Too Hard to Forget (Romancing the Clarksons Book 3)

by Tessa Bailey

  He’d heard far more of Peggy’s speech to Alice than he’d let on that afternoon. Standing there, he’d been so aware of his pulse, he could have closed his eyes and counted each little bump. That is, if he’d been capable of removing his focus from Peggy. She’d always been earnest and bright, but the additional maturity to her now? It got his blood flowing even hotter. He wanted to pin her down and ask what she’d experienced during her three years away. Maybe ask what gave her the nerve to be even more fascinating now than she’d been at twenty-two.

  She was doing damage to his peace of mind. Always had. But there was a new sense of urgency in his belly making him crazy.

  Elliott pulled up to the house and exhaled slowly when he didn’t see the Suburban. It was entirely possible Belmont had dropped Peggy off, though, meaning she could already be inside his home. Inching toward the tennis ball that hung from the ceiling, his foot slammed on the break when an image of Peggy in his bed blindsided him. He threw the truck into Park with a curse but didn’t try to dismiss the image, knowing from experience it would haunt him until he allowed it to play out.

  Dinner would be over, Alice gone to bed. Peggy would ask for a tour upstairs and they would move quietly, careful not to be heard. She would tease him a little, slinking around his bedroom and picking up his watch, his aftershave—sniffing it—all while he followed on her heels, waiting for the right moment to strip her naked. She’d be wearing a thong—that little nude-colored nylon one from his memory—and he’d slide it down her legs with his teeth, watching her back arch on the bed.

  Elliott groaned in the truck’s silent interior, pushing his erection down with the heel of his hand, but succeeding only in chafing it into something bigger, more urgent. And when he opened his eyes, Peggy was looking right back at him from the garage entrance, holding a glass of soda in her hand. Smiling knowingly.

  She saluted him with the glass and retreated back into the house, her skirt molding to her backside in such a taunt, he would have put her over his knee and given those cheeks hell if they were alone. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  Rein it in, Elliott.

  The scene he was about to walk into would be dangerously homey. Alice cooking dinner, Peggy setting the table or helping cut up salad ingredients. If he wasn’t careful, his mind might play tricks on him. Confuse him into thinking he were the kind of man who welcomed the idea of home. Family. Togetherness. He’d tried it once and hadn’t succeeded. He’d failed to be a good husband and proved every day how deeply his abysmal parenting skills ran.

  This was a one-off deal. Peggy acknowledging earlier that day that this dinner wasn’t about them might have made him feel hollow, but the sensation would pass. What wouldn’t pass was his inability to be the kind of man who comes home to spaghetti and small talk every night. He wasn’t built for those comforts.

  So why was he so damn anxious to get inside?

  Elliott brought his libido back under control and climbed out of the truck, the smell of red sauce and sautéed mushrooms wrapping around him. Not the usual scent of Alice’s spaghetti, and when the kitchen came into view, he saw why. Peggy stood side by side with Alice at the chopping block, a sprig of rosemary tucked behind her ear, instructing her on how to judge when you’re adding too much garlic.

  “Dad.” Alice looked more animated than he’d seen her in a long time, and warning bells went off at the same time his pulse went haywire, the scene way more real than he’d been expecting. Especially the way Alice regarded Peggy with such blatant hero worship. If he’d allowed the moving picture in his kitchen to be the norm for the last three years, would he have already fucked it up? “Did you know Peggy’s mother used to have her own cooking show on TV?”

  How were they playing this? As far as he knew, Alice had been told Peggy was a professor at the college, but who knew if she’d even bought that explanation? Still, it was a big jump from Peggy being his colleague to an ex-student with whom he was formerly involved. When Alice blinked at him, still waiting for an answer, he decided honesty was the best policy when dealing with someone as sharp as his daughter. “I did know that.” Alice looked a touch surprised by his answer, but didn’t comment. “Is there something I can do?”

  “Got it under control, Coach,” Peggy said, without looking at him.

  Elliott nodded once. “I’ll be in my office.”

  A few moments later, he closed the door behind him and propped both hands on his hips, running through the team’s offense in his mind to erase the vision of Alice and Peggy huddled in the kitchen. To block the way it made him feel; a sensation far too close to content. The contentment he’d experienced with Peggy years back had been so brief, he shouldn’t recognize the return of it now. But there it was, like green sprouts trying to push through dead weeds.

  There was a gentle knock on the door behind him. Thinking it was Alice, he turned and opened it, surprised to find Peggy on the other side. The stress of what he’d come home to must have shown on his face because Peggy gave a low whistle. “Brought you a beer.” She held it out to him. “Looks like maybe you need whiskey, though.”

  Maybe it was the way she made light of something he found so heavy. Maybe it was simply a buildup of tension inside of him, starting on the day she’d left town. Or the day she’d returned. He didn’t know. Only knew he was so damn aware of the strain in his hands, his neck, his chest…and it needed to go somewhere. Preferably to the person who’d caused it.

  When he clasped Peggy’s wrist and jerked her into the office, beer sloshed over the bottle’s rim, but neither of them stopped to clean it up. Elliott kicked the door shut and moved up behind Peggy, burying his face in her hair, pushing against her ass with his growing erection. “Lay your hands flat on the desk.”

  “W-why?”

  Despite questioning him, she set the bottle down so fast on the wooden piece of furniture, it suggested her arms had lost strength. “Did you really come in here to bring me a beer?” He hooked a finger beneath the hem of her skirt, drawing it up to find a neon orange thong running between her cheeks. “Or were you wondering if that little salute you gave me in the garage might have earned you a spanking? Is that what you came in here to find out?”

  She seemed to deflate a moment, before her shoulders heaved back up. “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  Even as he reached over to lock the door, Elliott couldn’t drag his attention away as she bent forward, angling her hips up so he could see the entire underside of her body. Her stockings ended mere inches below her upturned ass, the skin above them a smooth sliver of a taunt. And God, the orange silk hugging her pussy was already beginning to darken. “Hard, please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to step back, but he’d been denying the impulses too long. Hell, there’d been no one before or since Peggy he’d wanted to loose them on. Now? He wanted to hear that snap of flesh on flesh so bad, he couldn’t have held back, even if the quiet warning voice had been a shout.

  Elliott removed the ever-present rosary beads from his pocket and placed them on the desk, out of respect for what they symbolized…and the action untethered him even more. He felt unexpectedly light-headed. Hungrier then he’d ever been before, as if setting the beads aside had given him permission. Stepping forward, he conformed both palms to her curved backside, groaning at the memory of propping it up, meeting the tight buns with his abdomen while thrusting inside of her. “Been begging for this since you got here, haven’t you?”

  She pushed her legs apart a few more inches with a breathless whimper. “Don’t take your ring off.”

  Twisting the gold championship ring in question—and painfully aware that they didn’t have much time—Elliott stepped to one side, giving her a warm-up slap. That single sharp sound had him nearly doubling over, the possibility of needing to change his pants before dinner a definite reality. From his position, Elliott could see Peggy’s teeth digging into her lower lip, eyes closed tigh
t. So beautiful. So…dutiful. Again that electrified zap of forewarning bashed into his subconscious. Like you hate me. I deserve it. Like you hate—

  “Elliott, please,” Peggy breathed, swaying her bottom side to side, the seductive movement forcing him to swallow a groan. “Don’t stop.” And he couldn’t. His hand seemed to move all its own. It lifted and rained down a series of smacking blows, one right after the other, until Peggy fell forward onto the desk, breath wheezing in and out. Her tight ass shook with each crack of his palm, the muscles in her thighs straining, hips angling to encounter his hand as soon as possible. So soft. Was a man supposed to strike something so soft? Crave it? As if answering him, she chanted, “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He should never have made contact with her in the first place, because moving forward with the evening without fucking Peggy first was unimaginable. Yet it was their only option. His stomach constricting with the need to claim her, he snatched a Sharpie out of the pen holder on his desk and signed his name across her right ass cheek, before letting the marker drop to the ground.

  Shame and pride mixed inside Elliott as Peggy straightened and smoothed her skirt back into place. It was huge and constantly shifting, shame winning out by a mile when she refused to look at him.

  “Peggy,” he said hoarsely. “Wait.”

  She surged forward, fusing their lips together. Not kissing him, just stopping the flow of his words. Then she pulled away, licking the seam of her lips with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I just worked up an appetite.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Today was Peggy’s birthday.

  Growing up as the youngest Clarkson, a big deal had always been made over the day. Pink streamers? A new dress? A tiara? Bet your ass. Even the first three years of school, her squad had thrown her a bash, complete with a grand entrance on the back of whichever frat guy drew the longest straw. She’d primped, imbibed, danced…

  Over the last few months, though, the time she’d spent with Elliott meant less time with her friends. And while there were definitely no rifts or open animosity, she’d heard no rumblings of party plans, either.

  Peggy toed a rock out of her path as she walked back to her dorm from class. Someone she only vaguely recognized whizzed past on a bike calling hello, so she smiled in response, but there was no answering pleasure in her chest. She hadn’t told Elliott it was her birthday, or even that the date was approaching, so feeling let down was ridiculous. They’d gotten closer with each passing day—sometimes it felt like each passing moment—but she still sensed him holding back. When he didn’t think she was watching, there were shadows in his incredible eyes, thoughts deeper than the ones he shared. And still—still—being with Elliott was better than a birthday party with male belly dancers and a keg.

  She’d fallen in love with him. Bad. No way out bad.

  So sometimes it was hard. Sometimes they couldn’t see each other for a handful of days because of traveling for his coaching responsibilities. Or he couldn’t get a babysitter for Alice, the daughter he’d never offered to introduce Peggy to, although she still held out hope. Most difficult of all, they were a secret, which meant no going out in public together. No confiding in her friends that the legendary football coach they all went horny-faced over was her…

  What?

  Her boyfriend? Ha! Men like Elliott Brooks didn’t do boyfriendom. If Peggy asked him to define their relationship, he would give her that quizzical, narrow-eyed, Dirty Harry stare. And then he’d probably kiss her until she forgot the question.

  Peggy stumbled on the walkway when licks of heat traveled up the insides of her thighs. About normal, since they hadn’t been together in three nights. Which probably accounted for her pointless, melancholy mood.

  It started to rain.

  Shit.

  Holding her messenger bag over her head, she ran down the path to her dorm. There wasn’t another soul in sight, everyone else having noticed the gathering thunderheads while she’d been lost in an Elliott-induced daze. Only a hundred or so yards from her dorm, she cut through a parking lot, skidding to a halt when a car door opened to her right.

  “Peggy.”

  “Elliott,” she breathed, dropping the bag and letting herself get rained on. “What are you doing here?” Subtext: during the day. Although it could have been midnight, the sky was so ominously dark. Black.

  “I wanted to be where you are.” His chest fell heavily and lifted as he looked her over, head to toe, settling on her eyes. Wow. The intensity kindling in his gaze knocked the breath straight out of her lungs. “Can’t stay away.”

  Had he been trying? The idea made her stomach ache.

  She nodded in the direction she’d been traveling. “Come on.”

  It was risky. They both knew it. But after a curt nod, he followed Peggy, staying a good distance behind her until they reached the exit stairwell the students kept propped open to bypass the dorm’s notoriously slow elevator. His tread echoed in her belly as they climbed the steps, Elliott remaining in the stairwell until she’d unlocked her door.

  She held her breath and waited once inside. Only a couple seconds passed until he blew through her doorway—sexual and intimidating—kicking the door shut, lifting her off the ground to attack her mouth. Peggy moaned into the kiss, her thoughts going fuzzy when Elliott’s tongue slipped past her lips, his free hand stroking down the side of her face, smoothing her hair in an affectionate gesture that made the last three lonely days worth every second. God. God. His huge presence combined with the passion of the kiss to rock the atmosphere. Thunder boomed outside, but she swore it was happening in her chest, between her legs. The smell of him and rain and…chocolate…was amazing.

  “Shit,” Elliott rasped, pulling back. Rubbing a thumb against her lower lip, he dropped a kiss on her forehead, then reached into his jacket to remove a small, crushed bakery box. “This didn’t go according to plan,” he grumbled. “Nothing with you does.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “A cupcake. For your birthday.” He cleared his throat. “Happy birthday.”

  Man oh man, he looked crazy uncomfortable. And she took exactly zero mercy on him, because jubilation was spinning inside her like syrup-soaked yarn. “How did you know it was my…you brought me a…Elliott.”

  He opened the box and they both peered inside to inspect the damage. Pink sprinkles. “You left your wallet out on my coffee table a few weeks back and I looked at your license. Thought maybe having your age staring me in the face would knock some sense into me.”

  She hated when he admitted to having doubts about the wisdom of their relationship. Every time they were together, he seemed to remind her at least once. “Since you’re here now, I guess it was an unsuccessful mission.”

  Elliott tilted his head, an eyebrow lifting over her tight tone. “I just walked into a student dormitory in the middle of the day to be with you, baby. Safe to say the mission bombed.”

  Thrills raced up and down her arms. Was he being extra dreamy because it was her birthday or what? God, if he could just be like this all the time, instead of brooding at her so much. “Guess so, Coach.”

  “You didn’t look happy out there. Before you saw me.” He dragged a finger through the icing and slipped the digit between her lips, his breath going shallow as she sucked off the decadent chocolate. “Something wrong?”

  “Everything is fine,” she whispered. “Sometimes I get homesick on my birthday. Which I shouldn’t even tell you, because you’re already hung up on my age and it makes me sound like a whiny toddler.”

  His eyes were full of concern, even though she’d pushed him out of his depth. “How do I make it better?”

  “You brought me a cupcake.” She licked another offering of chocolate off his finger, watching his jaw tick. “That’s a great start.”

  “I brought you nail polish, too.”

  Peggy reared back. “What?”

  She could hear his swallow. “You’re always
painting over that black mark on your finger.” He looked away, his frown lines fierce. “I bought the clear kind, because I think you should just let me see it. The mark.”

  Dumbstruck. That’s what she was. Maybe it was the rain or the dark sky afternoon, but there was none of the usual tension between them. Like they’d been given a reprieve, just for her birthday. Or maybe Elliott not shutting down was her real present. “Why?”

  “I don’t like you holding back any part of yourself from me. I hate it.” He dropped his hand to the pocket of his jeans, brushing the rosary beads Peggy knew were inside. “It’s wrong to expect so much from you, when I can’t give the same.”

  Wrong. That word was famous around these parts. She covered his mouth to stop the outpouring of regrets. “Please. Not today, okay?”

  After a beat, he nodded and Peggy dropped her hand. Rain ticked on the windowsill, thunder rolling in the distance. Desperate to maintain the spell, she smiled. “Can I see the polish?”

  Setting aside the cupcake, he reached into his pocket and removed the tiny bottle, clear with silver writing. It looked so out of place in his big, rough hands, a giggle broke free. But it cut right off when Elliott pulled out the chair from her desk, sat down, and patted his knee. In a trance, she went toward him and perched on his lap, holding her breath as he smoothed her right hand out on the desk’s surface. Lips pressed to her neck, he unscrewed the bottle. And with an expression of sheer concentration, the Kingmaker painted her nails. Clear.

  It was the best birthday of her life.

  * * *

  Peggy didn’t do awkward. She could chat her way out of weird silences during phone conversations, running into an ex-fiancé in public, while on a movie date with the new one—ouch—or smile when a customer broke a zipper by force, instead of asking for the next size up. You name it, she had a way to put herself and the equally uncomfortable party at ease. When called upon to use her linguistic skills to combat social ickiness, however, she usually wasn’t fresh off a spanking for the ages.