by V. K. Sykes
Right now, his forthrightly interested gaze was sending her ego soaring.
He veered toward the windows that overlooked the cavernous but nearly empty stadium. He had obviously noticed the glass panels could be slid along tracks to open the suite to the outside air. Pushing one to the side, he leaned against the counter and poked his head outside the box, looking down on the pitch. Martha squeezed in beside him, her bare shoulder and arm tight against his hard bicep. Even with his jacket and tee shirt in between, the warm strength of his arm came through with startling clarity. To Martha, it felt both comforting and more than a little exciting. Neither of them moved or said anything for a few moments as warm, humid air washed over them. They just looked out in companionable silence.
The Nashville players, all in white except for red socks and red sponsor lettering on their jerseys, were doing their stretches on the north side. The Thunder players at the south end were warming up in scattered groups while Sam Brockton strode up and down the sideline looking tense and barking out orders. She looked around for Derek Kavanagh, who always seemed to be the last man to appear on the field, and finally spotted him emerging from under the stands. Brockton saw him, too, and immediately started yelling at him. Kavanagh responded with an arrogant shrug as he jogged past the red-faced manager.
“Kavanagh—what a toad,” Martha grumbled.
Tony cut her a glance. “He and Brockton obviously don’t mesh.”
“You think?”
Tony merely smiled.
“That high-priced asshole is killing us,” she couldn’t help adding. “I can hardly stand to look at him anymore. We’re paying him damn good money and he keeps playing like he’s one step away from an assisted living facility.”
Tony gave her back a quick, friendly pat. It was obviously just a form of sympathy, but it still gave her goose bumps. “So, what do you think is going on with him, Martha? Derek was a hell of a player at Tottenham for a lot of years, and he’s hardly an old man. Hell, he’s younger than me, anyway.”
Martha shook her head. “You might be five or six years older, but you’re in a damn sight better shape as far as I can see. I’ll bet you could leave Kavanagh in your dust.” She was intensely aware of the feel of his brawny bicep pressing against her bare arm.
Tony pointed down at his left knee, the one that had caused his retirement. “Not anymore.”
“Hell, yes, you could, even with that bum knee,” she insisted. “At Kavanagh’s best he was never half the player you were, Tony.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Thanks. But did you actually see me play?”
She had, in fact, and had never forgotten it. After her high school graduation, her father had taken her on a three-week trip to England and Scotland, him to watch football, her to shop and sight-see. One Saturday afternoon, she’d reluctantly agreed to go with him to White Hart Lane in London to see Tottenham play Newcastle. Sometime just before the half, a very young and incredibly dynamic Newcastle lad had dribbled the ball through the entire Tottenham line before drilling a sharply-angled shot over the diving goalkeeper’s outstretched arms and into the top corner of the net. Though the goal had been scored by an opposing player, the White Hart Lane crowd had nevertheless shown its admiration. The next day, Martha had read in the paper that Tony Branch was already being hailed as the future of English football. He was only twenty-two.
“I may have,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “Which teams did you play for again?”
“Ha.” He tapped her gently on the nose. “Let’s get back to Kavanagh. What’s going on?”
“My father practically broke the bank to get the guy to come over here, and the fans were really hyped about it. At first.” She turned sideways to face him. He loomed over her, an almost overpowering male presence, so she instinctively took a step back. “In retrospect, I think that was the beginning of the death march for the Thunder. The fans got their hopes up, but nothing’s come of it. I’m mystified as to what’s wrong with the man, Tony. Kieran says he’s healthy and fit, but he doesn’t play with any verve, much less emotion. He’s made noises about wanting a trade, but I’m sure he knows that would be almost impossible to pull off.”
“So, he’s sulking? Is that the consensus? And Flores, too?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what else to think. I’ve tried to talk to him, but the jerk just blows me off.”
She went to fetch beers from the refrigerator. “Heineken, Smithwick’s, Rolling Rock. Or would you prefer bourbon?”
“No Steam Train beer?” he said in a teasing voice. “I’ll bet that’s all that’s sold down in the stands, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I drank better stuff from the horse trough when I was growing up,” Martha said, wrinkling her nose.
“You drank from the horse trough?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“Sure.” She laughed at the dumbfounded expression on his face, vividly remembering the day she’d decided to imitate her mother’s horse by drinking from the old wooden trough by the stable at their rural acreage. She’d been six.
“Anyway, it’s bad enough that the sponsorship agreement makes us foist that Steam Train swill on the poor fans,” she continued. “I damn well won’t drink it myself.”
“Then I sure won’t either. So, give me the Rolling Rock, please. No glass necessary.”
Martha tossed the green bottle through the air. Tony caught it effortlessly even though he clearly hadn’t expected the long, accurate toss.
“Assist to Winston,” she said, grabbing a Heineken for herself. “I’m assuming you would have made the shot, of course.”
Tony gave her another puzzled look.
“I played hoops for a living way back when,” she said. “But I washed out early. I was one hell of a passer, but couldn’t hit the damn three-pointer to save my soul.”
“Martha, you’re speaking some foreign language.”
“Shucks, you don’t follow basketball?” she said teasingly. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Do you follow cricket?” he shot back.
“Jiminy Cricket?” Martha said as she sashayed over to join him. “My favorite cartoon character. What a little cutie.”
They both started laughing. “Vive la différence,” Tony said as he opened his beer and took a long swallow.
Martha felt herself relaxing. Despite the unspoken obstacles between them, Tony was easy to be around. And regardless of what agenda he was pursuing, the thought of him spending a few days in the city no longer worried her. In fact, she looked forward to it so much that if she had her way—and she had little doubt she would, given the way his eyes kept tracking her—this was going to be a night to remember.
She glanced at the TV screen in the corner of the room and saw the teams taking their positions. Gently pushing Tony toward the food table, she encouraged him to load up his plate before going back to the window to watch the start of the game. She stood in her usual spot—which happened to be right next to where he leaned against the counter—thinking about all the frustrating, gut-wrenching hours she’d spent cooped up in that little room while she watched her team get hammered.
Tonight, she had every intention of doing something quite different.
* * *
Tony had always trusted his instincts and his reflexes because they had served him well both on the field and in the football business. But figuring out puzzles had never been his forte. That, among other things, was why he had Rex.
But Tony had a puzzle on his hands right now and he couldn’t ask Rex for advice on this one. That puzzle was named Martha Winston, and what the hell was she up to, anyway?
From the moment he’d slid into her car at the Hyatt, she’d given him such flirtatious, sexy glances and smiles that he’d been forced to muster all his discipline to keep his hands away from her. And in the stadium suite—a rather bare-bones affair compared to his luxury box at Blackhampton—she’d been getting more up close and personal with each passing minute, no matter whether t
hey were watching the game or eating the simple but surprisingly good food she’d had catered.
He couldn’t believe she was giving him such an obvious come-on, especially after her solemn declaration last night that she was not going to have sex with him. But if she was simply being a tease, then all his male instincts had deserted him and he doubted that very much. Martha might be flirty and sassy, but she wasn’t the type to keep a man dangling just for the hell of it. So, what had changed in less than twenty-four hours?
She’s up to something.
That was the only explanation. He had an ego as big as any guy’s, but he didn’t think his charm had suddenly swept her completely off her feet. Yeah, he’d caught flickers of interest in both her silvery blue eyes and in her body language after he showed up at her house with the lorry-load of flowers. And he’d seen them again during the cordial evening at the restaurant that followed. But now he was catching not flickers but flames—big, white-hot, dangerous flames that threatened to scorch him.
Was she really going to try to play him? Did she maybe think she could talk him into ponying up money as investor, rather than an owner? Could she possibly be that naive?
Well, he’d soon find out, because if Martha wanted to play that kind of game, he was in. He was in big time. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could handle anything she could throw at him. And from the first moment they met, he’d had visions of those long, gorgeous legs, all naked and hot, wrapped tightly around his back. The fact that the beginnings of such a scenario seemed to be unfolding had sent his cock smartly to attention. And that was something Martha clearly hadn’t missed.
He glanced at her as she sat next to him. She smiled seductively, her attention entirely focused on him. In fact, she barely showed a reaction when the Thunder goalkeeper got himself out of position and Nashville tucked in an easy goal to take a 2-0 lead near half-time.
“Oh, darn,” she said in a mild voice. Then she shrugged and headed back to the food table, no doubt to fetch some other tasty morsel with which to ply him. But right now, there was only one thing he wanted to taste and it wasn’t another sandwich. It was all smooth Southern honey, and he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her.
Tony shifted on his bar stool, watching her, loving the way her sweet, tight ass swayed as she moved. His hands twitched, primed to feel all the silken skin so temptingly on display.
“Ready for some dessert?” Martha said sweetly as she pulled a shallow covered dish out of the fridge and fiddled with it before stuffing it inside the microwave.
“Maybe. What have you got in mind?” His voice came out as a low, deep rasp.
“Belgian chocolate.” Her purring tone made the words sound pretty much like “hot monkey sex.” She opened the fridge again, extracted a long tray and held it out to show him a variety of fruit that had been arrayed on it. “I’ve got lovely and very expensive melted chocolate, along with strawberries and melon and pineapple. Oh, and some wonderful double-fudge brownies. But maybe we can save them for later, because I’m up for some dipping right now.”
She flashed him a sultry look that would have made his knees buckle if he wasn’t sitting down. “Do you approve?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, as he conjured up some mental images of Martha and melted chocolate. “Yes, absolutely. First rate.”
“Well, that’s just what I wanted to hear,” she said in her warm and lazy southern drawl.
She placed the tray on the table, and set out a couple of small plates as she waited for the microwave to finish. As soon as it pinged, she pulled out the dish of melted chocolate and set it down next to the fruit.
Tony slid off the chair and moved toward her, feeling very much like a beast on the prowl. She glanced at him with an outrageously sexy, come-hither look, her eyes at sensual half-mast and her pink mouth ripe and pouting.
Christ. The woman seemed to have not the faintest clue that she was truly playing with fire. Martha might think she was going to control this game—control him. He couldn’t wait to prove her wrong.
Without inviting him to sample first, Martha reached down and picked up a fat strawberry by its stem and dipped it into the warm chocolate. It came out glossy and wet, dripping a thin stream of chocolate back into the dish. She caught some of that excess on the tip of her finger and licked it with enough sexual intent that Tony’s dick threatened to bust right out of his trousers.
“Careful, girl,” he rasped. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
She glanced down at his groin and a smug little smile curled her lips. “You like that?” she whispered. “Well, then, try this.”
She lifted the strawberry to his lips. Tony opened his mouth and carefully bit off the chocolate half.
And after he finished biting that, he bit her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Martha couldn’t hold back a squeak when Tony swooped down and caught her lower lip between his teeth, giving it a little nip. Then he gentled, soothing her with a smooth sweep of his tongue across her lips as his big hands, the palms slightly roughened, brushed down her bare arms. She shivered, her eyelids falling shut as she took in the taste and scent of chocolate and hot, sexy male. God, he smelled good, with just a hint of bracing aftershave and the clean scent of a warm summer day.
And the feel of him, skin against skin, his mouth playing with hers as his fingers traced little patterns on her shoulders. Whimpering with pleasure, she pressed against his hard body, silently urging him to pull her tight against him. Martha was tall and had the toned body of a professional athlete, but plastered along the length of his impressive physique she felt both feminine and oddly fragile. He touched her as if she was as delicate as a piece of spun glass, his hands whispering up and down her arms as he tasted her in a leisurely, maddening fashion.
Martha did not want gentle. Not right now.
She wriggled against him, pushing into the erection that felt huge through the layers of fabric between them. That pulled a moan sounding more like a growl from the depths of his throat, and she drew his pleasure in as she slid her arms around his neck. Her nipples, already stiff and starting to ache, pressed into the wall of his chest. She gasped and dug her fingers into his shoulders, loving the zing of excitement that shot straight between her legs.
Tony broke the kiss, holding her slightly away with fingertips that pressed hard into her flesh. Martha gazed up at him, panting. The narrow, feral look in his eyes, the dark bronze of the flush across his cheekbones, hit her like a freight train and made everything inside go into melt-down.
“Fuck, Martha,” he growled. “Are we going to do this right here? I’m about ten seconds away from ripping off your clothes and shagging you senseless.”
His hot, crude words had a double impact, both rattling her nerves and sending her desire for him sky high. As she stared up at him, lust blazed in his gaze, overwhelming and barely contained. But she saw a warning there, too.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, putting words to his look. “Because once I start, I’m not into stopping.”
He leaned down and nuzzled her temple, breathing her in. Then he moved to her ear, giving the lobe a quick little bite.
“And you won’t want me to stop either,” he whispered when she let out a startled gasp. “So be sure, Martha. Because once we begin we won’t be turning back.”
She swallowed hard, trying to reassert a bit of control. “Pretty sure of yourself aren’t you, big guy? Or are you afraid you can’t handle me?”
His eyes narrowed to glittering black slits. “I can handle anything you throw my way, babe. But I want you to be absolutely sure you want this as much as I do.”
She clutched at his shoulders, peering up at him. In the physical sense, he had to realize she wanted him as much as he obviously wanted her. But she knew he was asking the deeper question, warning her that this could change everything between them and make both their lives a lot more complicated. But of course she’d known that before she’d begun her r
eckless seduction, just as she’d known how he would respond. What she hadn’t anticipated was Tony stepping back and giving her a chance to rethink it.
Or, put another way, to take responsibility for her actions.
Brother. She was so sick and tired of being responsible.
A teasing smile split his sensual mouth. “It’s not a math problem, love. Just tell me what you want.”
Martha let out a choked laugh. “I think you should be able to figure out exactly what I want.” She pressed into him, rubbing her belly against his cock, just to see how far she could push him.
His hands slid from her shoulders and skated down her back, cupping her bottom. “I hear you loud and clear,” he murmured as he lifted her against him. He nudged gently, pressing the width of his erection right against her sweet spot. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“Oh, God,” she gasped, trying to open her legs a bit more so she could feel all of that tempting length pressing against her inner lips. Damn her tight skirt! It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she couldn’t wait to get it off. “Tony, please. You’re driving me crazy.”
He laughed again, a dark, husky note that shivered across her skin. “Slow down, Martha. Don’t forget, this is our first kiss. We don’t want to blow past the opening whistle.”
Oh, God. He was right. They’d barely even kissed, and she was practically begging him to do her—in her stadium suite no less, which had to count as one of the crazier things she’d ever contemplated doing. He must think she was a complete tramp even though she was anything but. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in over a year, and not even a date for months.
Which was probably one reason why she was so desperate to have him all over her, and inside her, too.