“Not really, but I’m open to feedback,” I say firmly. “I want to fix it, whatever it takes. I didn’t come this far to plateau now.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” Dunaway nods approvingly. “I bet hip flexibility is part of the issue.”

“Okay, I can work on that.”

“The team’s strength and conditioning coach can help, but I think you’d probably benefit from doing some yoga, too. And I know just the person to help you with that.” He reaches for a pad of paper on his desk, tears a piece off and scratches something on the paper with his pen, then slides it across the desk to me. “My daughter teaches yoga, and she’s damn good at it. Give her a call and tell her I sent you.”

I manage to keep my expression neutral at his words, although my pulse kicks up a notch. The universe has a twisted sense of humor sometimes—or maybe it’s trying to tell me something.

A grin splits my face as I take the paper from him. “Oh, I definitely will.”

8. Declan

Chapter 8

Declan

Six Months Ago

Isabelle clings to me as the last waves of her orgasm ripple through her. I slump over her, my breath coming hard and heavy against her neck where I buried my face. Her scent floods my nose, heady and intoxicating, and I feel it seeping into my senses, lodging itself permanently in my memory. I think I’m getting addicted to it.

Addicted to her.

She already smells perfect on her own, but the scent of sex that clings to her soft, dewy skin just as tightly as she’s clinging to me makes it even better. I could stay like this until the sun comes up, letting all five of my senses feast on her, and that’s exactly what I’m hoping to do—despite the sweet ache that’s already taking hold in muscles I haven’t worked out like this in a long time.

“Wow,” she breathes as I gently pull out and collapse on the bed beside her. I run my finger up and down her stomach, starting at her navel, and feel it rising and falling quickly in time with her breathing.

I trace a slow pattern across her skin, enjoying the contrast of my calloused fingertip against her softness.

“Those sounds of yours,” I murmur, “they’re like fucking music. I told you I was gonna get you to make those sounds again and again.”

She laughs, her stomach tightening beneath my finger. “I never should’ve doubted you.” But then her eyes drift over to mine, and curiosity sparks on her face. “I thought men had a, uh… what do you call it? Refractory period?”