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The New Pride of Portree by momotwins
Chapter 10 : Surprising Depths
 
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 9


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 “Honestly, I think I'd actually kill someone for some Hangover Potion right about now,” said Zara. She was sitting beside Molly in the dining area, a cup of tea in front of her on the table. Sid was stretched out on the floor next to the them, and the rest of the team slumped over the table in various states of nausea. Nobody was eating breakfast except Jinks.

“Maybe we should quit drinking,” Beathan suggested.

“No,” Duff said firmly, his forehead resting on his folded arms. “I'd rather die. I feel like I want to die, anyway.”

“I'm going back to bed,” whispered Declan. “Go on without me. Tell Lefool I died.”

“No one is dying,” came Fitz's voice from the doorway, and most of the team turned to look at him. Zara let out a small groan as she moved.

“Someone cut off my head,” she requested. “It'll be an improvement.”

Fitz set the tote bag he'd been carrying on the table. “No need for that yet. I've a gift for all of you. Except Jinks.”

Jinks looked offended. “Why not me? Where's my gift?”

“Shut up, Jinks,” Fitz told him, and started pulling bottles of Hangover-Curing Potion out of the bag.

“Oh gods,” moaned Zara, popping hers open. “You're a lifesaver.”

Molly was only feeling mild effects, but she drank the potion anyway. It tasted slightly of mint and chased her headache away instantly. Feeling human again, she looked round at the team as she sipped more of the potion. Zara had downed hers in few gulps, and was now opening Sid's for him. Sid drank while lying flat on his back, eyes closed. The rest of them were beginning to perk up, and the relief was palpable.

Jinks, who hadn't had a hangover in the first place, continued to shovel sausages and fried bread into his mouth. “I hope you brought enough for tomorrow as well,” he said to Fitz between bites.

“I bought a case of this stuff. The rest is in my room.”

“Now if only you could get us out of the activity today,” Molly remarked.

“No help there. She's out in the hall already, waiting by the door. Gave me a dirty look when I came downstairs with the potions.” Fitz slid into the seat across from Molly.

“We should mutiny,” suggested Declan. “If we all just left, she couldn't stop us.”

“McCormack paid for the retreat. If we walk out, we don't get a refund. I checked,” Fitz added. “Suck it up, you lot. It's only until the day after tomorrow. Then we're done.”

The team grumbled an agreement.

“I'm getting something to eat, then,” grumbled Sid, getting to his feet. “I think I can hold it down now.”

Lefoque came in to collect them after breakfast, and led them outside.

“We'll be playing a game called Willow in the Wind today,” she began, and Deimos perked up.

“Whomping Willow?”

Lefoque looked mildly horrified, and shook her head. “No, no. This is a trust exercise, to help you develop as a team.”

“Have we finally got to the trust falls, then?” asked Zara under her breath.

Molly let out a snort. As it turned out, it was merely trust leans. Lefoque arranged them in circle, facing inward, and they took it in turn to get in the centre and lean against each teammate. Somewhat to Molly's surprise, no one seemed to want to drop each other. Even when Duff and Declan were leaning against each other, they didn't let go just to be funny. Lefoque seemed overjoyed that they were taking the exercise at least a little bit seriously and kept them at it well into the afternoon.

Fitz was sitting this one out, watching from the sidelines beside Lefoque. Molly wondered if his shoulder was still bothering him from helping lift Deimos into the wheelbarrow last night. The wheelbarrow had been standing outside the door to the retreat when she'd returned last night, but it was nowhere to be seen now. Fitz must have returned it before going to bed. He'd been the last one to leave the pub.

Once everyone had had a go as the Willow, Lefoque stepped into the circle, her face set in a smile more sincere than Molly had seen since the day they'd arrived. “That was wonderful. I'm so proud of you all. Now, let's discuss how we felt during as the Willow and as the Wind.”

Sid groaned. “Can't we just do it? Why do we have to talk about it too?”

“I felt like dropping Duff on his arse would be hilarious,” volunteered Deimos.

Declan grinned at him. “Me too! I nearly did it.”

“I was sort of surprised you didn't drop each other, to be honest,” said Fitz gruffly. He had moved to stand just behind Molly and Beathan. “Showing surprising depths of good behaviour.”

“Can we have a reward, then?” Duff asked hopefully.

Fitz looked suspicious at that. “What sort of reward?”

“Not talking about feelings,” Deimos said immediately.

“The rest of the day off,” suggested Sid.

“The rest of the week off,” piped up Bram.

“I have an activity planned for you this evening,” Lefoque told them. She had crossed her arms over her chest at the suggestions of taking the day or week off. Her face was pinched. “You'll have a few hours to yourselves this afternoon, and we'll meet out here at dusk.”

“Nighttime trust falls?” Zara asked suspiciously.

“Stargazing.”

“Oh.” Zara looked surprised. “That doesn't sound too horrible.”

“Doesn't sound too useful either,” muttered Sid.

“No pub tonight?” Jinks exclaimed, looking crestfallen.

Lefoque let them go after that with a promise to return at dusk. Left to their own devices, the team milled around for a moment outside the door.

“I'm going to go have a nap,” Mariah announced. She still wouldn't speak to Molly. She hadn't tried to drop her during Molly's turn as the Willow, but she had passed her off quickly to Bram.

“Me too.” Jinks followed Mariah inside, leaving the rest of the team staring at each other.

“Anyone want to play a pickup game?” offered Sid. “I brought a Quaffle.”

The retreat had a handful of ancient brooms, enough to field four-a-side Quidditch. The brooms barely moved fast enough to outpace Fitz, who was on foot below them, refereeing. To a team accustomed to professional-quality brooms, the slow speed was hilarious. The small sparrows in the glen behind the retreat were out-flying all of them. The game eventually degenerated into sprints across the little valley to see whose broom was slowest.

After losing to Sid, Molly returned to the ground and watched with a grin while Duff taunted Sid, his broom struggling its way to a speed approximating a Knarl's trot. Duff's ancient broom was just behind him, sputtering puffs of gold sparks as it struggled to carry his weight. Molly let her broom fall to the ground and sat down, cross-legged.

Fitz was stretched out in the grass beside her, with the rest of the team on his other side. Zara was chuckling over the race, her elbows propped against her knees.

“I think I had a broom that slow when I was about five,” she remarked.

“Me too,” agreed Fitz. He was facing the race, his head propped on one hand, but his eyes flickered to Molly.

“I bet mine is slower,” said Beathan thoughtfully. She scrambled to her feet and then onto her broom in one smooth movement, kicking off the ground and flying toward Duff and Sid.

“Good to see her getting along with Duff again, isn't it?” Molly noted.

The two hadn't spoken much after their brief night together and subsequent argument on the pitch, until the retreat had put them in close proximity this week. Molly didn't see any signs of a rekindled romance, but she was pleased to see them getting along.

“Yeah. She never should've slept with him,” Zara commented. “They don't suit each other at all.”

“That doesn't always stop people,” said Bram.

“True. Look at Fitz,” Zara said, and he looked up at her in surprise.

“What about me?”

“I can't believe you were married to Waldman.”

“Oh, her.” Fitz settled back to his former position. “Yeah, I can't believe it either.”

Molly sat quietly, not wanting to talk about his ex-wife. Mariah was annoyed with her for some reason she didn't understand, leaving her with the uneasy feeling that she didn't understand people as well as she liked to think she did. Usually she could suss out someone's motivations quite quickly. If she didn't know better, she'd think Mariah was jealous, but there was no reason for her to be. She couldn't know about Molly and Fitz's kiss, and even if she did, why would it matter to her? They'd been divorced a while now. Mariah was known in the League for having a string of boyfriends post-divorce (and a few rumours of a string of them pre-divorce as well), and surely she'd seen Fitz with someone else after their divorce.

Something would have to be done about Mariah, but Molly wasn't certain what just yet.

“Well, what about this stargazing tonight, then?” asked Deimos. “Are we really going to do that?”

“She'll come find us if we don't,” said Fitz. There was no question who 'she' was. Lefoque was keeping a tighter rein on the team. Molly was rather surprised they'd been given the afternoon off, for that matter. It must've been in the schedule, but she hadn't looked at that all week.

“What's the point, though? I haven't stargazed since I was at Hogwarts. And I only did it then because Astronomy was mandatory,” Deimos added.

“I haven't either,” put in Zara. “Usually in the pub after dark, to be honest.”

“I liked Astronomy,” Molly mused. “Got an O on my Astronomy O.W.L. Maybe stargazing will be fun.”

“I bet you got all O's, didn't you.” Bram grinned at her. “Nerdy type, weren't you?”

“She was Head Girl,” Fitz spoke up. “Course she was nerdy.”

Molly stuck her tongue out at them. “There's nothing wrong with being Head Girl and getting good grades. And yes, I got all O's on my O.W.L.s.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Zara said, but she was smiling.

Molly wasn't bothered. She'd been teased by her cousins too many times over her academic success to let a little ribbing from her teammates get to her. Besides, she knew for a fact that Zara had been a prefect.

They stayed there, racing the shoddy old brooms and playing Quidditch, late into the afternoon. When dinner time rolled around, the team trooped back to the retreat, breaking off into clumps as they walked. Duff, Declan, and Deimos led the pack, with the Chasers behind them. Molly volunteered to put the borrowed brooms away, and Fitz offered to help. The rest of the team split off toward the retreat, while Molly and Fitz went to the broom shed.

“The team seems to be getting along pretty well,” he remarked. “Maybe you were right to be optimistic.”

“I told you,” she said with a wink as she leaned the brooms against the wall of the shed. “We should let them skive off tomorrow. Go see the MacFusty dragons.”

“We?” he echoed, and Molly felt a blush crawl up her cheeks.

“We. The coach and captain. That's all I meant.”

“Was it?” His expression was unreadable, but then he went on, “Well, I might be willing to let them off for the day. I wouldn't mind seeing a few dragons. Dunno how Beathan would feel...”

Molly laughed. “Happy to not be doing trust falls, that's how she'll feel.”

“You might be right at that,” he agreed with a grin.

It occurred to Molly that they were completely invisible to the retreat, with the doors of the shed blocking them from view. Fitz was leaning against the door, his good arm above his head on the door jamb. She wondered if his shoulder was still bothering him, but couldn't quite bring herself to ask; he looked as if he weren't thinking about it at the moment and she didn't want to remind him. In fact, he looked as if he were thinking about something entirely different. His eyes had gone dark, and his gaze rested on her mouth.

“We'd better go, if we want to make it to dinner on time,” she said in a rush, feeling her nerves get the better of her.

“I suppose so.” He still looked rather intense, but he let her lead the way back to the retreat.

*

Fitz had no intention of stargazing all evening. Neither, apparently, did anyone else: The team was recalcitrant to a man as they stretched out on blankets on the small hill behind the retreat.

“Look up at Orion, see how his bow pulls back...” Lefoque was droning, but no one was listening to her.

Muttering under their breaths, her captive audience half-heartedly looked up at the constellations and kept up their own low-voiced conversations.

“Is there going to be a test later?” whispered Sid, making Duff and Declan snigger into their scarves.

“Better not be,” Bram whispered back. “I failed my Astronomy O.W.L.”

Fitz hushed them half-heartedly. He didn't give a flip about the constellations either, but they could at least fake paying attention. Molly was doing a good job of that, from what he could see. She'd put Beathan between them as a buffer. Fitz knew he should be glad for that since they were supposed to be maintaining some professionalism, but instead he wished she was beside him. Her long body was stretched out, arms folded across her belly. The rise and fall of her breasts with each breath was almost hypnotic. Her breathing was very even, maybe a little too even. He looked closer; her eyes were closed.

He gave Beathan a nudge. “Poke Weasley and wake her up.”

“I'm awake,” came Molly's voice. She didn't open her eyes, though. “Just relaxing.”

A faint tinkling sound drew his attention away from her. He glanced over and saw Jinks pulling a bottle out of some hidden pocket in his robes. Jinks put a hand to his mouth to shush Fitz.

“Oh, what's that?” whispered Sid with interest. “Firewhisky?”

Jinks nodded. “Not just any firewhisky. This is Speyside single-malt firewhisky.”

Sid was not impressed. He waved a hand for the bottle. “Don't care, pass it over.”

The bottle made the rounds of the team a few times without Lefoque noticing a thing. She was staring up at the sky, babbling on about legends of the centaurs and other such nonsense.

“I reckon stargazing isn't so bad after all,” Deimos remarked, taking a long swallow of whisky.

“Whisky makes everything better,” Molly murmured. Her eyes were still closed. She'd taken a few healthy swigs from the bottle as well, and her cheeks were rosy.

They lay there, passing the bottle around and looking at the stars, for another hour before Lefoque dismissed them with a promise to rejoin her at eight in the morning for the final day's activities. She stayed behind on the hill, looking despondent, as the team trooped off to the retreat. Fitz reckoned she'd noticed their complete lack of interest in her stars lecture.

When they reached the hallway to their rooms, there was more milling about than Fitz had expected. He could hear snippets of conversation down the end of the hall where Jinks' and Zara's rooms were.

“What's going on down there?” he asked.

“Mutiny,” called Jinks.

“We're talking about skiving off tomorrow,” Zara said, her chin set as if she expected him to yell at them. “This whole thing is a ridiculous waste of time, and I want a day off.”

“Good, let's do it,” Fitz agreed. “I want to see a dragon before I leave. The MacFustys invited us to come for a visit.”

“What about the nonrefundable deposit?” Molly asked. She was leaning against the door to her room, arms crossed over her chest, but her expression was mild. Since she'd suggested skiving off earlier, he knew she didn't really mind. “And McCormack?”

“It's the last day. We've built enough bloody teamwork,” he responded, and a small cheer went up through the hallway. Everyone was grinning at him, and it felt rather good. While the rest of them started chatting about their plans for tomorrow, Fitz added to Molly, “I'll deal with McCormack. We might as well have a day off.”

“Protecting the team from her wrath?”

“Part of my job as coach.”

This got a smile out of her. It lit her entire face, and he smiled back without thinking. She was even more beautiful when she smiled. The team made arrangements to sneak out at dawn, before Lefoque came to collect them, and for once the lot of them went to bed before midnight. Fitz waited until everyone was in their rooms before turning in. He fell asleep hoping to spend most of the day with Molly smiling at him like that.

*

Six hours of trudging around the MacFusty lands and two elderly Hebridean Blacks later, the team split off to do some sightseeing in smaller groups. Molly hung back to continue chatting with Gormla MacFusty. They'd been bonding cheerfully all day, having extended conversations about the dragons and the islands and everything under the sun, so that Fitz had hardly said a word to Molly since that morning. It was nice to see her find a kindred spirit, and he was surprised at how much she knew about dragons, but he was still feeling out of temper about not talking to her.

Jinks jogged over while he was waiting for her.

“We're going to town to see the shops, Coach,” he said. “You coming along?”

“I'll be there shortly.” He jabbed a thumb at Molly, who was laughing at something Gormla had said. “I'll make sure Weasley knows where you lot went.”

Jinks smiled innocently. “Right then. See you.”

Fitz watched, eyes narrowed, as he trotted off to catch up with the others. Jinks was always a bit of a git, which made it hard to tell when he was up to something or only messing you about for fun.

It took Molly another ten minutes to realize everyone had gone on ahead and that Fitz was standing there, scuffing the toe of his boot into the heather. She hurried over to him with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry, did they all leave me behind? You didn't have to wait.”

“I wanted to,” he said, and a faint blush crept into her cheeks.

“Well, let's catch up, then.”

They walked side by side toward the village, silent for a while.

“How'd you learn so much about dragons?” he asked eventually. “That uncle you mentioned?”

She nodded. “Uncle Charlie. He loves to talk about dragons. My gran used to tell us he would turn into one soon.”

“Nice,” he chuckled. “Did you buy that?”

“No, but my cousin Fred did. He was afraid of Uncle Charlie for a while when he was four, thinking he turned into a dragon every night.”

Fitz laughed. “Poor kid. Didn't his parents tell him the truth?”

“Are you kidding?” Molly rolled her eyes. “His dad, my uncle George, is a complete joker. Uncle George told him Uncle Charlie could fly and breathe fire like a dragon, and slept on a pile of gold.”

They were both laughing now. When she talked about her family, her face was filled with affection. She obviously was very close to them. Fitz decided he wouldn't mind listening to her talk about her family all day, just so he could watch her while she was relaxed and happy like this.

“Eventually poor Fred told his mum,” she went on, “and Aunt Angelina told him it wasn't true. Uncle George got in trouble for that one.”

“Is this the one who owns Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?” He wasn't entirely sure where all the Weasleys fit in relation to Molly. There were so many of them, he couldn't keep track. He knew someone close to her owned the joke shop, though.

“Yeah, that's Uncle George.”

“So Uncle George owns a joke shop, Uncle Charlie works with dragons, and I know who your Uncle Harry is. Who else?”

Molly gave him a look. “You're very interested in my family.”

He shrugged, unwilling to reveal any motives behind his interest. “Just curious.”

“Well. Uncle Bill works for Gringott's, my aunt Ginny works at The Daily Prophet, and my uncle Ron is an Auror. Uncle Harry is Aunt Ginny's husband. She used to play for the Harpies.”

He remembered Ginny Potter. She'd been an excellent Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies when he'd been a kid. He had seen a few games she'd played in. She didn't much resemble Molly, except the hair colour. Ginny Potter had been compact and sturdy where Molly was long and lean, with brown eyes instead of Molly's piercing blue. “Is that why you went for the Harpies, because of your aunt?”

“A bit, yeah. I liked the team a lot as well.” She gave him a nudge, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “So what about your family? Got a lot of uncles and aunts as well?”

“Me? Nah. There's just my mum and her sister, but they don't get on. Haven't seen my aunt in a few years.” Not since he'd gone professional and she'd tried to hit him up for money. He'd given her a thousand Galleons and told her not to come back unless she invited his mum round for tea sometime. She never had.

“What about your dad?”

“He's an only child. He's retired now, putters round the garden, feeding the gnomes. Bit of an amateur anthropologist with them, actually. He's written a book on the little buggers. My mum hates it, says they ruin her herbs.”

Molly laughed. “My grandparents' garden is always overrun with gnomes. They do ruin the herbs, your mum's not wrong.”

They spent most of the afternoon walking around and chatting, eventually winding up in the pub around suppertime. Donald was behind the bar as usual, and half the team was sitting at one end of the bar, playing blackjack and drinking beer. They smiled a greeting at Fitz and Molly but didn't wave them over.

“Reckon we should join them?” Molly asked.

Fitz slid into a seat right where he was. “Not sure they're ready for that much socializing with the dreaded coach yet.”

Molly gave him a pat on the shoulder, and he pretended it was only friendly, though the electricity in his veins made a liar of him. He could have sworn he could feel the heat of her skin through his coat, and the scent of her, blackcurrant and roses, seemed to swell over him. He tried to ignore it. It was in both their best interests if they stayed professional.

“Oh, I think they're warming to you again,” she was saying. “Especially after you let us all skive off today.”

“That was your idea. You let me have the credit.”

“No one will believe you. I was Head Girl. I would never skive off.”

Fitz gave her a look. “Right. Didn't you say you come from a long line of troublemakers?”

“I think I said I was the only well-behaved Weasley,” she informed him loftily, then broke into a grin. “Well-behaved is relative, I suppose.”

“With your relatives, I'm not surprised.”

She let out a sharp bark of laughter, and Fitz couldn't hold back his grin. Making her laugh was far more fun than anything else in his life right now. He forgot about everything that was annoying him, everything that he'd lost, when Molly was smiling and laughing with him.

A few hours and several drinks later, Fitz had almost completely forgotten that half his team was sitting at the other end of the bar. Molly was telling stories of her cousins, each more unbelievable than the last, though she insisted they were all true.

She was in the middle of a tale of her cousin James throwing a lamp through a window when something behind him attracted her attention. Her voice trailed off, and he turned around to see the team gathering up their coats. Jinks was leading the way, and he was headed directly at them, looking more serious than Fitz had ever seen him.

They gathered around Fitz, with Jinks in the centre, Zara and Duff on one side and Beathan and Declan on the other. The main team, Fitz thought. The reserve players had disappeared already, back to the retreat or who knew where.

“We wanted to talk to you for a mo, Coach,” Zara began.

Fitz set his drink down, turning around in his seat to face them fully. He wasn't sure what they were up to, but he was feeling rather nervous now.

“It was our own fault we lost the game,” Jinks said, then over his shoulder added, “Shut up, Duff.”

Duff, who had opened his mouth to argue the point, shut up quickly.

“There was no way we were going to win,” Jinks went on in the silence following his announcement. “The other teams had a head start on us. Some of them have been together for years. They all had a full training season. We had half of one, and we're brand new. It was never going to happen. I'm sorry we blamed you, Coach. And you, Weasley.”

Fitz was rather stunned by the apology, not to mention Jinks's unexpected grasp on reality. He glanced at Molly. She wasn't saying anything, but she she was watching Jinks, her face expressionless. Fitz couldn't tell what she was thinking.

“Yeah,” said Zara then, and she pressed her lips together for a moment before adding, “That wasn't fair.”

The rest of them began muttering apologies, and Fitz drew a deep breath, feeling something inside him release. “I'm sorry too. I could have been a better coach. I didn't know what I was doing.”

“You've got a bit better now, Coach,” piped up Beathan. “Except for the yelling. I could do without the yelling.”

He had to rein in his temper. Shouting was one thing, but he had been cursing them and calling them idiots and the like. “We'll all do better. Training when we get back home, I mean. We've got the potential. We could win our next game if we get it together. All of us.”

They were starting to smile now, nodding at him.

“Go on and get some sleep,” Fitz said, waving them out. “McCormack is picking us up in the morning. If you're hung over, she'll notice, and probably think up some way to stop us drinking.”

The team shuffled out, much more upbeat now. They were laughing and chatting as they slid into their coats and scarves and headed back to the retreat. Molly set her glass down with a firm thunk. He glanced down at her whisky neat before looking up again and meeting her eyes.

“That was well done of them,” she remarked, leaning closer to him. “And you.”

“For once I wasn't an arsehole,” Fitz said, tossing back his firewhisky. The liquor didn't help his already heated body; being this close to her was making his blood race.

“I'm sure you'll be back to that tomorrow. Try not to mock Ms. Airy-Fairy to her face tomorrow morning, though.”

Fitz grinned. “No promises.”

Molly was watching him with that soul-searching gaze that she had, only with the whisky in him it didn't make him nervous as before. It made him want to bend her backward and kiss her until the fire was in both of them.

“It's late. I should go,” she said then, and he nodded.

“Me too. I'll walk you back.”

He half-expected her to tell him she could make it on her own, but she nodded and finished her drink. “Let's go, then.”

*

They walked to the retreat in silence, the blackness pressing in on them. The sky was overcast again, no stars and no moon to light the night around them. Fitz lit his wand to illuminate the ground in front of them. Molly was still feeling tipsy, and the uneven path to the retreat felt less steady than usual. She nearly tripped going up a hill, and grabbed at Fitz to steady herself before she remembered she was standing on his left. She'd just fallen against his bad arm.

“Sorry,” she gasped, and let go at once. “I didn't mean to hurt you-”

He held out his arm. “Hang on, drunkard. If you fall and hit your head on a rock, we don't have a reserve Keeper.”

“Oh, thanks very much,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she slipped a hand into the crook of his arm anyway. It felt good to walk so close to him, to feel his body next to hers. He felt strong and solid, and she had a sudden urge to run her hands up and down his arms, feeling the muscles. I've got to stop drinking until I get this under control, she thought, but she didn't let go of him.

“Nearly there,” Fitz said then. He didn't seem as affected by being close to her as she was. She wondered if she did run her hands over him, if he would kiss her again.

The retreat was over the next rise, and she held tighter to his arm as they walked downhill. The boxwood topiaries were hulking, dark shapes in the night. Molly could almost believe the animals were real.

“Bit spooky in the dark, isn't it?” Fitz noted, surveying the menagerie of shrubberies. He took her hand, giving her a tug toward the boxwood dragon.

She went willingly, letting him pull her close so the carefully trimmed bushes hid them from the retreat's windows. The night didn't feel so cold once she was pressed up against his warm body. She slid her hands inside his coat, feeling the firm muscles of his chest.

“I know we said just friends,” he murmured, but his hand was trailing down her back and around to her waist, and it didn't feel at all friendly. Her pulse leaped. Maybe he was more affected than he'd let on.

“Professional,” Molly agreed. His hand was on her waist now, and she reached up to brush the dark hair back from his temple, letting her fingers tangle in it.

“That's the one.”

He was staring into her eyes. They moved at the same time, lips meeting in a long kiss. Her hand curved around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands were on her hips, holding her tightly against him, and suddenly the night felt on fire.

Molly nipped at his lips, and he deepened the kiss, then broke off to trail kisses down her neck and into her cleavage. She drew a shuddering breath and pulled him back, her hands on his bristly cheeks. He let out a low groan that was almost a growl, hauling her tighter against him, and kissed her again.

“Would it be professional if you came back to my room with me?” he murmured against her lips.

“Not at all. Let's go.”


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