by Liz Lincoln
“Thank you,” the singer on the small stage set up by the windows said into his microphone. “I’m Oliver Fitz and we’re The Erasers. We’re going to take a break now, and we’d like everyone to make their way to their tables for dinner. We’ll be back after dinner for some dancing, and to announce the winners of the silent auction.”
Natalie followed the crowd to the tables. She’d been assigned to table two, and wasn’t surprised to find Matt already sitting when she got there. He was chatting with kicker Jeremy Trask.
Also sitting with them were Marcus and Bree, Seth and Carrie Chamberlain, and running back Jaron Edmonds and his wife, Tanisha.
And because the universe was a cruel place, the only free chair was next to the last person at the table.
Quinn.
Natalie greeted them all with smiles and murmured hellos as she settled in between Quinn and Carrie. “Those Bucks tickets must have been from you,” she said to Tanisha, who had been a college basketball star and now did PR for the local NBA team.
“Course they were. I wouldn’t let my girl Celia down.” Tanisha returned Natalie’s smile.
When Natalie moved back to Milwaukee to cover the Dragons, Tanisha had been the first player significant other to introduce herself. Being in sports PR, she frequently worked with sports reporters, and Natalie appreciated that she’d reached out and helped her learn the ropes, not just with the Dragons but the Milwaukee sports media scene in general.
Because of her friendship with Tanisha, Natalie did her first in-depth Dragon profile on Jaron. It had been her first long player profile—besides the story about Quinn, but that was so different—and in less than two years it had become something she was known for at SLNT.
Natalie put her napkin in her lap and reached for her water glass. Which of course had her rubbing against Quinn. He was to her left, so it was her bare arm. At least he had on a suit, and though he’d removed his jacket for dinner, he still had on a sapphire blue dress shirt that was so soft she wanted to rub more than just her arm against it.
Her attraction to him was getting ridiculous. She shot a sideways glance at him, then started when she caught him watching her.
Damn him for being so gorgeous. His copper hair was brushed back from his face, his stubble the perfect scruffy beard length. And his hazel eyes, watching her, saw so much more than she ever wanted.
And yet, she loved the feeling of his eyes on her. Because it always felt like he was one of the few people who really saw her. Even when he looked at her the way he was now, with heat and desire, it always felt like more. Like he knew her.
The corner of his mouth turned up, just a little, but it was enough to start a riot in her belly. To keep herself from crawling into his lap and nibbling on that sexy not-quite-smile, she dropped her gaze and took another sip of her water.
Next to her, he shifted and his arm again rubbed hers. She wasn’t convinced it was an accident. For good measure, she shifted too, and the slide of his arm against hers had her suppressing a shudder.
Something was happening, something she didn’t entirely understand. But something she was powerless to stop. It felt like they were hurtling toward each other, about to crash. And a crash inevitably meant a burn. But she wasn’t sure she cared.
Maybe she was misreading it anyway. Maybe it was all in her head. But she had a sense of inevitability. Especially when his arm again slid against hers as he turned toward her.
Both sides of his mouth smiled now, but his eyes were darker. Full of want. As she met his gaze, she knew hers reflected the same thing. She could practically feel the sparks flying in the air between them.
“Can you pass the bread?” he asked.
It took a moment too long for his words to register. How did he make that simple, innocent question sound like seduction?
She licked her suddenly dry lips, a thrill shooting through her when his gaze heated further and dropped to her mouth. “Sure.” The word came out husky and made her feel like she’d agreed to so much more than pre-meal carbs.
It was going to be a long night. And she couldn’t wait.
* * *
—
Quinn laid his silverware across his empty plate and tried to pay attention to what Matt’s wife, Celia, was saying. Matt stood next to her as she spoke into the microphone about scientific progress. And Quinn really did care about what she was saying. CTE was important to every football player he knew.
Plus, watching the dynamic between her and Matt was interesting. The tension between the two of them was palpable, yet so was the connection they shared. Neither was ready to move on from the other; that was obvious even to someone as clueless about relationships as Quinn. But he hadn’t been able to get his friend to talk about it at all.
But even that didn’t hold his attention. Not when Natalie sat next to him, her body continually brushing his. Talk about palpable tension, if the spark between the two of them got any stronger, they’d burn down the museum. He had every reason to continue avoiding her. Dozens of reasons. But he’d spent the better part of the past two and a half weeks replaying their kiss. Drifting back a decade to remember what it was like to spend an entire night naked with her, loving that amazing body of hers.
Maybe it was time to give in to what felt inevitable. She wanted it too, of that he was certain. It was in her eyes when she looked at him. Earlier, when she’d licked her perfect lips while looking him in the eyes, he’d nearly dragged her off to find somewhere he could fuck her.
The image flashed through his head and his blood rushed to his dick, making him start to get hard. Which was not what he needed while sitting at a table full of his teammates. He needed to focus on Celia, not Natalie.
“I am so proud of the work we’ve done this year, and am thrilled to announce that we’ve just secured a large donation from the MacArthur Foundation that will allow us to hire several new scientists and further our progress.” Celia’s pretty face glowed and next to her, Matt put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Celia gave a startled laugh.
The MacArthur Foundation was affiliated with the owners of the Dragons, so it wasn’t surprising they were giving money to the Baxter Center. It was also such a different culture from the way things had been run in Las Vegas, a team owned by a very conservative billionaire who didn’t seem to respect the players he paid, it was mild culture shock for Quinn.
If he could stay with the Dragons until he was ready to retire, he’d be quite happy. Fortunately, he was having a great season, giving his agent lots of bargaining power for a contract extension.
Celia continued talking about new funding they’d secured and the direction in which they hoped to take the research. And as happy as Quinn was for the group, and for his friend and housemate, the science went over his head. His mind started to drift again.
Next to him, Natalie had been scribbling in her notebook—the notebook, the one responsible for them kissing in the first place—the entire time Celia and Matt had been talking. Because she was left-handed, and the table was crowded enough that they were pressed together, it meant every time she shifted her arm to write, it rubbed against his.
Her bare arm rubbing his all night had kept him in a constant state of mild arousal. Every time her arm rubbed his, or her knee bumped his under the table, he pictured other parts of them rubbing together. And her dress, with that one bare shoulder and arm, was driving him wild.
He was tired of imagining. Tired of living in his memories of them together. Maybe she wasn’t ready to give in to it, maybe she’d really meant what she said when they talked about their kiss. But if he didn’t tell her he wanted it, didn’t give it a shot, he’d never know.
A wave of…something rolled through him. An emotion he couldn’t name but that made him uneasy. Chased quickly by a craving for booze so strong, it made his mouth water. Without thinking about it, his gaze flashed
around the table, seeking out an alcoholic drink. But apparently none of his friends were drinking tonight either. Everyone had water and Carrie Chamberlain had a soda.
He had good friends. They didn’t need to abstain in his presence, but it touched him that they did. He’d have to find a way to tell them it was OK to drink around him. He was stronger than that. He knew how to fight the cravings. Like he was fighting the one now. It would be easy to simply get up and go to the bar, buy a beer or a gin and tonic. But he wouldn’t.
To ground himself, keep his brain from going down a path it shouldn’t, he shifted in his seat, deliberately rubbing both his arm and his leg against Natalie’s.
She looked up from the notes she was scribbling furiously. Lips parted, her blue eyes met his. They were surprised at first, but the longer they looked at each other, the more it melted into what he was positive was desire.
Fuck it. He leaned in, close enough so she would feel his breath on her skin. Her hair was in the way so he gently smoothed it back, his fingertips trailing over the soft skin of her shoulder. She shivered a little.
“Dance with me. After they’re done talking.” He said it as a command, though he didn’t mean she had no choice. She knew him well enough to know his intention.
Didn’t she? Shit. He should have phrased it as a question.
His hand still rested on the back of her shoulder and he slid a finger along her skin. Back and forth, back and forth. Reveling in the idea that he was touching Natalie. That she was letting him.
“Lastly, I want to announce that the Baxter Center has received the prestigious Gavney Award. It’s given each year by the Foundation for the Advancement of Applied Science to a group doing important scientific research with the potential to have real-world impact. I am so proud of our team for this honor.” Celia’s voice cut through the bubble of sexual tension that had wrapped itself around Quinn and Natalie.
Natalie blinked hard, then visibly shook herself. She turned back to her notebook, pen poised to write. She leaned toward Carrie, away from Quinn. “What did she say? I missed that.”
As Carrie filled Natalie in on the announcement, Quinn let his hand fall to the back of Natalie’s chair rather than pull it away. He needed that extra level of nearness even if he wasn’t touching her. She hadn’t said yes to him, but neither had she turned him down.
Across the table, Marcus caught his gaze. He inclined his head slightly toward Natalie, then raised his eyebrows.
To answer the implied question, Quinn gave a subtle shrug. Marcus waved his finger back and forth between himself and Quinn. We’ll talk, he mouthed.
Except Quinn had no idea what there was to talk about. Even if he found a way to talk Natalie into coming home with him, it would just be sex. He couldn’t have a relationship with her. They would hurt each other too much for that. It could never work. And if they did set up a sex-only arrangement, telling other people would complicate it.
So he shrugged again at his friend as Matt stepped back to the microphone.
“Again, we want to thank you for coming out tonight. We truly couldn’t do this without your support. The NIH grants may pay for the lab equipment and the scientists, all of you”—he spread his arms to indicate everyone in attendance—“pay my wife’s salary, among other things. And for that, we’re eternally grateful.” Matt grinned.
Laughter rolled through the crowd. How many of them knew Matt was living in a separate house, with Quinn, instead of with his wife and daughters? Not that it mattered as far as the research went. But all evening they’d been playing the part of a happy couple. It was a situation Quinn didn’t understand.
But hell, he barely understood his own situation. He still resented Natalie, still hadn’t forgiven her for the article. Now that he understood why she’d left him, his anger over that was fading. Slowly. She had still treated him shitty, but at least he understood why now.
Yet despite his anger and resentment, he was twisting himself in mental knots trying to figure out how he could spend tonight in her bed, naked with her in his arms, instead of alone in his own bed, jerking off yet again to a memory.
Quinn and his roommate were a fucked-up pair when it came to relationships.
Chapter 13
“Dance with me?” This time, Quinn made sure to make it a question, not an order, as he held out his hand to Natalie.
The silent auction was over and the dancing had begun. Everyone else from their table had disappeared, mingling, dancing, getting a drink, or slipping out early to relieve the babysitter.
Natalie was still scribbling in her notebook. Quinn had spent a full song watching her write, watching the page fill up with her small, smooth handwriting, a mix of cursive and print that he liked way more than was logical. How could he be attracted to a woman’s handwriting? It was absurd.
So he’d turned his attention to admiring her dress, and the figure it hinted at without flaunting. She’d always looked incredible in deep colors like the purple she had on tonight. The fabric had been silky soft when he got a brief feel of it earlier, and it draped across her so it highlighted her curves in all the best ways.
And because he was a guy and he was horny and he wanted this woman in particular, he struggled to pull his attention away from her breasts. They’d been the perfect size to rest in his palm while he teased her nipples. She’d loved when he played with her nipples. Maybe he’d get to again tonight.
Shit. He was going to get a hard-on before they even made it to the dance floor. Not good.
So he repeated his question. “Natalie, will you dance with me?” What the hell. “Please.” Not quite begging, but toeing the line.
She stopped writing and looked up at him. She blinked her big blue eyes, her thick lashes fluttering. She had on purple eye makeup, more than she wore on a regular basis, and by some trick of female magic, it made her eyes seem bluer. He didn’t understand it, but the effect was undeniably sexy.
“Come on. Let’s just…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he let it trail off as he nodded toward the dance floor.
Her gaze searched his face, her expression serious and assessing. What was she looking for? He didn’t have any answers for her. He didn’t have any for himself. He just knew he needed to hold her. Even if she turned him down for sex, he needed to have her in his arms for a few minutes.
“OK.” She closed her notebook and slid it and her pen into her oversized lavender bag. Then she stood and slid her hand into his.
She had on three- or four-inch heels, bringing her closer to even with him. At six foot one, he still had the height advantage, but she came up almost to his eyes, rather than his chin like usual.
He liked being on near-equal footing with her.
Her hand was warm and soft against his as they wove through the tables to where other couples danced to the band’s generic collection of covers of older, slower popular songs. Seventies and eighties hits had been the staple all evening, matching a crowd that was mostly older than Quinn and his teammates.
As he and Natalie reached the dance floor, the band was currently playing a song he couldn’t place but recognized from dozens of weddings and charity events. It was, fortunately, slow enough that he could pull Natalie into his arms and dance up close. Not only was he not a great dancer to faster songs, but he got to feel her pressed against him.
Or he hoped he would. He was careful not to hold her too close. He slid one arm around her waist, his hand a respectable distance above her ass, his other hand holding hers loosely. They were angled together and his leg brushed hers with each step, but he didn’t want to pressure her. Yes, he wanted her desperately, but he wanted her to want it too. He wouldn’t push her.
That didn’t mean, however, he wouldn’t use other means to seduce her. He would certainly let her know he was interested.
He leaned in close, using his nose an
d chin to brush back the wave of her hair. “I’d forgotten how nice this is.” Her bare shoulder hovered just a few inches below his lips and it would be so easy to lean down and press them to her skin. His mouth watered, the craving stronger than his earlier one for booze, but he resisted the urge.
She tilted her head back, her hair falling away from her, the ends tickling his hand. “What is?”
He zeroed his gaze in on hers, tuning out everything except her. The way he tuned out everything on the field except himself and his quarterback when the play started. Nothing else mattered except his route and the ball. Maybe the defender trying to stop him from getting the ball in his hands.
Now nothing mattered except him and Natalie. The dance floor was his route, dancing was the ball. He wasn’t sure what represented the defender. Maybe any doubts she had about giving in to their attraction.
On the field, he couldn’t control the defensive player, could only do his best to maneuver around the man and make his best possible play on the ball. Sometimes despite that, he didn’t make the catch.
Tonight, he couldn’t control Natalie’s resistance. Couldn’t make her agree to give in. He would make his best possible case for why they should. And while he sure as hell hoped he’d make the catch, he had to accept that he might not. All he could do was try his best.
With that in mind, he leaned in so his lips came just shy of brushing her ear as he spoke. “Holding you. Having you close.”
She shivered and moved a breath closer. Her breasts bumped his chest and blood surged to his dick. Because he needed to get closer to her yet not crowd her, he leaned his cheek against the side of her head, her hair tangling on his stubble. He smiled, a subtle tension releasing in his shoulders, a matching tension deep inside him easing along with it. He liked mussing her up and getting her tangled up with him.