by Maggie Wells
“Hi.” The word came out in a mortifyingly girlish whisper, but she had no way to take it back and reissue the greeting in a more controlled tone.
“Hello.” As if to punctuate the greeting, he dropped a bundle of papers creased in a loose trifold onto the table.
Ears burning, she spared the papers a sidelong glance. “What are those?”
“My divorce papers.”
She looked up at him. “Why are you here?”
“Danny said there was a meeting of the minds at Calhoun’s this evening, and he wasn’t sure when you’d be done. I couldn’t wait any longer.” He held out his hand palm up. “I’ve come to take you home.”
“Oh, Firth me, he’s good,” Avery whispered.
“Mm-hmm.” Kate jabbed an elbow straight into Millie’s ribs. “See you later, Mil. Nice to have you home, Ty.”
“Ladies.” Ty inclined his head slightly, then lifted his brow as he darted a meaningful glance at his proffered hand. “Ms. Jensen?”
Millie stared down at his hand, fascinated by the map of dark creases webbing his palm. She’d been to a bridal shower one time where the bride insisted they all have their palms read. She’d thought palmistry was a bunch of hooey then, but now she wished she’d paid more attention. Life, heart, and head lines. She knew that was what they called them, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember which was which. May have been something about fate too, but Millie didn’t put a lot of stock in destiny. People make their own luck, either by seizing opportunity or by chasing after their goals. Ty’s fingers twitched, then started to curl in, a clear signal her chance was slipping away.
Sliding her fingers into his broad, strong palm, she slid from the stool. She covered her wobbly knees by stooping to scoop her leather tote from the floor, then swept the bundle of legal papers into the bag. “Been a treat, girls, but Coach Ransom and I have a few things to talk about.”
She kissed them each on the cheek, closing her eyes in silent appreciation when Avery gave her arm a gentle squeeze to buck her up. “Make him grovel. At least a little,” Avery whispered in her ear.
Millie laughed and cast Ty a pointed look as she followed him toward the door. “Oh, I plan to make him grovel…a lot.”
Chapter 8
They exchanged no greetings. No “Hey, how’s it going?” No air kiss. Not even a nice professional handshake. With her hand tucked firmly in his warm, strong grasp, they came close on the last one. But she felt nothing businesslike in the way he wove his fingers through hers and held on. She followed him through the murky bar. The crowd had thickened in the time since she’d camped out at their regular table. When they didn’t have serious matters to discuss, Millie, Kate, and Avery usually indulged in one round of drinks, then skedaddled before the students started to take over the bar. But given the angle their conversation had taken, this evening was proving to be anything but the usual.
Millie tried to keep up as they plunged into the knot of patrons near the door. A muscle-bound bouncer in a snug Calhoun’s T-shirt checked IDs. He hadn’t been at his post when she came in, but Millie chose to believe he would have carded her too. Young men liked to flirt with her, and she saw no reason not to encourage them.
Ty zigged, then zagged. Her tote bag hit a guy in an oversized rugby shirt and sagging jeans right in the solar plexus. “Hey, watch out, lady,” the kid groused.
Embarrassed, she ducked her head and mumbled an apology she didn’t really mean. If she’d known he was going to call her “lady” in front of God and everyone, she would have whacked him with the bag on purpose.
The bouncer smiled broadly as she passed. He dropped a wink, and her confidence shot straight through the stratosphere. Ty was here. He came for her. She didn’t care what pimply-faced little shits in ill-fitting clothes thought of her. The cute bouncer would have checked her age and maybe even checked her out. She was viable, damn it. Hell, she was beyond viable. She was vital!
Before she could finish her internal pep talk, Ty threw open the exterior door and pulled her out into the balmy, late-summer evening. The sun sank steadily closer to the tree line to the west, but the glowing orb wasn’t going down without a fight. Hazy rays of golden sunlight bathed the trees and student rental homes lining the street. To their right lay the campus quadrangle, with its brick walkways, manicured flower beds, and centerpiece fountain. If they went left, she’d be only seven blocks from home.
But Ty kept moving straight ahead.
Twisting his large frame, he sidestepped between the bumpers of parked cars. Millie tried to haul the straps of her bag up to her shoulder as she trotted to keep up. “Where are we going?”
A sharp chirp and flashing lights drew her attention to a low-slung luxury sedan parked on the opposite curb. She let out an appreciative whistle as he led her directly to the passenger door. “How’d you score front-row parking?”
Ty opened the door wide and gestured for her to take a seat. “Convinced a kid in a jacked-up four-by-four the walk would do him good.”
Millie laughed as she pictured innately elegant Ty Ransom negotiating with the local rednecks. Taking her time, she tossed her tote over the seat, then lowered herself onto the creamy glove leather, swinging her legs in last, like some kind of Hollywood film star. “Did you now?”
“I might have thrown in an invite to sit courtside at the Green-Gold scrimmage next week,” he admitted, then let the door swing shut.
By the time he reached the driver’s side, she’d composed herself enough to start putting a bit of her own spin on the situation. He dropped into the seat with a low groan, then leaned back to maneuver his long legs into the cabin. Fascinated, she watched him unfurl. “Why don’t you have the driver’s seat removed? You could be an actual back-seat driver.”
He slanted her a pained look. “But the rear seat isn’t heated and cooled.”
She smiled, tickled by his practical, if a bit spoiled, rationale. “Oh, well, butt warmers make all the difference.” Millie found herself feeling a bit miffed when he twisted the key in the ignition without saying another word. Or giving her a kiss hello. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked as he began to work the car out of the tight parking space.
Without taking his eyes off the mirrors, he asked, “Is your car parked nearby?”
She blinked. “No. I walk to work if it’s not raining.”
When he was satisfied with the angle, he peeled out of the spot. “Good.” He hit her with another one of those skimming glances that took in everything. “You walk in those shoes?”
Millie looked down at the high-heeled gladiator sandals strapped onto her feet. “I’ve been known to,” she said, tipping her chin up with feminine pride.
“You really are an iron woman.”
A blush flooded her skin with heat. She couldn’t help but revel in his admiration. But she wouldn’t give in to his silent treatment and caveman tactics because he knew exactly how to compliment her.
“Actually, I’ve never done a triathlon. I prefer to do my swimming in cement ponds. Preferably on a raft. With an umbrella drink close at hand,” she added with a sniff. She didn’t tell him she carried a pair of running shoes in her bag at all times.
After all, who was she to shatter his illusions?
She scanned the houses and apartments surrounding the campus dispassionately, all the while trying to get a handle on her erratic heartbeat. She should have been lambasting him about the high-handed way he’d walked into the bar, stolen her away from her friends, then hauled her out of the place like she was some kind of wayward woman who needed to get her mind right. But much to her dismay, her feminist sensibilities were no match for a passel of frustrated hormones.
This was probably the closest she would ever come to an honest-to-goodness An Officer and a Gentleman moment, and if she didn’t get a grip on herself, she might swoon. She mustered up a few scraps o
f indignation by the time he slowed for the stoplight at University Street. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to come with you.”
Ty tensed, then flexed his jaw. He didn’t look at her. Not even a peek. Instead, he wound those long fingers tighter around the steering wheel and stared at the signal suspended over the intersection. She could almost hear him willing the signal to change.
She looked up at the red light. The lens glowed bright and insistent. As if it were hung at this intersection for the express purpose of keeping them from taking a step they couldn’t take back. Pursing her lips, she glowered back at the light. “I do, of course. But it’s polite to ask.”
He loosened his grip on the wheel, and the skin over his knuckles creased once more. She stared at his hands, fascinated. His blood was as red as hers, but instead of flushing a mottled pink, his skin glowed soft and tawny in the pastel-painted twilight. Wasn’t that just like a man? Not only did the jerk earn a full one hundred pennies on the dollar, but he also scored mile-long eyelashes that curled up at the tips and somehow managed to score the best possible lighting, even when sulking.
It wasn’t fair. She’d worked a full day in the office, coached a couple of Danny’s football players on how to speak in complete sentences when talking to the press, and put the finishing touches on the alumni meet-and-greet set to follow Ty’s precious Green-Gold scrimmage. Her mascara had flaked off by midmorning thanks to a rebellious contact lens, she’d trickled salsa on her top at lunch, and her feet ached more than she would ever admit to any man wearing faded jeans and what appeared to be well-loved sneakers.
The light switched to green, but Ty didn’t step on the gas. No, Mr. Clock Management decided to take the opportunity to check in with her on her wishes. “Would you like me to drop you off at your place?”
“No, you idiot,” she snapped.
One corner of his mouth ticked up, and his size sixteen landed hard on the pedal. The car lurched forward, tires squealing so sharply, a driver in the opposite lane honked in annoyance. “My place it is.”
Her smile spread, slow and knowing. “Missed me?”
“I’m done talking.”
The pronouncement made her laugh. Twisting in her seat, she faced him. “Done talking? We haven’t talked for almost two weeks.”
He tightened his grip on the wheel again. “I told you why.”
“And you get to call all the plays?” Shifting to face forward, she pooched her lips as she stared through the windshield. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or pissed. In the end, pleased won out. By a hair. “The only reason I’m going along with this is I’m a little het up and I think it’s time you put out.”
He drove fast and sure. She let her gaze travel down to the pulse throbbing in his throat. The telltale thrum beneath smooth, brown skin was too delicious to resist. She’d taste him soon. Rev his engine and wind him up. She’d been primed since the night they first kissed. Aching to put the pedal to the metal on this relationship. Now, she was ready for the rush.
Ty reached up and pressed a button on a control panel above the rearview mirror, then he hooked a sharp left into a wide drive paved in sand-colored stone. Ahead, one of the doors on a three-bay garage slid up into the rafters. She barely had time to note the sleek, black motorcycle parked in the center stall of the showroom-like interior before Ty killed the engine. In one smooth move, he pulled the key from the ignition and threw open his door. “Stay put.”
The command jumped all over her last nerve. Fed up with being bossed, she looped her arm through the straps of her bag and reached for the handle. The second her fingertips grazed the lever, the door swung open wide. She looked down to see his gunboat feet planted in a wide stance and an open palm hovering mere inches from her face. She wanted to slap his hand away, but she saw something so vulnerable in the gesture.
He wasn’t simply offering to help her from the car. It was a request. A silent plea for her to take this step. This was more than a red-hot rendezvous. Ty was asking her to pick him.
She took his hand on pure instinct, not caring about what he might think her acquiescence meant or, for that matter, what she wanted in terms of their future. They only had now. This night. Her long-delayed, built-up-in-high-definition dreams seemed paler. Here was an opportunity to take what she wanted.
And she was certainly not a woman to let opportunity pass her by.
Two mildly grimy concrete stairs led from the garage to the door of the house. Millie chuckled under her breath as she mentally compared them to the intricately laid flagstone patio and the dressed-to-impress front entrance. These steps showed signs of life. They were a part of a home. Ty’s home.
She followed him down a short corridor and into the great room, where she’d found him wallowing that fateful night. Until then, she never registered the fact that this architecturally homogenized monstrosity was actually Ty’s place and not just another overpriced accessory chosen by his wife.
Ex-wife, she corrected herself quickly.
Here, all the things he’d comically complained about in his Reno rental would be a nonissue. He’d fit in the bed. With room to spare, if he hadn’t been exaggerating. Thanks to the vaulted ceilings, Ty didn’t have to worry about hitting his head on a ceiling fan or light fixture. A sad smile curved her lips as she recalled the creative cursing he employed on such occasions.
All thoughts of interior design fled when he took a sharp right into what had to be the master suite. Here, the miles of beige blandness were broken up with shades of chocolate-brown and deep ocean-blue. The room itself was enormous. Panes of tinted glass extended the wall of glass from the great room to the roofline. Streamlined lamps graced a set of cherrywood nightstands. He flipped a switch, and circles of mellow gold gilded the dust-sheened tables. One stood empty. The other was cluttered. Peering around his arm, she eyed the detritus. A couple of hardback books anchored a spiral-bound notebook like the students used. She liked the stylistic analog clock. He kept his charger cords coiled in neat loops. She noted a tube of lip balm and a pair of rectangular reading glasses nudged up against the lamp.
“I, uh…” He made a helpless motion toward the bedside table. “I came straight to campus.”
His eagerness pleased her. Stepping into his space, she pressed against his arm and craned her neck to look up at him. “Do not pass ‘Go,’ do not dust the bedroom?”
He wound his arms around her and pulled her closer still, fitting her to his long, lean frame like they were pieces of a puzzle.
“Something like that.” He lowered his head and brushed the barest of kisses across her lips. “Do you mind, or should I go get one of those mop-cloth things from the kitchen?”
She smiled, tickled by his terminology. “I’m not afraid of a little dust, but I am a teensy bit worried about rust.”
His brow puckered. “Rust?”
She stared straight ahead, focusing on the tantalizingly smooth skin revealed by the open collar of his shirt. “Been a while since we talked. Even longer since you left me high and dry in a limo.”
He raised one perfectly shaped brow. “Dry?”
“Don’t even start with the innuendo.” A thirst for revenge gave her the leeway to indulge her impulses. She pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat. His skin was warm, his aftershave cool and citrusy. “You wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone.” She smiled when he swallowed hard. She was getting to him. Like his silent treatment got to her. “What were you so scared of, big guy?”
“You,” he said without hesitation or apology. “Besides, you were the one who started playing the not-talking game. I only saw it through to the end.”
Ty gripped her hips, his thumbs pressing into the dip of her pelvis to emphasize his point. He tipped his chin up even though she’d have to shimmy up him to risk bumping into his jaw. His luscious mouth curved into a smile. Amber eyes glimmered with deviltry. He was en
joying every second of this torture.
The sadist.
Millie opened her mouth to zing him, but once again, he was too fast for her. She yelped as those big hands clamped around her waist and her feet left the ground. Grabbing hold of his arms, she proved she wasn’t above copping a feel when his biceps bulged and flexed. She’d give herself points for holding her own later. When it came to putting a cocky man in his place, she might have come up a bit short, but she had an unerring sense of where to put her hands.
When they were finally face-to-face, she closed her eyes and leaned in for his kiss. A kiss that didn’t happen. Her eyes snapped open, and she pulled back as far as she could, desperate for some distance and the ability to actually focus on him. “What?”
His expression sobered. “I wasn’t kidding. You terrify me.”
“Well, if you don’t shut up and start kissing me in the next three seconds, I’m going to become your worst damn nightmare.”
In a flash, his pirate’s smile was back. She scarcely had time to draw her next breath before her back hit the mattress. A low, throaty moan escaped her when he covered her body with his. The laws of physics said she should have felt crushed or smothered by his weight, but those paltry theories didn’t hold up against the red-hot reality of him. Vertically, they were as mismatched as a gym sock and a thigh-high stocking. Horizontally, they were a perfect fit.
Ty peppered her face and throat with fervent kisses, letting her feel every ounce of his desire with each maddening little peck. He found the sensitive spot behind her ear, and she arched beneath him. “Kiss me,” she whispered urgently.
“I am.”
“My lips.” Cradling the curve of his skull in her palm, she tried to steer him back to her mouth, but the man had an agenda of his own. “Kiss me.”
“I can’t yet.” The ragged edge in his voice was supremely satisfying. He ran one of those big hands down her body, the spread of his fingers teasing her breasts and tickling her ribs. His fingers closed around the side zip of her skirt with an accuracy she might have found disturbing if she didn’t want him so badly. “You wanna know why I didn’t call?” His breathing was nearly as rough as his voice. “Because of your mouth.”