A strange, hot mass of emotion tangled up inside her and refused to go away. Almost like she was jealous or something. Which was ridiculous because why would she be jealous of a bunch of teenage girls?
Judith turned her back on them sharply, walking fast toward the parking lot.
Stupid man. Stupid girls. Stupid rugby.
She felt wet and cold and she wasn’t going to wait around out here while his so-called fans slobbered all over him. No way.
Clenching her fists, she went over to her car and, after a brief battle with her umbrella when it wouldn’t go down, finally managed to chuck it into the back seat. Then she sat in the driver’s seat, slamming the door after her.
The rain battered on the roof, obscuring the field. The windshield started to mist up.
Judith gripped the steering wheel. What was with her? Why was she so suddenly angry with him? And where the hell were all these weird, jealous feelings coming from? It didn’t make any sense.
Oh, sure it doesn’t. Keep telling yourself that.
The breath went out of her. Of course it made sense. She just didn’t want to look too closely as to why.
Because it was ridiculous to be annoyed with him for being totally and utterly adorable with that kid. To be irritated because he hadn’t called her babycakes or honey pie, or any other of his asinine endearments. To be jealous of his fans.
Ridiculous to be mad with him for treating her like everyone else.
Judith cursed. What on earth was going on in her head? She didn’t want him to treat her differently. She didn’t like the patronizing names or the flirtatious teasing. Or the attention she got from him. Did she?
Of course you do, you idiot.
Furious with herself, Judith hit the steering wheel. But no amount of hitting things or fierce denials was going to change the fact that she did like it. And she was mad because she didn’t want him to treat her like everyone else.
She wanted more of the silly names. Of being taken care of like he had after she’d gotten so drunk with Marisa. Of having her breakfast cooked for her and being made to drink her orange juice. Things she suspected he wouldn’t do for just anyone.
A sudden thought struck her. God, had he actually listened to her when she’d told him she wanted to keep things professional? Was that why he was so…distant?
Perhaps he had listened. And perhaps she was wrong about him. Perhaps, underneath that Abs of Steele persona, the guy she’d once loved was still there.
It suddenly became imperative to know.
Pushing open the car door, Judith got out again. Then, totally ignoring the rain still bucketing down, and the fact that she’d left her umbrella in the car, she stalked back through the parking lot and out onto the field.
Only to find that it was empty, players and fans both gone.
Cursing under her breath, Judith headed toward the stadium and eventually found her way inside. Some of the players, showered and dressed, were obviously heading home. They stared at her as she approached them. “Where are the locker rooms?” she demanded.
“That way,” one of them said, gesturing. “But you can’t—”
“Thank you,” she interrupted and, ignoring the calls after her, headed down the corridor the man had indicated.
She was going to find Caleb Steele. Get some answers once and for all.
…
Caleb sat on the bench and tugged off his soaking wet shirt. The rest of the guys had gone, leaving him alone. Which was just as well because he really needed the space to work out just what the hell was going on with Judith.
He’d got the distinct impression she’d been unhappy about that lot of girly fans, which alternately pleased him and annoyed him. Pleased him because the thought that she may be jealous was very satisfying. Annoyed him because she could not seriously believe he would ever be interested in girls like that.
He bent over, squeezing the excess water out of his shirt. Okay, so he could kind of see why. He had a reputation after all. And he had, at one time, thrown himself totally into life as a premier sportsperson, indulging in all the perks that came along with it. Wanting to be Caleb Steele, the world’s number one rugby player. Not plain old Caleb, the idiot who thought he could cure his mother’s cancer. The fool who thought that cleaning up after his father and putting AA pamphlets under his pillow would fix his father’s alcoholism.
Caleb gave the shirt another vicious squeeze then put it on the bench beside him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he let out a breath, staring at the concrete floor.
Still, fans were fans. Regardless of who they were, he enjoyed interacting with them. Liked to sign autographs for them. He’d never lost sight of what a privilege it was to be in the position he was in and fans were part of the deal. Especially the kids. The ones who looked at him as if he was some god, who got so excited and into the game. He never wanted to treat their excitement and enthusiasm with disrespect. Because he knew what it was to be treated like that. To be told you were no good. That you’d never amount to anything. It wasn’t something he’d ever do to anyone else, let alone a kid.
As for Judith…
Her opinion shouldn’t matter so much after all these years but it did. It always had. And it was just bloody typical that she should still find something to be offended about when he’d been trying to keep a respectful distance. He hadn’t even responded to her “studmuffin” text the night before. He’d tried to keep everything professional. No endearments. Not even a babycakes. Even when her gaze had run all over him and he’d found himself wanting to pull her toward him so she could have a closer look, he’d resisted. Had told his body to shut the hell up. Had kept his desire locked up tight inside him.
Somehow it still wasn’t good enough. Man, he just couldn’t win with her.
Letting out a breath, he got to his feet. Time to shower, then afterward he’d track her down. Get an explanation about why she was still so prickly with him and then set some boundaries. Maybe. If he felt like it.
Picking up his towel, he slung it around his neck and turned toward the showers. At the same time the locker-room door suddenly burst open and a very wet-looking Judith stormed into the room.
Her hair was plastered to her head, the black shirt she wore plastered to her skin. The wet leggings he hadn’t been able to stop himself from noticing earlier now looked even wetter, the rain soaking through the material, outlining her perfect legs.
He couldn’t stop staring as she strode across the room and planted herself in front of him.
“Please don’t tell me you actually listened,” she burst out.
Caleb stared at her in astonishment. “What? What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I want to know.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She raised a hand, poked him in the chest. “You didn’t reply to my text and you didn’t call me babycakes. Was that because you were being professional?”
“Hey, slow down.” He reached out, closed his hand around her jabbing finger, unable to resist the brief moment of contact. “And back up. What’s all this about me not calling you babycakes? I thought you hated that name.”
“I do!” She stepped closer. “But since when did you ever do what I say?”
Caleb suddenly became aware of three things. She was standing very near. That he could feel the heat of her body despite her wet clothing. And that her finger seemed to be generating some sort of electric current because holding it was making him breathless. “Jude, I have to tell you, this is not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re standing real close and touching me.”
“So? And how is that a problem?”
He made himself release her finger, move a step back. “Because of this chemistry. Because if I took advantage of it, I’d just be the player you seem to think I am.”
“But that’s just it, Caleb. I think…I think I was wrong about you.”
“What do you mean you were wrong?”
She took
a step forward, closing the gap between them. “You actually listened when I told you we had to be professional, didn’t you? That’s why I’m not getting any babycakes today.”
“Of course I listened. You were very clear.”
“And when you put me to bed after that night. Cooked me breakfast. You were…taking care of me, weren’t you?”
Where was she going with this? Shit, she couldn’t start thinking he was decent. She couldn’t. Because he wasn’t. “You weren’t wrong,” he said roughly. “Don’t go getting ideas about me that aren’t true.”
She came even closer, inches between them now. Her blue eyes were wide as they stared up into his. “What ideas? Like the fact that you’re actually a good guy? That the stupid persona you hide behind isn’t really you?”
He should be stepping back, stepping away from her. But he didn’t. He just stood there, letting her come closer, letting her warmth seep into him, heating up the cold parts inside himself. “It’s not a persona. And I’m not a good guy, Jude. I never have been.”
“That’s such a lie. I saw you with that kid, Caleb. I saw the expression on his face. And I saw the expression on yours, too. You took your time with that little boy. You damn well made his day.”
“They’re my fans. It’s my job.”
“That’s not all it is.” She was almost touching him now and it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. “I don’t understand why you keep selling yourself short. You act like you’re this stupid playboy but you’re not.” She put out a hand, pressed it gently against his bare chest, and all the breath went out of him.
Her palm felt like a hot coal against his cold skin. A brand.
“Don’t,” he forced out, a bolt of pure desire shooting straight down his spine. “This can’t go anywhere, Jude. I’m not even going to be in the country for long. Once my contract with the club expires, I’ll be looking at a TV job in Australia. Understand? I’ll be leaving. For good this time. And then there’s Joseph. He’d kill me if I touch you.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice sounded faint but she didn’t remove her hand. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want to see…”
“See what?”
The blue of her eyes became lost in black as her pupils dilated. The black top she wore was stuck to her skin, outlining every delicious curve, including the hard points of her nipples. “See if the man I used to know is still in there.”
She was so beautiful. And so very close. He wanted to touch her so badly. “He’s not, darling,” he began.
She didn’t let him finish. Her hands splayed on his chest as she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his instead.
…
Judith slid her hands around his neck, nothing in her thoughts whatsoever but the need to kiss him…and keep on kissing him. His mouth was firm and when it opened beneath hers, it became hot and hungry, with an edge of demand that made her toes curl inside her wet high-heeled boots.
A small, helpless moan escaped her. Oh, how could she have forgotten how good he tasted? A delicious combination of chocolate and coffee. A decadent sweetness that tasted so very good but was probably so very bad for her.
She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew she shouldn’t. Even so, she hadn’t been able to help herself. The feel of his skin, the beat of his heart beneath her palm, and the desire in his dark eyes as she’d touched him had been too much for her. All her good intentions had vanished, consumed by the need that welled up from deep inside. A wild hunger from a part of herself she’d always kept tightly under control.
She arched into him, into the heated length of his body, feeling the hard press of his arousal against her hip. He growled and his palms spread suddenly over her butt, hauling her close, one powerful thigh pushing between her legs. She gasped against his mouth, the pressure sending a bolt of white hot pleasure through her. Oh God, too much. Way too much. Wanting to get some control back, she slid a hand between them, stroking over the sharply defined muscles of his abdomen. His skin was so hot, damp from the press of her wet T-shirt. She slid her fingers lower, to get a handle on the situation so to speak.
But he moved, one hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, gripping her tight. His other hand remained on her butt, holding her firmly, right where she was. Then he shifted his thigh, so the hard muscle pressed against the exquisitely sensitive place between her legs, and she shuddered, unable to prevent the urge to move her hips, relieve the unbearable ache somehow.
His mouth moved from hers, along the line of her jaw, and she let her head fall back into his cradling palm, giving herself up utterly to him.
Then he lifted his head, his hold on her loosening. She blinked, unfulfilled desire coursing through her, not understanding yet quite what was happening until he’d pulled away from her completely and she stood alone, trembling.
He’d let her go. What the hell?
He was breathing fast, his hands curled into fists. His dark eyes glittered in the brightly lit locker room, the black of his tattoo startling against his tawny skin.
“No, Judith,” he said softly and for the first time she could remember, used her whole name. No shortening it. Plain and without any innuendo at all. “I’m not doing this with you.”
She felt cold and shaky, folding her arms to hide the tremors and the aching tips of her breasts. “Why not?”
“I told you why not. I’m leaving the country and I won’t be back.”
His chest heaved as he sucked in a painful sounding breath. “And you deserve more than a quick screw in a locker room.”
“You can’t…I don’t know, come back and see me sometimes? Australia’s not very far.”
“No,” he said flatly. “I can’t.”
A familiar sense of humiliation crept up on her. He’d rejected her once before. After disappearing from her bed the night they’d slept together, she hadn’t seen him for days and then he’d turned up on her doorstep one night, a hard look in his eyes, jaw tight. She’d flung her arms around him, tried to kiss him, only for him to do exactly what he was doing now—taking her hands away. Putting her at a distance. She’d begged him to tell her what was wrong. Cried when he told her. That it was over, that it couldn’t happen again.
Oh yes…and not forgetting the whole “I love you” fiasco.
Good thing you’re not still in love with him then, right?
Judith took a slow, silent breath. Okay, so, maybe she’d been wrong then. Maybe that guy wasn’t there after all. Maybe Abs of Steele is who he was now. In which case there was no need to feel so angry or humiliated. Because this was no big deal. Only a momentary loss of sanity over a typical player. A brief, intense lust-filled madness that—thank God—he’d managed to stop before it had gotten out of hand.
She lifted a shoulder, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. “Well at least one of us was thinking straight, huh?” she said, trying to make her voice sound clear and level, and not hoarse and shaky.
“Judith—”
“No,” she held up a hand. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Would you mind if we just forget coffee for now? I’ve got some stuff I need to do. You know, work stuff.”
She turned, trying to ignore the tight feeling in her chest and the simmering anger in her gut for revealing so much. For continuing to want what she knew she couldn’t let herself have. And most of all for the stupid hope that perhaps the Caleb Steele she’d once loved was still there.
“Jude, I’m sorry,” Caleb called after her as she walked away from him. “It’s not you, okay?”
She didn’t stop. Tears pricked at her eyes, which was just downright humiliating. “No problem, I get it.” She flung the door open.
“Can we go back to being friends? Or colleagues at least? Jude? Wait.”
But she didn’t. She went through the door and out into the rain.
…
“What do you think, Mr. Steele?”
Caleb leaned back in his seat and crossed
his arms. Across the other side of the boardroom table, the TV execs were looking smug and self-satisfied as TV execs were wont to do. Even Mike, sitting beside him, had an overwhelming whiff of smugness attached to him.
Seemed like everyone was happy about the future of his career and, hell, so was he.
“I think it sounds excellent, gentlemen,” Caleb said, turning on the “Abs of Steele” charm. The media always loved that crap. “Mike and I are totally on board.”
The sports commentator position on one of the biggest cable sports channels in Australia was looking good. The execs couldn’t stop singing his praises, citing his great on-camera presence and charisma. No doubt the fact that he could string two sentences together coherently was also a bonus. It was starting to get a little embarrassing.
The suits beamed at him. “Fantastic, Mr. Steele,” one of them said. “We’d like to get you signed up as soon as possible. I’ll get our contract people onto it.”
Of course they would. He was hot property right now and no doubt when they looked at him all they saw were dollar signs.
After the meeting was over Caleb turned away, leaving Mike to deal with the contract details, while he moved restlessly over to the windows. Outside, the city went about its business, people hurrying about, thin winter sunlight glittering off the windows of the traffic.
This was great. The perfect move. A chance to prove to the world that he wasn’t just a man kicking a ball up and down a field. A chance to prove he could do more than kick, more than tackle, more than pick up hot women. Be more than “Abs of Steele”. A chance to hurl that ball right in the old man’s eye.
His father’s voice, full of the casual viciousness that was one of his least attractive qualities when drunk, floated through his head. Medical school? You want to be a doctor? Don’t make me laugh, boy. You don’t have the brains. You’re no better than the rest of us so stop trying to pretend that you are.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. Too late for med school, brains or not. But he’d proven himself enough in other ways. He had more success than New Zealand had sheep. And the part of him that wanted to make a difference was already doing so. There was this fundraiser for a start. And he’d already given a significant amount of his money to charity, and not just for the tax breaks Luke kept going on about.
Talking Dirty With the Player Page 8