and I’ll babysit you. I can drive us home, or worst-case scenario, we take an Uber.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I try to get a good read on him. My gut tells me not to trust him, but I really want to just let loose and have a little fun. He seems sincere enough, and what harm could there be in one or two little drinks? I don’t have to get wasted just because I have one or two. And it’s bottle service. We paid an arm and a leg for this table, so I’d at least like to get a little something for my money.

I take the glass from his hand and hold it up as everyone at the table whoops and cheers again. “To the bride!” I yell, and I’m met with a chorus of “To the bride!” before we all toss back some vodka.

It burns going down. I haven’t had straight vodka in a long time.

After the first few sips, it starts to go down a little more smoothly. We move to the dance floor a while, and Jack flirts with all the bridesmaids while he dances. He flirts with people not part of our party, too.

And I don’t like it. I move in front of him to get his attention, and he dances with me a little. It’s keeping him away from other people, which will keep him out of headlines.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. That’s my big line of defense...that I’m just doing my job.

He keeps his hands to himself, but I want them on me. I want him to pull me in closer. I want to be close enough to smell like him when the night’s over.

He turns to dance with Lauren, one of Shannon’s other bridesmaids.

I drink a little more vodka to make that little twinge of jealousy disappear. It doesn’t.

He dances with Sara a bit, and that twinge just seems to grow stronger. I fill my empty glass and drink a little more.

I get in front of him so he’s dancing with me again. Liquid courage fuels me to grab his hand and set it on my hip. I keep my hand over his, and when his eyes meet mine in the flashing lights, a whole lot of heat passes between us as I think back to what happened the last time we had a few drinks in a nightclub together.

He’s engaged.

He doesn’t move his hand.

We had sex a few months ago and I can’t stop thinking about it. Big, rough hands on my skin. His tongue brushing against mine. His eyes hot on mine as he moved inside me.

My chest tightens and a fierce ache presses between my thighs.

His other hand moves to my other hip.

His girlfriend showed up that night. The same girl who had his baby. The one he’s engaged to now.

He doesn’t love her.

She doesn’t love him.

His hands feel so freaking good on my body again.

I drink a little more.

He leans down and nuzzles my neck, and butterflies dance around my belly and tingles zip down my spine as the scruff outlining his jaw tickles my skin.

I’m drunk enough that this seems like a good idea. I want to feel that scruff on my thighs as he dives face first into pleasuring me.

I lean into him and take in his scent, hot danger mixed with manly wood and a little gin. It’s risky, but I have to breathe it in. I have to. My tongue darts out to get just the tiniest taste of his skin.

God, he tastes good.

The ache between my thighs pulses with need and my stomach somersaults.

I hold onto his neck with one arm as we dance, our bodies finding a rhythm on the dance floor as easily as they did on that couch last Halloween.

I tip back a little more vodka.

His eyes are on mine as we dance, our bodies shifting a little closer to each other as his fingertips dig into my hips.

He stares me down, and his eyes flick to my lips. I snag the bottom one between my teeth, and he blinks once as his eyes move back to mine.

The ache between my legs intensifies.

I want this. I want him.

But reality plows into me.

We can’t do this.

It doesn’t matter how much I want it.

He’s engaged, and he has a kid, and I’m working with him...and it’s all so very messed up.

I force myself to back away. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but someone has to be the strong one here. We can’t take another step in the direction we’re walking without major consequences for us both. Add that to the fact that we’re both drinking, and there’s nothing right about this situation except for how good he feels so close to me.

I head back to our table, and when I glance back, he’s standing in the middle of the dance floor staring after me. We’re each surrounded by the crush of partiers at a nightclub, yet we’re two people who are very much alone.

I drown my good decision in vodka at the table by myself.

Shannon swings by to check on me. “I’m fine,” I yell over the music, and she tries to get me back on the dance floor. “I need a minute,” I say.

I drink a little more.

And then my responsibilities seem to fly out the window completely...right along with my consciousness.

I’m not quite sure what happens next, but it’s very quiet as my phone pings with a notification. I should open my eyes to check that, but it’s like they’re glued shut.

It starts ringing. I feel around on my nightstand without opening my eyes, and I click it off to ignore the call.

Why did I possibly think that screeching ring tone was a good idea?

It starts ringing again, and each high note is like a sledgehammer to my skull. I ignore the call again.

When it pings with another notification, I lift my head.

That’s my first mistake. I lie my head back down. I’m not getting out of bed today. Possibly never again.

My phone rings for the third time—at least the third time since I’ve been awake—and that’s when the bed shifts beside me.

“Turn that fucking thing off,” a deep, familiar voice beside me says, and my eyes pop wide open.

I sit up in bed and turn my head slowly to see whether Jack Dalton is really in my bed beside me, and sure enough...there he is.

He’s tossed the covers off, and he lies there in a pair of shorts. That’s it. Jack Dalton is lying in my bed wearing shorts and abs that are cut so gorgeously that I can see each and every ridge in the too-bright light of morning. He’s not even flexing.

All I need to do is reach my hand over a few inches and I’d be able to feel every edge of muscle beneath his smooth skin.

Seriously, who has a body like that? Holy guacamole.

I blink my eyes a few times because surely this is a dream...or a nightmare. I haven’t quite decided yet.

My phone starts ringing again, and I click it off before I finally look at the screen.

Twelve missed calls, and they’re all from Calvin Bennett.

My heart races as I turn to look at the other side of my bed again. Jack’s still lying there, but now there’s a smirk on his face.

What the hell happened last night?

To be continued in Book 2, TACKLED.

Now available exclusively on Amazon

When compromising pictures of me with the pro football quarterback I’m behavior coaching hit the press, we need damage control. I’m probably going to lose my job since his fiancée’s father—the man who hired me—discovered the pictures as I woke to a cloudy memory of the night before.My questions surrounding Jack’s relationship with his future bride grow more pressing by the day…especially when his eyes tackle me with all that heat. As he saves my job and I continue to coach him toward better decisions, I find myself falling for him. Maybe my purpose here is to open his eyes to all his options.But if he leaves his new boss’s daughter, the consequences could mean the end of both our careers.