She hurried into speech again. “I know it’s football season, so I promise not to get in the way of your practicing and watching film.”

That seemed to unfreeze him. He tossed the helmet onto a chair and crossed the room in three strides to wrap his arms around her. “Damn all these pads,” he said, easing his grip so she wasn’t mashed against the hard edges. He smelled of exertion and energy, a potent combination. “I want you in the way. All the time. To keep me balanced. To believe that I can be more. To open up my world.”

Miranda cradled his face between her hands, falling into the depths of his eyes. He laid a finger over her lips.

“Don’t say anything yet,” Luke said. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up with you in my arms. I want to find out what makes you laugh and hope I can keep you from crying. But if you do, I want your tears to be on my shoulder.”

“You’re about to make me cry right now,” Miranda said in a husky voice.

His eyebrows drew downward in a frown. “I made you cry on Tuesday, didn’t I? You had the courage to tell me how you felt, and I lied because I was afraid.”

She was stunned. “Of what?”

“I thought my feelings for you were distracting me. I didn’t understand that it was my denial that was destroying my focus. When I finally had the guts to admit that I loved you, everything turned clear again.” He dropped his arms and stepped away from her. “I know what you give me, but all I can offer you is this.” He swept his hand downward in front of his body. “Myself. Not a very good trade.”

Miranda closed the distance between them, resting her hands on his chest pads as she looked up at him, smiling. “What else can we ever give the person we love?” She crumpled fistfuls of his football jersey in her hands and tried to give him a shake. Of course, she couldn’t budge him. “You’re everything I want.”

He searched her face for a long moment, his eyes opaque and unreadable. Whatever he saw there made him crush her against him so hard she could barely breathe. Then he stole what was left of her breath with a searing kiss. When her legs threatened to collapse under her, he raised his head. “You know all those things I said you should do with another man? I realized I’d kill him if I caught you two doing any of them together.”

“You mean like talking art and ballet at a restaurant without reporters?” It was hard to remember his words when he turned her veins into rivers of fire.

He ran his mouth along her jawline, sending shivers of desire down her neck. “I’ll rent out the entire restaurant so we can talk without being bothered.”

“I’d rather stay home and eat quesadillas,” she said, yanking the hem of his jersey and his undershirt up to get her hands under them. “In your gym.” She had to shove her fingers up under the chest plate of his shoulder pads to feel the sweat-slicked heat of his skin.

He thrust his hands inside the back of her jeans and under her panties to knead her bottom in his powerful grip. “We can’t do this now,” he growled, his hands contradicting his words as he slid one finger forward to press into the wet heat between her legs.

“I know,” she said, her head falling back as he worked his finger in and out of her, sending spirals of arousal into her belly. She scrabbled at his pads, but the straps and buckles were too intricate to succumb to her divided concentration.

“Come for me, sugar, so I know you forgive me,” he murmured in her ear, as he slipped another finger inside her.

She ran her hand down the center of his tight pants, only to find a hard plastic shell where his erection should be. He groaned as she tried to shift it. “Sweetheart, that protector is built to withstand being sacked by a three-hundred-pound lineman. You’re not going to be able to move it.” He increased the rhythm of his strokes inside her. “This is all about you, as part of my apology.”

She wedged her hands back up under his pads to hold herself steady. He pushed his thigh between hers so that the movements of his hand had her riding the combination of muscle and pad. Tension wound tighter and tighter within her as the friction fanned her arousal to a blistering heat. When he took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked gently at the small gold hoop she wore in it, the pull of his mouth echoed the pressure of his fingers, shooting exquisitely intense pleasure into her center from above and below. Her muscles clenched explosively around his fingers, and she arched into his body, feeling the bite of the pads and reveling in the edge of discomfort that contrasted with the release of her orgasm. Some fragment of sanity made her swallow the cry of satisfaction she nearly let loose.

“That’s it, darlin’, let it take you,” Luke said beside her ear. He twisted his fingers and sent another wave of hot, melting sensation ripping through her. She nearly choked on the shriek that tried to escape her throat.

“No more,” she panted as her muscles clenched and eased again . . . and again, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her highly sensitized nerve endings.

“Until tonight,” Luke said, easing his fingers out of her and gently extracting his hand from her jeans. He brought his fingers to his nostrils and inhaled before he sucked the taste of her off them. “God, that makes me want you even more.”

She sagged against him as the glow of satiation leached the ability to stand out of every muscle in her body. His arms went around her, and she felt the weight of his chin on top of her head. “Sweetheart, I came so close to letting you go. Miller was right. I’m an idiot.”