“No,” I admit with a small smile. “Not really. I’m looking for more now.”
Dex—Ethan—nods. “Thing is, we’re both here for the week. Ivy and Gray are in no condition to entertain. I like you. A lot. Why don’t we go out together?”
“Erm…that’s not what your proposition sounded like to me. You said on a date.”
His lush lips curl. No, do not look at his mouth. I watch his lips move.
“I did. I want to kiss you again, Fiona. I couldn’t sleep last night because I wanted that so badly.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“So, yeah, I said date. Because if you let me, I’m going to kiss you again, as much as I can.”
It’s a struggle to find my voice. “Neither of us is looking for casual. We don’t even live in the same city. I don’t date athletes. Or friends of my sister. Or—”
“Why don’t we start with what you do,” he cuts in, his gaze direct, firm. It lowers to my mouth before sliding back up to my eyes. “Do you want to kiss me again, Fiona?”
Why does he have to say my name that way? As if it’s a dare. And why is he so damn perceptive?
His eyes bore into me. “Did you think about me last night? In your bed?”
No one has ever been so blunt with me. Ever. It does my head in, giving me no place to hide.
“All I’m asking is for the truth,” he says, his big, strong body rock solid in his chair.
Licking my lips, I try to breathe. Truth? I can do truth. It’s not so hard. Right?
“Yes.”
One of his dark brows rises. “Yes to what?”
If I have to elaborate, I might expire on the spot. “Does it matter when the answer is yes?”
He smiles, and it’s like the dawn cresting over the sea. “When it comes to you, Fiona, the answer always matters. But I’ll take that as a yes to all of the above.”
The chair scrapes as he rises, and my heart threatens to pound right out of my chest. But he doesn’t approach me. No, the smug bastard just finishes off his coffee in one gulp and puts the mug in the dishwasher.
He glances at me over his shoulder before he goes. “Can you be ready in an hour?”
“Hello? What about everything that I said?”
He doesn’t blink. “Those are all fears. I respect that. But let’s take things as they come and see what happens. Okay?”
“Okay.” That’s all I manage. This guy makes my head spin. He’s just so reasonable. I don’t have any defense against it. Against him and his damn sexy self. Damn it.
“Good.” He gives me that smile once again. “Dress warmly. It’s cold out today.”
“You’re kind of bossy,” I call after him. “You know that?”
He stops and looks back at me. “Apparently only with you, Cherry.”
I don’t say another word, just watch his tight ass move beneath his jeans as he walks away.
“Well, fuck me,” I mutter. I’ve been played. Again.
* * *
Dex
It’s official: I’ve lost my fucking mind. After spending the night basically staring up at the ceiling, I’d decided to leave Fiona alone. Be polite. Retreat into my shell. A safe and solid plan.
One that crumbled like sun-dried turf the second I saw her sitting in the kitchen, the morning light glowing like a nimbus around her golden hair. She was so beautiful she made my heart hurt.
Sharing a cup of coffee with her, watching those lovely full lips of hers move as she made idle small talk with me was more than I could take.
I want Fiona.
Badly.
Enough to ignore certain fears and go after her. But I’m so out of my element that a tremor goes through my fingers as I run them through my hair and gather it up in a knot.
Frowning, I comb my beard and stare into the mirror. My beard is a part of me now. How everyone sees me. Hell, it’s why Fiona kissed me. And I have the urge to shave it off. Shave my hair off too. I honestly don’t even know what I’d see reflected back at me if I did.
The door opens, and Gray saunters in as if he owns the place. Which he does. But still.
“Knocking, Gray-Gray, is a valuable skill.”
“I’m too tired to knock.” He flops onto the armchair by the window and leans his head back with a groan.
“Shouldn’t you be satisfying your wife?”
“I satisfied the fuck out of her.” He drags a hand over his face. “And then she fell asleep.”
I snort, and he glares.
“Fell asleep on a wave of extreme post-coital bliss,” he assures before looking me over. “Going out, big guy?”
In truth, Gray is two inches taller than me. But he’s built for speed while I’m built for blocking, which means I carry more bulk muscle.
“I’m taking Fiona to the Japanese Garden.”
Silence follows.
“So…Fiona, huh?” Gray sounds thoughtful.
Setting my hands on the dresser, I brace for a fight. “I want her.”
More silence. I turn. He studies me with a blank look.
“Are you pissed?” I ask. I won’t blame him. Hell, I expect it.
“If you were Johnson? Or Thompson? Or Marshal? Or any of those sharks, I’d punch your throat. But you? You think I wouldn’t trust you with Fi? I’d take a bullet for you, man.”
Damn. My throat closes, and I have to clear it to talk. “You should get some sleep. You look like shit.”
He lets his head roll back on the chair. “What’s the point? Little Man will be up any second now.”
“I’m taking him with us,” I say, putting my wallet in my back pocket.
Gray makes a strangled noise. “Seriously?”
My lips twitch. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Uh, to hang out with us?”
“That. And you sounded like you could use a break. So here I am.”
“You came to help us out?” His voice is creaky, raw.
“I told you I know babies. So let me give you a break today.”
I swear Grayson goes weepy. He blinks rapidly before taking a breath. “I love you, man. I’m one step away from kissing you right now.”
“You keep saying that, but I’ve yet to see any follow-through.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “I love my kid. Like, seriously love him. But I confess, I’m dreaming of some sort of sleep drug for babies right about now.”
I reach for my boots. “He’ll figure the sleep thing out soon. Then you will too. Go on and get his things ready.”
Gray kind of falls-crawls out of the chair before righting. He really is dead on his feet. I feel for the guy.
He’s halfway out the door before he halts. “Dex, man…just…watch yourself with Fi.”
“You said you didn’t mind.”
“Not you.” He winces and pushes a fist against the doorframe. “She’s kind of capricious. And I’ve never seen you go after a girl, so…”
He doesn’t want me getting hurt. Well, I don’t either. But it’s a risk I’ll have to take. Besides… “I think there’s more solidity to Fi than you’re giving her credit for.”
He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t agree. Thankfully, an irate squawk sounds downstairs. Little Leo is awake. Gray inclines his head. “You sure about this?”
I know he’s asking about more than babysitting. And I should be thinking about my sanity. But I can only think of Fiona and how her lips explored mine. Best feeling ever.
“As I am of anything.”
Chapter Four
Fiona
“I wonder what it is that you’re thinking,” Dex says from his casual slouch on the bench across from me. He’s taken me to the Japanese Tea Garden, a place so utterly beautiful and tranquil I blinked back tears as soon as we’d entered.
Now we’re sitting in the Tea House, me at the railing, idly gazing at the glass-like reflecting pool that surrounds us, and Dex with sketch pad and pencil in hand. His expression is relaxed, a smile in his hazel eyes.
&n
bsp; I can’t help but smile back. “I was thinking you’re a brave man, Ethan Dexter.”
His chuckle is low and easy. “Now why would you say that?” He doesn’t look down at the tiny baby nestled in the carrier against his chest.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I drawl.
I admit, when he met me in the front hall earlier, carrying Leo in his car seat, I was shocked. I love my nephew. Fiercely. But I don’t know anything about babies. I’ve never done a babysitting gig, didn’t have friends who did. So the idea of taking care of Leo is daunting.
But Dex? I know he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t confident he could do the job. Not many men would be willing give up an afternoon to look after a one-month-old baby. It gave me the instant warm-fuzzies.
And my ovaries damn near burst into song when Dex pulled out one of those baby swaddlers and tucked my nephew into it to carry him against his massive chest.
I wasn’t the only one. We couldn’t go more than a few steps through the garden without some woman commenting, how sweet, oh, such a lovely baby! Such a dear man—that from an octogenarian who gave Dex a sly pat on his ass, causing him to blush beet red.
Now he’s sketching me as I drink my green tea and Leo snoozes on.
“I swear, you’ve got this whole seduction thing down pat,” I tell him, fighting the urge to fidget. I hadn’t realized he was drawing me until he’d already started. I feel exposed. Naked. And slightly turned on by the way his gorgeous eyes study every inch of me.
Dex’s lips twitch, but his pencil doesn’t stop making those little scratching noises across the pad. “Seduction thing?”
“You know, the baby, beautiful garden, drawing me. Are you going to pull out a guitar next and serenade me?”
He laughs at that. “No guitar. I may or may not have a harmonica in my pocket to use for later. But I prefer to keep you in suspense.”
“So you aren’t just happy to see me. Good to know.”
“Cute.”
“It was terrible and cheesy.” I lean forward. “Are you really drawing me? You aren’t, are you? There’s really just a stick figure giving me an obscene gesture on that page, isn’t there?”
His low bass rumble makes something in my lower belly just hum with pleasure. I love that I can make him laugh. I don’t think he does it often, so each time feels like a reward.
He turns the pad to show me his efforts. And my breath catches.
What he’s drawn isn’t sweet or sentimental. He’s done a close up of my face, my head tilted, my smile almost secretive.
He didn’t sugarcoat me. My chin-length blond hair shoots out in all directions. He’s drawn the small bump on the bridge of my nose—a female replica of my dad’s nose, unfortunately—and the tiny crescent-shaped scar on my jawline from when Ivy and I were jumping on my parents bed when we were eight and six, and I crashed into a dresser.
My attention goes back to my expression. It’s seductive and covetous, as if I’m hungry. Heat fills my cheeks. God, have I been looking at Dex like that?
I glance back at him. He’s patiently waiting.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little husky. “So you actually can draw.”
He runs a hand over his beard as he regards me, then flips the sketch book back onto his bent knee and starts up again. “I told you I could.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “Do you find it hard to trust men?”
“Do you often hide behind exposing other people’s insecurities?”
He freezes. A frown pulls at his mouth. I don’t want to look at his mouth. It gets to me every time.
For a moment we’re silent, and then Leo makes a small snirddling sound. Dex goes back to drawing. “Touché,” he says in a low voice, his body tense in his seat.
I take a sip of my now-cold tea. “I don’t trust men in general.”
His hand makes a short stroke across the page, but his shoulders visibly relax. “When I analyze others, I find it easier to figure out my own bullshit as well.”
“So you’re sitting there figuring out my weaknesses while simultaneously thinking about your own?”
“Something like that.”
Finishing my tea, I stand. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s walk.”
Chapter Five
Dex
What is it about Fiona Mackenzie that makes me say things I shouldn’t? Do things I wouldn’t? She sees right through me with her grass-green eyes.
Five-foot-three and the tiny terror intimidates the hell out of me. That it’s also a turn on is kind of disturbing.
We’re walking through maple trees, now scarlet and carnelian with their fall foliage. Fi’s head barely reaches my shoulder. I’m a giant next to her, my feet hitting the walkway with dull thuds. Against my chest, Leo snuggles, a warm but light weight. I rest a hand against his little butt as we walk over a footbridge.
“Why do you play football?” Fi asks, her voice soft in the quiet of the garden.
“The pain,” I answer without thinking, and then wince. Shit. Again, she has me confessing.
Her doe eyes peer up at me as her lips twist in a frown.
“Aggression, release,” I feel compelled to add, somehow struck with verbal diarrhea after one glance from Fi. “It’s a way to go outside of my usual self. To perform on a physical level.”
I hold a hand out to guide her over the stepping stones dotting a pond. She takes my hand—though I know she doesn’t need the help—and I don’t let it go once we’re back on the path.
“A center doesn’t just cover the quarterback and create lanes. A good one reads the game, what each player, both offensive and defensive, is planning. He anticipates, adapts, protects.”
“Perfect for you,” she murmurs.
New warmth floods my chest. “Yeah.”
Most girls I’ve been around are divided into two camps: those who want me because I’m a football player. I could be ugly as a mole and a total asshole, and they’d still want to fuck me. Then there are ones I’m interested in who, ironically, don’t get what I do and don’t really want to.
Amy was like that. A fellow fine arts major, I’d fallen hard for her during the beginning of my junior year. She hadn’t reciprocated. To her, I was a big oaf obsessed with a violent sport.
Fi has outright told me she doesn’t date athletes. But she’s here now. And she gets me. I like her. Always have. She’s honest in a way that’s never cruel, only pure and unfiltered. It’s so refreshing. I find I can truly breathe easy around her.
Her hand in mine is slim, the bones delicate and so easily breakable. I hold onto her carefully, let my thumb stroke her wrist. And though I’m the one stroking her, a shiver of awareness runs along my arm and straight down into my cock. Because I’m touching her. She’s letting me.
I want to run my fingers all over her small, curvy body. My gut tightens with that need, my heart pounding against my chest, because I’m royally fucked up. I don’t know what the fuck to do with women—I’ve avoided getting close to them for years.
Which flat-out sucks for me now.
Fi notices I’ve gone quiet, and glances up at me. “Get out of your head, Ethan.”
“I live there,” I say, trying for lightness. “Not that easy to escape.”
She gets me enough to understand that about me, but I’m happy she doesn’t know why I’m stuck in my head.
“Last night,” she says in a conversational tone, “I went to sleep wondering how your beard would feel between my legs.”
I stumble over a paver. The baby snorts, but I right quickly.
Fi isn’t even looking. She’s walking a few steps in front of me, her voice light and unaffected. “I wondered, would I feel its tickle if you sucked on my nipples?”
Heat floods my lungs. I can’t breathe. My cock is a throbbing shaft in my jeans. Maybe I make a sound because she turns, glances at me over her shoulder. Whatever she sees in my expression has her smile fading and pink washing over her cheeks.
Her steps slow, but mine don’t. I stalk
forward, keeping my eyes pinned to hers. Still flushing, she backs up. I think I grin. I’m not sure. My goal is clear.
I shepherd her toward the bench set beneath the curtain of a weeping willow. My hands easily span her waist, and it’s nothing to lift her up. She stands before me on the seat. Her breath comes in soft, audible pants, her pert breasts at my eye level.
She doesn’t say a word as my hand slips beneath her sweater. Satin-smooth skin greets my palm. I slide it up, over her flat belly, past her ribs—watching her eyes the whole time. I love the way those eyes grow wide, the shock and the heat that glow in them.
She doesn’t say a word when I run my fingers over the swell of her breast and catch hold of her lace bra, tugging it down. A small sound escapes her, though, as I slowly lift one side of her top.
“The baby—”
“Is asleep. Don’t wake him.” I’m so close that I can see the flutter of her pulse against her neck. Her warm scent floods my nostrils, woman and sweet, green tea.
The soft cashmere slips over her breast, freeing it with a little bounce, and my dick surges against my jeans. I swallow a groan. God, she’s beautiful. Creamy, firm flesh, a rosy-brown nipple the size of a quarter.
“Hold your top.” My voice sounds guttural.
But she does what I demand, her breast shaking a little with each quick breath.
My hand shakes too as I cup her warm skin, plump her sweet tit for the taking. Then I kiss her nipple, grazing the tip, tickling it with my lips and beard.
“Ethan…” Her hand lands on my shoulder, holding tight.
I’m so hot, my skin burns. I kiss her breast like I would her mouth, licking and sucking, nipping the stiff bud, brushing my lips over it. And do it all over again. I get lost in the act, fucking worshiping her breast the way it ought to be.
Small, needy whimpers leave her mouth as she clutches my shoulders with both hands now, her sweater sliding a little and falling onto the bridge of my nose. I don’t care. I drag the flat of my tongue slowly over her nipple, savoring it, and she groans. Long and loud. The sound is a hard tug on my cock.
The Game Plan (Game On #3) Page 4