by Lyssa Layne
Camila climbs in beside me and the driver takes off. There’s plenty of room for both of us in the backseat, even with my size, but I don’t scoot over. Instead, I move my arm around her shoulders and stay in the middle seat. That floral perfume she wore in Arizona tantalizes me again, but when I start to lean in to make a move, I stop. Blake’s words come to mind—don’t fuck with her, show her respect. He’s my big brother and while we definitely don’t see eye to eye on most things, I know it’s not cool to make a move on his woman. But they both deny that they’re together, so maybe it’s alright…
I lean back, letting my hand drape over her shoulder and my fingers play with her necklace. She doesn’t even acknowledge me as she checks her email on her phone. I clear my throat and she finally looks in my direction.
“So, honestly, are you screwing my brother?”
Camila throws up her hands. “Why does everyone think that? Blake and I are just friends.”
I smile at her reaction. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show any kind of frustration. I move my hand so that my thumb and index finger can massage her shoulder. “You and Blake are inseparably, attached at the hip. He’s your date to every dinner, gala, and everything in between. You’re in the first row at every game, and I know it’s not for me, so it’s more than obvious why everyone would think you two are an item.”
Camila tilts her head back against the seat, the stray hairs from her bun tickling my arm as she does. She lets out a long sigh and rubs her forehead. “Except that we’re not an item. We’re friends, just friends.”
I nod, still moving my hand against her shoulder. My other hand pats her thigh. “No one buys that crap. You’re both young, good looking people, so why aren’t you two dating or at least dating other people?”
Slowly, she turns to look me in the eyes. Instead of the happiness in her eyes like in the photo on Blake’s fridge, all I see is exhaustion. Fuck, I’m not her only client. She probably never has time to date anyone. Even if she wanted to, especially if she has to chase after them all like tonight. Of course, tonight I was crying for her attention.
“Honestly? For Blake, he prefers his privacy, as do I. So when we take each other as dates to events, it’s because we don’t want people invading our personal lives. I’ll say it one more time and then I’m done. Blake and I are not dating or anything else for that matter.”
The car pulls through a high walled and gated estate. It comes to a stop and I look out the window. Ahead of me is a house similar to Blake’s and the majority of other houses in California, big and expensive. Camila steps out of the car and walks to the front door, punching a code on the keypad and turning to see if I’m behind her. Quickly, I jump out of the car and follow her inside.
Taking a look around, I note that Camila’s house isn’t styled much differently than Blake’s, but then again, I’m sure she decorated both places. It’s an open floor plan so you can see almost every room from the foyer. The house is bathed in colors of white, tan, and gold, nothing too personal at first glance.
The click of Camila’s heels stop and I look in the direction of where the noise was coming from. She stands on the third step of the staircase, pointing down the hall. “Guest room is off of the living room. You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom or the closet.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she turns and continues up the stairs. I watch her hips sway and the movement in my pants reminds me that the brunette never finished what she started back at the club. Before Camila is out of sight, I call to her. “Night, Cami. Sweet dreams.”
She hesitates, but doesn’t respond to my pet name. I grin as I make my way to the guest room. I may not have scored on Valentine’s Day, but straight from her mouth, she confirmed that she’s not dating my brother, which means she’s fair game.
The guest room doesn’t give me much insight of what kind of woman Camila Lemos is. Much like the rest of the house, there’s no pictures of her or any clue to what her interests may be. I tug off my shirt and pants then take a seat on the guest bed. Curiosity gets the best of me so I open the drawer to the nightstand and bingo! A blindfold, handcuffs, and a picture of Camila wearing a bikini greet me. It’s a simple, teal, string bikini, but it clings to her body, showcasing every curve the woman has. My cock stirs under my boxers and I pull it out. I might not be in bed with her, but I can still enjoy her tonight.
Camila
Staring at the clock I can’t take it anymore. It was after two when Evan and I got back from the club and I’ve seen every hour on the clock since I laid down. It’s barely daylight but I can’t stand just lying here in bed, especially with Evan Purser in my downstairs bedroom.
The ride back to my house last night was the longest ride across town I’ve ever experienced. Evan was right on top of me, well, not exactly how I’d like him to be on top of me—Camila, stop!
His cologne reminded me of what the jocks wore in high school. I can’t remember the name, but it was strong and musky with just a hint of oranges and maybe green apples. Although he was drinking off a $200 bottle of malt Scotch whiskey, he wore department store jeans and a plain white button-up shirt. Evan obviously likes to indulge in expensive alcohol and women, but judging from his appearance and his living arrangement, he hasn’t fully submerged into the world of being a million dollar athlete. This is good because it means that not everything is about the money and hopefully, he’s still in it for the game. Once a player crosses over and lets money rule, he’s a lost cause, which is one of the many reasons I usually only represent seasoned athletes.
Throwing back the sheet, I walk downstairs to the kitchen in my navy and floral print yoga pants and a plain white V-neck t-shirt with nothing underneath. I’m sure Evan won’t be awake for awhile so I can enjoy a cup of coffee, take a shower, even catch up on some work before I have to figure out how to get him back to San Diego.
A few minutes later, I’m inhaling the rich aroma of my coffee. I don’t necessarily enjoy the bitterness or the earthy taste of the Brazilian roast that I brew daily, but it’s a small part of my day that reminds me of home. While I was born and raised in the States, my parents, originally from Brazil, kept their native culture alive in our house.
Both of my parents passed away while I was in college, right before I met Blake, which is another reason our relationship is so strong. The Purser brothers don’t have much of a home life either, it being just the two of them and their alcoholic mother. Blake hated going home and when we founded our friendship, he used my lack of family as an excuse to stay with me on holidays. Blake and I have a complicated relationship that obviously no one understands, but long story short, we’re family.
Deep in my thoughts, I barely hear the grumbling behind me. Startled, I spin around and am staring at a six-foot-plus linebacker in only his boxers. Evan Purser may be almost three-hundred pounds but there is no fat on this man. No, there’s only muscle after muscle, flexing and rolling as he twists his body.
Get it together, Camila. I’ve seen linebackers, quarterbacks, fullbacks, halfbacks, every athlete in the world of professional sports like this before. Evan Purser is no different than any of them. Except for the fact that I can feel myself being turned on right now. I look down into my cup of coffee, only to see my nipples peaked and at full attention. Glancing back up, Evan is standing almost directly in front of me.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Evan grins and leans forward, kissing my cheek. My stomach flutters and I can feel my face flush.
“Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine,” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “Are you a coffee drinker?”
He shakes his head, turning up his nose. “Keep that shit away from me. I could really go for some water.”
Perfect escape. I slip by him and open the refrigerator door. I make small talk about the flight plans to Combine. Why I even invited him, I have no idea. Oh, right, because I’m a professional and Evan needs my help to get the contr
act he wants.
I bend over to grab a bottle of water on the bottom shelf when I feel his body against mine. His morning wood presses against my yoga pants, that and his boxers are the only barrier between our skin. His semi-erection is the size of most men’s regular hard on. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m getting wetter by the second.
He leans over and his massive upper body envelopes mine. I swallow the lump in my throat, but when his hand brushes against the edge of my breast as he reaches for the gallon of orange juice, I think I might orgasm right there. Dammit, Gregg, I could have really used you last night.
“Should I assume you cooking breakfast is out of the option?” Evan asks as he stands up and leans against the counter.
Slowly, I straighten up, taking a small breath and turning to face the grinning asshole. I study his face, trying to figure out what he thinks he knows and then I remember. Last time Gregg was in town, I was on the road, but he stayed at my place. I left him a picture of me in a skimpy bikini along with a blindfold and handcuffs, leaving a note and telling him to think of me. Last time I checked, it was still in the drawer. Evan must’ve looked in the nightstand drawer and now he thinks he has something on me. Fine, two can play at this game.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Hard,” he says with a grin and I see his boxers twitch.
Smirking, I walk past him, accidentally bumping him and he lets out a small moan. I glance over my shoulder when I answer. “You’ll have to settle for scrambled.” I bend over in front of him to get the skillet and I hear him suck in his breath.
“Need any help?” Evan is behind me again, tempting me as he pushes against my body, his fingers gripping my waist.
Not to be outdone, I slide my hips back and forth, teasing him as I shake my head. He doesn’t hold back as he moans, but he surprises me when he lifts me up and sets me on the counter. My heart races with excitement, although the one brain cell that is thinking logically tells me to stop this right now.
Evan places his hands on either side of my hips and leans forward, his face just inches away from mine. “I know your secret, Camila,” he says in a low growl.
My stomach drops and the lump reappears in my throat. His hand slips to my thigh, covering it completely. If my legs were slightly open, he could easily tell how turned on I am. His hand travels north, over my shirt where he grabs my breast and squeezes. I have to bite my lip to keep my moan from slipping out. Slowly, his hand moves to my neck and he brushes his thumb across my cheek.
“I saw what was in the guest room drawer. You’re a naughty little girl, Camila Lemos.”
Relief washes through me when he reveals we’re not thinking about the same secret. I slide my hand to his engorged manhood and clutch it the same way he did my breast, using my nails when I do. He gasps at my touch and my lips turn into a smirk. Leaning in so that our lips are almost touching, I whisper, “It’s the guest room, Evan, I haven’t been in there since I moved in.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know that. I tighten my fingers around him as I add, “You know nothing about me.”
Deliberately, I release his throbbing member one finger at a time and lean back. His hands move to the counter and he hangs his head, breathing hard as he does. He takes a moment to regain his composure before he looks up at me.
“Fair enough,” he says and moves his hands. He takes a step back and I slide off the counter, but he doesn’t give me enough space so our chests are still touching. Taking a different approach, he gently runs his fingers through my hair. “Maybe I had the wrong idea, Cami, but don’t tell me that you aren’t attracted to me.”
He has no idea, but if he keeps up this sweetsy act, I’ll have no problem at all turning him down. And I thought being attracted to assholes was a bad thing…
Chapter 6
Evan
“Ha, ha, ha,” I chuckle, trying not to be too obvious that I’m faking it. Internally, I’m wanting to slit my wrists right now. Instead, I stay on my best behavior like Camila asked.
The flight to Colorado was actually enjoyable. Neither of us mentioned the kitchen incident and we chatted, not just about work, but about each other. I was shocked to find out we have more in common than I realized and it was nice to get to know the real Camila, not the one on display like right now when she’s working.
With my hand on her lower back, I gently apply pressure, trying to give her the hint that I’m ready to move on. Her dark eyes look up at me and a real smile comes to my face as I see a hint of the happiness in her eyes that I’ve only seen in pictures. Turning back to the group of owners and coaches we were chatting with, she shakes each of their hands as she announces, “It’s been great catching up with everyone. Evan is excited about the possibilities that are out there.”
Camila’s wearing tight black pants that stretch over her amazing ass, a long sleeve lime green thermal shirt, and a knit, feather down vest that’s unzipped to her chest giving enough of a view to wonder what she’s wearing underneath. I’m too busy letting my hand wander past her back to the spandex fabric of her pants to notice when she speaks until she elbows me in the stomach. Catching the last part of her comment, I nod in agreeance.
“Camila, my team and I would love for you to join us for dinner,” Walter Feiser, owner of the Chicago Lancers, offers.
Smiling politely, she nods. “I’d love that.”
While they work out the details, I look around the stadium. Crazy how a year can make such a difference. This time last year, I was sprinting my ass off, jumping as far as I could, and just praying that I’d made the cut. It was the first time I’d met Camila, but I still remember her selling me to the coaches as she rattled off my stats and honors. Even if Blake hadn’t insisted I use her, she still would’ve been my number one choice of an agent, even being a woman. She honestly is the best in the field, but there’s no need to tell her that.
I feel her move away from my hand as she steps forward, kissing Mr. Feiser on the cheek then she reaches back and takes my hand. I squeeze it tightly, my pulse picks up the pace and I wonder if this is what it feels like to walk hand in hand with a girlfriend, something I’ve never experienced. Quickly, that thought is pushed away as we enter the corridor and Camila drops my hand. Ahead of us, my brother is calling out to her.
“Good timing,” she mutters to Blake, punching him in the arm.
“You’re an expert staller,” he says back, kissing her cheek.
Catching up to them, I ask, “What the hell are you two talking about?”
They quickly exchange a glance, letting me know they’re obviously hiding something. Camila pats my chest, splitting her attention between us and making my pulse race again. “Blake was just trying to avoid running into an old coach,” she says, but I’m not buying the bullshit. Turning back to my brother, she lifts her fingers up and down on my chest again. “You should have seen your little brother in there. He was great, might even have a couple new teams interested,” she brags and a sense of pride rolls through me, not just at her words, but because they came from her.
Blake punches me in the arm. “Good job, Ev.”
Camila glances at her phone and takes a step away from us. “I’ll catch up with you all later,” she says and heads outside to hail a cab.
I watch until she’s safely in a taxi and then turn back to Blake. “I’m on my best behavior, but I don’t want to go to another fuckin’ team.”
Blake laughs as he throws his arm around me, pulling me to him. “Camila knows what she’s doing, you just have to trust her. Now, let’s go grab something to eat, I’m starving.”
Walking outside, we make our way to Blake’s rental SUV. I get inside but don’t look at my brother when trying to be as casual as possible I ask, “What about Cami?”
Blake chuckles as he turns on the engine. “Better not let her hear you call her that. I think she has dinner plans.”
Feiser, that’s right. Blake pulls out of the parking lot and I glance over at him. “What’s
the most serious relationship you’ve ever been in?”
Blake gives me a sideways glance. “Why?”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Do you and Camila ever answer a question without a question? I’ve just never seen you bring any chick around besides her.”
“We’re not—”
“Fuck, I know, you’re just friends. Geez, just answer the question. Have you ever been in a relationship with a woman for more than just sex?”
“Yeah,” Blake answers, staring at the road, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. Obviously, he’s not going to divulge any more information. “You feeling a girl that way?”
I shrug and stare at the passing snow on the side of the road. Why does Camila Lemos have to be so tempting? Sure, I want to get her in bed, but am I really thinking there could be more than that?
Camila
Green light! Thank god, I’m exhausted. I pull my key card out of my hotel door and let myself in. The chatter of sportscasters discussing baseball spring training on the television greet me and when I turn the corner, there’s a six-foot baseball stud fast asleep on my bed. Gregg Turner—a surfer boy turned pitching coach when he threw out his left shoulder and never fully recovered. He’s almost forty, over ten years older than me, and the first time we met, we immediately connected. After months of cat and mouse and schedules that never crossed paths, we finally said screw it and slept together without even an official first date. Two years later and things haven’t changed much and we’re both content with our relationship.
I unzip my vest and drop it to the floor then slowly crawl over him, unzipping his jeans as I do. I need a distraction, to get my thoughts off the man I’ve just spent the past ten hours with. Evan is doing everything perfectly and it’s pissing me off. As much as it makes my life easier if he just follows my directions, I want the challenge of him running his mouth and tempting me with his efforts to get me in his bed. I’ll never fall for it, but it’s something new and different and it turns me on more than I want to admit.