by Liz Lincoln
“It is that good for you too, right?” Something that sounded an awful lot like insecurity tinged his voice. “Maybe not the best, but up there, top five?”
Was Marcus James actually insecure about his skills in bed? That was possibly the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. She smoothed her hand over the top of his bald head. She loved how smooth he kept it. He must have to shave it every day. “This isn’t top five, this isn’t up there with the best. This is the best. Just like for you.” The urge to tease him was strong, but it didn’t feel like the right move.
His grin returned. “Yeah it is.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled her to the side, then slid his arm out from under her. “I’m starving. You want something else to eat?”
Bree stretched, feeling lazy and decadent. “I could eat again. Surprise me?”
“Sure thing, baby.” Without even putting on underwear, he gave her a wink and walked out of the bedroom.
Giving Bree a perfect view of his incredible, grabbable ass.
*
—
The chime of his cellphone pulled Marcus from a light sleep. After their snack, he and Bree had dozed off snuggled together in his bed. His bedside light was still on, casting the room in an amber glow.
He squinted at the clock as he reached for his phone on his bedside table. Only nine thirty. They hadn’t been asleep for long.
The name on his phone display made his gut clench. Mom.
He glanced at the sexy woman tucked under his comforter. He could simply ignore the call. He didn’t need his mom’s nagging to interfere with his night with Bree. And he didn’t want to wake her.
His mom had called a few times this week already and he had been avoiding calling her back. But he had a doctor appointment the next day to review his progress, and of course they were conferencing his dad in. Which meant if Marcus ignored this call from his mom, his dad would give him grief. Better to answer the damn thing.
He swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom,” he said softly, mindful of Bree. He slid out of bed, grabbed his shorts and shirt, and headed for the living room. Way too weird to talk to his mom bare-ass naked.
In the living room, he put her on speaker and set the phone on the arm of the couch so he could dress.
“Why haven’t you called your mother back?”
“It’s been a busy week. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t, but it was the good son thing to say. She only called repeatedly when she either wanted to share some important new study about brain trauma or pester him about when he was going to retire.
She snorted like she didn’t believe him.
Clothes on, Marcus stretched out on his couch, one arm tucked behind his head and his phone centered on his chest.
“What are you so busy with? You don’t have a job.”
Irritation flared in his gut. “I have a job. If I didn’t, they’d throw me out every time I show up at the practice facility. But somehow, they keep letting me in. Because they pay me to be there.” He didn’t bother hiding the annoyance in his voice. Why couldn’t he have any other set of parents in America, who would be thrilled their son had found a way to make millions of dollars doing what he loved? No, he had to have the two parents who were annoyed he was a professional football player.
“What do you need, Mom?” he asked.
“You haven’t responded to the last few emails I sent you,” she said, disapproval heavy in her voice. Marcus could picture the scowl on her face.
“All you sent were articles. There wasn’t anything to respond to.” They’d had this conversation approximately thirty-seven million times since he joined his high school football team. Apparently it was going to be thirty-seven million and one.
“You have nothing to say about studies showing that you are, without a doubt, giving yourself dementia?”
Not one of the studies she’d sent him said that. Cognitive dysfunction was not a 100 percent certainty in retired football players. And thanks to his mom, he was probably more aware than any other player in the league that he had an increased risk over the general population. But he knew it was pointless to argue the “not a 100 percent guarantee” part with her. He’d get a lecture on how to interpret scientific articles. Just because he wasn’t great at physics didn’t mean he didn’t know how to read a medical journal article. He was actually pretty strong in biology and health sciences.
“What do you want me to say? None of those studies showed anything I haven’t read before. Which means there’s nothing I can say that I haven’t said before to you.” Maybe this argument wouldn’t get so old and frustrating if it seemed like she was worried about him because he was her son and she loved him. While he didn’t doubt her love for him, their arguments over brain injury risk always felt more like a professional beef than a motherly one.
Ralene’s heavy sigh sounded like static in Marcus’ ear. “I just wish you’d show more respect for yourself. And for the field that put food on our table when you were a boy.”
Oh good, she was going with the ungrateful son speech now. “Ya know, Mom, there are a lot of us football players who are actually pretty interested in the science of this. I do read your articles and talk about them with teammates. But right now they seem kind of stalled out, finding the same thing. In fact, one of my teammates is funding a new research center here in Milwaukee. One of their main goals is to advance the imaging technology for earlier detection. His wife is going to be the director of the research center. I told her I’d talk to you about maybe giving them a little help getting off the ground. Advising or something. I don’t know.” Maybe this conversational detour would get her off his back a little.
“Really? A football player is funding this?” The disbelief was heavy in his mom’s voice. It was nice she held such disdain for his profession.
Shoving that thought aside, Marcus gave her a two-minute overview of what Matt and Celia were hoping to achieve with their center. “She’s hooked in to the local hospitals, but since her background is in nonprofit fundraising, I figured it couldn’t hurt for her to talk to a big-name neurologist. When I mentioned you, she knew who you were. So can I give her your email?”
“Of course. I’m so happy to see you finally taking an interest in this.”
Marcus swallowed a growl of frustration. Did he not just say he was interested in the articles she sent him? He was well aware of the risk he put his body in—his entire body, not just his head—every time he stepped on the field. Well aware.
“When you finish up your degree, you can go and be the business manager for them. Your father told me you’re most likely going to be retiring after this season anyway, because of your knee.”
He punched the couch cushion to keep from exploding on his mom. What the fuck was wrong with his dad? Marcus had said nothing of the sort; he’d said the exact opposite. According to the trainers, he was progressing well through his rehab. There was no reason at all to think he would be anything less than his old self when training camp rolled around next summer. He still had plenty of good years ahead of him and two years left on his contract.
“That would be a full-time job. I already have a full-time job, and there isn’t room for a second one. Dad is mistaken. I don’t know how many times I can say it, or how many different ways, but I’m a football player, and that’s not changing anytime soon.” He pulled in a deep breath, his chest shaking with the effort to keep calm.
“We thought that since you were finishing your degree—”
“No, you thought because you don’t like me playing football that if you harass me long enough I might quit. But I will retire when I think it’s the right decision. No one else. And I would appreciate if you would stop bringing this up with me.”
“Marcus…”
“Look, Mom, I’m pretty upset right now. So it’s better if we hang up, before either of us says something we regret.” It took a lot to set off Marcus’ temper, but he could feel himself getti
ng there. And his mom could get positively vicious when provoked. He was like her in that way. It was the trait he disliked most about himself.
“Yes, that’s probably for the best.” Her voice was strained, and again Marcus could imagine the pissed expression on her face.
Marcus sighed deeply. “I’m sure Dad will give you the update on my knee tomorrow, but so far my trainers think I’m doing well. Thanks for asking. And I feel good.”
“I’m glad,” his mom said coolly. “I’ll send you an email about the upcoming holidays. Neither of your sisters can get home for Thanksgiving. So we’ll have to see about a family Christmas.”
The holidays. He hadn’t even realized those were coming up, with everything else going on in his life. But it was November, wasn’t it?
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night. I love you.” She didn’t exactly sound happy about it.
Marcus held in a sigh. He understood that feeling. He loved his family, but sometimes they were a real pain in the ass, and it was hard to remember why. “Love you too,” he said.
He ended the call, then lay staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. Irritation burned through his veins, and he wanted to feel more settled before he went back to bed. He didn’t want to bring this mood to Bree.
“Who was that?”
He hadn’t heard her come in, but when he looked across the room, she was sitting on one of the stools at his breakfast bar, watching him.
“My mom. Called to remind me I’m ruining my life by giving myself dementia.”
Bree slid off the stool and walked toward him. She’d put her shirt on, and it hung down just enough to cover her, though he imagined if she turned around, he would see the very bottom of her cute little ass cheeks hanging out.
“Again?”
He told her plenty about his parents’ dislike of his profession. “I guess she figures I don’t remember well, what with all the brain damage.” Her legs were fucking gorgeous. Long and smooth, strong enough to grip him tightly when he was inside her.
“You should tell her about the new research Celia is doing.” She stood next to him, and Marcus couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to slide a hand up and down her thigh.
“I did. She thinks I should retire and become their business manager.”
“Wow. I guess you have to appreciate her tenacity, at least. She and my dad would get along.”
“How about we don’t talk about my mom anymore.” He traced his finger along the seam where her ass met her thigh. This might be a good time to mention that he’d talked to Celia about Bree’s interest in medical physics. But he didn’t want to talk about Celia or brain damage at the moment. He could tell her later.
“I can do that.” Bree sucked a breath between her teeth.
Marcus stood and drew her to him, sliding his hand into her hair and kissing her. He needed her again, needed her to cleanse the palate in his brain and get himself back to the contentment he always found with her. So he lifted her and carried her back to his bedroom. He stripped them both down, laid her across his bed, and took her a second time. Instead of frantic fucking, this time their sex was slow and gentle.
Instead of screaming his name, she whispered it against his lips. Instead of pounding her, he slid smoothly in and out of her body, torturing them both. It was as close to lovemaking as he’d ever been, and when she arched under him and came, the tenderness squeezing his heart was nearly as powerful as the hunger squeezing his balls. He kissed her deeply, sighing her name as his own orgasm took him.
Chapter 15
Bryant looked grumpy, even for Bryant, when Bree walked into his office. He didn’t just scowl but sneered at her when she knocked on his open door.
Thank God this was her last meeting with him before her defense next week. Though he’d previously canceled their regular meetings, he had emailed her last week saying the department chair insisted they meet one last time.
She’d had her interviews at both Carnegie Mellon and Duke. Overall she felt good about how they’d gone. She was confident enough in her abilities to sell herself and what she would bring to a team. Thank God Bryant hadn’t destroyed that.
Where her anxiety kicked in was when she thought about how many others were competing for the jobs. She kept reminding herself that she’d made the cut to even be interviewed, which was a big deal in such a competitive field. Now it was a waiting game to see if she’d gotten either position.
If she thought too much about any of it, her chest got tight the way it did when panic was coming on. So she was keeping her focus on typos and grammatical errors in her dissertation. She’d spent the entire Thanksgiving weekend reading and rereading, until she had portions memorized. The only time in the past three weeks that she’d relaxed for more than five minutes was when she was with Marcus. Which was probably more often than she should be with him, but not nearly as often as either of them wanted.
“Come in if you have to,” Bryant snapped.
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted her to. Her thesis was done, and she was just making the final tweaks. Reina was proofreading it while Bree double-and triple-checked the data to make sure it was all accurate. And every minute she wasn’t in bed with Marcus or working on the class she taught, she was rereading her conclusion section, making sure it said exactly what she wanted.
On one level, she was confident she knew what she was doing and would pass with no problems. On the other hand, normal nerves mixed with her own predisposition to second-guess everything, turning part of her brain into a constant stress ball.
There really wasn’t a reason for her to meet with Bryant, but she still went in and took the chair facing his desk.
He didn’t bother looking away from his computer screen. Bree perched on the edge of her chair for a good two minutes before she finally got bored and cleared her throat. “Look, there’s not really a lot for us to discuss. I’m done writing, pretty much done editing. Just double-checking everything, and my roommate’s proofreading. So it should all be good to go for next Friday.”
That was really all he needed to know anyway. He’d yet to read a single word she’d written, which was sort of his job as her advisor. Instead, though it was no longer her job, Anna had read the entire thing and offered feedback, as had Kevin.
Maybe Bree should be looking at postdoc positions at CERN, a particle accelerator in Switzerland. If she couldn’t stay close to Reina and Marcus, if she had to go away, maybe she should go far away. She didn’t speak French, but most everyone working at CERN spoke English.
Because there was a one-month delay in her paychecks, she would get paid through January. It was cutting things close, but maybe that was the best idea. Especially if she didn’t get either of the other jobs.
Or she could talk to Celia about any opportunities there might be with her new research group. Surely they would need a medical physicist among their staff members. If they wanted to improve imaging technology, she could do well there.
But a start-up was risky, even one backed by someone as wealthy as Matt Baxter. She was probably better off getting at least one postdoc under her belt before taking on that kind of risk. Besides, it was impossible for her to know if she was only interested in that avenue because it would keep her tied closely to Marcus.
But it would all be a moot point if she didn’t get this stupid dissertation defense done and over with.
She was antsy and irritated enough to give up on any pretense of patience with Bryant. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you could pay attention for just two fucking minutes? It is your job, after all. I’ll be out of your life in a week.” OK, maybe swearing at him was going too far. But still. He was such an asshole.
Bryant wheeled on her, his dull gray eyes sparking with more life than she’d ever seen in them. “You really think you’re going to speak to me that way, young lady? Though I use the term lady loosely.”
Oh Lord, he
re it comes. She was almost looking forward to him going off on her because it would give her an excuse to go off right back. And when it came down to it, she knew she had a case against him if she wanted to make a complaint to the university. He’d treated her like shit in front of witnesses enough times that she knew people would back her up. She’d do it if he tried to prevent her from graduating.
But shit, she just wanted to be done.
“Yesterday I had to sit here while your little friend Kevin”—he said Kevin as if it were a slur—“lectured me on the proper way to treat women. As if I haven’t been working in this department longer than either of you two have been on the planet. As if I don’t know the proper place for women. And maybe a little word of advice for you, Miss Novak. If you have delusions about playing in a man’s world, don’t send a man to fight your battles.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, though she could guess. Kevin probably thought he was being chivalrous instead of realizing she could fight for herself. And if she did decide she needed help, she would ask for it.
“I didn’t—”
“That little stunt, more than anything you may or may not know about physics, says to me you don’t deserve a PhD. Doctorates are for grown-ups, and grown-ups fight their own battles.”
Fury burned in Bree’s chest, both at Bryant and at Kevin. “It’s really neat when you threaten me. You know as well as I do how bad it would be for this department to prevent me from earning my PhD now that I’ve written my dissertation and have a defense scheduled in a week.” She sounded braver than she felt. Go her. “You know Dr. Hallahan and Dr. Irvine will never let that happen. As long as I get up there and reasonably prove that I know what I’m talking about—which I do—I will earn my doctorate.”
She couldn’t sit there and look at his disgusting, hateful face any longer. Besides, there was no point trying to maintain the farce of this meeting. So she stood and leaned across the desk toward Bryant, faking bravado. “Don’t threaten me. If you pull anything, I will make sure you regret it.”