My heart is racing as I approach Tobias, but it has nothing to do with my impromptu jog.

He’s even more magnetic up close.

“Hey,” I say, pulling my jacket tighter around my body. Not because it’s cold—it’s not. It’s a refreshing sixty-five degrees. But one second in his presence has my body under a sensual attack and I can’t stop remembering the way he tented those silk boxers. I went back to look at it so many times this morning that I finally gave up and saved it to my camera roll.

“Hello, Elise.” He wraps a huge hand around my elbow and pulls me closer to kiss my cheek. “You’re looking as fuckable as ever.”

A passerby chokes on his giant street pretzel, obviously having overheard.

“Could you lower your voice?” I hiss, poking him in the ribs.

“Message received.” He eases closer until our bodies meet, his lips brushing over mine. “You want me to whisper in your ear how fuckable you are—”

I shove him away, slapping the hand still holding on my elbow. “Stop.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, love.” When I can only stare up at him and attempt to replenish my lungs with oxygen, he says, “I’m a lot better at expressing myself physically than verbally, but…” For once, he looks serious. Like, he’s really concentrating on it. “I’m very glad you’re here. With me. I wasn’t sure you would show up.”

“I told Banks I would come.”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Is that the only reason?”

My knee-jerk reaction is to say yes, because he appears so cocky. I know better now, though. He’s more than what meets the eye. I’ve seen beneath the surface to the wound he’s hiding. If he can make himself vulnerable, so can I. “No,” I say quietly, feeling his energy skyrocket with that single word. “No, it’s not the only reason.”

There’s a flare of relief in his eyes, but it’s cut with something innately sexual. As though he can’t help it. “Thank you.”

He offers me his hand.

I study it for a moment, the strength and character of it, before slipping my fingers in between each of his, letting him fold me into his grip, and we walk through the entrance together, only stopping to have our tickets scanned by a smiling senior citizen. “Wow,” I murmur when the field comes into view. “I haven’t been to a sporting event since I was a kid. I forgot what the grand entrance is like.”

“Never gets old, does it?” Briefly, he looks down at the tickets, then at the numbers posted on the pillars, leading me in the appropriate direction. “I still remember my first Liverpool game. My parents weren’t much for a day out, but I tagged along with a friend’s family. I couldn’t believe the players I’d been watching all my life on the telly were right there in front of me. I still try and make it to a match whenever I’m home.” A line of tension rides through his back, which I am apparently watching very, very closely. “It has been quite a while.”