Playing to Win

by Sami Lee

  With him standing so close and generating enough heat to see her native Nebraskan town through a tough winter, Abbi’s body agreed with him. She willed her mind to stay on task. “Once has to be enough.”

  “Does it?” he countered, stroking his hand up and down her waist. “I know I screwed up, running off the way I did. I felt such a strong pull towards you that my first instinct was to break away. It was gutless and I’m sorry.”

  His heartfelt apology weakened her. Abbi reached up and grabbed his biceps to steady herself. God, they were huge. Her hands felt tiny against his muscles.

  “Abbi,” Sam continued, his voice a soft murmur worthy of a hypnotherapy session. “Do you believe in second chances?”

  Yes, she wanted to say immediately, because she did. Everyone made mistakes and deserved a chance at forgiveness, a fresh start. But he wasn’t asking hypothetically, he was talking about them. And she was afraid if she let Sam any further into her heart, the inevitable next step would be heartbreak. “You and I, Sam…it can’t go anywhere.”

  “Why not? Because I’m a client? Because I’m an emotionally stunted boy-man?”

  Abbi couldn’t help but laugh at his self-deprecating humor. A person who was truly stunted emotionally would never have been so genuine with Holly. “Both.”

  “You realize neither of those things is permanent.” Sam cupped her jaw and tilted her head until she was staring into his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m growing.”

  Abbi arched a brow. “You mean literally?”

  “That too.”

  He smiled and pressed his hips into hers, showing her what he meant. Abbi gasped, the press of his erection causing desire to engulf her. She wanted him inside her again. Now. And tonight. And the next night and the next.

  “There’s still my job to think about,” she said, to remind herself what her objections to having more sex with Sam were. Because her body was demanding she throw each and every obstacle aside and beg him to take her home right this instant.

  “I could ask for a new PR rep.”

  “God, please don’t.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Yeah, right. That would make you look bad. Dumb, Cormack. Never mind. I’ll think of something.”

  “Sam, stop.” Abbi tried to extricate herself from his loose embrace. “You’re making it sound like you mean it.”

  “I do mean it, Abs. Every word.” Instead of letting her go, Sam eased her backward until she bumped into the side of her car. Then he rested his hands on the roof and crowded her against the driver’s door with his body. “I want another shot. And I can be very determined when I want something.”

  Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over her throat, leaving a hot trail that extended from her collarbone to her ear. Abbi’s breathing stuttered, her limbs turned to jelly. She opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a helpless moan that gave away everything Sam’s gentle assault was doing to her body.

  “What if I was a really, really good boy?” Sam posed as his mouth moved across her cheek, inching ever closer to her lips. “The Gators might decide I don’t need a publicist at all anymore. What about then?” His mouth hovered over hers. His eyes caught hers in a trap. Abbi’s breath stopped at the plea in them.

  “Will I be worthy then, Abs?” He didn’t wait for an answer, settling his mouth over hers and silencing any response she might have given. Abbi had no idea what she would have said anyway. Her brain was the consistency of scrambled egg when Sam was so close. When his lips were sliding sensuously over hers, she was toast. She was toast and scrambled eggs, and Sam was very slowly but surely devouring her.

  He nibbled at her lower lips, sampled her mouth with teasing little sweeps of his tongue. Abbi sagged against the hot metal at her back, melted into the hot man in front of her. She was like a cheese sandwich in a grill. All these food metaphors… It made sense though. Abbi loved food, almost as much as she loved being kissed by Sam. It was hot and tasty, indulgent and addictive, something that filled her up even as it left her wanting more, more, more.

  Abbi sighed as her hands roamed, encountering muscle after muscle, then the thickly corded column of Sam’s neck, the soft bristles of the short hair at his nape. Sam’s hands wandered as well, touching her face, her throat, her arms. When the kiss deepened and Sam molded her breast in his hand, Abbi moaned and arched to press her flesh closer before she thought better of it. Before she remembered they were standing in a hospital car park in the bright sunshine.

  They broke apart at the same time, as though Sam had had the same thought. He moved his hands to her hips, a more modest touch but no less capable of keeping the sizzle in Abbi’s blood set to high. He stared at her, the lust clouding his eyes holding up a mirror to Abbi’s own feelings.

  “Sorry.” His voice was thick with unspent desire. “Got carried away.”

  “We seem to do that,” Abbi rasped. “Perhaps we ought to stay away from each other.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  There was a note of hurt in his voice. It made him sound human, almost vulnerable. “It’s the way it should be.”

  “I’m not sure I agree,” Sam said, even as he took a step back, putting distance between their inflamed bodies. He showed her a slight, breath-hitching smile. “I think maybe we’re supposed to be together. That we could be, if we were both brave enough to admit it.”

  Was he saying that she wasn’t brave enough to admit what she really wanted, or that neither of them were? Did Sam think they belonged together? Abbi’s heart did a little dance without her consent.

  “Can I call you?”

  His rapid switch back to business made Abbi’s mind reel, and her heart sink like an anchor. “What do you need to discuss? We could go over it now, or—”

  “Abbi,” Sam interrupted with an amused grin. “I don’t want to call my PR rep. I meant can I call you. To talk. Chat. Chinwag. That kind of thing.”

  “Chinwag means talking? What about?”

  “You. Me. Anything. As long as I’m talking to you I don’t care. I want to get to know you better, Abbi. Would you like that?”

  That nervous, little boy smile on such a big, imposing man…it turned Abbi’s heart to mush. “Oh, Sam…”

  “Don’t answer yet.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Just think about it. Think about you and me, Abs. That’s all I ask.”

  That seemed reasonable enough. There was no harm in thinking about the possibility that she might get to know Sam better, was there? Abbi nodded. “Okay.”

  He grinned, and for a moment, Abbi was blinded by the force of his charisma, which seemed to rival the power of the sun. “Great. Excellent. Here, let me help you.”

  She unlocked her car and he opened the driver’s door for her, making sure she was settled comfortably inside before closing it again. Abbi rolled down her window and Sam used the access to stick his head into her car and place a soft kiss on her cheek. The contact left Abbi tingling all over, and wishing he would behave more like the rascal he was and kiss her full on the mouth.

  “We’ll talk soon, Abbi,” he said softly before pulling back, leaving Abbi to try and start her car with fingers that were all thumbs. Eventually, she got the engine going and even managed to find the accelerator, which she used to put distance between her and Sam as quickly as possible.

  Because now she actually thought about it, there was a lot of harm in hope, when the thing you were hoping for seemed patently hopeless. She and Sam? Considering all the obstacles, how was that ever going to work? And even if it did for a while, how would she survive it if—no, when—it ended?

  Despite her gloomy thoughts, the little bubble of anticipation in her chest refused to pop.

  Chapter 6

  Sam spent the next week training—keeping his body in prime condition was just as important in the off-season as it was during the playoffs. When he wasn’t at the gym, he was visiting Holly Johnson in the hospital or thinking about Abbi, or calling Abbi or sending her flowers and ba
sically being a hopelessly romantic sap.

  He wanted her, all of her, not just her body, which yes had scared the shit out of him at first. It still did. But fear didn’t stop the wanting and the latter was taking over the former pretty quickly.

  When he confessed his feelings to Anson over the phone, the man had had the audacity to laugh.

  “What’s so damn funny?” Sam frowned.

  “I just never thought I’d see the day, not after the number Tiffani did on you,” Anson said. “You said you’d never let yourself fall for another woman.”

  “Abbi’s not Tiffani,” Sam said defensively. Was he falling for Abbi?

  More like he’d fallen, past tense.

  “You right there. Tiffani was a piece of work. She was only ever interested in the money and fame that came along with being attached to you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Humiliation still burned inside Sam when he recalled the way all his friends had warned him about Tiffani and how he’d ignored them. They’d seen what he refused to see—that the woman he loved was a gold-digging media tart. He’d been blinded by some black-magic combination of lust and infatuation that he’d mistaken for love.

  “Give yourself a break, man,” Anson said. “It’s been years. You were only twenty-two when you married the evil princess. You’re older now, and almost wise.”

  “High praise coming from you, mate.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Anson quipped. “But you’ve definitely learned a bit more about women. Abbi is not interested in you for your money or your fame.”

  “If anything, they’re obstacles,” Sam mused. “But how am I going to work around that? Football is my life, and the stuff that comes with it isn’t going away. I want to be with her, but maybe with all this extra crap that goes on in my life…maybe she won’t ever want to be with me.”

  “Listen to you,” Anson chuckled. “All insecure and shit.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Anson. Why did I call you anyway?”

  “Because you wanted me to confirm your belief that Abbi is nothing like your ex-wife,” Anson said, sounding like such a know it all Sam could have punched him in the nose. Then his friend’s voice turned sincere and the urge went away. “Here it is again for the record—she’s not. You didn’t listen to me about Tiffani, but you have to hear me now. Abbi’s a good one. If you don’t make a play, I might take a run at her myself.”

  “You will bloody not, you horny prick.”

  Anson merely laughed again. “I have to go, mate. Best of luck.”

  Sam was smiling when he hung up the phone. He felt lighter having admitted the truth to his friend, and, yeah, he felt better knowing Anson gave Abbi the stamp of approval. Not that he needed his mate’s permission, but after the monumental mistake he’d made with Tiffani, Sam had been cautious ever since.

  But Anson was right. Eight years had passed since then, he was older, smarter. He knew a good woman when he met one. Finally.

  * * * *

  Thinking about you,

  Sam

  Abbi read the card that had come attached to the latest bunch of flowers, willing her heart to stop melting. It wouldn’t. She was hopeless. Hopelessly addicted to coming home every day to find a new bunch of roses or daisies or tulips had been delivered to her door. Addicted to the sound of Sam’s voice on the end of the phone each night when he called and asked her how her day had gone.

  She was addicted to his attentions. Helplessly in lo—

  Lust. You’re helplessly in lust, Abbi.

  No doubt, the sound of Sam’s voice made her melt and tingle all over. Her BOB had been getting a serious workout the past couple of weeks. But not even modern orgasm-inducing technology could help her. She didn’t want her vibrator.

  She wanted Sam, and resisting him was becoming harder and harder as the days wore on.

  Shaking off the urge to call him—and trying to ignore the spark of hope that he might call her—Abbi nuked a frozen meal and ate it in front of the TV. It did not distract her from thoughts of Sam, whose repeated invitations to dinner she’d continued to refuse. She wondered if he was having a frozen meal for one as well. Probably not. Not when he could afford gourmet take out every night of the week if he wanted it.

  Was he thinking of her while he ate, like she was thinking of him?

  Letting out a sound of disgust, Abbi tossed her empty dinner tray in the trash and went to take a long, hot bath, hoping it would help her sleep.

  It didn’t.

  Because Sam hadn’t called.

  Every night since the day in the hospital, he’d called her. Sometimes it was just to tell her a stupid joke. Sometimes he asked about her favorite foods—pasta primavera—and to tell her his—steak burger with the works, even beetroot, which was a totally weird Australian thing that Abbi thought was gross. Other nights, they discussed movies—they were both fans of the directorial efforts of Clint Eastwood—or the latest reality show craze. Sam was even pretty knowledgeable about American politics and pop culture, which had Abbi secretly impressed.

  She was impressed with the whole man, actually, not just his looks or sex appeal, which were both phenomenal. Those twinkling blue eyes, the rakish smile, those massive shoulders that looked like they could shelter a girl from the world. His defined abs and his…

  “Oh, damn it.” Now she was picturing him naked again, remembering how it felt to have him inside her, thrusting hard and deep. He’d commanded her body, demanded capitulation until she came explosively.

  Abbi’s nipples peaked with want against the T-shirt she wore to bed. Wetness gathered in her core, making her throb with need. She tried punching her pillow and tossing around a few times. She tried thinking of cold things, like snow and ice, frozen margaritas and ice cream…ice cream that she’d love to smother Sam with just so she could lick it off.

  It was useless. She was hot, hot, hot, and nothing was going to cool her down. Nothing except a powerful orgasm. There was no way she’d sleep until she had one.

  “Looks like it’s you and me again, BOB,” Abbi said as she reached to open her bedside drawer. BOB was huge, purple and capable of satisfying a woman’s every desire. Except the desire to be held and kissed and maybe dominated just a little, but there was no point focusing on BOB’s shortcomings right now. As long as Sam was her client, BOB was all she had.

  She switched him on and pushed her pajama shorts to her knees. She rubbed the head of the purple toy over her wet clit and sighed at the pleasure the vibrations gave her. She palmed her achy nipple as she moved the toy to her slick entrance and pushed it part way inside. God, that was good. Abbi bit her lip and moaned as she eased the vibrator in farther.

  “Oh, yeah. Yes…Sam.”

  It was okay to say his name, surely? In the privacy of her own bedroom, where only she knew it was Sam she really wanted. She couldn’t lose her job for that. Besides, calling out oh BOB would be ridiculous.

  Her breasts ached to be fondled, to be licked and sucked. Not much she could do about that with only one free hand. Abbi took turns pinching each nipple, wishing it was Sam’s fingers making them grow stiff and sore, wishing his mouth was soothing the hurt for her. She pushed the toy in a little more, enough so the attachment started tickling her clit.

  “Oh, God!” Her muscles started pulsing. She was so close.

  The sound of “Bad Boys” by Inner Circle broke Abbi’s rhythm. It was the song she’d programmed into her phone as Sam’s ringtone months ago, when he’d been giving her a hard time. Not that he wasn’t giving her a hard time now, but in a totally different way. She was hanging on the edge of orgasm, so close to going over but unable to now because Sam was trying to contact her, and no matter the circumstances, she didn’t want to miss his call.

  Letting out a cry of frustration, Abbi withdrew the vibrator and tossed it quickly aside. She snatched up the phone and put it to her ear. “’Lo.”

  “’Lo,” Sam mimicked. “Did I wake you up?”

  “No. I
was almost…I was almost asleep.” The heat in her cheeks intensified at the truth she’d covered. I was almost coming. Thinking about you almost made me spontaneously combust.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. You want me to go?”

  “No. Yes.” Abbi swore. “Sorry. I’m not sure what I want.”

  That’s not true, Abbi. You want him. If you tell him so, he’ll satisfy you better than BOB ever could.

  “Are you okay? You sound weird.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She heard the smile in his voice. “You know I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You always sound good to me, but your voice is all thick and sexy. It’s turning me on.”

  You and me both. “Ah, sorry?”

  “Don’t be.” He paused, and the silence between them was thick with unspoken things, desired, unattainable things. Abbi was breathing hard from her exertions before she’d picked up the phone, and the sound of Sam’s voice wasn’t making her breathe any easier. That gravelly note to his voice turned her on, always had. And the accent nearly blew her mind.

  Lord help her, she couldn’t go on like this.

  “Abs?” Sam asked tentatively. “Do you have a hair dryer on or something?”

  Oh shit! Too late, Abbi realized the wobbly purple sex toy was still vibrating merrily on the mattress beside her. Tamping down her urge to curse, she reached for it, searching madly for the on-off switch. “Ah…no it’s the, um, radio.”

  “It doesn’t sound like the radio.”

  “It’s the DJ.” The damn thing wouldn’t shut off. Abbi fought with the shuddering phallus with one hand until at last she managed to make the incessant agitating cease. “You know. The chatter.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was clear he doubted her story. She prayed he wouldn’t guess the truth. There was no way he could guess, right?

  Wrong.

  “Abbi,” he said her name again, and this time it was the aural equivalent of being drizzled with warm honey. “Was that noise what I think it was?”

  “No. It was nothing.” She winced. Could she have sounded any more flustered?