Not Before Game Night (Bad Boy Bachelors of Orange County Book 4)

by Khardine Gray

  The shock parted my lips, and the devil took advantage of the moment to sweep his tongue into my mouth. He must have known that all I needed was one taste and my knees would turn to water, my brain to mush.

  Warm fingers cupped my face so he could deepen the kiss and amplify it, leaving me breathless.

  It was the contact of my body melting against his hard chest that awoke my awareness, and I jumped back breathing hard.

  I could almost see the triumph in his eyes, along with something else.

  This was the part where I was supposed to tell him he had no effect on me. I was supposed to tell him I wasn’t lying; except I couldn’t talk.

  And worse, I couldn’t when he smiled that devilishly handsome smile at me, like he could read my mind.

  He stepped toward me and loomed close to my face. I almost thought he was going to kiss me again, but he didn’t.

  “Tomorrow at two o’clock at the stadium. Two questions only. You can ask me the rest on Friday. At my place.” He chuckled and backed away.

  Mischief and that wild sex appeal oozed from him. I watched him go, and while I willed the las trace of logic to help me to be careful, it felt like a fruitless task after that kiss.

  My lips were still burning from the fire that consumed me.

  Burning, scorched right from the inside out.

  He was the rebel, and I didn’t need Madam Phoebe to tell me that the rebel was what appealed to me.

  I already knew.

  I’d always known.

  Chapter 6

  Cole

  Ten past two, and she still wasn’t here.

  I balled my fists and pressed my hands to my sides.

  That damn kiss wasn’t supposed to leave me in some state of wild flux. It was meant for her to be like this. Not me.

  It was meant to taunt her because that was the effect of me. Me, the infamous Coleridge Buchanan.

  Women fell at my feet, and I’d never lacked or wanted for one on my arm. They were always there. Asleep and awake, I’d always had a woman in one way or another.

  So, why was I so hung up on little Vanessa Cartwright?

  Why was I standing outside by the bleachers looking for her? Waiting.

  It served me right. My curiosity over her had always been the thing to get me. It had taunted me like pure temptation and last night I’d made it worst with that kiss.

  We had a three-hour break today. Coach arranged our training days in intervals. Earlier this week, it was full-on, crazy-as-fuck training. We had a ten-hour day with three one-hour breaks that started at eight in the morning. Then he decreased that to six-hour days with more of a break in between so we could get the rest we needed. It would be like that right up until Monday. Then we’d set off for Chicago early Tuesday morning.

  The point was, I was supposed to be focused on all of that. Not a woman, and not the one who’d managed to mystify and bamboozle me with one kiss.

  “Hey,” Denver called out.

  I looked over to him as he emerged from the training room. His hair was still wet, and he still had a shiner from where Casey accidently hit him with the ball. Unlike me, who was still dressed in my football gear, he’d changed and looked decent. Not like the disheveled mess I was with mud all over me.

  “Hey,” I answered, but continued to stare out to the parking lot. Where the hell was she?

  “Who you looking for?” Denver asked with a smirk.

  “A friend.” Best to say that.

  “Is this a lady friend?”

  I glowered at him. “A friend,” I answered more pointedly so he would know not to press me.

  He laughed. “Okay, testy, testy. So, how’s the conquest coming on? You know you have to bed the Cartwright Princess in a handful of days, right? Or you can just hand over that two hundred g’s to me now.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, literally almost forgetting what he was talking about. The bet, the stupid bet. As if I’d needed that damn bet to pique my interest in the Cartwright Princess.

  Denver was looking at me like he’d already won, and after my recent encounter with Vanessa, I was starting to see why he would think that.

  She was a mission and a half. Any other woman would have been looking for an excuse to talk to me. She did her best to avoid me. Any other woman would have been grateful for the chance to spend time with me and make up some shit for the article while we got busy in bed, but no, she was insistent on meeting properly. And now it was going on two fifteen.

  “Don’t worry about me, man. Like I said, I’ll send you a picture. She won’t be able to resist me.” Even though she was doing a pretty good job.

  Footsteps sounded on the pavement near us, and we both looked around to see Cindy Taylor, Sports Illustrated’s latest cover model. And just like the cover on the last issue, she left nothing to the imagination in whatever that was she was wearing. Could have been a top, but I was guessing it was a super short dress with a deep, deep V-line running down the front, stopping just under her belly button.

  My eyes turned to saucers when she moved up to Denver, stilettos click-clacking against the ground, and full on kissed him.

  Denver, who had Jayne. His serious girlfriend. Serious as in a six-year-relationship-that-started-in-college serious.

  I looked at them, watching as they kissed, and Cindy started giggling when she released him and tugged on his shirt.

  “You ready?” she cooed with seduction.

  “Born ready, babe.” Denver smiled at her then glanced over his shoulder at me. “See you later, bro.”

  I didn’t answer. I just watched them go, and something tugged on my heart.

  I was a complete asshole, but I hated cheating. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why you’d have the person you claimed to want to be with and then take another behind her back. I didn’t get it.

  I lived my life as a free spirit. I was the perpetual playboy, and women knew not to expect anything serious from me. Just a good time. That was all.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen one of my friends cheating; I just somehow thought Denver was different. When I first met him, he’d talked about Jayne non-stop. I admired him for it. He even showed off his pictures of them as a couple right from college. He was always respectful of her and almost found any excuse to talk about her in some way.

  Now look at him. Gone off with Cindy and it was clear what he meant to do with her. He hadn’t even kept it under wraps.

  It made me wonder if that was what Dad was like. Maybe in the beginning, before the fame got to his head, he’d loved my mother. No one could tell me, though, that he didn’t allow the fame to take him and in the end nothing mattered other than himself.

  The sound of a car engine cut into my thoughts. I glanced over at the little car park just beyond the entrance. From here I could see who went in and out. It was the car park the public mainly used.

  A yellow Porsche had pulled up, and my nerves scattered when I watched Vanessa Cartwright step out of the driver’s side with that gorgeous mass of velvet hair flowing out in the wind.

  Today, her usual smart casual appearance looked a little more than the usual to me. It was a simple white gypsy top that hugged the edge of her shoulders and a blue wrap over a skirt that showed off her long golden legs, probably what she wore shopping, but she looked like a million dollars to me.

  As I watched her, I was reminded of why I’d painted her as the naked fairy. It was this. Her ability to look sweet and pure like an angel but ooze sexiness all at the same time. I’d never seen anything like it.

  She was the sexy angel who I’d caught more often than not watching me back in high school while she pretended to read, and watched me while I trained while she pretended to be looking at the trees.

  I stared out ahead at her and noticed the shift in her mood and change in her composure as she spotted me.

  I didn’t wait for her to reach me. I moved to her deciding I’d had enough of this shit.

  “You’re late,” I stated, stop
ping just in front of her.

  The blush crept up her neck and tickled her cheeks that color I loved. It was the same color as her lips. Her soft, full lips she’d used to kiss me last night. She’d kissed me and couldn’t even lie after about not feeling anything.

  “For two questions, I think I’m just on time,” she answered, fiery. “And we can stay here.”

  “No,” I answered, short and sweet, then I shocked her by taking her hand. I pulled her along, ushering her the way I’d come. Back to the changing room. I had an idea to speed things along.

  “Cole, where are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere private.”

  “We don’t need private for the questions I have,” she huffed.

  I didn’t answer. I just continued along the path with her. Thankfully, the changing room was empty.

  I released her when we got to my locker.

  “Cole, why am I in the changing room?”

  “So I can change.” I started undoing my wrist supports and set them down.

  “With me here?” She winced.

  “Well, you’re the one who’s fifteen minutes late. I’m talking to you all sweaty and dirty,” I taunted, loving the way she blushed even more. “Got to shower and change. You can ask me your two questions while I do that.”

  “You’re going to shower and change with me watching?” Her gaze snapped wider.

  “What’s the problem? I have no effect on you, so you should be fine.” Before she could answer, I whipped my shirt off, dragging it over my head. Her eyes snapped straight to my abs and the dragon tattoo on the edge of my hip.

  I loved my body more than ink, so unlike a lot of the guys, I had that less-is-more look. One dragon tat on my hip, and another dragon on my back, so the attention could be on the serious work I put into the mass of muscles that lined my torso.

  “Unless you were lying,” I added, cutting into the silence.

  She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together. Taking that habitual step backward as I stepped closer.

  Another step closer, and she was against the wall with nowhere to go besides back the way we’d come or toward the shower.

  I smiled down at her and started undoing the zipper on my fly. That made my joggers slide down and nestle at the edge of my hips. It revealed the waistband of my Calvin Klein boxers and so much more skin than I would have shown on the regular.

  She wasn’t even trying now. I took another step forward and placed my hands out onto the wall just above her head. I didn’t block her escape because I wanted her to see that she was choosing to be here.

  “Not answering, Miss Cartwright?” I prodded.

  Her gaze clung to mine. “We need to talk about the article.”

  “That was fifteen minutes ago. You’re on my time now.” I nodded. “I have a whole other list of activities lined up for us.”

  “Activities…” she breathed, and damn, did I ever love the way her eyes darken with desire the longer she stared at me.

  I was the devil, and she was the angel indeed, and like ten years ago, I wanted so badly to dirty her up.

  Except there was nothing to stop me now. No good thoughts existed in my mind. Nothing to tell me I shouldn’t have her because I couldn’t treat her the way I did the others. Nothing to tell me she was too pure for me to spoil.

  The years of curiosity took over, enhanced by the slight part in her full, luscious lips. Like an invitation to treat, to taste.

  So, I did. It was my turn now.

  She stilled as I lowered to the warmth of her lips and ran my tongue over her bottom lip to taste her.

  She’d kissed me last night, and I got the sample of her. Honey and roses. That was what had filled my mind last night when I got my first taste. Same as it did now. But now, as I pressed harder against her lips and she kissed me back, I tasted passion and desire.

  I wanted to rip that little top off her and see just how much little Vanessa Cartwright had grown up, but her delicate hands on my bare skin sated my needs. She smoothed her hand up my chest, right up to my face and over my beard, cupping my face and moving closer to kiss me harder.

  The sharp need of her kiss aroused the hell out of me and sent me right over the edge. A cruel wave of need swept through me, fueling me to take her right here and now as the kiss turned hungrier and her lips worked mine.

  When she pressed against my chest, I felt the weight of her breasts pushing against me, begging to be touched. Begging me to touch her. In answer to the plea, I smoothed my hands down the silk of her arms and cupped her left breast, running my finger over the tight, taut, diamond-hard nipple fighting against the restriction of the fabric.

  She moaned into my mouth, melting against me the way she did last night.

  I wanted to see more of her, more of what she’d implanted in my wild imagination when I painted the naked fairy.

  I kissed my way down the velvet skin of her neck and nuzzled my face between the deep valley between her breasts when she pressed into the wall.

  Allowing the wild hunger to guide me, I held her in place with one hand and undid the little buttons of her top with the other. The sharp rise and fall of her chest edging me to continue. The soft cotton lay open, revealing a little butterfly clasp holding the black lacey cups of her bra together.

  I was used to taking what I wanted, and this should have been no different. Here she was in my arms, mine for the taking, and yet I felt the need to stop as I was about to unveil the part of her body where my imagination began.

  This was as much as I’d seen of her before. On her sixteen-year-old body, the soft swells of her breasts were nothing in comparison to the mounds that heaved before me, and the slender length of her body was nothing in comparison to the perfect curves sculpted into her waist and hips.

  My gaze climbed back up to meet hers, her desire-filled eyes that were a mingle of want and fear.

  “I want to see you,” I breathed. “Let me see you, Vanessa Cartwright.”

  Here was the difference. The difference that flashed back on me from ten years ago when I acknowledged she wasn’t like every other girl. Now I was acknowledging that she wasn’t like every other woman I’d been with.

  Sure, I wanted to take her, but I wanted her to give herself to me. Willingly.

  It would mean more if she did.

  Fire heated her gaze up with pure sex, and the fan of thick, black lashes flickered over her cheeks as her dainty hand moved up to her bra and undid the clasp.

  My damn cock hardened in an instant, and I could have been eighteen again, ready to embarrass myself at the sight of her as her breasts spilled out and bobbled toward me.

  Now I knew what this part of her looked like, and I couldn’t wait to see the rest.

  I was damn good at painting anything I wanted. Damn good, and I knew it. Mom spoke truth when she said art came easier to me than playing football. She was right. But fuck, the image I’d conjured up in my imagination of Vanessa was nothing in comparison to the real thing.

  Nothing and no woman on this earth could hold a flame to the real Vanessa.

  Her breasts, full, round, and lush, were like ripe strawberries waiting to be picked. The rose tips pebbled hard against my fingers, responding to the light strokes I’d placed on them.

  My mouth watered when she looked back to me, and I smiled at the goddess before I took the plunge to lower my head and take her left nipple into my mouth. A soft breath escaped her lips, and I pinned her into the wall as I sucked harder, soothing the desperate nipple.

  Not wanting to leave the other one out, I went for the neglected nipple and sucked on it until she started moaning and arching against me. Pressing and rubbing against my already hard cock.

  And boy, did she ever dress right for today.

  I caught the edge of her waist and shoved that little skirt of hers up her hips so I could check out the rest of her. I released her nipple to do just that and looked down at the lacy panties snug on her perfect body like it had been painted on. />
  “Cole… I …”

  I stopped her next words by moving aside her panties and sliding my hands over the swollen lips of her pussy. The look on her face now was enough for me to blow my load. What nearly did it though was when I felt how wet she was for me and pressed my finger inside her pussy. Right up inside her tight, tight pussy.

  Tight.

  So tight it turned me on even more.

  An echo of someone talking bounced across the walls and ripped me right from the sexual haze that surrounded us.

  Shit! It was Coach Simpson. He was coming down the stairs.

  Vanessa winced and started fixing herself, but nothing she did would have been quick enough or fast enough to cover up what it looked like we were doing. She’d just managed to fix her top and cover her breasts when he rounded the corner and saw us.

  He’d been on the phone and cut the conversation right off when his eyes landed on me half naked and looking like I was up to no good with the team owner’s daughter.

  His mouth dropped, and his nostrils flared.

  “Buchanan! What the hell is this?” he roared.

  “I was just leaving,” Vanessa said quickly and rushed away. I would have gone after her, but something told me it was better to stay here and calm the coach.

  “Well?” he barked.

  “Nothing. We were just talking. You know I have to do that interview thing.”

  “With your shirt off and your dick practically out of your fucking pants?”

  If I weren’t new, I would have smart-mouthed him. “Won’t happen again, Coach.”

  “No women down here, and so help me God, if I find out you’ve been screwing anyone before game night, I will cut off your balls myself. Understood?” The man was as tall as me and had the same build. He had twenty years on me and moved a lot slower, but I knew he was serious. He’d do it.

  “I understand.”

  He lowered his bushy brows and continued around to the other side of the changing room.

  My gaze turned to the empty trail left by the goddess. I would have had her right here up against the wall if we hadn’t been interrupted.