It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  “I’ll call you a cab.” She imagined rolling him into the back of a run-down taxi. A second image was sobering – her climbing inside with him. She tugged down her shorts. “What did you want to talk about?”

  He stared at her, saying nothing with his mouth. But there was a tension to his body that telegraphed attraction, that negated the efforts of her air conditioner, and sent heat permeating through her limbs. His wicked smile turned devilish.

  Wasn’t it just like a guy to reject her one moment and want her the next? “We’re not having sex.”

  “I’m good with that.” His tone softened. “I want to explain…About the Reverend…It’s a defense I developed in high school. My mom had just died and my dad bypassed grief in favor of cigars and drunken groupie sex.”

  Shades of Cal Lazarus.

  “We lived in a small college town where he coached. Rumors were quick to spread and get back to me. According to rumor, Dad passed out at a frat party. He escorted the college homecoming queen to an after-party where he did a naked limbo. He was caught pants-down with the wife of a prominent professor.” Trent stared at his hands. “Almost overnight, we switched roles. I went from a hell-raising teenager to the responsible one. I did the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the laundry. I made sure he got up in time for morning meetings on campus.”

  Cora’s image of Archie as a harmless, fun-loving drinker shattered. Trent’s impatience and rigidity toward his father’s drinking suddenly made sense. She’d think about why Archie would pretend to be sauced later.

  “I was the high school quarterback, groomed by my dad for his team. But when scholarship offers came in, I defected and chose basketball. At BYU, the Reverend thrived.”

  “Parents make us form the weirdest defense mechanisms, don’t they?” This was some serious shit. And serious shit didn’t make for good foreplay. Despite her resolution not to have sex, Cora sighed because they weren’t going to do the dirty. “Do I remind you that much of your dad that you need to bring the Reverend out when I’m around? I haven’t done the naked limbo with the team.”

  “You and the Dooley Foundation remind me of my wife.” He stumbled over the word. “My ex-wife. She and her father have a budding televangelist thing going – rigid views, strict codes of conduct, prayer recitation. They loved the Reverend more than they loved me. The Reverend fit their business model. And the Dooley Foundation has all these rules.” He made air quotes. “I’ve found organizations who emphasize rules tend to overstep and meddle. No one’s meddling with my team anymore.”

  She nodded. Their fathers had both been womanizers, but Trent had created defenses the opposite of hers, probably because his parents had a fairy tale love she’d never witnessed. And then Trent had married someone who seemed to want only one facet of this very complex man.

  “And so the Dooley Foundation hits my coaching hot button,” Trent continued, in the solemn voice of the Reverend. “Whereas you – ”

  “Don’t care for the Reverend, which probably hits your – his – hot button.” She should have put more clothes on. The more Trent talked, the more she understood him. The more she understood him, the more she liked him.

  “Yeah.” He ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Something like that.” He glanced at the TV, then back at her. “When we’re together, part of me wants to forget about the need for the Reverend and part of me wants to defend his boundaries.” Trent shot her that wicked grin. “And I have so many decisions waiting to be made, so much on my mind, that when you enter my radar, my brain goes a little haywire.” His smile was a beacon. It sent out a signal. That signal said he was interested. In sex. With her.

  Whoa.

  “There’s not going to be a bump and grind tonight,” Cora said, when what she wanted to say was, “How many times are we going to do the bump and grind tonight?” She tugged down her shorts. “I’m not that experienced in dating, but I don’t think people have sex on the first date and expect to have a second date.”

  “I wouldn’t know, being newly divorced and not having dated in a decade.” Discarding his flip-flops, Trent lifted his legs onto the couch, stretching them toward her. “Don’t tell Evan, but his workouts are killing me. My body feels like an over-used rubber band, from my toes to my neck.”

  Another come on, an invitation to give him a massage. Her pulse was pounding between her legs, begging her to submit. But she wasn’t going down that easily. “You could have soaked in a hot tub. I’m sure your hotel has one.”

  “I have a Jacuzzi tub in my room.” The ball of his foot pressed into her hip. “It’s not the same as your magical touch, sugar.”

  Sugar. No man had ever called her something so sweet.

  Cora stared at the television. Evan cut through the defenders and scored. She held herself very still. Catholic schoolgirl, scared virgin, Gemma-would-be-proud still. “What makes you so sure the Reverend won’t show up?”

  “That responsible side of me is still here. It’ll still be here tomorrow.” His voice was as quiet and solemn as if he was making confession. “But I don’t have to be serious all the time.”

  Cora nearly fell back and said, “Take me.” But there was the question of her own morality, who she wanted to be, and his respect for her in the morning.

  “No sex.” She plucked Brutus out of Trent’s lap and set him on the floor, then stretched her legs across the couch, resting them in his lap. She lifted his foot into hers.

  Brutus retreated to his bed in the corner.

  Trent had big, strong feet. For several minutes, they massaged each other instead of watching the game. It was nice to be touched without the obligation of sex. Maybe Amber was right. She should know somebody before she let somebody know her body. But it seemed as if she did know Trent. She’d read his history online, and watched film of him coaching. She’d seen firsthand what kind of man he was while he interacted with the team. He’d listened to a few of her secrets and shared a few of his own.

  It’s not enough. The voice in her head sounded a lot like Amber’s.

  “Antoine didn’t set up a screen for Evan,” Trent noted. He must have been sneaking glances at the screen. “That was bad.”

  “Take a drink.”

  He left his whiskey untouched on the coffee table. “I have a different game in mind.” He lifted her foot and placed her arch over his balls. “Every time someone makes a mistake, you make a move on me.”

  “Someone? Anyone?” Desire pole danced around her veins and landed center stage between her legs, hot and wet. “Uh…When do you make a move on me?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. Husky, needy, unsure. She was used to sex on her terms. Foreplay? Seduction? They weren’t part of her regular repertoire.

  “I’ve been thinking. As team coach, I have first dibs on Evan. And this was one of his better games. But when he makes a mistake, like he’s about to, I’ll make a move on you.”

  “How do you know – ”

  Evan set a moving screen and was called for a foul.

  Of course, Trent knew. He hadn’t worked his way up to the NBA because he was lackadaisical. He studied the game, his players, and his opponents. He planned ahead, like the new offense he was adding to the Flash’s tool box.

  “Slow down, cowboy. We barely know each other.”

  Too late. Trent’s legs were longer than Cora’s. His toes inched beneath the edge of her camisole. With a stretch of his leg, his foot was beneath her top. His heel rested on her waistband. His toes drummed over her bare nipple.

  Air became a precious commodity. It took Cora more than a moment to fill her lungs and repeat, “We’re not having sex.”

  “We’re not having sex.” He might just as well have added, “Yet.” His eyes darkened to a deep, dangerous brown. “And I do know you, sugar. I know you regret not making peace with your father. I know you like to work independently and that your sister is a demanding boss.” He curled his toes into her breast, wreaking all kinds of havoc with her lung function. “I
know you’ve earned the players’ trust and respect.”

  Her mouth was dry, anticipating his kiss and other things she’d like him to do to her body. “What about you? Do you respect me?” Here came the damper on the evening.

  “I respect you. It’s who you work for that makes me nervous.” He wasn’t nervous. His smile was too confident, as were his toes. They teased her nipple. “What you should be asking about is trust. Trust is important to me.” His thumbs made small circles on the pad beneath her big toe. Cora felt a corresponding circle of heat in the area of her crotch. “Do you trust me?”

  She wasn’t sure. But there was something in his eyes that wouldn’t allow her to admit it. Or maybe it was lust racing through her veins that wouldn’t allow her to admit it. “I let you in, didn’t I?”

  He glanced at the television. “Oops. Your brother-in-law just got called for a foul.” Trent’s attention returned to her. His toes slipped down to curl against her abdomen.

  He was as hot as a homemade biscuit and oh, so tempting. But she was laying off carbs. “Maybe we should watch something else.”

  “Why?” He brought out that wicked smile. “Neither one of us has dated in awhile. You said we aren’t having sex. We’re practicing our moves. And you seem a bit rusty to me.”

  I could show you how good rusty can be.

  “What happened to unwanted distractions?” she asked, clinging to reason. “What happened to just talking?”

  His eyes crinkled with warmth, his lips turned up with humor. Tangled with his body, caught up in his easy presence, she felt safe and warm. Trent wasn’t giving her the hard come-on like Cal. He wasn’t showing up for a quick fuck. He seemed to…He seemed to…like her.

  Cora couldn’t move.

  Trent had no such limitations. He lifted her foot and ran his tongue over the pad beneath her toes. “I still can’t afford distractions, sugar, but I can’t seem to ignore my fascination with you.”

  “Oh.” Little Miss Distraction was in trouble. Heart melting, resolve melting trouble.

  “Oh, Ren, double-dribble. Turnover.” Trent tsked. His gaze sharpened to a dare. His thumbs pressed into the arch of her foot, much as she imagined he wanted to press inside her. “Your move.”

  She relented. “We’re only going to explore some bases.” First base was already taken.

  Cora repositioned his foot from her stomach to her mound. He let her set the pace, let her move his foot in a circular motion that was dizzying.

  Bless his heart, Antoine was sulking because he’d been open when Ren made a mistake. Antoine didn’t move his feet to block the opposing player’s drive. Instead, he pushed his opponent to the ground.

  “Antoine can be too emotional on the court.” She arched against Trent’s foot, eliciting an endearing groan from him.

  Trent folded his knees on the outside of hers, gliding his big hands down her inner thighs until his thumbs rested beneath the hem of her shorts on either side of her silky thong. Any move she made would encourage a more intimate touch. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Stop, while there’s still time, Cora, the life coach, whispered in her head.

  But I’ve been good for so long, Cora, the reluctant abstainer, whispered in her head.

  He pressed his thumbs into the hollow of her thighs. She couldn’t breathe. Too many things clogged her throat – indecision, desire, indecision, the promise of an orgasm. If only she’d kept extra batteries on-hand.

  There was a huge player pile-up on the court.

  “Whose mistake was that?” Cora breathed raggedly.

  “Everyone’s.” With a tug, Trent snugged her hips next to his, pressing his hard length against her.

  “Media time out,” Trent whispered, settling back on the couch and pulling her on top of him. “Time for a little distraction.”

  She didn’t want to be his little distraction. She didn’t want to be his friend with benefits. But she didn’t know how to be anything else.

  She wanted him to kiss her. If he made the first move, she could blame it on the wine. She wanted to explore his body. But that was self-destructive. If things fell apart between the two of them, her work relationships could implode. There was the matter of her self-respect, a sales quota, and her three million-a-year inheritance to consider.

  Cora waited, trying to enjoy a gorgeous man at face value. Those devilish lips in that half-grin. The small scar beneath the stubble on his chin. Those eyes that seemed to see beneath the strong woman she presented to the world, delving to discover who she was underneath.

  Her soul was saying: Claim him.

  Her body was saying: Ride him hard.

  Her brain was sending a silent alarm, which, being silent, was easy to ignore.

  Not having sex has destroyed my brain.

  “Overthrown in-bounded ball,” Trent murmured. “Ren.”

  It was her turn. They’d taken a time-out. She didn’t have to do this.

  They were alike on some levels. Polar opposite on others. She’d had sex with Jack before being assigned his business. Sex with Trent was…would be…She looked up to find his gaze targeted on hers.

  Jack had never looked her in the eyes, had never spent time on foreplay. Sex had been hot and fast and the only reason for his brief visits.

  “If I’d been coaching that team,” Trent murmured. “I’d have let them play.”

  Coach Spinks called a timeout. Trent had clearly done his homework.

  Smart and sexy. She sighed. How rare was that in a man?

  “The team would’ve known what I wanted and how I wanted them to play.” His hand drifted down her back. He smelled of soap and aftershave. He felt 100% hard-body. His hand spread over her butt cheek, squeezing and pressing her harder against what they both knew she wanted. “They’d play hard. They’d play to win. I don’t put up with quitters.”

  Cora was no quitter. She could take a dare. And yet, she hesitated. “Technically, you’re my client.”

  “I’ll say it again.” His voice was a serrated grumble of need. “You’re fired.”

  She wanted him.

  Just last night she’d been convinced she’d been right in putting a halt to friends-with-benefits sex. Just last night she’d thought of white weddings. Having sex with Trent went against all that. She reached for one of her last defenses. “When I meet my sales quota at the Foundation, I’m leaving for Paris. Permanently.” There. She’d said it. Out loud. Let Blue and Amber deal with Daddy’s other off-spring. “I’m not looking for anything long term.”

  “I can’t offer strings.” His hands roved, fueling her heat. “I won’t offer strings. I’ve spent too long limiting my life. I need this time to myself.”

  He was her kind of man – hot, needy, without obligations on her time. So why did his pronouncement disappoint her?

  His grip on her ass tightened. “I’ve wanted to get inside you from the moment I saw you, standing in front of Jack’s house as if you were waiting for me to introduce myself. Just watching you walk is a thing of beauty.”

  Game over.

  She shed her shorts and his. He produced a condom from his wallet. She rolled it on him slowly, following its progress with her lips, until he was fully protected and fully in her mouth. Next time, she’d reach into her stash for chocolate flavored, extra large.

  “Have pity on me, sugar.” He pulled her up the length of him, holding her gaze as firmly as he held onto her. “I’m just a backwoods, country boy who hasn’t had sex in months. I need our first offensive moves to be uptempo.”

  Cora peeled off her camisole and mounted him slowly, taking him in inch by glorious inch, until he filled her empty spaces. “Don’t be a quitter.” She rode him slow and deep, rocking her hips when she came down before riding him high again. “Play to win.”

  He took possession of her hips, bringing her down harder, moving her up faster.

  The tension. The friction. The delicious, high-wire electricity.

  Staring int
o his eyes, Cora crushed her breast in one hand and speared the fingers of her other hand into his hair. The need to join with him, all of him was nearly overwhelming.

  “Sugar…” A desperate plea. His hands moved lower. His thumbs reached between her thighs. The extra pressure sent them both shuddering in pleasure with added shouts celebrating release.

  Chapter 17

  It took Trent a few minutes to recover, but only a few since it had been a long time and Cora was like candy. He couldn’t have her just once. He palmed another condom, tugged her to her feet, and headed for the stairs to her bedroom.

  “Hey.” She swatted his naked butt. Rougher than he expected, which was hot. “What are you doing?”

  “I need a bigger court to practice my moves.” Her bed.

  “You can’t…I don’t…”

  Together they reached the top of the stairs and entered the first open room. He turned on the light. It was pink. The room. The bed. The walls. The carpet.

  “Shades of Barbie.” The only thing not pink were the two flowery prints leaning against the wall in one corner. Each depicted a flower garden with a cutaway of the dirt beneath the stems. The curves of the roots reminded him of naked women. Or he could just be seeing nakedness everywhere.

  “I don’t let men up here.” She tugged for release.

  He pulled her closer, until her nipples teased his back. “Too late. The bad-ass image of you has been tainted.”

  “I’ll have to kill you then.” Her voice sounded oddly vulnerable.

  There was a sketchpad and a book on her bed. He moved closer, towing her along because there were naked bodies on the book’s pages. Drawings, sure. But they were of naked bodies in unique sexual positions. At least it was unique to a Southern boy who’d married a preacher’s daughter. “We have to try that.”

  She hit reverse, trying to pull him away from all that pink and nakedness. “Downstairs. We can try it downstairs.”

  “Sugar, this is not the kind of position you try on a couch.” He yanked the comforter free, revealing pink satin sheets. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”