Scoring

by Kristin Hardy

  Arousal thudded through her. She couldn’t blame it on drink, not all of it. And it certainly didn’t explain her current predicament. The reality of it was, she wouldn’t have made the bet if she hadn’t been willing to deal with the realities of losing. She wanted his touch, pure and simple.

  “You’re pretty quiet, Florence. In fact, I think it’s an all-time record for you.”

  His mouth curved in a smile and she could practically taste it under hers. Anticipation jittered through her, that giddy feeling of knowing that in a few minutes she’d be with a new lover, finding out for the first time how it felt to have his naked body against her, what noises he made when he was aroused.

  How it felt when he was inside her.

  She’d wanted him since the day she’d laid eyes on him. Of course, he’d ticked her off from the day she’d laid eyes on him, too, but tonight that didn’t seem to matter. He made her feel good.

  And based on what had happened in the weight room, she had a pretty good idea that he could do even better.

  She wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of thinking that he’d hustled her into doing something she didn’t want, though. He definitely wasn’t to think that he’d won their little battle of wills. She knew what she wanted, and she’d be the one making the first move. And move, she would. She’d work him over until he was begging for her to take him off the hook, she thought, as they reached the hotel and walked across the lobby. At the elevator, they waited until the doors opened, then stepped into the car. And the minute the doors closed, Becka took two steps toward him, speared her fingers through his hair and locked her mouth over his.

  Mace’s arms came up around her instantly. Surprise and desire slammed through his body as he pulled her to him. He hadn’t felt this kind of uncontrollable need since he’d been a teenager, he thought as her mouth parted under his. Before he could take them deeper, she was backing away from him, a mocking smile on her lips. “Patience, Duvall. Patience,” she said with a husky laugh.

  The elevator door opened on an empty hall. She walked ahead of him, her skirt swishing sassily. Yep, about two minutes after they got through the door of his room, that dress would be off, he thought. She seemed a little uneasy as he unlocked his door, her eyes feverishly bright, perhaps with arousal, perhaps with danger of discovery. Then they were inside and he was crushing her to him.

  He’d thought so long about having that firm, limber body against him. Her scent wound into his senses as he plundered her lush mouth, his hands roving over her body, sliding up under the thin fabric of her dress to find the silky smooth skin beneath. It was time to get her out of those clothes, definitely. Hunger rushed through him, and he pulled her head back to feast on her neck.

  Becka’s mouth parted and she made a soft sound that wasn’t quite a moan. Her heart hammered in her chest, the excitement unbearable. She couldn’t let herself give in to it, she thought dizzily, trying to keep from being overwhelmed by the sensations swamping her. His mouth traveled down her neck and across her jaw, traveling back to linger on her mouth. She couldn’t keep control if she let him kiss her until her mind was mush. Still, it took all her resolve to push him away from her.

  “Mmm. That’s definitely a start.” Becka swallowed, then twisted away as he reached for her again. “You know, we should have some water after all that beer or we’re really going to be hurting tomorrow. Could you go get some ice?” She stared at him, her eyes heavy lidded.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Just a little ice to cool things down.” She leaned in and ran her fingers down his chest. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

  Mace pulled away and gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you doing a disappearing act, would it?”

  Becka gave him a slow smile. “Oh no.” She slid her hand up his chest and cupped the back of his neck to pull his head toward her. Nipping his lips, she closed her eyes against the drugging pleasure of his taste. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  He stared at her a moment longer, then grabbed the ice bucket off the long, low dresser that sat opposite the bed. “I’ll be back.”

  She set her purse on the dresser, staring at herself in the mirror on the wall above it. Okay, so she’d gotten distracted there for a bit. She was still confident she could stay in control of the situation. The important thing was that he not think he’d won.

  An almost dizzying expectation shivered through her as she opened up her wallet and took out the condom she kept there. It had been too long since she’d really felt the touch of a lover. She stroked her fingertips slowly down the smooth skin of her chest, down toward the buttons of her dress.

  Where was Mace, anyway? He’d had more than enough time to get down the hall to the ice machine and back.

  Tossing the condom on the bedside table, she picked up the remote. She tugged the easy chair over to the bed and sank down in it, propping her feet up on the bedspread, knees akimbo. A click of the remote turned on the television that sat on the dresser next to the mirror. God only knew what was on at this hour, but she needed to rest her eyes on something. She flipped absently past QVC and ESPN, blinking at the flash of the channels.

  Then stopped abruptly, eyes wide.

  On the screen, fingers stroked the nipple of a bare—and very ample—breast. The camera pulled back to reveal a red-haired woman draped over a table, with a man rubbing oil over her naked body as she moved sinuously. Flavored oil, Becka thought, as he bent and licked the woman’s breast. Candles flickered in the room, sending light glimmering over the skin of the lovers. Muscles flexed on the man’s back as he leaned over the woman and gathered her up against him. Her hand moved down, obviously stroking him, though the camera angle coyly left that bit to the imagination.

  That was all right—what it showed was more than enough to make Becka imagine the touch. The actor’s hands were on the woman’s breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers. The actress slid around on the table to wrap her legs around his hips. As the camera filmed from behind him, he began to move rhythmically, obviously pumping himself in and out of her. The woman reached one hand up to tangle in his blond hair and pull his head down to hers. A soft sigh came from the television, mirroring Becka’s own.

  Sex, pure, raw and unadulterated. The images hit her like a series of sucker punches, making it hard to breathe. Watching the screen, she could feel every caress, every bit of it a preview of what could be next for her. She slid a hand from her bent knee along the inside of her thigh then back, reveling in the sensation.

  Mallory was right. Give Mace a tumble and enjoy it. The bus left at the crack of dawn the next day, Mace was scheduled to fly back home to Florida, and it would be over. Why shouldn’t she just enjoy herself? Months of celibacy were not normal. Her fingers slid up her flat belly to the sensitive skin of her breast. She’d been making a big deal out of principle, when it was just sex. Why not go with it?

  MACE WALKED down the hall, shaking his head. Just his luck. All he wanted to do was get the damned ice and get back to his room. Instead, he’d spent fifteen minutes discussing swinging styles with a couple of players who’d waylaid him at the ice machine. It had been all he could do to discourage them from following him back to his room for an all-night session of ESPN Classic.

  The ice was cool against his fingers as he fumbled with the card key. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside. And saw the naked bodies surging on the television, and Becka sprawled in the chair by the bed, legs cocked up on the bedspread.

  He was hard, instantly.

  Her dress lay open down to the middle of her taut belly, where a couple of crystal buttons made a pretense at modesty. The thin fabric gaped open to show tantalizing scraps of black lace over her breasts and at the vee between her legs. Somehow it was sexier than finding her naked would have been. The television screen opposite the bed was a shifting kaleidoscope of tanned flesh as a man stretched his lover back over a kitchen table. Becka’s eyes were hea
vy-lidded, her full mouth tempting, hand resting on her hip, fingers dangling down between her legs as though he’d just interrupted her…

  “Traffic at the ice machine?” She gave him a careless glance, her fingers stroking down her chest to brush the lace over her breasts. “I was beginning to think I’d have to make my own entertainment,” she said mockingly.

  The couple on the television moaned, their bodies moving in tandem. Mace tossed the ice carelessly on the bureau and took two steps over to the chair. He had time to see her eyes widen in surprise before he picked her up to pull her against him. It was her mouth he wanted first, he thought as he tangled his fingers in her hair. Ripe and hot and full of promise, it drove him to take more even as she moved against him, trying to get her feet on the floor. She was light, lithe as she molded against him.

  He raised his head to look down into cat-green eyes hazy with passion. “Forget about the stuff on the screen. We can do better.” He set her on her knees on the bed, and began kicking off his shoes and yanking his polo shirt off over his head. The need to taste her again drove him to lean in and savor her lips. He could feel Becka’s fingers unfastening his belt, and he broke the kiss to step out of the khakis. Then he took her mouth with his, plunging deep until the addictive flavor of passion stripped away his control.

  The warm, silky feel of her bare skin against his fingers sent adrenaline surging through Mace’s system as he reached down to finish unfastening the buttons of her dress. He ran his hands over her smooth, pale flesh, pushing the fabric off her shoulders. He’d dreamed about how she’d feel, dreamed about having her against him naked, fevered and damp with arousal. Suddenly he was in a fever to get past the concealing scraps of lace under his hands.

  Becka moved away, her mouth bruised and swollen from his. She reached back to unfasten her bra, the movement pushing her breasts forward until he had to taste them, running his tongue over the soft skin exposed by the demibra. Then the silky lace was falling into his hands as she shrugged off the straps.

  Becka gasped at the friction as Mace’s hands slid back up to cover her breasts. His palms were hot against her nipples, so that she pressed herself against them, against him. The drugging pleasure flowed over her, thick and fluid. She tasted the faint tang of sweat on his neck before he savaged her mouth with his. She’d take back control in just a minute, she thought hazily. Just for now, she wanted to sink into the sensation, to wallow in it.

  Mace put first one, then the other knee on the bed, until they were both on the mattress, torso to torso. Her fingers skimmed over his chest and down the sensitive skin of his abs, then slid back to stroke his hips. Then her fingers curved around to torment the tops of his thighs, her teasing touch tearing a groan out of him. The couple onscreen moaned and he glanced up at the television, then groaned at what he saw in the mirror next to it.

  The glass reflected Becka and him. He could see the sleek curves of her body, see her hand moving to find him rock hard and ready even as he felt it, and he groaned again.

  “Look at it. Look at us,” he muttered.

  Becka tore herself away from his neck to glance toward the wall with the television and the mirror and saw what he had seen, their naked bodies together, the swollen staff of his erection. She watched in fascination as her hand ran up and down his hard cock, even as his hand curved around her breast and he leaned down to take it in his mouth. He closed his mouth over one nipple, then the other, sucking on them and nipping them lightly until she moaned helplessly, feeling it. Watching it.

  Mace hooked his fingers around the sides of the lacy scrap of silk she still wore and dragged it down her thighs until she could worm out of it. Then he moved around behind her, one arm curving up across her so he could hold her breast in his hand, the other slanting downward across her body to slide into the slippery cleft between her legs. She moved against him when he stroked his finger up and down, and the warm indentation between her buttocks rubbed against his cock until it pulled another groan from him.

  Becka stared at the images in the mirror and on the television in fascination, watching Mace’s hands rove over her body even as she felt his touch. She turned her head back and pulled his head down to hers for a kiss, but turned back to the mirror, unable to stop looking.

  Now the couple in the film were spooning together over the table, the man stretching the woman across the polished wood as he drove himself into her from behind. Becka felt Mace’s hands bending her down until her hands hit the bedspread and she was braced on all fours, feeling the silky hard tip of his cock brushing against her. She gasped at the touch, then flung her head back with a sudden cry as he drove himself inside her. And then he was stroking, pumping, every sliding move taking her higher, exciting her more and more. She was in sensory overload, feeling him hard in her, his hands roving over her body and touching her in front, while she watched them in the mirror, watched the couple in the film. Tension built within her, an ache that focused everything on the exact center of her, the exact center where Mace was.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair, his husky whispers punctuated only by the moans of the couple on the screen. Suddenly, the intensity and pleasure and imagery and sensation sent her rushing over the edge into a freefall of quaking glory. She felt Mace’s shudder and heard his cry as he followed her.

  SHE WOKE in the dark of the room, a thin line of pale light falling through the curtains and across her pillow. Next to her, Mace muttered into her hair and gathered her closer until she was spooned against him.

  Memories of the last few hours came flooding back. The mirror and movie had been just the beginning, and all thoughts of control had been swept away in the revelation of what had truly been the most incredible sex she’d ever had.

  With baseball’s number one playboy.

  She bit back a groan. Hadn’t the weight room fiasco been bad enough? How could she have been such an idiot as to sleep with him? And during a road trip, when anyone could see her coming out of his room.

  His body was warm and solid and she abandoned herself for a moment to the luxury of bare skin against hers and sighed. No sense in going for the histrionics. She couldn’t deny that she’d been just as hot for it the night before as he had been, and the experience had been even more amazing than she’d expected. If she could just get back to her own room without being spotted in the hall, it would be fine.

  Holding her breath, Becka slipped out of the bed, easing off the mattress without making any sudden motions that might wake Mace. It had been the better part of a decade since she’d slept with someone who wasn’t a boyfriend, but the awkward morning-after part of the proceedings hadn’t changed.

  The bedside clock blinked to 5:25. At least her ever-reliable body clock was still working, she thought as she picked up her purse and clothes and slipped into the bathroom to dress. In an hour, she’d be getting on the team bus and rolling on out of there. Mace’s assignment was officially over, so it wasn’t like she was going to have to deal with him anymore. With a bit of luck, she could sneak out quietly and close this chapter.

  Becka stared at herself again in the mirror. He was going to be congratulating himself on this one, she knew it. After all her big talk, he was going to think that he’d seduced her, convinced her to do something she didn’t want to. He was going to be notching his belt, making a check mark on his list next to her name. She opened her purse to get out her key card, saw her lipstick and stopped.

  Check marks.

  A wicked smile spread across her face. It wouldn’t do to just slip out without a backward glance. She’d give Casanova a little something to think about. Pulling out her lipstick, she twisted up the narrow column of color and wrote a few words on the mirror. Then she flicked off the light and padded silently out into the room toward the door. With the bus leaving at 6:30, the slim chance of getting down the hall without running into someone made her gulp a little.

  Almost noiselessly, she made her way toward the door, glancing in the mirror. And stopped,
staring at the reflection of a sleeping Mace. She thought of what she’d done in the bathroom. One more small gesture would drive the point home. In for a penny, in for a pound. Adrenaline surged through her as she turned to tiptoe stealthily over to the bed. Holding her breath, she reached out toward him and the deed was done in a second. Mace gave a murmur and rolled toward her. Becka froze, her heart hammering against her ribs, but he rolled back and began breathing deeply again.

  She slipped quietly out the door and hurried down the hall, listening to the noises in the rooms as she walked past. Of course she’d had the bright idea of putting Mace’s room as far from hers as possible as a deterrent. Well, it hadn’t deterred her from doing anything, only left her with the greatest possible risk of discovery.

  Becka shook her head and broke into a light jog. Forget about winning power points over Mace. A good reason not to sleep with him would have been to keep from jeopardizing her job. She had enough of an uphill battle as a woman in the clubhouse. The last thing she needed to do was have Sammy worrying that she was going to sleep with his players, she thought, fitting her key card into the door lock just as a door latch clacked up the hall.

  Her heart tried to vault out of her chest as she wrenched the door open and pushed inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slumped back against the wall next to the door.

  Suspense over, she was free to notice the pounding headache that the drinks the night before had earned her. Water was what she chiefly needed, though a handful of ibuprofen wouldn’t hurt. And toothpaste and a shower, she thought, rubbing her tongue over her teeth and heading for the bathroom.

  By the time she stepped aboard the team bus forty minutes later, she was feeling alert enough to be nervous about Mace. All it took was for someone’s slamming door to wake him. Who knew what he’d do? The players drifted onto the bus as she sat, edgily watching the lobby door. Time to go, it was long past time to go.

  Finally, the bus doors slammed shut and the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Becka let out the breath she’d been holding and relaxed infinitesimally. It was over, it was done, and she was home free.