Chapter 5

Natalie

God, those online pictures don’t do him justice. The bastard is still obnoxiously handsome in person.

That’s my first thought when I see him, because the moment Jaxon walks through those doors, I know I'm in trouble.

At thirty-nine, he's grown into his features in a way that makes my mouth go dry despite every rational thought screaming at me to stay focused.

His dark hair is thicker now, with a few silver locks falling over his forehead in a way that screams “billionaire sugar daddy” from a mile away.

The muscles beneath his expensive suit have filled out, broader shoulders straining against the fabric of his jacket.

The damn coat is cut so perfectly, but it hangs open enough that I can see a hint of his chest beneath it.

My traitorous mind immediately flashes to memories of him guiding me with those steady hands, whispering “Easy, Freckles” in that commanding yet tender voice as he worshiped every inch of me until I was completely his.

The room becomes even smaller for me when his lips part and he whispers a word.

“Freckles?”

The nickname—said in that low, gravelly voice—hits me like a punch to the gut.

Some of the anger boiling inside me begs to rise to the surface, making me ask him why he did what he did.

“Natty,” Mark, my cameraman, taps my shoulder, pulling me back, “We’re rolling. You ready?”

Ignoring the way my heart flips over quickly, I grip my interview cards tighter.

My voice switches to professionalism as I address the tall man across the room, who still hasn’t moved or stopped staring me down since he entered the room.

“Mr. Wolfgang, please have a seat.”

Jaxon takes a seat, and so do I, the only thing separating us being the distance between our chairs.

"Call me Jaxon," he says, his voice that same low rumble that used to undo me. "Only strangers call me Mr. Wolfgang, and you're no stranger to me, Natalie."

Mark glances at me briefly, and I can see the confusion in his eyes. The air between Jaxon and me is charged with unspoken history, and I’m sure Mark can feel it, even if he doesn’t understand it.

My hands are trembling slightly as I grip my notepad, and I pray the camera isn’t picking up how rattled I am by just hearing Jaxon say my name.

One word. He said one word, my name, no less, and I’m already falling apart.

Forcing my professional mask back into place, I return, "It’s Ms. Anderson, and I'll stick to Mr. Wolfgang, thank you. And thank you also for taking the time to see me this morning. As captain of the Dallas Titans, you must be a busy man."

“For the right reasons, I can always make time,” Jaxon says, an odd expression on his face as his eyes cascade down to my left hand.

Whatever he sees there has him smirking subtly as our eyes meet again. “Though if I’d known the reason was you, Miss Anderson. I’d have shown up early.”

Mark coughs.

My pulse stumbles, and every cell in my body remembers how it felt to be the reason for that tone.

But the ache of remembering he was too busy to spare me even one minute a few years ago slaps me back to reality.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Wolfgang,” I manage, clearing my throat. “But let’s talk about the reason why I’m here. The Titans are heading into what could be called a historic season. But what’s different about this year’s team?”

Jaxon’s gaze never wavers from mine as he speaks.

“Mindset. Every guy in that locker room knows this isn’t just about talent anymore. This is about finishing what we started."

As I’m jotting down what he says in my notepad, my skin crawls with displeasure at his words.

Finishing what we started?

What about me? What about what we had in that cabin five years ago?

Moving on to the next question and controlling my breathing, I read the words on my card.

“You’ve played for nineteen seasons and survived injuries that would’ve ended most careers. How do you keep going?”

His jaw tics, but he answers me like he’s been preparing to do so for years.

“You learn what’s worth the pain and what’s not. Football is worth it.”

His answer jabs at my control, and I can’t stop the words from tumbling from my lips. “And nothing else is worth it? Is that what you are trying to say, Mr. Wolfgang?”

Our eyes lock across the small space between us, and the world narrows to just this moment. I can feel my pulsing heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape.

I can also hear my breathing hitch at the intensity of his gaze. It has me gripping my pen so tightly that my knuckles turn white

The professional distance I’ve maintained starts cracking under the weight of five years of suppressed anger.

And one question burns on my tongue more fiercely than the sizzling fire begging to be stoked between us.

Did you slam me with your fucking lawyers because I wasn’t worth it to you?

“You’re putting words into my mouth, Miss Anderson.”

“I’m using your own words, Mr. Wolfgang,” I bite back.

Jaxon leans forward like he can magically eat up the distance between us.

His eyes burn with barely contained hunger, and he runs a hand along his jaw, a move I recognize from years ago. I recognize it from when he was fighting to maintain control, to keep from touching me.

The way his fingers flex on the chair’s arms, the tension coiling in his shoulders, it’s like watching him battle it out with himself.

He wants to end this charade, close the distance between us, and tell me this interview is over. That flicker in his gaze that makes my stomach clench tells me that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

“Football is worth it, Miss Anderson.” He pauses. “But any man with half a brain, sitting across from a woman like you, would admit…that some things are worth a hell of a lot more.”

The air between us grows heavy. My pulse has already skyrocketed from zero to a terrifying hundred, and not even the air conditioning is cooling me down.

My heart pulses in my mouth, my skin is drawn tight, and with the way Jaxon’s eyes drag down to my legs, I’m well fucking aware I’m aching in places I shouldn’t be.

And I'm pretty sure my cameraman is in the dark about what the hell is going on.

I force a faint smirk as I rearrange my cue cards. “I’m sure your fans will love that."

“It wasn’t for them, Natalie.”

Fuck.