Game for Marriage

by Karen Erickson

  “How old were you?”

  “How old was I what?”

  Tilting her head, she placed her mouth right at his ear, her soft, fragrant hair brushing against the side of his face. “When you lost your virginity?”

  “You don’t want to know.” And he didn’t want to admit it. Painfully young. He’d been a teen completely out of control and looking for attention any way he could get it, since his dad was always busy working. “How old were you?”

  “I asked first.”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “Fourteen.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Holy crap.”

  “What can I say? I had a dad who worked all day and lots of idle time on my hands.” Football and girls had been his extracurricular activities. Still were.

  Wait, asshole. You’re married now.

  “Oh.” She looked like she could almost feel sorry for him, which was ridiculous. “I was eighteen.”

  “A late bloomer?” He smiled, trying to tease.

  “Just smart enough to know I didn’t want to get knocked up by some jerkoff who’d leave me a teenage mom.” Sheridan sighed. “Sorry. I saw it happen too many times in high school.”

  He knew what she meant. He’d seen it happen as well. “I think you’re trying to distract me.”

  “From what?” She frowned.

  “Our challenge.” If she thought he’d forgotten, she was sadly mistaken. “I have you right where I want you, you know.”

  She arched a delicate brow. “In your lap?”

  “Yep. No one’s paying us any attention. They’re all engrossed in their own conversations.” Their entire table was deep in conversation. Other tables were being served their dinners already, which meant theirs was coming soon.

  Meaning Jared needed to work quickly.

  “Trust me, if it’s more of what you said earlier, you’re going to lose.”

  She said that with such confidence he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You have zero faith in me, don’t you?”

  “You can probably say just about anything to get a woman to fall into bed with you, but this is different. Not only do we have that agreement thing going on, but I’m not about to lose the bet we made.”

  Hmm. Neither was he.

  “Besides.” She sent him a beguiling look. “We have a contract, Jared. This is all for show, right? None of this is…real. I mean, if we were to do anything and you’ve already paid me, that makes me essentially a prostitute, right?”

  He felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over his head. Right. Just the reminder he needed. She didn’t believe in this marriage so neither should he, despite how much he secretly wanted to. Sheridan acted like she was his business partner, not his wife. “I…I can’t even believe you would ever think that about yourself. Forget it, the bet’s off.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

  “I shouldn’t have taken it this far,” he said grimly. He battered down the hope that rose within him at her reaction. “I’m not an asshole, Sheridan. I’m calling off the bet.”

  “But—”

  “Come on. There’s no need to pretend it’s anything other than what it is.” He smiled but it was halfhearted at best. He was suddenly so damn tired. “Can you stand up? I need to grab another beer.”

  She stood, backing away a couple of steps when he stood as well, his back to her as he glanced toward the bar. He saw his friend Nick sitting there, nursing a beer with a morose expression on his face, and he figured they could commiserate together.

  “The waiter’s coming with your dinner.”

  He turned to look at Sheridan. “Yeah?”

  “You’re going to come right back?”

  Jared shrugged. “I’m not that hungry after all. Sorry, babe. I’ll send your friend over to sit with you.” Without another word he took off, headed straight for the bar, catching Nick’s eye. He waved his near empty beer bottle at Jared.

  Perfect. If he couldn’t indulge with Sheridan then he would get drunk. Complain and strategize with Nick and plan out what they were going to do for the season.

  Torturing himself by hanging around Sheridan and playing the “we’re a loving couple” marriage game was driving him insane. He wanted her. He couldn’t have her. And they weren’t even a week in.

  It was going to be one hell of a long year.

  Chapter Nine

  Sheridan stared at the calendar on her phone, tapping her finger against the screen as she counted the days, though she already knew the number.

  A month she’d been married to Jared Quinn. Thirty-three days, to be exact. They’d hardly spent any time together, which really was just fine with her. Just. Fine. Him being busy at practice or away at games meant she had the amazing house with the equally amazing view all to herself for the most part. Oh, he came home, but it was usually late at night and then he slipped back out in the morning, headed to practice. Always leaving early so he could try and beat traffic, he claimed.

  Which was awesome. She could run down the hall naked if she wanted and no one would care.

  As Harvey promised, they’d launched a redesigned website for her studio and a virtual advertising campaign. Plus, there was the endless list of requests for various news media outlets wanting to interview her. Harvey picked and chose them, not wanting her to get in over her head, he warned. The media were like vultures, wanting to peck at any vulnerable spot she might have, ready to question her hurried relationship with Jared until they poked holes in her story.

  Harvey wasn’t about to risk it. None of them were.

  Fine. She didn’t want to deal with the media anyway. She was too busy at her studio. Her classes were now wait-listed and she was frantically scheduling in more where she could. Her prints were starting to move at her online store, as were her custom paintings and gifts. She was making major progress in a short amount of time, which absolutely thrilled her.

  So why wasn’t she feeling too thrilled now?

  Hmm, maybe because you’re sexually frustrated? And Jared is totally avoiding you?

  Funny how that bitchy little voice inside her head sounded just like Willow.

  Her husband was home, a rarity on a Friday morning. Though he actually wasn’t in the house at the moment. He’d escaped hours ago, before she’d even woken up, though she’d heard him rustling about. Had lain there in her bed in the guest room with the door cracked open, one eye cracked open as well, watching him move about the hallway.

  He’d appeared dressed and ready to exercise. Whether he went to a gym or was outside kicking his own ass, she hadn’t a clue. Told herself she didn’t really care, either.

  Really.

  She sighed, grabbed her cup of coffee, and sipped. Her husband ignored her. Avoided her. After that mishap at the restaurant, he’d gone to great lengths to keep a healthy amount of distance between them.

  Because really. Her husband was freaking Jared Quinn. She could be climbing all over that and claiming him as hers for approximately the next eleven months. Instead, she was either working her tail off or adding to her tail by cooking an inordinate amount of delicious goods in Jared’s amazing—and amazingly unused—kitchen.

  She dropped her head into her hands and groaned. That stupid stipulation. Her stupid, ridiculous heart and fear of getting hurt. For once, she wanted to throw all worries aside and go after what she really wanted. If he walked through that door at that very moment, she just might. She was fired up, turned on, frustrated, and on edge.

  Pushing him away had been the last thing she’d wanted to do. Spending that little amount of time with him had been…fun. Interesting. Arousing. He wasn’t just some puffed-up football player throwing around the charm to any woman within a one-inch vicinity.

  He’d been attentive. Sweet. And then she’d blown it by reminding him about the no-sex clause in the contract. He’d respected that, set her away from him, and seemingly wiped his hands clean of his foolish wife.

  But as she got to know him a little bit better, sh
e realized she actually liked him. He was funny, thoughtful. Sexy, and maddening as hell. Kind when he wanted to be, though that hadn’t been much lately.

  If she could hit rewind she so would, anything to get back to that point again. When they were in the limo together and he’d pulled her into his arms. Those firm yet soft lips pressed to hers, his tongue in her mouth, his big, warm hands on her backside…

  The front door slammed, making her jump, and she waited with breathless anticipation. Jared strode through the house, his breathing harsh, his body damp from the misty fog outside and…sweat. Sheridan watched him from her perch on the stool at the kitchen counter, eating him up with her gaze.

  He looked amazing. Navy blue skullcap on his head, wavy strands of wheat-colored hair sticking out from the bottom. A tight, long-sleeved blue T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and muscular chest, the rust-colored Hawks emblem emblazoned in the center. Black Nike shorts that hung almost to his knees, a bottle of water clutched in his hand, the epitome of the sexy athlete just finished with his morning workout.

  Leaning against the counter, he tilted his head back and drank, giving her an unabashed view of everything that was the glory of Mighty Jared Quinn, star quarterback. The way his throat moved as he drank, the delineated muscles pressing against the tight shirt, the bulge of his biceps…

  Sheridan swallowed hard. This being married to a sex god stuff was extremely difficult. Especially since she wanted her new husband so badly, but he barely paid any attention to her. He’d rather avoid her, which hurt more than she cared to admit.

  Sighing, she hung her head, staring at her empty plate. Instead of having wild monkey sex with Jared freaking Quinn she’d taken to baking—when she wasn’t painting. Eating that second blueberry muffin earlier might’ve been a bad idea. It felt like a lead weight in her stomach, especially when she looked at Jared, who was in peak physical condition, and she so wasn’t.

  “Good run?” She lifted her head just as his gaze zeroed in on her.

  “Yeah.” He set the metal water bottle on the counter with a soft clank. “I should take a shower.”

  The image of Jared standing beneath the hot, steamy spray, soaping up those gorgeous muscles while sliding his hands all over his body set her skin on fire. “Next time you run, let me know. I should go with you.”

  He cocked a brow. Sexy bastard. “You like to run?”

  “Not really.” Understatement. She hated it. “But I need to. I’ve eaten too many muffins lately.”

  “You look good to me.” He ran his gaze over her and she sat a little straighter. It was early in the morning and she wasn’t dressed yet, though she’d taken a shower last night. She wore one of the Hawks T-shirts Harvey had sent her after they first got married and a teeny pair of cotton shorts, with fuzzy white slippers on her feet.

  She looked ridiculous.

  “I appreciate the compliment but I think my butt is spreading.” She hopped off the barstool and craned her neck, checking out her backside. “I need to stop baking.”

  “I kinda like it.”

  Sheridan jerked her head in his direction so sharply she almost gave herself whiplash. “You like it?” He liked her backside? Finally. After that kiss in the limo, that night at the restaurant opening when he’d had his hands all over her, she’d thought he would make more moves. Until she said everything happening between them was fake and he’d leapt away from her like she was a contagious leper.

  He rarely touched her unless he had to for public appearances and those had been few and far between. A couple of requisite appearances at the home football games, though her sitting in the stands wasn’t quite the same as them having intimate one-on-one time together. Though it was pretty damn hot, watching him play. Seeing him move out on the field, commanding the game, hearing the fans cheer him on. Pride rippled through her every time she heard them shout his name.

  Funny how she’d seriously thought she’d prefer him leaving her alone. She’d quickly realized something. Once she’d been touched, kissed, caressed by Jared Quinn, there was no going back. She wanted more.

  Lots more.

  “Sure.” He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders. “My wife is a sweet little homemaker. Helps clean up the image even more, you know?”

  Her heart sank. Of course. All of it had to do with image and her looking like a nun, which in turn made him look like a saint. By the time their year contract was up she figured he’d appear so clean he’d squeak. He and Flynn Foley would be neck in neck on who would acquire their halo and angel’s wings first.

  “Right. Sheridan Quinn, the happy homemaker.” She grabbed her plate and coffee cup and shuffled to the sink, setting them inside. She’d wash dishes later.

  Looking at the leftover muffins sitting under a glass dome mere feet away from her, she contemplated having another one. Then imagined her butt spreading so wide Jared wouldn’t be able to cover it with both his hands—and those hands were ginormous. Enough was enough.

  “Want a muffin?” she asked, lifting the glass dome in offering.

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t.” Patted his flat and hard as a rock stomach. “Need to cut the junk when I’m in training.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to take a muffin in each hand and hurl them at him like grenades, watch with barely restrained glee as they bounced off his head. God, he drove her crazy. If he so much as touched her with the tip of his pinkie finger she would launch herself at him like a starved woman, she wanted him so badly.

  It wouldn’t be pretty. He’d probably freak out and think she’d gone insane. He might even go running from his house and never return.

  “I’ll throw them away then.” She plucked two fat, still warm blueberry muffins from the tray and headed toward the garbage can. Weariness settled over her as she pressed her foot on the pedal, the stainless steel lid opening.

  “You’re going to toss perfectly good food?” He sounded incredulous.

  “I shouldn’t eat them. You won’t eat them.” She was about to let the muffins slip from her fingers when he was right there, his hands beneath hers, the muffins falling into his open palms. “What are you doing?”

  He stood close. Detrimentally close. She could feel his body heat radiating toward her, the brush of his arm against hers, the scent of him like sweaty man in a forest. Her braless nipples tingled, hardened into tiny points beneath her oversized T-shirt, and she wondered if he would notice.

  “They’re still warm.” He lifted his lids, his searing blue gaze meeting hers for the briefest moment before it dropped to her chest.

  Yep. He noticed.

  “You want them?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “The muffins.” Oh, God, he probably thought she meant her breasts. This couldn’t get any more embarrassing. “Eat them now or I’m throwing them away.”

  As if in slow motion he set the muffins on the counter, then turned to face her. “This isn’t about muffins.”

  She pressed her lips together, afraid she might say something stupid. Like beg him to fuck her, because that was exactly what she wanted. Not sweet, slow making love or a frantic quickie.

  No, she wanted the hard, dominant man to press her into the mattress while he rammed himself inside her for hours. Wanted to feel his mouth slide all over her body before he licked her between her legs and made her come so hard she just might pass out. Wanted to hear him whisper in her ear all the dirty, wicked things he would do to her just before he sunk his fingers deep inside her welcoming, wet body…

  Guilt swamped her. She shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t do it, either. She’d included that damn no-sex clause specifically to prevent this sort of situation. Yet there she was, ready to risk it all and do the very thing she told herself she wouldn’t do during her marriage: have sex with her husband.

  But Jared was like a drug. An addiction she was too weak to fight. She was so tired of fighting…

  “Is something bothering you, Sheridan?” He watc
hed her like a hawk—ha ha, bad pun. That narrowed gaze settled on her face and he still hadn’t stepped back. Which was bad because she could feel him, smell him, practically taste him and if he didn’t watch it, he’d have some crazed woman—otherwise known as his wife—attacking him in the middle of the kitchen in the middle of the morning.

  “You’re bothering me.” She tried to shove past him but he grabbed hold of the crook of her arm at the last minute, halting her progress. His grip was firm, his fingers seemed to burn against her skin, and she whirled on him, her anger fueling her. “Let me go.”

  “No.” His thumb smoothed over her skin in the gentlest of caresses and her body reacted instantaneously, gooseflesh scattering.

  “Don’t get all bossy and Neanderthal on me now.” She jerked against his hold, which made him tighten his fingers around her arm even more. “Jared, I’m not in the mood.”

  “What exactly are you in the mood for?” He practically dared her. Did he realize it? That he was goading her on? Or was he completely clueless?

  She tilted her head back, contemplated kissing him but realized she’d have to throw herself at him to reach his lips. He appeared so imposing. Unyielding. So she’d do the next best thing. The thing she’d been dying to do for days. Weeks.

  Stepping into him, she tugged up his shirt with her free hand, revealing his gorgeously flat stomach, the path of golden brown hair that trailed from his navel past the waistband of his shorts.

  Releasing a stuttering breath, she drew her fingers across his flesh, pulling his shirt higher to reveal his chest. She leaned into him, and pressed a kiss there, right at the center of his heart. It beat frantically beneath her lingering lips, his musky, spicy scent intoxicating her. Arousing her. Tilting her head back, she met his gaze, saw all the dark, turbulent heat swirling in the depths of his eyes. “This,” she whispered.

  He didn’t so much as move a muscle and neither did she. The salty taste of him lingered on her tongue and she licked her lips, wanting more. So much more…

  “Sheridan.” His voice was an achy whisper. She saw it then. The lust flaring in his gaze, the want written all over his face, that she couldn’t mistake.