It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  Envy wrapped its cold fingers around Trent’s heart. “Vivian doesn’t have the contacts or the time to put together a trade before Jack returns.” He edged closer to the door.

  “Don’t underestimate her,” Amber warned.

  Trent couldn’t resist. “Is it bad form to remind you that the Dooley Foundation created this monster?”

  “Yes,” the hugging occupants of the room chorused.

  Cora broke free and said her goodbyes. She grabbed her purse, and led Trent out the door.

  Warm, dusky twilight was giving way to the cooler, summer night. He needed to look for a place to live and a new vehicle, both of which he could do online at the hotel. It was only his mama’s ingraining of good manners that had him walking Cora to her car. And his dick. His dick was always hopeful.

  “Is that a new Mercedes?”

  “It’s a loaner from the dealership.” Cora dug in her purse, presumably for her keys. “We can’t let Viv trade Evan. We have to stop her.” She paused in her search and met his gaze. “We can stop her. Together.”

  “Cora – ”

  “Oh, I forgot.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “You can’t trust me. I might work some mind control over you and your players. Take advantage for my own personal gain.”

  His team. His goals. His territorial nature warred with his need to tread carefully with her. “Thank you for not telling everyone I was behind the Irving acquisition.”

  “You have got to work on your people skills.” She huffed. “It’s hard to have a relationship – coach to coach, coach to player, father to son – without honesty.”

  All thoughts of pink rooms and slow sex evaporated like water poured on a hot, dry beach. “Like you tell your sister everything.”

  “I tell her what she needs to know when she needs to know it. She may be my boss, but I say what’s best for my clients.”

  It struck him then how alike they were. The independence, the circumspection, the drive to be the best.

  “If you’re in competition with your dad to see who can leave the better legacy, stop.” Her voice rang with certainty. Illuminated by a streetlight, it was her eyes that gave away past hurts. She hid her soft center as well as she did her pink room. “Family rivalries? That’s a race no one wins. That’s a race that’ll drive you to drink.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” It was just the opening he needed. “Hey, Barbie, would you like to get a drink with Ken?”

  “Was that a pick-up line? If so, it sucked.” She wasn’t smiling.

  There was something about the Barbie metaphor he was reading wrong. “I haven’t dated in so long, I don’t have pick-up lines, sugar.” He held up a hand when she would have spoken. “I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but I’d like to call a truce. If you promise not to practice any Rules of Attraction on me, I’ll promise – ”

  “Not to text me for sex later. Because sex ain’t happening here.” She gestured back and forth between them. “So you can stop calling me sugar. I’m too worried about Evan and Amber. I’m too worried about the team. And I’m too worried that I’ve already let too many people down.”

  She’d given all the wrong reasons for not making love.

  He leaned against her rental car, looking across the road at his mother’s Fairlane. He never knew why she’d loved that car so much. She’d been a rational, conservative woman, until she sat behind the wheel of that classic roadster. His gaze drifted back to Cora. He couldn’t explain his attraction to her either. It went beyond the physical to the contradictions, encompassed by her compassion for others. Even compassion for him. “Convince me you’re good for the team.” A ploy. He already knew she was. “If you have a drink with me tonight at my hotel, I’ll come clean on my plans for the team with my coaching staff tomorrow.”

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to explain your philosophies to me. And if I lay out my plans to my coaches, I’ll be building stronger relationships. Isn’t that what the Dooley Foundation is all about?” And after they got to know each other better, if he was lucky, they’d share a long, slow, wet kiss that might last a couple of hours. And if he was really lucky, that might lead to some long, slow, wet lovemaking that might last a couple hours more. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He didn’t wait for her to decide.

  ~*~

  “You got kids, Gordon?” The smoker’s voice rattled around Jack’s head, waking him.

  “No,” he mumbled, trying to open his eyes, battling prune-nausea and whatever-was-ailing-him dizziness.

  “Any ex-wives?” Lazarus coughed. And coughed. And hocked up a loogie.

  Jack suppressed a heave.

  “That sounded like a no.” More hacking. “When the end is near, you need family around you. My son is some big shot movie producer. He only comes to see me at night when I’m sleeping. Death unnerves him. He’s letting my death kill his career, too.”

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness.

  “My son, Cal, he paid to put me here. Gotta wonder who paid to put you here. Hopefully, you’re not like me. Hopefully, you’ve got someone who can get you out. Seems a shame to spend your last days in the basement.”

  “Dinner.” Princess Scrubs carried in a tray.

  Jack was wrong. This was hell. Maybe he was going to die.

  His weak and empty innards cringed.

  “I hope you have more of an appetite than you had at lunch,” Nurse Disney said.

  “I want a phone call. Even inmates get a phone call.” Jack’s voice was still hoarse, strained further by his effort not to shout. “I want my wife. And my parents should be here. Somewhere.”

  “Your mom called.” Nurse Disney began removing lids from his dinner tray. “The hot water heater burst at your house. They’re waiting for a plumber. They’ll be by tomorrow.”

  The theme song from ESPN’s Sports Center filled the room before he could ask about Viv. There was a television in the corner by the old man. “The NBA is buzzing tonight about the L.A. Flash’s acquisition of Hugh Irving.”

  Thank you, Viv. She must be pushing some of his initiatives through.

  A spoon pressed on his lips and he dutifully opened his mouth. Prune pudding. His stomach spasmed.

  The announcer’s voice turned serious. “But there are rumors of more changes coming at the Flash. Some say in order to pay for Irving they’ll have to trade Evan Oliver.”

  Jack spit prunes and shouted.

  Nurse Disney shouted.

  Jack strained against the bed ties and shouted some more.

  She cranked a dial on his I.V.

  The last thing Jack remembered was Lazarus cackling.

  Chapter 24

  Trent led Cora to his suite on the cabana level of the Beverly Hilton, then through his bedroom to a pair of chairs on the patio overlooking the now empty pool. Soft lighting glimmered off the water.

  It was intimate. It was sexy. Cora tamped down her body’s trill of enthusiasm. It was enticement Cora didn’t need.

  No sex, my ass.

  “I assumed we’d be having this discussion in the hotel bar.” Those weren’t nerves skittering in Cora’s belly. Or desire. It was annoyance. It had to be annoyance.

  Trent produced two bottles of beer from his mini-fridge and a small canister of Pringles potato chips. He turned off the lights in his hotel room, casting their table in semi-darkness.

  Another skirmish with desire ensued.

  “I don’t like bars. Growing up, my dad conducted all his coaching business after hours in our living room.” He twisted the cap off a beer and handed it to her.

  What was he up to? Much as she hated beer, she took a sip. “I bet you were a great recruiter.”

  “I was, but my wife was the real closer. She understood what parents were worried about. She reassured them that we’d treat them like family.”

  Cora didn’t want to talk about his wife. “She sounds like a saint.”

  A couple
walked hand-in-hand on the far side of the pool, their voices a soft murmur. They disappeared through a hotel room slider.

  “Saint Rachel.” He scoffed. “She lied to those parents. Every one. She didn’t treat them like family. She treated them like recruits for her father’s flock.” His voice dropped into a valley of regret, so low she had to strain to hear him. “And I wasn’t much better. Young men deserve more from their coach.”

  “Once they came into the program, I’m sure you treated them like your own.”

  “Sugar, sometimes I don’t know. I was fond of them. I made sure they passed their classes and stayed out of trouble. But I didn’t want to hear if someone was hurt. Twisted ankle, sprained finger, pulled hamstring. I wanted them to play beyond the minor pain, because that’s what champions do.”

  Shards of disappointment prickled her conscience. She wanted to believe he was a good man on every front.

  “Those young men looked up to me.” Trent rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the beer bottle label even though it was too dark to read it. “Their parents entrusted their sons to me. But in the end, they were a means to an end – a stepping stone to the NBA.”

  “I’m not liking you very much right now.” And yet, she wanted to hug him. Few men admitted their weaknesses.

  “That’s why I wanted to coach at the professional level. Players are used to being expendable here. If they don’t produce, they get traded. If it doesn’t work out, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “This team is different. Evan – ”

  “Is a great athlete and a savvy businessman. He knows nothing is a sure thing. You can tell those players they won’t be traded or they won’t lose their positions with the Flash, but you’d be lying, just like my wife lied to those parents.”

  She wouldn’t be like that. She’d never lie to those men. They were her…her…friends?

  Who was she kidding? She’d lied to them already. She’d told Ren and Antoine not to worry about their jobs. “I have to go.” She stood, but he caught her hand.

  “You want to sell this team pipe dreams? You want to create some close-knit NBA family and be a part of it? You need to be prepared for reality.” His voice was low and rough, as rough as his stubbled cheek.

  “So that’s it? You’re going to let Viv trade Evan? That’s the other trade you mentioned in Jack’s office, isn’t it?” She didn’t want to believe it. This was worse than Viv going rogue. Almost as bad as Daddy’s having other children.

  “No, sugar. We were going to offer Antoine and a first round draft pick.” He sighed. “You win. You and I are going to work together to keep the team emotionally balanced.” He put his beer on the table and pulled her into his lap. His breath brushed across her neck. “But I don’t want you to lie to my players about their future. Because you’ll feel bad about it when a player gets traded or dropped from the roster. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

  He was right. She knew he was right. That didn’t mean she had to like it. “I’m not going to stop being positive.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His hand inched beneath her blouse. Warmth spread from his touch to her core.

  “I thought we agreed – ”

  “This isn’t sex, sugar,” he whispered huskily, his Southern twang becoming more pronounced. “This is just me appreciatin’ a beautiful woman.”

  His hand swept up her waist to her breast. His fingers traced the line of her lacy bra from one cup to the other.

  She settled against his chest, angling her neck for him to nibble. “I can’t believe you don’t care about all those injuries. I see how you treat Randy.”

  He stilled.

  “Was Randy trusting, like Ren? Or pretending to be all that, like Antoine?”

  “No.” His voice dropped. “He had heart and skill. Like Evan.” He pulled her closer.

  She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “What did Saint Rachel say when Randy was injured?”

  “That I was the devil. That if I went on television with her father to repent, I’d be saved. She bought into the media story because she’d never bought into the idea of me. It was the last crack in our shell of a marriage.” He’d halted his caresses, and those heated kisses on her neck. His entire body seemed still and waiting.

  “You’re afraid,” Cora began slowly. “That I’ll put the needs of the players above your need to win.”

  He nodded.

  “I will.” She turned in his lap, facing him. “Our jobs are different. I need to keep them sure of themselves. You need to keep them wanting to play their hearts out for you, hungry for a win.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when I shared my story with you.” His fingers hooked into the V of her bra.

  Her breasts felt full and heavy, swelling toward him. “I won’t sacrifice what I believe for anyone.”

  “Admirable trait.” His hand slid down her belly, slid lower still. He squeezed the flesh at the juncture of her thighs. “Tell me if we have a problem.”

  A problem working together? Or a problem that he was touching her as if they were going to have sex?

  She shouldn’t have sex with him again. She thought of Gemma and Mimi. Of Amber. Of her plans to go to Paris, plans that held little appeal lately. She considered the possibility that she was just a rebound to him. There were so many reasons she should stop this.

  He nibbled on her earlobe. His fingers strummed her like a tautly strung guitar.

  She recalled how it felt to be filled by him, to have him look her in the eyes with fire and desire. “If we have sex, don’t think I’ll do what you want with the team.”

  “If we make love, I won’t be thinking.” He pressed kisses along her jaw-line. “I’ll be lost.”

  She reached for his waistband. His hand captured hers. “Not here.”

  “I want you. Now.”

  He set her on her feet and stood, leading her inside, locking the door behind them, but leaving the curtains drawn, allowing the pool lights to spill into the room. “Don’t you know a bed was made for more than sleeping, sugar?”

  He stripped the covers to the floor. And then he stripped her with a slow pace that frustrated. A shirt over her head. Kisses on bare flesh. The clasp of her bra undone. Suckling that made her breasts ripe with wanting. Leggings inched off. Nibbles along her inner thighs that made her tremble.

  “I’m dying here, Trent.”

  “Patience, sugar.”

  Every time she reached for him or for his clothes, he brushed her hands aside. When she was finally naked, he arranged her on the bed and looked at her.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “And I’m ready.”

  “I could look at you all night.”

  Despite the darkness, she could feel the intensity of his stare. “I might fall asleep at the pace you’re going.” She was drifting into shrew territory, but she wanted him. Every cell in her body pulsed with need.

  “If you drift off, I’ll hold you and watch you while you sleep.”

  Cora wasn’t used to waiting for sex. She propped herself on her elbows. “Is everything all right? Down there? You don’t need a pill or anything?”

  “Sugar, I’m about to burst. You’re talking about me as if I’m an old man. Let me show you what this old man is made of.” Finally, he stripped off his T-shirt and shucked his shorts to the ground. But when he joined her in bed, he didn’t have a condom.

  “You are so not old.” She reached for him eagerly, but he stilled her hand.

  “Let me teach you something new,” he whispered.

  “What?” The man who’d been with a preacher’s daughter for ten years had something new to show her? Had he snuck into Wicked Tantric?

  “Sunday morning sex.” His voice was as tempting as soft butter drowning in maple syrup on hot griddle cakes.

  “It’s not Sunday morning.”

  “I know, but this is how my ideal Sunday morning would start. I’d explore your body and
make you melt. Then you’d do the same for me.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.” She began stroking him, trying to increase the pace.

  “Sugar, I want to taste every inch of you first. Didn’t I make myself clear? Lie back and enjoy yourself.”

  “I can’t.” She flopped onto her back, pounding her fists into the mattress. “You’re going too slow.”

  He covered her body with his, paying special attention to her breasts with his mouth. She almost didn’t care that it took him so long to slide lower.

  Now that’s more like it.

  She arched her hips against his pecs. She was aching for release. “Hurry.”

  Finally, his tongue dipped where she wanted it most. But he didn’t heed her urgency, her need. He set a slow, Southern pace, when she wanted the speed of Southern California.

  “Please.” Her hips bucked in an encouraging rhythm.

  If anything, he stroked slower, gripping her hips and holding them in place. Each pass of his tongue sent her into a sweet, languid place. The need for speed dissipated. He could touch her like this forever. She’d float in the zone between urgency and completion, between heat and ice. Her entire being pulsed with each stroke, waited for the next one. Until finally, she went up in icy flames.

  But he wasn’t done. He lay beside her and suckled her breast, while his finger plunged repeatedly inside her, and that part of him she wanted most lay hard and trembling across her thigh just out of reach.

  “Talk to me,” he encouraged, screwing her with the wrong appendage. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you.” She clenched around his finger. “I want you to f – ”

  “Shhh.” He stretched up to kiss her. “We’re past that word, don’t you think?”

  What?

  Somewhere deep inside, around where she supposed her heart should be, Cora tensed. Sex had to be impersonal, had to have distance. He was asking for something she couldn’t give.

  As if sensing her fear, he moved his finger in a way that made her gasp. “Since you can’t tell me what you want, I’m going to be creative.” And then he kissed her, a tangle of tongues in a slow dance as lethargic as her first orgasm. His hand worked its magic between her legs, again and again.