Game for Trouble

by Karen Erickson

  “Don’t downplay your skills, darlin’.” Reaching out, he drifted his fingers across her cheek, his feather light touch making her insides quiver. “You used to do that when we were together. You’d downplay everything. Even that pretty face of yours.”

  And that’s all he cared about, right? Her pretty face? Ouch. She so didn’t need that reminder. “Let’s just leave the past in the past. These dates we’re going on mean nothing, you know,” she said defensively, inwardly wincing. God, she sounded like such a bitch, and she didn’t mean to. But all the remembering was making her uncomfortable.

  His hand dropped from her face, his good mood gone thanks to her. “Of course they mean nothing,” he mumbled. “Not to you especially.”

  She slid down the bench, immediately missing him, which was so stupid. He was blackmailing her into this entire situation. So why did they both seem to keep forgetting that very important fact? “I’m doing this to get my new building and to somehow amuse you. That’s it. Don’t read anything into it.”

  His gaze darkened as he stared at her hard. “Tell me you didn’t just feel something between us.”

  She pressed her lips together for fear she’d say something stupid like, take me now.

  “Tell me I mean nothing to you. That every time I kiss you—hell, look at you—you don’t want me.” His eyes smoldered as he moved toward her.

  “You’re such an arrogant ass,” she whispered, wishing she could escape. But he had her effectively trapped in the booth.

  And he knew it, too.

  “Hey, aren’t you Nick Hamilton?”

  They both turned to find two boys standing by their table, their eyes round as saucers. One of them wore a Hawks team jersey.

  With Nick’s number emblazoned on the front.

  He moved away from Willow, taking all that lethal charm with him and throwing it at the boys. “Why, as a matter of fact I am. How are you boys doing tonight?”

  “Holy crap!” the one in the jersey crowed, the other one jabbing him in the ribs.

  “Your mom is gonna kill you if she hears you cursing,” the second boy said.

  Nick laughed and stood, smiling at them. “You guys want an autograph?”

  They hopped up and down like overeager bunnies at Nick’s offer. Willow watched with fascination as he said all the right things, chatting it up with the boys, asking their names, what grade they were in, what school they went to. Totally deflecting anything about himself and making the kids feel like they were special.

  His actions touched her. Far more than she cared to admit.

  When the mom of the boy wearing the Hamilton jersey came over to see what all the fuss was about, she screamed so loudly she drew everyone in the restaurant’s attention, to the point that Nick soon became swarmed, signing autographs, taking pictures. He even kissed a baby like he was some politician and had to politely disentangle himself from the grip of a woman who claimed her biggest dream was to marry him.

  Willow didn’t know how he dealt with it all. He was so easygoing, so freaking nice to everyone. She would’ve been growling and snapping like a feral animal by now, what with how insistent they were, how grabby they could be.

  “This your girlfriend?” A guy in his early twenties tipped his head toward where Willow sat, a big smile on his relatively handsome face.

  “No,” she said the same time Nick answered, “Yes.” She glared at Nick before she turned her attention back to the cute guy. “We’re old friends,” she explained, waving a hand toward Nick.

  “Well, if you’re just friends…” The flirtatious look on the guy’s face told her exactly where he was taking this next.

  “If you define bed buddies as old friends, then yeah, I guess that’s what we are,” Nick said tightly, sending a death glare toward the poor guy, who threw his hands up in front of him defensively.

  Mister Easygoing, friendly with everyone, was long gone. He acted downright jealous that this guy was even talking to her.

  “Whoa. Not about to poach off you, dude. Have fun with her. She’s gorgeous.” The guy backed away slowly. “Good luck in the playoffs!”

  Everyone else scattered within minutes, leaving the two of them alone once again. Nick slid back into the booth, sitting next to her—definitely not something old friends did—and poured her another beer, staring at her when he set the pitcher down.

  “I think we need to define exactly what’s going on between us at this moment,” he said.

  She arched a brow. What more could there be to define? “Do tell.”

  “When you’re with me, on one of these dates, I’d like it if you at least pretended to have some interest in me.” His eyes narrowed. “No flirting with other guys allowed.”

  Parting her lips, ready to protest, she was cut off with a single look from Nick.

  “Would you like it if I flirted with other women while we’re out together? I don’t think so.”

  He had a point. “You were flirting. That woman said she wanted to marry you, for God’s sakes.”

  Rolling his eyes, he chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll accuse me of being an asshole but I hear that sort of thing every single day. I can’t help it if I’m a public figure, darlin’. I can’t help it if women throw themselves at me and say they wanna marry me or whatever other crude offers they make. Because trust me, the crude offers? They come at lightning speed, especially with Jared off the market.”

  She gaped at him. Maybe she should be glad they hadn’t made it as a couple. Could she stand having women ogling him and saying such horrific things? Hot, sharp-edged jealousy boiled within her.

  Stupid. Useless. Crazy.

  “Maybe we’re using these dates as some sort of twisted game to get what we both want. And maybe we’re just blowing smoke up each other’s skirts, but when you’re with me, you’re with no one else. Got that?”

  Her cheeks flared with heat. His possessiveness was sort of a turn on. He was trying to be all tough and macho, but she saw the vulnerability in his gaze. She recognized that look, remembered seeing it when they’d been different people. “You don’t wear a skirt, Nick. Unless you’ve picked up some new kink in the last few years I know nothing about.”

  He smiled, slow and easy, sexy as hell. Her heart fluttered at the sight of it, and the argumentative mood was broken, just like that. “I’m sure I’ve picked up a few tricks that’ll rock your world if you’d just give me a chance, but no. I’m not into the whole cross-dressing thing.”

  She slowly shook her head, amused at the vision of big, bad Nick Hamilton dressed in a gown with full makeup and a wig. “Might be interesting to see.”

  He scowled. “Woman, if you’re suggesting I do something like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to offer you a firm hell no.”

  Teasing him came so easily when she allowed herself. So did laughing with him when she should still be angry. Yeah, she needed to get over herself and all of this old resentment that hung around her like a black cloud. It didn’t do her any good, holding onto it. “Go ahead, rain on my parade.” She mock pouted. “I was hoping we could go on a date at one of those bars where everyone’s in drag.”

  His brows drew down in mock horror. “You gotta be kidding me. Isn’t this place good enough? I’m trying to wine and dine you here.” He waved a hand distractedly.

  A laugh escaped her. “Wine and dine me at this sort of place?”

  “This is my type of place. And you know you like it.” He braced his hand on the table and leaned in close. So close she could feel his breath feather across her lips, his chest brushing against hers. “No pretenses. No bullshit. I’m trying to show you who I really am. And that I haven’t changed since we were last together.”

  “What? That you’re still careless?” Her protest was weak, her heart rate picking up at having him closer. She pressed her hand against his chest. Not to push him away, but to reassure herself that he was indeed real.

  Oh God, he was so real. His flesh was hot and hard, even through the soft fabric o
f his sweater. His heart beat like a hammer beneath her palm, matching the aroused rhythm of her own. “Fine,” he said, “you got me. I’m trying to prove that I’ve changed for the better. I’ve grown up.”

  “You certainly have,” she couldn’t help but murmur, her gaze wandering over him. He’d grown up in all the right places. Hot and smelling delicious, overwhelming her with a few choice words and that hooded, sexy gaze.

  “Why, Miss Cavanaugh, are you interested?”

  His drawl was extra lay-it-on-thick and she flicked her gaze up to find him staring at her, batting his eyelashes. “Interested in what?” she asked too quickly. She knew exactly what.

  “Interested in me. Because I am sure as hell interested in you.”

  …

  One date in and he threw all his cards out on the table like some sort of naïve idiot. He did not do this sort of thing. He played it cool. Women were fun; he used to like to indulge in them. He liked even better when he could indulge and move on quickly. No fuss, no muss.

  Not anymore though. Since Willow waltzed back into his life, he could think of no one else but her. He wasn’t interested in any of the ones who flung themselves at him on a constant basis. That sort of behavior had become worse now that Jared was a married man. Six months ago, Nick would’ve relished in it. Any woman he wanted any time he could have her? Perfect.

  Instead, all he could think about was Willow.

  She pushed him like no other. He wanted her. Bad. So bad, he laid it all out on the line like a dumbass. For nothing, considering she played hot and cold all night long, but what else was new? He thought he had her one minute and lost her completely the next.

  His heart threatened to pound right out of his chest, he was so worked up. A multitude of emotions ran through him. Frustration. Anger. Lust.

  Lots and lots of lust.

  “I’m not some sort of toy you lost that you can demand back into your possession,” she said haughtily. “You lost me, but you have no one else to blame but yourself.”

  That snobby tone of hers both pissed him off and turned him on. Damn, when he finally got her naked and beneath him, it was going to be so explosive they both might not survive it.

  “Fight it all you want.” He touched her again, let his fingers skim the silky soft skin of her cheek, felt her tremble beneath his fingertips. She was irresistible. For whatever reason, her argumentative attitude made him want her more. Made him want to prove her wrong.

  He was a better man than she believed.

  “There’s nothing to fight,” she whispered, her eyes widening when he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “One date down, seven to go. After that, we go on our merry ways. Separately.”

  “I’ll always own the building your business is in. Don’t ever forget that.” Her mouth was soft and plump. He wanted to kiss her. Suck that sexy lower lip of hers between his own and nibble and lick it. Roam his hands all over her body, see if those specific spots that used to get her all hot and bothered still did.

  Yeah. He hadn’t forgotten. When it came to Willow, he couldn’t.

  “I’m sure your trusty property manager, Frank, will be a tremendous help to me if I need anything.” The pointed look she gave him was clear. Willow wanted to wipe her hands clean of him and their agreement the minute the terms were complete.

  “Stop touching me,” she whispered when he hadn’t answered, his fingers still on her face, his thumb grazing the corner of her lips.

  “I like touching you. I want to do more than touch you.” He wanted to do more than touch her, but he’d take what he could get in the meantime. Certainly a little harmless kissing never hurt anyone.

  And he was dying to taste her. Drown in her…

  “You don’t play fair with your words.” She released a shuddering breath, and he reluctantly dropped his hand away from her face. “You say things like that and you…”

  “I what?” This was good. Her admission was progress.

  “You make me want to smack you,” she confessed.

  Progress just flew right out the window, damn it.

  “You ready to go?” he asked grimly, already sliding out of the booth.

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Grabbing her purse and coat, she followed after him, which was answer enough.

  Disappointment crashed through him, and he pushed it back. They exited the restaurant without a word to each other, though he waved at the owner, who stood behind the cash register with his wife, the both of them enthusiastically encouraging him to come back soon.

  Yeah, he doubted he would, unless he had Willow by his side. She’d tainted the place. His thoughts were tainted. Maybe he was being dramatic, but damn. The woman flat out wrecked him. His expectations had been way too high, and now he was dealing with the crash and burn.

  It hurt.

  He had a good life. Grew up in a small town with a good family. Life was simple. Uncomplicated. He’d played peewee football league and morphed into a decent player come junior high. By high school, he’d been amazing. Fast as hell and could catch a ball like no other. He knew some of it was dumb luck, part skill, and just part hey I want it, I’m gonna get it that led to his progression into the NFL.

  That’s how it had always been for him. He wanted something, he went after it, and he got it. Easy.

  Willow Cavanaugh was not easy. He thought she would be; he knew she still wanted him. But for whatever dumb as hell reason, she pushed him away. Constantly. Pretty much told him she wanted nothing to do with him. For months, they’d played this game.

  And up until now, he’d liked the game he was playing with Willow. Deep down inside, he wanted more though. What they could be as a real couple didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was life. His life—and he wanted her in it.

  No matter what it took.

  There was no way in hell he was quitting his pursuit of Willow. He was just sick of the fight. Sick of the game.

  Oh, he’d keep up the date pretense just to make her suffer. He’d rein it in though. Not lay on the charm so thick.

  Hell. He didn’t know what to do.

  But no more laying his feelings on the line, no more sweet-talking words and cocky assuredness on display. She didn’t want him, and she’d more than made that clear.

  If she wanted a battle, he could give her one. He’d won plenty of wars in his past.

  He remained silent the entire drive, and the moment he pulled up in front of her house, her hand was on the door, her body poised and ready to spring from the car. He grabbed her arm, stopping her from exiting.

  She glanced over her shoulder, her irritation clear. “What?”

  “Local game on Sunday, but if we win, I’ll most likely be going out of town for the next one. I’m hoping we can fit our second date in Monday or Tuesday night. Preferably Monday.” Her arm was slender. He could wrap his fingers completely around it, which made him feel like some sort of he-man.

  “What if I have plans Monday?” Her voice was like ice. He knew she was mad at him.

  Well, good. He was mad at her, too, since he was never one to hide his feelings. More than half the reason he got into messes like this.

  “Cancel ‘em.” No more Mister Nice Guy. He could be as much of an asshole as he needed to be.

  She pressed her lips together and gave a little tug, but he didn’t let her go. “Fine. Text me Monday morning and let me know what the plan is for our next date.”

  “Will do.” He loosened his grip on her but still didn’t let go. Even through the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt, he could feel her. Soft, fragrant skin, arms he’d like to loop around his neck when he pulled her into his lap, so he could cradle her and kiss her until the both of them were moaning and begging each other for more.

  Fuck it. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her into him and kissed her, pressing his mouth to hers. Her lips were unyielding, her body tense, and when he broke the kiss first, she cracked open her eyes, glaring as if she wanted to murder him where he sat.

&nb
sp; “What the hell was that?” she whispered harshly.

  “A kiss, not that you seemed too into it. You’re making me insane, woman. I’m tired of it. You wanna go, let’s go.” He kissed her again, just to piss her off. She struggled against him, pulling away so she could stare at him.

  “What do you mean, let’s go? And you promised there would be no kissing.”

  “Aw, come on. Eight dates to me implies some kissing would come into play.” He rolled his eyes to make it worse.

  He was playing with fire. She was mad, but he couldn’t work up enough worry to let it bug him. At the moment, he’d rather see her angry than indifferent. That kiss had sucked. He knew she wanted him. Why couldn’t she just give in?

  Maybe she has you all figured out, asshole. Maybe she knows what her dad did to you and doesn’t care.

  Well, hell. That thought alone fueled his anger to a slow boil.

  She parted her lips, stared at him incredulously. “That was incredibly rude,” she spat out.

  “As if everything you’ve said to me has been filled with sweetness and light. You’ve been rude from the moment I came back into your life.” He did what he’d been dying to do since he stared at her lips earlier like a starvin’ man desperate for a taste.

  He nipped her lower lip with the edge of his teeth, biting just hard enough to give her a sting but not so much that he’d draw blood. He was no vampire, but damn it felt good, sinking his teeth into the succulent flesh of her mouth.

  “Ow!” She jerked away from him, sucking on her lower lip. Damn, that was hot. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “All you seem to want from me is a fight.” He released his hold on her and settled back in his seat. He was behaving like a complete asshat.

  “So that calls for you to bite me? I can’t believe you did that.” She gingerly rubbed her lip with the tips of her fingers. Just watching her touch her mouth made him hard. Which made him angrier.

  “Maybe it’s best if you get on in your house and lock the door,” he said, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. If he started growling at her next, he wouldn’t be surprised. “You’ve got me in such a temper I think we need a little distance.”