by Amy Andrews
Unlike Linc, who’d realised the possibilities straight away.
Here in a deserted locker room with her—Miss Newman—after midnight. And three condoms. Four if he counted the one he had in his wallet. Much more, probably, if the contents of every locker in the room were inventoried.
God. Linc swallowed. He was surrounded by opportunity. And temptation.
The smell of his cologne on her dizzied his senses, and he was close enough that he could just lean forward and sink his face into all those lush, bouncy curls. A low, slow thud of desire took up residence in his groin, heating his blood, as she continued to gaze at the condoms in fascinated horror.
The air around them seemed to crackle as time ticked by slowly.
She glanced at him, peeking out from under the curls that fell across her forehead. He swore he could hear her breath hitch before her gaze returned to the condoms.
Finally, after long, long moments, she moved, shoving them back in his locker. Way, way back. Her arm practically disappeared all the way to the shoulder.
Hell, she really, really wanted to remove the temptation. What had she been thinking about as she’d held those incriminating gold foil squares? She stepped back and shut the door. There was no smile tilting the line of her mouth now. No amused glint in her eyes.
Could she feel the sudden charge in the atmosphere?
“Well, that was informative,” she said briskly, her voice sounding unnaturally high as she moved away from him. “What else does one find in a rugby locker room?”
Linc snatched a breath, his head urging him to follow her, but his body needing a moment or two to get back under control. His heart belted madly against his ribcage, the beat bounding through all his pulse points, his entire body reverberating with a primal longing.
He shut his eyes briefly. Get your shit together, dude.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he ambled toward her. The fabric pulled taught across his fly, torturing the hard jut of his cock beneath. But it was either that or put his hands on her, and this really wasn’t an appropriate place to be doing that.
They were in the team locker room, for fuck’s sake. Even if the bloody room had been wallpapered in condoms, it wasn’t appropriate.
He pulled up near the end of the lockers and watched her circling around the large empty section of the room, stopping to peer at all the different equipment stashed around the perimeter. His gaze followed the strut of her legs and the swish of her skirt.
He couldn’t help himself.
“You have a lot of balls,” she said.
Linc frowned for a moment until he realised she was fishing around in the big plastic drum filled with footballs. She turned quickly and tossed a ball at him. His hands were out of his pockets and closing around the ball before he could even register what was happening.
“Hmm. Fast guy,” she said, but his cock swelled a little more at the hint of admiration he’d detected in her voice.
She picked out another and another and another, tossing them at him, firing them off, making him reach a little farther to either side each time. He caught them all, but the last couple he’d had to dive for. By the time she’d had enough, he was breathing a little harder and the room was strewn with discarded footies.
She shook her head at him, smiling. “How’d you get to be so good?”
Linc laughed as he tossed the last ball from one hand to the next. A football was like an extension of himself, and he didn’t even know he was doing it half the time. “They train me.”
She laughed, too, before turning her attention to a nearby shelf. “What’s this?” she asked, pulling a large thick-padded piece of equipment off it, staggering a little under its denseness. It was almost as tall as she was. Without her heels, it probably would have been.
“It’s a tackle bag,” he said. “For practising our tackles. One guy holds it up in front of him and another runs at it full pelt, going in for the tackle.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
Linc grinned. “That’s why it’s padded.”
She eyed him for a beat. “Can I have a go?”
“What?” He frowned. “At tackling?”
“Yes.”
A slow trickle of anticipation seeped into his system as his mind immediately went to just how that might end up. Her flat on her back. Him on top.
It could also score her a dislocated shoulder. It might be hard to explain to club management how a woman got injured with a tackle bag at half past midnight in the locker room. They wouldn’t be impressed.
“I don’t think so.”
“Afraid a girl can take you?”
Linc threw his head back and laughed. He figured there were probably girls out there who could take him. On a good day, with a lot of luck. But there was no doubt that five-foot-four Ms.-Cute-and-Curly was not one of them.
Being a back-rower, Linc was not one of the bigger guys on the team. His position was more about versatility and agility, which required him to be smaller—if six-foot could ever be considered small—and therefore quicker. But he had her by a good thirty or forty kilos and was used to withstanding guys double her weight trying to bring him down.
Of course, all she really needed to do was lay that mouth on him, and she’d cut him off at the knees in one fell swoop.
“I’d hate for you to get hurt,” he said.
She just grinned, tucked her arms—elbows bent at her sides—and flapped them in her best bird impersonation. “Bok…bok…bok,” she crooned in a scratchy voice.
Linc gaped at her incredulously. “You calling me chicken?”
“Bok…bok…bok.”
He laughed and shook his head, the merriment in her eyes infectious. She was something else, making chicken noises, huddled in his jacket with those damn sexy legs and his cologne on her neck. He was so hot for her right now. He had a good mind to tackle her to the floor himself and show her how the big boys did it.
But she wanted to get physical with him? Bring it on.
He crossed to where she was standing and took the tackle bag off her. “Go stand near the first row of lockers. That should be enough of a run up.”
She grinned triumphantly, and he deliberately turned away from the swagger of her hips and the smooch bunch of her calves to drag some mats into place for when she fell on her ass.
Because for damn sure she was going to fall on her ass.
He turned to find her shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the floor a few metres away. She stepped out of her heels next, drawing his gaze to the slender elegance of her shins and ankles. If she took off another piece of clothing, she’d be able to take him down with her little finger.
With a quick sideways slide of her left leg, she pushed her heels to one side. “Okay. I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”
A dozen instructions ran through his head. None of them had much to do with tackling and everything to do with losing the rest of her clothes. And his.
The muscles in his belly tightened.
“Okay…the object isn’t necessarily to put me on the ground but to push me back as far as you can. So run at me, but when you hit the bag, tuck your head down and go in shoulder-first.”
She nodded, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides as she eyed the padded bag he’d positioned close. Linc tightened his grip on the bag, tucking it in close to his body. It came to mid-chest and finished at his knees.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt you?”
He smiled. “I think I can handle a flyweight like you.”
She bent her knees and his body buzzed in anticipation as she jogged toward him. He locked his knees and braced as she reached the mats. Four paces later she connected with the tackle bag, head down, shoulder-first like he’d instructed, hitting it right in the middle.
It wasn’t a hard hit. Linc easily absorbed it. But Em bounced right off and landed squarely on her butt in a flurry of curls and skirts, the hem riding up higher on her creamy thighs.
Way hi
gher than was good for his sanity.
“You okay?” he asked, dragging his gaze off her legs for a quick visual inspection of the rest of her.
She blinked up at him, her head tilted to the side, her lips pursed like she couldn’t quite fathom how she’d ended up on the mat. She shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m fine.”
Linc held out a hand to help her up. “Had enough now?”
She frowned at his hand and promptly ignored it as she got to her feet under her own steam. “Hell no,” she said as she turned around, heading back to her starting position. Her skirt flared with the movement, before settling into a rhythmic swish along the backs of her thighs.
God help him.
She came at him faster this time. Harder. Sexier. Her curls flew up and brushed at his neck on impact, a small “oomph” forced from her mouth. But at least she’d prepared for it this time and didn’t fall down.
But then neither had Linc. She hadn’t moved him a millimetre. “That all you got?” he grinned at her.
“Jesus,” she said, her curls springing from her head in complete disarray. “What are you made of?”
“All muscle, baby,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes, pivoting on her heel again. Her run up was more focused, more determined this time, her face set, her eyes fixed on the target.
Linc wondered if she had any idea what a turn-on it was seeing her like this.
He definitely felt her impact this time, but he’d been doing this for a lot of years. He knew how to brace and how to stand his ground against some of the biggest in the business. The impact on his position was nil.
“Bloody hell,” she swore, scowling at him. “I give. This is impossible.”
Linc laughed. He knew nothing was impossible. That her being unable to push him back was just physics. He was bigger than her. But that didn’t mean it was impossible. He’d read about mothers who could lift cars off their run-over children.
Mind over matter could absolutely work.
It was the same for him when he had to push a guy back who was bigger than him. If he was pumped enough, determined enough, mad enough, he could do anything.
And he sure as hell didn’t want her to give up, either. If for no other reason than that sparring with her like this was the best damn fun he’d ever had with his clothes on.
“Bok…bok…bok…” he mimicked.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”
“Bok…bok…bok…”
“You’re calling me a chicken now? After I’ve just run at a professional rugby back-rower? Three times?”
“But you haven’t given me everything, though, have you?” he goaded. “Just like this afternoon when you chickened out of getting in the shower with me and watched instead, even though you and I both know you wanted in so bad.”
It was satisfying to see her eyes widen, her shoulders tense, the rise of colour in her alabaster cheekbones. To hear her breathing roughen. Anticipation cranked the nerve endings in his belly, groin, and cock even tighter.
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”
Her voice was low, and Linc saw the sudden dangerous glitter in her tawny-gold eyes. She was pissed off.
Atta girl.
He shook his head. “You might not want to talk about it, but I’m twenty-three years old, Miss Newman, not one of your students. We’re both consenting adults, and I refuse to be ashamed about what happened. I can’t get it out of my head and I know you can’t, either. It was fucking hot. And I’m sure as hell not going to forget it.”
Linc’s heart hammered in his chest as he gave voice to the things he hadn’t said earlier but had most definitely been thinking. He watched her closely. Her hands were wrapped around her waist as if she was trying to ward off his words, and she was staring intently at his mouth.
“In fact, you can bet it’s going into my permanent spank bank, and every time I jerk off, I’m going to be thinking about it. About you. With your mouth all soft and parted like it is now and your shirt undone and your tits out, looking at my cock like you wanted to get on your knees and take over. And if you’ve got a problem with that, then you can come and get me.”
Linc could barely shift air by the end of his little speech, his breath thick in his lungs, as unsteady as hers. Part of him was trying to prod her into having another go, but the other part was hoping she’d lunge at him and take him down with her mouth instead.
God knew he was holding himself so tense that he’d probably crumble into a thousand pieces if she so much as took a step toward him.
She didn’t.
After long, drawn-out moments, she turned away from him, walking in what appeared to be very measured steps. He didn’t move, waiting for her to either stop at her run-up spot or keep going. He wouldn’t blame her if she kept on walking.
He’d gone too far. He didn’t usually talk to women so frankly. Not with them both fully clothed, anyway. He could talk dirty with the best of them while twisting up the sheets, but this? His grandfather—ever the gentleman—would have kicked his ass.
But god-fucking-damn-it. She was driving him crazy.
She stopped, and his breath released in a rush of cool relief, but she took it away again when she turned around—her features stamped with grim determination. With no preamble, she flew at him, her face set, her jaw tight, her eyes glittering.
She looked magnificent, her curls bouncing like crazy, her breasts moving up and down, her legs coltish as they powered forward. She’d never been sexier than she was right now, bearing down on him. Including the shower incident.
He tensed as her foot hit the mat, ready for her but not ready for the explosion of power as she belted the centre of the tackle bag with an almighty thud. Linc actually had to put his left foot back to keep his balance.
“Well done,” he said, a surge of adrenaline spurting into his system as he grinned at her. “You did it.”
But she wasn’t really listening, reeling backward instead, her face scrunched up, clutching her left shoulder. “Jesus…fuck…Christ. Ow. Shit, that hurts.”
Linc dropped the bag, his heart rate spiking as he realised she’d hurt herself. Good one, dude. You goaded her into a fucking injury.
Never let your dick do the talking.
“Are you okay?” he asked, striding after her as she wandered aimlessly round and round and back and forth, her breath hissing in and out through clenched teeth, the knuckles wrapped around her shoulder joint blanched white.
“Yes,” she said irritably, coming to rest against the end of the lockers, near her run-up point. She kicked her heels out of the way as she shut her eyes. “It’s nothing; it’s easing. That’ll teach me to take on a brick wall.”
Linc pulled up in front of her, relieved to see her face had relaxed and her knuckles had returned to a normal colour. “Let me look.”
Her eyes pinged open and Linc almost lost his breath again. She was beautiful.
“Do you have some kind of medical degree I’m not aware of?” she asked testily. “Are you secretly a nurse or a paramedic? A physio perhaps?”
He chuckled at her crankiness, ignoring it as he slid a hand on top of hers where it still held her shoulder. “No. But I’ve seen enough of all of them to know the basics.”
She eyed him dubiously for a beat or two before removing her hand. He prodded her shoulder gingerly. She grimaced a couple of times, but it didn’t seem to overly bother her.
He slid his hand down her arm to her hand. She resisted for a moment, but when he said, “Just want to test your range of movement,” she let him take it.
He moved closer so he could manipulate her arm, sliding his hand into her palm, taking her elbow with the other. Their thighs were almost touching, and he could smell his cologne wafting from her skin in waves. It spiked the heat of his own skin to fever pitch.
Gently, he moved her arm up and down, easing it out from her side then back in again, bending her elbow and repeating the process. He was
aware of her nipples beading the fabric of her dress and her heavy-lidded attention as she watched him from beneath her fringe.
“I don’t think you’ve injured it,” he announced, easing her arm back down by her side but not removing his hand from hers, the material of her skirt warm beneath his palm. “You should probably see a doctor if it gets any sorer, though. Otherwise, I’ve always found liniment works quite well for the small things.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to his mouth and her fingers, to his surprise, interlocking with his. “That’s what I thought it’d smell like in here.”
Linc’s heart thudded hard and slow in his chest now as he shuffled even closer, his thighs pressed against hers, his fingers locking tight on hers. “It does.”
Her head fell back against the metal of the lockers as she rocked it from side to side. “Really? All I can smell is your cologne.” She sighed. “It’s making me dizzy.”
Linc’s breath caught in his throat. “Me, too.” He leaned in, dropping his nose to the stretch of throat where she’d squirted his cologne earlier, and inhaled deeply. “It’s making me crazy.”
He nuzzled her there, the scent intoxicating, filling his head, blooming in his chest, pulsing in his groin. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman more.
If this was crazy, then sign him up.
Chapter Nine
Em was beyond the point of no return. There was only so long a woman could protest before her body took over—and that point was well behind her.
She’d been edging away from it all night. Since the shower, really. And his admission that she was going to star in his spank bank from now on had shattered her crumbling resistance.
Linc was broken. He wasn’t the type to be interested in the sort of relationship she craved. He didn’t think he was capable of falling in love, and he didn’t believe in marriage, for God’s sake. His accusation that she’d been too chicken-shit to join him in the shower had been bang on.
But she wasn’t afraid anymore.
She could have sex with him tonight and not lose her head. Or her heart. And it didn’t need to derail her from her purpose. She just had to slake this completely inconvenient lust and then get back on track. Because she sure as shit wasn’t walking away without experiencing some of Lincoln Quinn’s moves first.