by Maggie Wells
A few minutes later, she’d washed her hands with the Midnight Magnolia–scented hand soap and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of style, wishing she had a tube of lip gloss at hand. Her lips were swollen from kissing and a bit chapped. She spotted patches of pink beard burn on her chin and cheeks, but she didn’t mind. Her eyes looked bright and shiny. Almost feverish. All these added up to proof that getting laid could do things for a girl a vibrator simply could not.
Taking a bracing breath, she spun away from the mirror before her attention strayed below the neck. No sense in undermining her self-confidence.
She reentered the great room to find Ty standing at the wet bar in almost the exact spot he stood the first time they kissed. Except now he was naked. Two tall glasses of water waited on the granite countertop. One with ice, one without. She offered a helpless shrug as she approached. “Sorry. Shy bladder.”
He gave her a nervous smile. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She nodded to the glasses. “One of those for me?”
Again, a flush darkened his cheeks. “I didn’t know if you liked ice or not.”
The small smile tugging at her lips stretched into a grin as she reached for the ice water. “I can take it any way you want to give it to me.”
“Stop.”
He practically growled the word at her as he took the other and began to drain the contents in big, noisy gulps. Millie paused midsip, then slowly lowered her glass as she watched his Adam’s apple bob. The skin below the line of his beard was smooth and tan. A deeper brown than his chest. Her gaze fell to the line of demarcation spanning his narrow hips and she swallowed hard. “You know, I’ve never thought about whether African Americans tan.”
His dark brows arched as he lowered the glass. “I don’t need to ask if you do. You’re the same shade all over.”
“Milkmaid Millie,” she said, saluting him with her glass. “Wasn’t easy being so pasty in the tanning bed era of the eighties, let me tell you, but Halloween costumes were a breeze.”
“You’re beautiful.”
The cubes in her glass clinked as she took another sip. “You’re blinded by the white. Blink a few times.”
“Millie.”
With a single word, he sliced right through the smokescreen she was trying to set up. But she wasn’t subject to his intuitive skills. She had to give in to the pull. Placing the glass on the counter, she tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “Tyrell.”
He smiled. “What would you like for dinner?”
The question gave her pause. He sounded so easy, but the question was more complicated than he could imagine. Asking what was for dinner was a couple question. Almost homey. Hell, the guy was barely back in town, the ink still wet on his divorce decree, and he was acting like the two of them hanging around in his house—naked—discussing their next meal was an everyday thing. And it wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Not forever. This was some kind of fantasy land. Not the X-rated kind but more like the two of them were operating on separate levels. A parallel universe.
Pushing away from the bar, she tossed a throwaway smile in his direction and headed for the stairs. “You’re sweet, but I have a Lean Cuisine and a ton of work to do tonight.”
Her foot had barely touched the bottom step when he caught up to her. “Wow. Well, I can see how it would be hard for a guy to compete, but…come on, Millie. Why are you jerking my chain?”
She froze, her hand wrapped tightly around the polished wood banister. She couldn’t stand being accused of emotional gamesmanship. She might spin things in her professional life, but in her personal relationships, she made it her policy to be strictly forthcoming. Pivoting to look directly at him, she drew a calming breath. She told herself going off on him wouldn’t be fair. Ty didn’t know any better. But now the time had come to lay out the ground rules.
“I think we need to talk.”
He didn’t move or even flinch. The tension stretched between them to the point where the silence was almost funny, given the fact that they were both completely naked. Almost but not quite. “I guess I should tell you right up front I’m probably one of the few guys in the world who isn’t terrified by that sentence.”
“And I think I should tell you I won’t be bullied into having a relationship with you.” She tried to soften the statement with a smile, but the shock on his face told her she missed the mark. Still, she had a point to make, whether he liked what she had to say or not. “I get really touchy when people make presumptions on my time.”
His eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware you felt you were being bullied. I apologize.” He inclined his head in a sort of old-fashioned show of deference. A lump rose in her throat, and her chest ached. He gestured to the stairs. “If you aren’t interested in having dinner with me, then we’ll get dressed, and I’ll drop you at home.”
Her grip on the rail tightened. So did the knot in her stomach. Deep down inside, she didn’t want to go home to a frozen dinner and her laptop. She wanted him to ask. Nicely. Ask her out like a real date, not pick her up at a bar, take her home, and make her see stars. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to,” she pointed out.
“Wanted to?” He looked truly perplexed, then completely panicked. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to what?”
Millie saw the flash of horror in his eyes and raised her hand to his cheek. “No, not that. I fully consented to the sex, Ty. What I’m saying is, you didn’t ask if I wanted to have dinner with you.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked with cautious precision.
She leaned in and caught his mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. His eyes were hooded as she pulled back, but the embers in them flared. “Yes to the food,” she said, nipping any other ideas he might have in the bud. Taking his hand, she curled her arm until their clasped palms rested square in the small of her back. “Funny. Suddenly, I have the worst craving for Thai…Ty.”
Chapter 11
Ty made a point of focusing on the wineglass he’d placed on the countertop in front of her. If his gaze strayed a few inches down, he’d get an eyeful of long, lean thigh. If he looked up, he’d start obsessing about how few buttons Millie closed on the shirt she’d commandeered from his closet. She’d picked a bottle of white from the cooler built into the bar setup. Ty wasn’t a big fan of sweet wines, but Millie insisted the Riesling would be the perfect complement to the spicy duck and shrimp pad Thai they’d ordered, and he wasn’t about to argue with her. The woman had one toe on the starting line, and she was waiting for him to slip up so she could beat a path on out the door.
He filled another glass for himself, then toasted her. “To ground rules.”
Millie looked up from the array of cartons she was opening. Her eyes widened with appreciation, then narrowed as she wound her fingers around the stem of her own glass. “You’re awfully gung ho about these rules.” She touched her glass to his, then quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know you’ll like them?”
He fell back against the opposite counter as she dished up their dinner. Squelching the urge to yelp when the cool granite made contact with the bare skin above his waistband, he crossed one leg over the other and drank in the details of her. Smiling into his glass, he took the obligatory sip to seal the toast. “I don’t have to like a rule to play by it.”
He’d already proven his willingness to adapt, so Millie suggested they shower while they waited for supper. Unfortunately, she also insisted they do so separately for the sake of expedience. A waste of time and water, as far as he was concerned, but she obviously wanted a little space, and he wasn’t about to push her.
Looking at her now, he was glad she’d suggested the short hiatus. The breather had allowed him time to gather his wits before facing her again. Good thing, because she looked so damn good he was about to take a bite out of her. Her skin was rosy. He caught a whiff of his soap on her skin each time she moved.
Her hair was damp. Dime-sized splotches darkened the fabric where water had dripped on her shoulders, and one intrepid streak pointed the way to the crest of her right breast. Lucky drop.
Of course, all he could do the whole time he was in the guest bath was picture her in his shower, her hands splayed on the tile wall as water spewed from the multiple jets to rush over her slender curves. He could picture her nipples—red, ripe, and hard as cherry pits. Soap suds running down the shallow valley between her breasts and tangling in the tight curls between her legs. Yeah. He spent a fast three minutes under a cool spray getting the cleanup job done as fast as he possibly could without resorting to jacking off.
Now, he was scrubbed up and partially clad in a pair of sweats, but his thoughts were anything but clean. He wanted to get whatever was bothering her out in the open so he could take her back to his room and mess her up again as soon as possible.
“I think the occasional hand check is an important part of any effective defense,” he said. “No one wants to play zone all the time.”
Millie smirked and pushed an empty plate across to him. “I’m not your mama. You know what that means?” She didn’t bother giving him a chance to answer. “Two things. I don’t have to fill your plate, and I don’t have to pretend I know what your sports talk means.”
Ty laughed and pushed away from the counter with his hips. “If you’re not my mama, why do I have to call you ma’am?”
She grinned as she twirled a fork in a bed of noodles. “Because I like when you do. Makes me feel extra naughty, and you like when I feel extra naughty, don’t you?”
Setting his glass aside, he set to the task of filling his plate with singular efficiency. “Yes, ma’am.”
He felt her eyes on him but studiously avoided looking up. She was the one who wanted to talk. If Ty knew one thing, it was strategy. No point in initiating a conversation that wasn’t going to give him the result he wanted, so he hung back. He was okay with waiting her out. He hadn’t expected to get everything he wanted from Millie right away. He’d woo her with plenty of sex and wine over the stretch of a few weeks, months, or even years if time was the deciding factor. He’d always been good at working the game clock.
Millie shoveled the tightly wound forkful into her mouth and chewed, a tiny frown appearing between her brows. “This can’t be a relationship.”
Picking up his plate, he fell back against the counter once more, needing the time and distance to put the lid on the slow simmer starting to bubble inside him. “I thought it already was.”
“Not a relationship relationship,” she said, as if repeating the word clarified everything.
“Okay.” He drew the word out, but he figured he was entitled to a little dramatic effect if she was going to be issuing proclamations. “Let me ask this… Why not? I have no morals clause like Danny’s in my contract, and even if I did, we both know ways around those pesky clauses.”
The reference to the morals clause that gave the football coach such a hard time in establishing his relationship with Kate Snyder made Millie stiffen. Kate and Danny had circumvented disaster with a marriage license and a quick trip to the courthouse. The abject horror in her expression told him Millie wasn’t itching to be a loophole bride.
“Not even up for discussion,” she said dismissively, but her posture remained stiff.
“I’m involved too, and I say we open the debate.” Impervious to her glare, Ty plowed ahead. “Why can’t this be a relationship?”
Millie stopped, the tines of her fork buried in the pile of noodles but unmoving. At last, she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Because I don’t want one.”
Her bluntness shouldn’t have shocked him, but it did. Her answer landed like an elbow to the solar plexus, but he’d been a pro for too long to let any sign of weakness show. He nodded as he processed her declaration. “Okay.”
“But we can have sex.”
Boy, she was quick to toss sex out as a consolation prize. Needing to buy some time, he fished a shrimp out of the mountain of food he’d dumped on the plate and popped the morsel into his mouth. Shifting the spicy tidbit around as he chewed, he nodded as if he understood. Which he didn’t. What kind of person wanted to hook up with someone for sex but nothing more?
Then it hit him.
Men.
Righteous indignation and shame weren’t the best chasers for overspiced shellfish, but he swallowed them along with the shrimp. If Millie’s militant friend Avery were privy to his inner thoughts, she’d be doing a feminazi goose step all over him. And he’d deserve every bruise. If not for the initial reaction, then for using the term feminazi.
He hated knee-jerk labels. His whole life, he’d had to fight his own battles with people who wanted to put him in a box. Now, he was doing the same damn thing. If Millie wanted their relationship to be purely physical, she had every right to say so. Just as he had dozens of times through his twenty and thirties. And he had the right to say no. As if he would. “You’re saying you only wanna have sex?” The question was out, his tone a bit too incredulous. “No strings attached?”
Millie’s pointed stare was loaded with challenge. “If having sex is okay with you.”
Her manner was so patronizing he had to set his plate on the counter before he smashed the ceramic to bits on the tile floor he’d so painstakingly chosen. When he didn’t answer, she flashed a patently insincere smile. This was a woman who dealt with the media sharks on a daily basis. She wasn’t going to be bullied into anything, but neither was he.
As expected, she didn’t back down. “I don’t want you to feel used or anything.”
There was nothing he could do. He knew he was at her mercy. She did too. If he objected, he’d not only look like a big, fat jerk, but he’d also be denying them both what they desperately wanted. And maybe if he agreed, he might be able to win her over.
“Oh no. Feel free.” Holding his hands out like some kind of religious martyr, he tried to play the whole thing off with a shrug. “Use as much as you want.”
She smirked at him, but it softened into a smile. “Of course, there are strings. We’re friends. Colleagues. We’ll have to set some boundaries for work and stuff, but we can figure those out.” She glanced down at her own plate. “I don’t want any unrealistic expectations popping up,” she said, attacking her food with renewed vigor. “We’re having fun, enjoying each other’s company—”
“And the sex.”
Ty cringed and wished the words back with all his might. Something about being this close to this particular woman robbed him of any control over his tongue. Ironic, considering she was the one person he trusted implicitly to help him find the right words. Being near her was enough to fill him with an overwhelming urge to claim the title of biggest, neediest moron who ever threw himself at a woman’s feet. Hell, he hadn’t even made this big of an ass of himself with Mari.
Cool as a cucumber, Millie sucked up the ends of her noodles, then wiped the corner of her mouth with her pinkie. “Yes, the sex. We like the sex.”
He saw no reason to argue the statement, so he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, we do.”
“I like it a lot.” She speared some duck with her fork, then shoved it in her mouth. He couldn’t help but stare as she chewed. She swallowed the bite, and he jerked his attention away from her lips. Millie was watching him, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Wanna have some more, or are we done for the night?”
“Oh, I wanna have more.”
She nodded. “Good. I thought so, but I wanted to be sure we were on the same page.”
“Yeah, we’re on the same page.”
Her smile blossomed into the real deal, and suddenly the thought of dropping to his knees in front of her didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Still, if they were going to play this game, he wanted to know all the rules.
“Where do we fall on sleeping together?
”
She snickered but avoided his gaze. “I thought we covered that. Weren’t you paying attention?”
Her evasion told him she was torn on the topic. The realization pleased him. He had some leverage after all. He could fall back a little and let her come at him. “I wasn’t speaking euphemistically.”
“Ooh, using the vocabulary words, are we?”
All thought of dinner abandoned, he crossed his arms over his chest, hoping he struck a pose of casual nonchalance. “I can drive you home after, if you want, but I’d like to know up front so I don’t get too comfortable.”
“And here I was thinking about what remarkable powers of recovery you seem to have.”
“Stamina too,” he said without missing a beat. “If you decide to stay the night, I’ll prove how remarkable my powers are.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt them or you.”
He watched carefully as she pushed the food around on her plate. The conversation seemed to have robbed her of her appetite. But then, Millie looked up, and the heated hunger he saw in her eyes forced him to amend the thought. She’d lost any appetite for food, but she was still interested in him. Thank God.
“Why don’t we plan on you taking me home tonight? I don’t have a change of clothes with me, and I prefer to avoid doing the walk of shame.” She wrinkled her nose, then flashed a weak smile as she set her plate aside. “The dean of the English department lives next door, and that old fart gossips more than my great-aunt Maude.”
Skirting the edge of the island, he kept his gaze locked on her. “Do you really have a great-aunt Maude?”
She bobbed her head. “Yep. She’s ninety-four, has three boyfriends, and cheats at canasta.”
He stepped within reach, hooked a hand around her waist, and pulled her up against him. “So you’re a chip off the old block.”
She swatted his chest. “Don’t let her hear you call her old.”
She smiled down at the hand resting on his arm. The inexplicable urge to make her swat him again swept over him with such ferocity he almost laughed out loud. It was a feeble move unworthy of the hellcat in his arms, and he loved it. His smile was irrepressible.