Fair Play

by Deirdre Martin

  It was obvious Michael loved playing with the kids.

  Obvious he loved kids, period.

  Watching him roughhouse, Theresa was unexpectedly hit with the same sense of deep, primal longing she had that day in her brother’s backyard, playing baseball with her niece and nephew. I want a family, she thought, and I want it with Michael Dante. Almost as if the mild breeze filtering through the huge maple trees had borne her silent thoughts to his ear, Michael looked up, finally aware of her presence.

  In his slow smile, Theresa saw the beckoning of love she had dreamed of her entire life.

  “Okay, kids, time for a break, the King of Commack is tired.”

  Gently removing one little girl from where she hung around his neck, Michael rose to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his knees and his hands. The kids hopped around him, frantically protesting the end of play, but Michael was adamant. “We’ll play again after we eat, I promise. Right now, Uncle Michael needs a rest.”

  Disappointed, the children scattered. Michael walked over to where his cousin Paul stood at the grill and cracked open a cooler from which he extracted two Heinekens. Popping the lids, he took a sip, then sauntered over to the stoop to join Theresa, his face mildly sweaty but his expression delighted.

  “This is a surprise,” he said, handing her a bottle.

  “It was supposed to be.”

  “Where are your glasses?” he asked.

  “I don’t need them anymore,” Theresa replied shakily.

  “I see.”

  Sitting on the bottom step, he patted the maroon-painted concrete next to him. Theresa walked down the four steps to the bottom and joined him.

  “Let me guess,” said Michael. “Gemma called you.”

  “Even better: She came to my office.”

  Michael’s head whipped around in disbelief. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Theresa declared. “If she hadn’t, who knows how long I would have had to wait before you finally told me she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

  Michael ducked his head, embarrassed. “She spilled it all, huh?”

  “No stone was left unturned.” She took a sip of her beer, wondering how long it would take him to realize he was sitting here talking to her with a head full of barrettes. Apparently forever.

  “I don’t want to alarm you,” she whispered, “but your power is still intact.”

  Michael looked momentarily baffled before it dawned on him what she was referring to. Grinning, he raised his hand to his hair, but Theresa stopped him.

  “Allow me.”

  Tenderly, she removed the clips one by one, secretly enjoying the feel of his thick, dark hair against her fingertips.

  “Tell any of the Blades you saw me like this and you’re doomed,” Michael threatened.

  “Why?” Theresa asked softly, removing the final barrette. “I think it’s wonderful. You were great with them.”

  “Yeah?” Michael looked pleased as he quickly ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. “Well, sometimes being with the kids is more fun than being with the adults. At least the kids don’t ask you when you’re going to win another Cup or find a nice girl and settle down.”

  That reminded Theresa. “Unfortunately, all your relatives think Gemma has.”

  “Has what?”

  “Found a nice girl she’s settled down with. They think I’m her girlfriend, Michael.”

  Michael stared at Theresa a moment, then burst into uproarious laughter. “That is great! I love it!”

  “It’s not funny,” Theresa admonished, playfully slapping his bare knee. Unlike Reese, the sight of Michael Dante in shorts was pleasing. His legs were sculpted and muscular, the hair dark but not too thick. An image of what she imagined his bare torso must look like flashed in her mind but she blocked it with a long pull at her beer. “I’m going to have to set them straight at some point.”

  “Don’t worry,” Michael assured her. “Things will take care of themselves.”

  Knowing what he referred to, or at least hoping she did, Theresa blushed. Silence descended, peaceful yet not awkward. Together they sat watching cousin Paul as he stacked the burgers high on two huge platters, whistling to himself.

  “So,” Michael ventured, rolling his beer bottle between his palms, “how come you dumped Fleece?”

  “Reese. Because he was an asshole.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “I wouldn’t have listened.”

  Michael looked impressed. “That’s quite an admission.”

  “There’s a lot I’m willing to admit,” Theresa said quietly.

  Michael cocked his head sympathetically. “Like what?”

  “Like—” Sighing heavily, Theresa put down her beer, pressing the heel of her palms into her closed eyes. “I’ve been such an idiot, Michael.”

  Michael pulled away the hand closest to him, and held it in his own. “We’ve both been stupid, okay? I’m sorry I yelled at you that day and called you a lunatic. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “Yes, I did,” Theresa replied, looking at him now. “Because I was sending you mixed messages and I was jerking you around.” Her gaze flitted from his. “I was scared. I was feeling things for you I didn’t know how to handle. The thought of being vulnerable terrified me.”

  “And now?”

  Theresa swallowed hard as she met his eyes. “Now I want to handle them. I want to cultivate them and watch them grow. That is, if you—”

  He silenced her with a quick kiss. Theresa drew back, pleased. Never before in her life had she so enjoyed being told, in essence, to shut up. Breathless, she squeezed his hand tightly, and in a move that for her was both bold and terrifying, she leaned in to him, covering his mouth with hers.

  Pleasure shot through her, heated and sure.

  How could something experienced before feel so wondrous and new? Michael’s free hand reached up to gently cup the back of her head, drawing her even closer. Theresa was beginning to understand why religious converts yearned to shout their good news from the rooftops. Kissing Michael, she felt reborn, the sensation of his mouth against hers both holy and sweet. Emboldened by the intoxicating sense of warmth snaking through her, Theresa let the tip of her tongue slide between his lips, her heartbeat quickening as he did the same, his tongue on a quest all its own, teasing and twining. All the fear she carried within her evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming yearning.

  This was what she’d wanted all along but had fought so hard against.

  This was what all the great poets and writers down the ages rhapsodized about.

  For the first time, Theresa felt she understood what it was to be in love. To be immersed in it, body and soul, to feel it was at the very core of your reason for being. The kiss deepened. Theresa sighed contentedly, thoroughly drunk on contact with him.

  Somewhere in the far recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Forcing open one eye, Theresa was greeted by the sight of cousin Paul standing in front of her, burger platter in his hand.

  He was politely waiting for them to finish kissing so he could go up the back steps.

  Blushing furiously, Theresa gently broke apart from Michael, her eyes darting instructively in the direction of his cousin.

  Embarrassed, Michael apologized. “Sorry, Paulie.”

  “No problem,” Paul assured them as they moved apart to let him pass. “I remember what that was like,” he joked. The screen door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about my family thinking you’re with Gemma anymore.”

  Theresa giggled, then reached for her beer, in need of some cooling. “So now what?”

  “Now we go inside with the rest of the family and eat, and when the day is done, you come home with me,” Michael quietly suggested, his hand reaching up to tenderly stroke her cheek. “But no pressure. I want you to be sure about this.”

  Th
eresa let her eyes drift shut as she held his hand fast against her face. “I’m sure,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER 22

  After their kiss, taying for the rest of the barbecue had been torture. Touching as discreetly as possible through dinner and dessert, they were like two overheated teenagers. Michael’s relatives were still confused, but Theresa placed faith in Michael’s belief that everything would take care of itself in the end as she joined him in bidding everyone a hasty good-bye.

  Adding to their agony, they hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  The only thing that made the ride from Commack to Park Slope bearable for Theresa was that she was with Michael. Every time she looked at his profile, her stomach fluttered in anticipation and disbelief. He was so handsome, so wonderful, and he was hers. She could scarcely believe it. Michael’s eyes met hers dozens of times during the course of the ride, followed always by that slow, easy smile of his that made her want to melt. Twining the fingers of her left hand through his, Theresa talked: about work, about her family, about her sessions with Dr. Gardner.

  The time for hiding was over.

  Arriving at his place, standing in front of his open apartment door, she was nervous. Michael must have sensed it; his grip on her hand tightened in a way she found infinitely reassuring. He wants me to know I’m safe with him, she realized. And I want him to know I’m aware of that. She showed him by squeezing his hand in return.

  In the car, time had felt endless, like a distant horizon she would never reach. But now time began unfolding itself in a more serene, inviting way. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Locking the door behind them, Michael moved to her, his hands gently rubbing her shoulders before reaching up to cup her face in his strong, warm hands. “If you’re afraid, or have any doubts at all, I’d be happy just to hold you.”

  The unabashed tenderness in his eyes brought a lump to Theresa’s throat. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered as her hand grazed the bruise still shadowing his left cheek.

  Michael touched his forehead to hers. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said as he drew her into an embrace, the feel of her body against his the most natural thing in the world. Here was safety. Here was true harbor. Theresa felt like a clenched fist whose fingers were slowly unfurling to reveal a long hidden, precious jewel. The jewel was her authentic self. Cradled in Michael’s arms, she felt radiant.

  They walked slowly up the staircase leading to Michael’s bedroom, arms linked around each other’s waists. Crossing the threshold, Theresa wondered if he would turn on the light. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Pale moonlight washed the room, bathing its contents in a hushed, peaceful glow. Michael turned Theresa to him. Then he skimmed his lips over hers, gentle and soft.

  “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

  Theresa nodded, too overwhelmed to speak as tears of happiness welled up behind her closed eyes. The longer he held her, the more alive she felt. A slow fire was beginning to smolder deep within her, her own longing for him the kindling. As if the warmth steadily beating through her body weren’t enough, Michael again pressed his lips to hers teasingly before turning his attention to her jawline, gracing it with small, hot kisses. His breath on her cheek was thrilling, inflammatory. “Tell me you want me, Theresa,” he murmured against the pulse quivering madly at her throat. But before she could answer, he was hungrily nipping his way back to the edges of her mouth.

  There was no time for hesitation, and no need. “I want you,” Theresa replied as fervently as repeating a vow. Sweet heat jolted through her at the sound of her own confession. Until now, she hadn’t realized what it was to literally ache with desire. Now she knew and bore the exquisite suffering willingly.

  “Lie down with me,” Michael coaxed.

  Trembling not with fear but with need, she followed Michael’s lead as they moved toward his bed. Theresa watched as he lovingly folded back the crisp white sheets that would soon be receiving them. Far off on the edge of her consciousness, a dark shadow loomed, but Theresa ignored it. Love had reduced its power over her. Trust would see it banished forever.

  “Here.” Michael sat on the edge of the bed, bidding Theresa to join him. His gaze was quietly seductive as he reached up to stroke the long, curling tresses of her hair, silent appreciation informing his handsome face. Theresa closed her eyes, reveling in the soothing repetition of his touch. He laid her back upon the pillow as if she were the most precious object in the world. She could feel her hair spilling around her like a halo.

  Touching his lips to hers with a lightness that belied his desire, Michael lay down beside her; his movements were careful, designed not to startle or scare. Gratitude swam up from deep within her, followed by a greed she hadn’t known she possessed. Moaning softly, she reached up for him, her hands bunching in his hair as she dragged his mouth down to hers. She would show him the torments of the past were gone. She was free to love him as he deserved to be loved.

  As she wanted to love.

  The kiss was long, deep, soporific. Desire warm as heated honey languidly pumped through her. Tentative, Theresa moved her hands beneath his shirt to explore the solid terrain of his back. Michael’s skin was hot and smooth, the muscles tensing as she continued her explorations farther down, lightly caressing his hips. Hearing his breath catch, she knew instinctively he was doing battle with himself, fighting the urge to swiftly take what he had waited for for so long. If going slow was important to him, then that’s what she would do. But not before she kissed him once again. Not before she memorized his taste. Dizzy with need, she again crushed her mouth to his.

  Moaning, Michael reared up, rolling atop her. Smiling as he pushed the now damp tendrils of hair off her forehead, he looked down into her face lovingly.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hi,” Theresa whispered back. She let her eyes drift shut, her body’s pliancy the perfect foil to his pulsing hardness. Delirium caught her in its fevered grip as Michael’s mouth went to her throat, feasting there. She wanted. God, how she wanted. And so, when he raised himself up slightly to begin unfastening the buttons of her blouse, she mouthed no protest. She knew the slow shuddering of her body as she lay beneath him said more than words could ever convey.

  Her mind fogged as his fingers, strong and sure, lazily traced the twin swell of her breasts through the lacy cotton of her bra. More, she pleaded silently. Do more. Reading her mind, Michael allowed his fingers to creep beneath the elastic, his fingertips teasing and circling the erect nipples beneath. Theresa groaned, her pleasure mounting. She thought she heard him chuckle as his free hand reached around to unhook her, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was delight burbling up in her own throat as his hands continued to exert just the barest touch on her breasts. The sensation was as delicious as it was maddening.

  “Michael.” She sighed, his name a prayer as she twined her arms around his neck. He answered with a hard, fierce kiss, his mouth swallowing her gasp of surprise. Peeling away her shirt and bra, the cool night air brought goose bumps to her bare torso.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he drank her in. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” Theresa opened her eyes in time to catch the dark, deep look in his. Carefully, he lowered his mouth to her breast, teeth gently tugging as wave after wave of pleasure shot through her. Theresa’s body arched to meet each masterful flick of his tongue, each cooling blow of his breath upon her heated skin. Soon, she thought. Soon.

  “Is this okay?” Michael asked, pausing to take her romantic pulse.

  “Fine.” Theresa gasped. All she wanted was for the touching to go on, for the feel of his body against hers to never, ever stop. She would do anything to prolong this moment, follow him anywhere if he promised to always, always touch her like this. Nothing else in the world mattered. Just the two of them here, now, like this.

  Desp
erate, she yanked hard on the hem of his shirt. Michael got the message and rising up, tugged his shirt off over his head. The sight of his bare chest stole Theresa’s breath. His was an athlete’s body: The well-defined muscles of his arms complimented perfectly the rock-solid six-pack of his abs.

  “You’re perfect,” Theresa breathed aloud.

  Embarrassment flashed across his face before he lowered himself to her again, burying his face in her neck. Reaching out, her arms encircled his back, drawing him in tight. Words were being whispered. Sweet words. Tender words that made her heart swell. His mouth began a descent down her body, lips and tongue skimming her ribs, then her torso. Theresa had never felt so nakedly alive. Tongue on skin, breath on flesh . . . she was unable to stop herself quivering beneath his touch. He was torturing her, and she loved it. Time stopped as his fingers undid the zipper of her pants, tugging them down gently. Then his hands were there below her belly button, barely brushing her hips before his fingertips started trailing up . . . and back . . . the long, smooth length of her inner thighs.

  She was burning now, hips rocking as sensation after glorious sensation drummed through her. Behind her eyes was a kaleidoscope of colors, vibrant and alive. Her body was pure liquid sensation, the longing to merge with him, to lose herself in him, overwhelming.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  Michael groaned as he tore off the remainder of his clothing. He’s magnificent, Theresa thought. There was no other word for it. Overwhelmed, she turned her head away, her fevered body waiting for the dip of the mattress that would let her know he was once again on the bed.

  Heat bubbled to the surface of her skin as Michael’s hands resumed their slow, tantalizing caress. Breathing became difficult as he teased his way along her lower torso, fingers carefully pausing to cup her between the legs. Theresa held her breath, waiting. Would he continue on? Or would he—? The answer came seconds later as his fingers began slowly to circle her heat, the pressure light at first, then heavier, faster, his fingers frantic to match the signals her body gave him as she bucked beneath his touch.