He watches me squirm, his eyes turning that stormy shade of blue they were that first night we were together, when he started undressing in front of me. Before I even know what he's doing, he flings back the covers, gets in beside me, and throws them over both of our heads. Now, we're alone in this cocoon of blankets and sheets and pillows, with only the faint rays of sunlight streaming through above our heads. He rests his forehead against mine, running his hand up and down the side of my body, pulling me flush against his chest.
Before I can even think about stopping him, he tosses my leg over his, and I whimper when I hit the hefty bulge in his jeans, right where I'm throbbing for him. It's almost too much, until he grips my naked thigh, pressing me even harder against him. I let out a gasp and feel myself soak right through the lace, unable to voice a coherent thought to tell him to stop. His fingernails dig into my skin, and he groans before sliding his hand down the back of my knee, opening me up even more to him.
I swivel my hips, my primal instincts taking over, and the thick denim is unforgiving against me. He's all in black from his jeans to the skintight tee he's wearing. There's even a smudge of motor oil on his cheek, which tells me he ran right up the stairs when he couldn't find me in any of the guest rooms, knowing I'd be up here, waiting for him.
But I didn't want him to find me. I wanted it to remain my little secret. But now, he's here, awakening my every need for him. I look into his eyes, which are burning with desire. He's clearly telling me that he wants this, but his hands aren't roaming any farther. Yet again, he's leaving it up to me.
Sensing my hesitation, he stops completely, gazing down at me. "What do you want?" he asks, running his thumb lightly over my lips. "Tell me," he pleads. "I'll give you whatever you want however you want it."
A shudder runs through me. No man has ever said that to me, and here's Drake Schultz, ready to satisfy my every fantasy, ready to make my daydream come to life.
He watches me intently, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I want nothing from you," I whisper. "Nothing at all."
He takes my face in his hand, lightly running his thumb across my cheekbone. "We'll take it slow," he whispers, his breath skimming my face.
I squirm against him, which only presses my cheek more firmly into the palm of his hand. He licks his lips while guiding his thumb over mine. He leans in, and I know what's about to happen when he tilts his head, nudging my nose with his.
"Don't…" I manage to utter before he moves in and captures my lips ever so gently.
Fireworks explode behind my eyes as a whole host of sensations flow through me. He tenderly opens my mouth, tasting me for the first time. He moans when our tongues meet. His hand moves into my hair, drawing me into him. My body is quick to respond, and I let go and lose myself in him. I raise my leg higher, wrapping it around his waist and digging my heel into the small of his back. He groans loudly into my mouth, turning me on even more.
When he starts to pull himself down on top of me, I finally find the strength to break the kiss. I push back on his shoulders, and he stares down at me, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are a thousand different shades of blue mixed with tiny flecks of green, and I've never seen anything more beautiful than the look he's giving me now, like he discovered nirvana in the midst of a life he thought was nothing more than a barren wasteland.
"Wow," he says, blinking his eyes like he can't believe what just happened.
It's scary to think that he's feeling so much. It's not good for him at this stage in his recovery. He's trying to find out what normal feels like, and incredible highs like this are bound to throw everything out of whack. He's looking for a new high to measure everything else from, and it scares me to think that I might be it.
I lay my hand on his arm, gripping his elbow, until he sits up and takes the covers along with him. When the cool air hits my face, my head starts to clear. I comb my hands through my hair, my emotions all over the map.
"It was just a kiss," he says, rubbing my back. "A fucking unbelievable kiss, but just a kiss." He spreads his fingers wide, tickling the hair at the nape of my neck. "Don't beat yourself up over it. It's only going to make things better. Make me better."
I soak in the honesty of his tone. I can tell when an addict's lying, and he's not lying. He means every single word.
So I blurt out the only excuse that comes to mind. "Drake…I have to search your room."
"You do whatever you have to do," he says languidly. "But you have nothing to fear. I flushed it all down the toilet before you got up."
My heart beats frantically. He was holding cocaine in his hands only a few short moments ago?
I stare at him warily. "You shouldn't have done that. You should have let me take care of it."
"It was something I needed to do." He exhales deeply. "I had to prove to myself that I was strong enough to resist it."
"Do you know what a dangerous position you just put yourself in?" I exclaim.
"But I passed the test." He smiles at me.
Apparently, he did. If he were high right now, he wouldn't be this relaxed. His nostrils aren't red. He's in control of himself. But it makes me shudder to think how close to catastrophe he nearly came.
"Promise me that, from now on, we can at least dispose of any illicit drugs together. Promise me you won't act on your own again." I glare at him, letting him know I'm not pleased with his reckless behavior.
"I promise," he whispers, leaning in to give me a quick peck on the lips, but I shift away from him and off the bed.
"I'm going to take a shower. And when I'm done, I'm still going to search this room."
My head is spinning over the roller coaster of emotions he's taken me on this morning. But I have to admit that I miss the warmth of his body as soon as I step out of his bed. I'm mad, worried, confused, but a tingle runs through me when he says, "I had all of your things brought over from the island this morning. I put them in the room you slept in last night. I wanted you to know just in case you needed anything."
When I don't respond, he watches me with a contented expression on his face as he places his hands behind his head and stretches out on the bed.
I slip out of the room, knowing I should be furious with him.
But I'm not—because no one's ever kissed me like that before.
I stop and rest my head against the wall. Kiss or no kiss, I need to guard my heart against him, because real life is about to intrude on our solitude soon enough. And after what happened with Jared, how I lost my best friend, I know I'm nowhere near strong enough to go through that kind of heartache again—only worse because of how much I'm attracted to him.
That's why his sobriety has to come first, not the needs of my heart.
Chapter Nineteen
Drake
"Have you ever ridden one of these babies before?" I cock an eyebrow at her as she takes in my full collection of Harley Davidsons.
I want her to ooh and ahh over them, but she's more interested in finishing her inspection of my garage, a clear reminder that I'm not out of the doghouse yet.
All right, I shouldn't have kissed her, but I don't regret it, no matter how mad she is at me.
"A Harley? No." She gets up from behind a box of oil filters she was sorting through and starts walking toward me. "But I have ridden on a bike before." She pauses, squinting against the glare of the sun. "Sometimes, Jared would take me around on his old, beat-up Kawasaki." She lowers her sunglasses onto her face, scoping out the row of expensive toys I have lined up outside the garage. "But that's when I was living with him across the river in Jersey."
All right. Who the fuck is Jared? And why the hell was she living with him?
But if she's not going to tell me, I'm too proud to ask.
I feel a little deflated from her bringing up some guy, even in passing. I don't like thinking of her being with anyone else, and it must have been serious if she moved in with him. She's so devoted to her work that the extra time spent commutin
g in and out of the city isn't a sacrifice she'd make for just anybody. She must've really cared about this guy, whoever he is.
"So tell me." I start to approach her, and she backs away. "How do you get around now…without assistance?"
She frowns, not liking my sarcasm one bit. "Public transportation. How do you think?" she bristles, choosing not to elaborate on her relationship with Jared.
I'm mad—but more at myself than at her. She's showing me up, and it makes me angry because I'm not some rich snob.
Sure, I tend to take my jet-set lifestyle for granted, probably because ever since I made it big, I'm mostly around people who share the same income bracket. But it's not like I don't remember what it means to struggle. I never even had money until I hit the majors, not that it was that hard to learn how to spend it. I may be living the high life now, but I'm still miserable inside. Money doesn't buy happiness. It only brings a whole different set of problems—like the pressure to maintain a certain image while endlessly striving to keep up with the guys.
Or should I say with Chase Whitfield?
Throughout our whole careers, we've been endlessly compared to each other. Whit and Schultzy, Schultzy and Whit. He lives in the Roosevelt Building, so Logan Tower is my Manhattan residence. Here in Florida, he has a private mansion on the water, and I have one just like it across the bay. My competitive streak runs that deep.
So it's no wonder Eva continues to heckle me for acting like a spoiled brat. "You've lived in New York for over eight years now, and I bet you've never even ridden the subway, not even once."
I fidget under her gaze. "Well, I—"
"No lies, Drake." She watches me, her hands on her hips.
"I tried it a long time ago, all right?" I shoot her a frazzled look. "But I got swarmed when people started recognizing me. I had to get off at the next stop, and a whole group of them followed me for blocks." I narrow my eyes at her. "Would you take the subway if you were me?"
She bends her head, failing to hide her smile. "No…I wouldn't."
I rock back on my heels, suddenly not feeling so confident, even with all my gleaming testosterone before her. "So, you were a Jersey girl, huh?"
"And what's wrong with Jersey girls?"
It's moments such as these when I really hate the person I've become. I can distinctly remember getting into a nasty fight with Jilly in the Kings' shower room when I got on his case for dating a girl from New Jersey. I don't care where Eva called home in the past—or with whom. I just want our address to be the same in the future, and I'm not just talking about sharing the Kings' suite at the Roosevelt Building.
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with Jersey girls." I hold my hands up in surrender.
"Good." She nods at me, letting her fingers skim over my motorcycles, and I can't help but remember how it felt to have her nails running down my back. "So…which one do I get to ride?"
I hastily clear my throat. "You're not driving one of my Harleys, Eva," I respond flatly. "You'll be on the back of mine."
Sensing my anger, she calmly replies, "I don't think that's such a good idea."
She turns her back on me, and I let my eyes skim over her backside and down her long, sexy legs. Damn it. If they were wrapped around me in my bed this morning, they're sure as hell going to be wrapped around me on my bike. It's why I decided to travel this way.
"Eva, it's not happening. You don't even have a driver's license." I follow behind her, watching her hair bounce with every step she takes.
"I'm willing to risk it if it means getting you to keep your hands to yourself." She removes her sunglasses, biting the stem before placing them on the seat of the bike she's thinking of commandeering.
Her arm bumps mine, and she spins around, not realizing I am this close to her. I steady her with my hands, pinning her elbows to her sides. She gazes up at me, her lips parting, her breasts heaving up against my chest, and I don't even bother to look into her eyes to ask for permission. Instead, I slam my lips down onto hers. I'm not gentle with her like I was upstairs. I ravage her mouth until she's moaning into mine. I release her arms and bury my hands in her soft curls. But I don't stop there. I lift her up and place her on top of the bike, knocking her sunglasses off in the process. She straddles the seat, grabbing a fistful of my shirt, trying to push me away from her.
The bike wobbles, but the kickstand keeps it from toppling. I feel her disengage from me, her tongue motionless against the long, probing strokes of mine. I press her body tight against my chest, deepening the kiss, continuing to ravage her mouth…until she bites down hard on my bottom lip, causing me to break away from her.
"And you," she lashes out, striking at my shoulder, "expect me to ride up the coast with you…when you're already pulling stunts like this?"
She finally succeeds in getting me to stop, but I have her completely out of breath, and I'm glad of it.
"I wouldn't do it while I was driving." I wipe the side of my mouth with a grin, imagining all the things we could be doing together on the back of this damn bike.
"If you try that one more time…" She scowls at me, her lips flushed and swollen.
"Oh, don't worry. I will."
"You're not fooling me, Drake. You're just bored out of your mind." She gets off, placing her hand on my chest to get me to back up. "That's why you're doing this. I can see how restless you are."
"It's more than that." I take a deep breath, admitting the fear that's been plaguing my mind. "We have to get out of here. It's not safe. Anyone could be watching us."
"Drake…there's no one watching us," she mutters softly. "Paranoia is a known side effect of cocaine withdrawal. We're not in any danger. It's all in your head. We don't have to keep moving around like this."
"You don't understand. It's not like that. You have no idea—"
"Oh, I think I do. And you're not going to talk me into draping my body across yours for hours at a time," she says, stepping away from me. "It's not right."
I reach for her hand and run my thumb over her wrist and feel her pulse jackhammering through her veins. "Or is it 'not right' just until your job as my sober companion is over?" I flirt with her, trying to ignore the ever-increasing tightness in my jeans just from sliding my fingers over her skin.
But she's right; my emotions are all over the place. One minute, I'm terrified of the situation I might have gotten her into, of the threat she's not even aware of, and the next, she's turning me on, making me want to fall to my knees in front of her and do whatever it takes to hear her moan like that again.
Sensing my confusion, she jerks her hand out of my grasp. "I'll be looking out for you for the rest of your life, regardless of my job title, whether you want me to or not."
I sigh heavily at that, but she doesn't stop.
"In case you haven't noticed, I tend to get emotionally attached to my clients. It's not healthy or professional, but it's who I am. And that's why you have to stop doing things like that."
I give her a rueful smile. "I can't help it. I want to."
"Then you have to learn how to control your impulses. It's all a part of your recovery."
But I just shake my head at her. "That's not it."
"You're confusing things," she goes on like she didn't hear me. "I care about all my clients, not only you. I know what it's like to feel unwanted, and it kills me for anyone else to have to feel that way, even a big-time ballplayer like you." She gives me a small smile. "Because I know that's the main reason addicts turn to cocaine. Because they don't feel wanted."
"So you're saying kissing me back was just a pity thing? Because it sure didn't feel that way to me," I argue.
She avoids my eyes, her gaze traveling up and down my line of bikes.
And I feel like a fool.
She doesn't need a display of wealth to show her what kind of man I am. Deep down, I know she'd rather hear it in my words, see it in my actions. And day by day, I'm learning how to do just that, but I'm not there yet. I bow my head. Here I was, sh
owing off, trying to impress her, and failing for all the wrong reasons.
I scratch my head and take a deep breath, finding the courage to say what I need to say. "Eva, you want us to be honest with each other, so here it is. Even if you can't admit that you enjoy kissing me, I still intend to uphold my end of the deal. The bottom line is I'm not ready to go back to New York yet. I need more time."
She sizes me up, probably trying to figure out if I'm lying to her. But I'm not. She's right. There's a lot more work that needs to be done to get me where I need to be.
She steps toward me, peering intently into my eyes. "I'll ride on your bike with you as long as you let me get to know redneck Drake a whole lot better—and not Drake Schultz, superstar. And the only way I'm going to be able to do that is if we stop in Kentucky."
"I don't know about that," I grumble, intensely disliking her bargaining strategy.
"Going home is the only way you're going to be able to put the past behind you," she says, her warm breath skating across my chin.
I tense, and she feels it. "Well, I wasn't planning on going that route."
I don't want to take her anywhere near Mama. It's too dangerous. But what am I going to do if she refuses to drop it? I run a hand across my brow. Why does every single step of my goddamned recovery have to be so difficult?
Her eyes lock with mine. "Do you trust me?"
How can she even say that? My fate was decided the moment she walked into that conference room at Kings Stadium.
I nod, getting her to smile at me.
"Good," she says, patting my arm. "Then let's start loading up the luggage."
"There's not a lot of room," I mumble, not keen on this new change of plans.
"I'll pack light. If you're okay with me sharing some of your shirts, then I'll bring mostly bottoms to save space."
She's killing me and she doesn't even know it, so I shift again against the confines of my jeans.
"Oh, and did you know you have motor oil on your face?" She licks her finger and goes to town rubbing it off. My cheeks burn at her touch. "There. That's better." She stands back, making sure she got it all.
Inside Game Page 13