Shoving her feet into her flip-flops, she pulled the front door open and was startled to find Heath standing on the porch. Dressed in khakis and a Blaze golf shirt, his face sported a fresh hint of bronze as if he’d been outside all day, and his perpetually tousled hair stood on end, making him look rugged and sexy. In fact, the man she was picturing lying helpless in a coma looked quite healthy. And quite dangerous.
“Heath!” She nearly jumped into his arms before she thought better of it. “Are you alright?”
He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, giving her a peek at his stormy eyes. Merrit took a step back as he stalked across the threshold. “Hell, no, I’m not alright!”
“Oh” was all she could squeeze out of her panicked lungs as Heath backed her up against the foyer wall. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid for him. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Merrit reached up and laid her hand on the solid wall of his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her palm. He seemed to be breathing fine, also. The injury was to his brain, she reminded herself, and she risked a glance back into his eyes. Big mistake. Her insides nearly melted at what she saw reflected back at her.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, the low growl of his voice coursing along her skin. “What’s wrong? My golf game is all wrong! I can barely concentrate to hit the damn ball.” He reached a hand up and snaked it around her nape.
Merrit’s other hand found his chest as their bodies drew closer together. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Does your head hurt?”
“Oh yeah,” he said as his five-o’clock shadow brushed against the skin on her neck. Merrit felt it all the way to her toes. “Both of them,” he breathed out before taking her mouth in a searing kiss.
There was no point in resisting him. Her body had a will of its own when it came to Heath Gibson. And frankly, she didn’t have the stamina to fight it anymore. Once again, Heath kissed her as if he possessed her, which she probably should have objected to, but it felt much too nice.
“Jesus,” he mumbled against her hairline. “I can’t seem to concentrate on anything when you’re around. I can’t even play a decent round of golf, you’ve messed with my mind so much.”
Merrit dragged her lips along his ear. “Don’t blame it on me. The concussion messed up your head and your silly golf game.”
He teased the side of her mouth with his lips. “My golf game has been perfect since the hit. Today it was all you inside my head distracting me.”
She didn’t get a chance to argue. Heath’s mouth ate at hers as he dove in for another deep, drugging kiss that made Merrit’s own head spin. Clearly there was nothing wrong with Heath’s health, but instead of pulling away, she arched her body in farther, letting her tongue tangle with his as little sounds of need escaped the back of her throat. His free hand found its way to her hip and then her bottom, pulling her in closer to his hard body. Heath groaned at the contact, rousing Merrit. She broke their kiss before things got entirely out of hand.
“I can’t believe I fell for this again,” she said, banging her head back against the wall. She tried to put some much-needed distance between their bodies, but Heath had her pinned in. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain. It’s probably another ruse you use to get women.”
Anger flashed briefly in his eyes and his fingers gripped her waist more firmly. “Will you cut it out with that? Yeah, I have some lingering effects from a concussion, but I’m in no way impaired and I’ve already told you I don’t dupe women.”
Merrit struggled to force out words of protest as her throat constricted with fury.
“No!” Heath said before she could speak. “You said last night that you’ve changed in the past ten years. Well, maybe I have, too. I’m not that guy you think I am, Merrit. You need to give me a chance to prove it to you.”
She sagged against the wall as her mind warred with her body. The attraction between them had always been potent, but was it enough? Merrit desperately wanted to be able to trust Heath. She just didn’t know where to start. His fingers were massaging her hips, making coherent thought difficult, and she swallowed a groan.
“All I’m asking is that you hear me out.” His warm breath fanned her cheek and she felt her nipples grow painfully harder. “Just give me a chance. Give us a chance,” he whispered against her neck.
“Okay.” The word escaped her mouth as quickly and easily as the moans he elicited with his kisses. There was no real thought behind it, but she didn’t care anymore. Her heart was in tatters already and she wasn’t sure it could be repaired. The rest of her body might as well experience some joy at the hands of Heath Gibson.
Her fingers slid underneath his shirt to trace the smooth skin of his muscled abs. “What do you want, Heath?” The question was rhetorical; one arch of his hips and she knew exactly what he wanted.
“I want crabs.”
Six
Her fingers stilled on his body and Heath instantly regretted changing course. As much as he wanted to haul her off to bed and have his way with her, that clearly hadn’t been a useful tactic last night. They needed to talk, preferably without her naked body distracting him. Food worked almost as well as sex in Heath’s book.
“Crabs?” She looked delicious, all pink and flustered. Her lips were plump and dewy from where he’d kissed her. She’d pulled her hair back in a neat ponytail that swung provocatively when she moved. Baggy shorts and an oversized V-neck made her look young and adorable. The fact that he knew she was anything but when she shed her clothes was making him harder by the moment. He needed fresh air and food so he could regroup.
“Yeah, Maryland blue crabs, to be exact.”
Confusion warred with the passion in Merrit’s eyes as her lips tried to form words. She eyed him warily. “Are you alright?”
Why she’d suddenly become concerned about a concussion that had happened nine months ago, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. It was fighting a little dirty, but she’d fought dirty the night before when she’d thrown the list at him.
“You keep asking me that and I keep telling you, I’m fine. Just hungry, and that makes my head ache a little, so I want to take you to dinner.”
“So you want to pound a hammer to get something to eat? Won’t that make your head hurt more?”
It might have been a fumble on his part to use the headache ploy. But he did need to pound something. Golf certainly hadn’t worked. Instead of relaxing him, he’d played the worst game of his life, nearly tossing his three wood into the lake as DeShawn and Brody Janik laughed at his abysmal play. So much for earning the respect of the players he’d be coaching.
If he and Merrit were going to eat, he might as well take his frustration out on boiled shellfish. “All the more reason for you to come with me. In case something happens, you know, to my head.” Heath wiggled his fingers next to his ear in an effort to persuade her.
He wasn’t sure she’d bought his argument until her impish smile appeared out of nowhere, lighting up her face and doing strange things to his chest region.
“Sure,” she said. “Why not.”
One of the perks to being a professional athlete was that restaurateurs happily made room for them, even on a crowded Saturday night in the middle of the summer. They’d driven thirty minutes to picturesque Annapolis where Cantler’s Riverside Inn stood along Mill Creek. The hostess seated them at a table for two in the corner of the outdoor patio where crowds of customers crammed into the picnic tables, picking crabs with their hands. Heath had his back to them, affording him ample opportunity to gaze at Merrit as the boats bobbed up and down on the water behind her. She’d changed into a floral sundress, one of its thin straps constantly flopping down her bare shoulder as if trying to tempt him. Her glass of Chardonnay was nearly empty by the time the waitress set down a basket o
f steamed crabs on their table along with a plate of seasoned French fries and a roll of paper towels. Heath grabbed a crab with one hand and a wooden mallet with the other.
“It’s already dead,” Merrit said. “You don’t have to beat it senseless.”
Heath stared down at the claw he’d been mindlessly pulverizing. A clump of white meat stuck out from one of the cracks. Plucking it out with his fingers, he reached across the table and placed it in her mouth. Her lips closed around his fingers as she licked off the Old Bay clinging to his skin. A jolt of heat shot to his groin and he reached for the mallet again in frustration.
Crabs were a stupid idea. Just like golf had been. He didn’t want to hit anything. He just wanted to bury himself inside Merrit until he’d reached oblivion. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She’d done another complete one-eighty from their parting last evening with the mind-blowing kiss they’d shared back at her place earlier. Hell, she’d kissed him as if she wanted to crawl inside him. And he was more than willing to accommodate her. But he didn’t want to risk her tossing him out on his ass again. Tonight wasn’t just about reaching the end zone; he wanted to win the game. Heath wanted Merrit to believe in him.
“Heath.” Her hand caressed his larger one where it gripped the mallet. “Are you going to show me how to eat these? Or am I supposed to eat French fries for my dinner?”
Laying down the mallet, Heath reached for her hand. He gazed down at their intertwined fingers. How often over the past ten years had he dreamed of just having her hand cradled in his again? She squeezed his fingers and Heath felt his frustrations melt away. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.
“Are you ready to get messy, Merrit?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, seeming to contemplate all the implications of his question before giving her head a nod. Heath’s face ached from the force of the grin that broke out over it. Sliding his chair closer to hers, he pulled two crabs out of the basket.
“First,” he said, handing one to Merrit, “you twist off the legs, like this.” Heath demonstrated as she followed his instructions, stacking the crab legs into a neat pile. He showed her how to pull the claws off next, adding them to the pile. “Then you flip the body over and pull on this little tab here—it’s called the apron.”
Merrit was an adept pupil, sticking a knife under the apron and pulling the tab off the crab’s back, then jabbing her thumbs between the shell to pull it apart. Heath next showed her which parts to toss and which ones to eat.
“These are called the Dead Man’s fingers,” he said as he pulled the gills off the crab’s body and tossed them aside. “They’re the part you don’t want to eat. After that, you scoop out the goop in the center and discard it. Then you break the crab in half.” Heath cracked the body down the center with his fingers. “And that will expose the lump crab meat.”
A delighted smile formed on Merrit’s lips as she followed Heath’s directions and dug out a hunk of crab meat.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
Heath’s brain had trouble focusing as he watched her suck the seasoning off her own fingers this time. He mentally shook himself. “My dad was stationed at the Patuxent River Naval Air Station for a couple of years when I was in middle school. We used to get crabs a couple times each month during the summer.”
“Where are your parents now?” she asked as she gently hammered one of the claws.
He took a swallow of his beer. There’d never been an opportunity for Merrit to meet his parents and his younger sister. He’d met her after football season when there was no reason for his parents to visit South Bend. His family hadn’t been too fond of his ex-wife, apparently seeing her for the person she was while he’d been blindsided. Heath couldn’t help but think that they’d like Merrit.
“They live in Pensacola. My dad retired there a few years ago. It was nice being in the same state because my dad could fly his own plane down to Miami to catch our home games. The first couple years of my pro career, they were on Whidbey Island in Washington State and they rarely saw me play in person.”
“Do you miss playing?”
Heath tossed another crab onto the newspaper covering the table. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I won’t miss the grind of my body trying to recover each week.” What he didn’t say was that he wasn’t sure if he could stand on the sidelines and watch other guys do something he could no longer do. It was why he’d planned on going into broadcasting, a career that would put some distance between him and the actual playing field each week.
“I didn’t realize coaching was something you aspired to do,” she said, as if reading his mind.
Heath shrugged as he not-so-gently twisted the legs of the crab. “Sometimes in life you have to be adaptable. I learned that growing up military. The Blaze is a great organization and it’s really an honor to be a part of the team. My dad taught me to do the best job I can, whatever it is, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Merrit dragged a French fry through some ketchup before putting it in her mouth, making his package draw incredibly tight.
“What about you?” he asked, trying to distract his mind—and other parts of his body—from the erotic image of her eating. “You always wanted to be a teacher, but you’re a CPA instead. How’d that happen?”
She took a sip of her wine before grabbing for another crab. “My family. My father insisted that the firm was part of my legacy and if I wasn’t going to go into advertising, I at least needed to acquire a skill that would benefit the business.” Now it was her turn to vigorously pound the crab claw. “I got the last laugh, though. As soon as I got my accounting degree, I signed on to work with a major firm. Even though I didn’t get what I wanted, neither did my family.”
“But you’re successful. You’re a partner in your firm. Your family has to be proud of that.”
She gave a little snort of disgust. “My family is only proud if it benefits the Callahan Agency.”
Heath thought back to the way Blake Callahan had looked at his sister at the gala, his gaze filled with brotherly love and protectiveness. Both were easily recognizable. She’d always been a little prickly about her family hovering over her life, even when they were in college, but he had no doubt her family loved and adored her.
“Well, it’s not like you have to give up your dream of being a teacher. My mom made a great second career out of it after she had kids,” he said. “She’s the reason I always wanted to become a broadcaster. My mother passed on to me her love of writing.”
Merrit paused at picking the crab, her face looking as though she was having a revelation. “Yeah,” she said, sounding a bit out of breath. “I could do that. Someday.”
Apparently, the prick she’d been engaged to hadn’t ever suggested leaving the business world and teaching as an option. Likely the jerk wanted to toe the party line when it came to her family. Her lips twitched up at the corners as she went back to her crab. Suddenly, Heath pictured her in a sunny kitchen, books piled on the floor and children clamoring on her lap as she leafed through picture books with them. It’s the very scenario he’d pictured at least a hundred times when he was married, but somehow it never seemed right. Now he knew why. He’d been holding out for Merrit.
“What ever happened to your crazy roommate?” she asked as she resumed dismantling her crab.
They settled into an easy conversation about the people they’d known and places they frequented while in South Bend, and the years seemed to fall away as they finished their dinner. She hadn’t yet let him explain or forgiven him, but his temples no longer throbbed in frustration and he was optimistic that they were making headway to recapturing what they’d lost.
• • •
“I have a confession to make,” Merrit said as they walked from his car to her condo later that evening. Heath squeezed her hand where his fin
gers were threaded through hers.
“You didn’t want to go to a bar because you couldn’t wait to get me home so you could have your wild way with me,” he said.
She felt her skin flush and was thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t see how close he was to the truth. He’d suggested they grab a drink in one of the bars on Market Street in downtown Annapolis, but she’d declined, saying she worried the noise might be too much for his head. It had been a partial truth.
Sexual tension had been simmering between them all evening and Heath was right, she couldn’t wait to get home to pick up where they’d left off earlier. Her rational self was still sending up yellow flares of caution, but at the same time, she felt the anger and bitterness that had weighed her down for the past ten years fading away. And it felt good to finally be free of it.
“About the crabs,” she said, dodging his statement. “I didn’t really need your help before. I already knew how to pick crabs.”
He stopped in his tracks, pulling her to a halt beside him. The porch light illuminated his cocky grin as he wrapped his fingers around her ponytail and gently tilted her head back.
“And why would you do that, Merrit Callahan? If you wanted me to sit next to you, all you had to do was ask,” he whispered against her temple. Her knees went weak as his other hand cupped her bottom, pressing her against his already semi-aroused body.
“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to let you feel superior,” she teased. “To let you be in charge.”
His nostrils flared at the double entendre, his ragged breath fanning her cheeks as his lips hovered above hers. “Invite me inside, Merrit.”
It was the same command he’d issued last night, except this time she didn’t feel any of the trepidation and anger she had then. Just desire. Desire to feel the things that only Heath could make her feel.
A Numbers Game Page 5