by Crowe, Liz
“You too, dear. Arriba!” She rolled the rr’s just enough to make Mo wince and stare at her just before the elevator doors slid shut.
She picked up Katie, Brandis, Maddie, and Gabe at Sara’s, relieving the nanny for the weekend a few hours early. Ella and Adam were in charge of the gang for tonight, and Lila was picking them all up Sunday for a day at the indoor water park and a group sleep over afterwards. She smiled as the little boys fell right into a comfortable boundary setting tussle. The older girls took them downstairs to the large finished basement so they could bounce off each other and the furniture without hurting anything. Adam sat on the couch, fiddling with a game controller. She sat next to him.
“Adam, I have a date tonight. I wanted you to know.” She sweated out his silence.
“I already know,” he grunted, pretending to play the soccer game but mostly ignoring her.
She patted his leg and stood. “Well, okay then.”
“Mom,” he said. She turned to him, repressing a quick surge of anger at her dead husband. He had a fucking nerve really, doing that. Going on that early morning run, putting her in this shitty position explaining her love life to their son.
Tears threatened as the most vivid possible image surged through her brain. Brandis, his deep brown skin glowing in candlelight, his voice in her ear. “Okay baby, I need to do this now, you ready?” She had to bite back the sob of dismay. They’d made love, had had angry and make-up sex, had fucked a zillion different ways since then. But that first moment, that split second, when the flame had flickered over his skin, and she’d fallen in love with him for good—that she would never forget.
“Mom?” Adam walked to her, and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. I’m okay with it. Ella is…sort of not, but you can deal with her in time.” She nodded, held him close. Memories of the little boy he’d been, the way he used to cling to her for dear life, watching Brandis and Ella wrestle and cavort and make messes smothered her, making her gasp and pull away.
“Need a shower,” she mumbled and she retreated to her bathroom, turning the water on full blast, mentally blessing Jack for the millionth time for finding them this house during that agonizing chaos. He’d paid cash for it, fast, knowing it was perfect. Once Brandis’ life insurance had released she paid him back, leaving them financially set for a good long time.
She dried off after a solid half hour under steaming hot water, half listening for little boy distress, but hearing none. Adam must have headed down to wrestle and help them blow off some steam. Rain beat against the windows. The temperature had dropped. Her knees suddenly buckled and she slid to the floor, the overwhelming rush of memory making her breathless.
She’d rushed to Brandis that early morning so long ago, refusing to believe what had been said to her on the phone. A neighbor had been called, too, so she could watch the kids. The Air Force was a well-oiled machine, especially when it came to dealing with family tragedy.
She’d been driven to the accident site, had tumbled out of the car, tripping over her own feet, already denying what was in front of her eyes. The SUV’s nose was buried in Brandis’ midsection. He was bent over the hood. His eyes were bright, his lips were moving as he chatted with the doctor who’d been summoned to fix the unfixable. Her throat had hurt, he’d told her to stop yelling, that she was scaring the civilians. Ever the comedian, her Brandis. She’d slid onto the hood of the truck, grabbed him, yelled at them to move the fucking thing, to let him go. That he couldn’t breathe, god damned Air Force assholes, get him out of there and to the base hospital. But he held her hand tight. “Maureen, stop it.” he’d said, his voice a little breathier than usual. She’d sobbed, screamed for help, but everyone had stood around like idiots, staring at her.
“Brandis,” she’d finally said, trying to get as close to him as she could. “Baby, does it hurt?” For some reason she needed to know this.
“No. It doesn’t. My sweet Maureen.” He’d put her hand to his lips. “My sweet Maureen, be strong now. Make sure, Ella,” he’d winced then, as if realizing something. “Make sure Ella is a strong woman like her mother. Make sure Adam isn’t an asshole. Call Jack, let him….” He faded, lay his head on the hood of the car. She’d sobbed, started hollering at them to get him out. But he’d lifted his head just once more, kissed her hand again. “My sweet Maureen. Be happy, promise me that.” She’d stayed there for nearly an hour. At the end they had to sedate her to get her to leave the scene.
She put a hand over her eyes. She’d used up all the love she had, she just knew it, on the one man she’d found early, had for some years before he’d been taken from her. Now she should just go gently into that good night. Let well enough alone. All the clichés clashed in her head, including the one about cougars corrupting young men. “No, not young,” the voice inside whispered, “just younger…than you.”
Something brushed her hand. She looked up, figuring Adam had come upstairs to check on her like he always did. But no one was there. She smelled him then, the unique combination of wool uniform, starchy cotton and sporty soap he used. He was not a cologne sort of guy. But was scrupulously clean and always smelled that way. Except when he was turned on. That spicy, lusty scent was unique too and she would never forget it. Maureen Gordon Taylor was no sap, nor did she believe in ghosts. But at that moment, the presence of her late husband was so strong in the room she nearly gagged on the need to see him again. She struggled to her feet, breathing heavy. “Brandis.” She whispered. Then said it louder. “Why did you leave me?” She yelled to the empty room. But there was no answer, of course. Only the question, lingering like smoke.
“My sweet Maureen,” she heard him again. “Be happy.” And like that he was gone, the bedroom curtain twitching as if blown by a non-existent breeze. She collapsed into a sobbing heap, rousing only when her phone dinged, reminding her she had thirty minutes until the “player conference.”
It was her turn next. She stood, straightened her skirt, lifted her chin and strode past the glaring sets of parental eyes lining the hall outside the conference room. It was nothing more than four walls of utilitarian grey, with AstroTurf, a rickety table and two chairs. Rafe stood in the doorway, his dark eyes at once full of meaning and neutral, benefiting the group. She latched onto them, let them be her beacon through the haze of antsy terror.
Her legs shook and when he touched her bare elbow she nearly fell over into the lap of the nearest soccer dad. But he held onto her. All the gossip, all the whispery rumors about the hot soccer coach, and here he was, waiting for her to make the next move. It was utterly surreal. But she was so horny she was rendered almost useless by it. She gulped and let him guide her into the room.
The heavy door shut with a thunk. She stood, frozen, trying to imagine how in the hell this would work, how she could possibly go out with him, to dinner or anything else. He was so…fucking perfect. His deep bronze skin was highlighted by the light blue club shirt, his dark hair pulled back as usual, emphasizing the amazing bone structure of his face. He grinned, indicated the metal folding chair opposite his. She gripped her purse, then let it drop to the floor. He was at her side in a second, picking it up for her. He stood close, holding the small leather bag, the strength and power of his body barely concealed by the tee shirt and soccer shorts. She watched, as if detached from herself, as her hand reached up, tugged the leather tie from his hair. It tumbled around his shoulders in an ebony waterfall. He kept his distance, but set her purse on the table, never taking his eyes from hers.
Mo was chilled and burning hot at the same time. The tip of his tongue touched his upper lip. “Rafe,” she said, her voice a ghost of itself. “I’m….”
He was in her space in an instant, his hand grasping the back of her neck, his lips mere centimeters from hers. “What, Maureen?” he asked. A simple question, and one she was prepared to answer. “Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed hers. That tore it.
“You.” She gripped him, threaded her fingers in his hair and ended
all the teasing, all the flirting, and all the agony in one firm press of lips. He ran his hands up her sides, reached back to flick her bra open and cupped her breast in a quick second. “Oh,” she exhaled, leaning back against the wall. He propped one hand beside her head and ran a finger down her face, around her jaw and touched her lips.
“You sure about that?” his voice sang in her ears, added fuel to the fire already smoldering in her. Something in his voice, in his eyes, or in the firm torso mere inches from hers made her blink, then suck in a breath and let it go. Let it all go. To give in to the present and everything it represented for her. She nodded, and he kissed her, really kissed her, and she let him. The room disappeared—all she knew was this man, his lips and his hands and his words. “Maureen,” he sighed into her ear, when he broke the delectable contact, making her whimper and want his lips back on hers. “I was saving this for later,” he groaned when she slipped his shorts down. So convenient really, these easy access soccer clothes. “Mi amor,” he groaned. “Quiero cojerte.”
He tilted his hips. The exquisite velvety sensation of his flesh in her hand made her sigh and groan all at once, embarrassing. Until he spoke.
“I want to hear that noise all night. That one you make. I love it. And I plan to hear it. A lot.”
He slid a hand up her thigh, found her panties, brushed them aside. She groaned, gripped his neck and looked into his eyes. “Rafe, I’m…I’m not this person, you know, I… Jesus.” She groaned when his fingertip found her clit and rubbed with intent. She held onto his bicep, and tried not to collapse against the wall. He grabbed her leg and pulled it up, kissing her, stroking her, yanking her shirt up, sucking her nipple. His hands and lips were everywhere, all over her. But she knew what she wanted. “Inside me,” she gasped as he yanked her other leg up, pinning her to the wall, his strong legs holding them in place.
“No…protection…” he gasped.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as their breathing combined in her ears, deafening her. “I’m clean, and I’m safe. And if you don’t fuck me right now I may die.” He licked her lips, moved his hips at the same time and she looked up at the ceiling as her entire universe was split in two by the man now here with her. Not Brandis, but something new, something that would let her live and be happy and…. “Ah, God!” She cried out as he pinched her nipple and lowered his lips to her neck. He bit down on her flesh, held her ass with one hand and filled her with an amazing combination of man—his cock, tongue, and bright emotion. A tear slipped out but she let it and met him thrust for thrust, needing him, wanting his release more than she needed to take her next breath. The orgasm made her shudder and ripped a cry from her throat. He put his hand over her lips and she bit down on it as fireworks exploded across her vision.
His breathing got ragged as she pulsed and gripped him tight. “Aye Dios” he gasped and shivered with the intensity of his climax. He found her lips, and the world stopped spinning for a split second at the sensation of him, his real self, his body and soul with hers. Sex, Maureen. It’s just…sex. And some amazing sex at that.
He kept kissing her, maintained their connection, then slipped out of her as she dropped to the floor. When they moved apart, she had a brief flash of horror at herself when she realized that this moment was only an appetizer. She had to have more, and fully intended to get it. “Mi amor, I am so sorry.” He cradled her face in his hands. Kept pressing fluttery kisses to her forehead, cheeks and lips. “Maureen,” he mumbled around her lips as she tried to pull herself together. The alarm on his watch sounded then, making them jump. He grabbed her neck and yanked her close. His eyes were deadly serious and she nearly came again at the sight of them.“Quiero hacerte el amor toda la noche.” His voice was low, deadly serious. She smiled and ran a finger over his rough cheek.
“Yeah, well, I’m game for that.” She bit his lower lip, sighing when he clutched her ass. “If I’m not mistaken we have a date, later.”
“Sí, my love.” He put both hands on either side of her face, pinning her to the wall. “And there is much, much, more we will explore. I…,” he looked down. “I’m much too Latino, so forgive me but, I,” he stopped, kissed her gently then stepped away. “I’ve resigned from the club as much as I hate giving up Ella’s team.”
Maureen flinched at the sound of her daughter’s name. Dear Christ, how in the hell was she going to work this at home, with her kids? Because God help her she was not about to let him go now, now that she’d had him and wanted so much more. He held her close, kissed her hair. “Mi amor, I am joining the Black Jacks.” She leaned back and stared at him. “Your brother’s project. He’s gotten full funding and has hired me to be his recruiter, and assistant manager. And I already know who I want as coach…it’s exciting.” She smiled at the light in his eyes.
“Well, as long as you remember what matters,” she cupped his crotch. He bent her back with a kiss that made her forget her own name for a few minutes.
“That is one thing you will never doubt. But,” He straightened his shirt and shorts, adjusted her skirt. “We have to talk with Ella and Adam. Soon.”
“Oh,” she said, woozy from his lips
“Yes,” he said, running his dark hand down her hair. “Because I am not just the soccer coach anymore, comprende?” His eyes danced with amusement and a bit of anticipation. “And tonight, we have all night to prove it to each other. How much more I want to be for you.”
She gulped and made herself step away, noting that her phone had been buzzing with calls for the last few minutes. “Rafael,” she allowed herself another second to touch his hair, his face, his broad shoulders and strong chest.
“My love,” he whispered, pulling her close. “I have only begun to show you what you have been missing.”
As he opened the door to the waiting throngs of parents, she grabbed her phone to distract herself from his sexy proximity. The day, better yet the entire world, had opened to her, in a thoroughly amazing way. She frowned at the sight of three missed calls from Sara and two from Jack. As he guided her out, his hand planted firmly and unmistakably on her hip Rafe whispered in her ear. “I will pick you up in two hours. Be ready for me.” She nodded, and let the eyeballs of the gathered throngs bore into her, no longer caring.
“What is it?” she said when Sara finally answered, climbing into her car, her thighs still wobbly from the encounter in the conference room.
“You can tell Jack for me I’m headed to Georgia to the resort but he…he…well, he can do whatever he wants I guess, if he can tear himself away from Shannon long enough.”
Mo stared at the phone gone dead in her hand. She immediately called Jack but it went to voice mail. “Christ,” she tried Lila before starting her car. “What the fuck happened?” she asked when the woman answered. She put a hand over her eyes as Sara’s friend filled her in, cursing her brother for his idiocy.
Chapter Seventeen
Sara grabbed coffees, and the printed itinerary. She ended the call with Allen, shoving aside the worry in her top-selling agent’s voice over the buyer they had dumped. She had no time for that drama, not today. There was a mission at hand. Shutting her car door with her hip, she tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and opened the Stewart Realty administration office door. Calling out a greeting to the staff gathered around the front desk she wandered back to Jack’s corner, recalling with a shiver all the naughty moments they’d shared around the place. His door was shut, so she leaned on Jason’s desk, which stood empty. Glancing at her watch, she noted it was well past six. She sipped coffee, fidgeted, worried about what she was planning in a near desperate attempt to salvage her marriage.
Since their hot hookup in the spec house, Jack had been gone for weeks at a time, and when he was home, he slept, played with the kids and had a bit of perfunctory sex with her, falling asleep muttering about how much he loved her. But she needed more, and was prepared to push him, hard, to force him into a situation where he had to confront where he was in regard to
their relationship. She bit her lip, mentally reviewing the plan she’d made with Julie’s help, both of them nervous and hopeful that he wouldn’t completely freak and reject what she offered.
Jason rounded the corner, talking into his Bluetooth earpiece. He frowned at his boss’ still closed door when he saw her, then sat, rolled his eyes and spoke platitudes to some client or another. Sara grinned at him, but froze when she heard it. The distinct and unmistakable sound of female laughter coming from her husband’s office. She shook her head. Don’t go there, Sara. Do not. You trust him. You have to. He said you could and you do. She clenched her fists and took the three steps to the heavy wood door. Jason jumped up to stand between her and the object of her focus. She shoved him aside at Jack’s low chuckle and the accompanying feminine response. Mother. Fucker.
Blind with fury she touched the door knob, let its cool metal calm her for a half second before she turned it and threw the door open to find her husband, the tall, suave, distinguished handsome general manager of Stewart Realty, multi-millionaire owner of Keystone Construction, and founder of the new “Black Jack” expansion national soccer league team. He stood with his suit-clad arms around one Shannon Anderson, the woman Jack had “found” at a BDSM club and had been with during the months just before Katie’s medical emergency that had finally forced Sara to admit she wanted him in her life. The woman had her curly brown head on his shoulder, and he was making soothing noises. But at the sound of the office door hitting the interior wall of the office, Shannon jumped back, staring at Sara with wide blue eyes. Jack turned slowly, his arms at his sides and looked at her.
“Asshole,” Sara said, clearly. She slammed the itinerary down on the desk. Never in her entire life had she felt more humiliated. Not after all the bullshit they’d been through, the crap they had thrown at each other over the years, not once did she feel this stupid, played, and used. “I’ll be here,” she claimed, touching the picture of the resort. She whirled on the sniveling slut still standing there, staring. But words escaped her.