Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  “Sure,” Elliott said, propping against the desk’s edge. “Ask me anything.”

  Brooke rubbed her lips together. The heat was making it difficult to think. Maybe she would take her jacket off, coffee be damned. She unbuttoned it and pulled it open. A small draft of relief hit her chest. “I’m in Professor Shope’s History 309 class.”

  “Yes?”

  “But, then you already knew that, I suppose.”

  “I suspected.”

  Forget it. She yanked her jacket off. “And you grade the papers.”

  “Yes.” His gaze skittered down her chest then back up.

  The scent of coffee emanated off of her. Brooke ignored it. “I need to ask you what…that is, why, you haven’t given me a better grade on my papers.”

  Elliott rubbed his chin, stood and sat next to her. The sofa creaked. “What grade did you get?”

  “Four B minuses. One B plus.” Her throat trembled from her quick pulse. “Clearly, you don’t like my writing.”

  “To be honest, a B is the best grade you can get. Shope’s orders. But,” he leaned in, “does it matter?”

  Brooke frowned. “Does my grade matter? Well, yes,I—.”

  “No. I meant does it matter that I’m the one who gave it to you?”

  Sandalwood and musk scented the air. Him. His cologne. It mingled with the latte, tickling her senses. Less than two feet separated them. Elliott pushed his glasses up, waited for her answer. What could she say? What had she rehearsed?

  “I don’t know. It’s not that it’s you, necessarily.” Liar. “You see, I’m a bit of a perfectionist.” He leaned closer and for a fleeting second she thought he might tell her a secret. Her skin tingled just imagining it. “I want to do my best.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  The shadow along his jaw. The supple contours of his mouth. Was he a slow, soft kisser? Demanding and hard? She licked her lips. “Interesting?”

  “A week ago, you wouldn’t tell me your name.”

  Did he talk like that to everyone? She nearly melted under the soft tone.

  Brooke tugged at her blouse but it clung to her skin. “True.” She could kiss him if she wanted to, she realized. He wouldn’t move away, not even out of spite. “I thought you’d be …that is to say, I imagined someone….”

  Elliott drew his eyebrows together. “Older?”

  “Not older, but shorter maybe. In truth I don’t know what I pictured. Some pointy nosed belittling know-it-all who couldn’t give an A because it would somehow mean he’d failed?” Her voice sounded breathy.

  With a chuckle, he moved back. The air cooled. “Didn’t like me much, did you?”

  “Not really.”

  “And now?”

  Did want count as like? “I hardly know you.”

  “But you want to.”

  Yes. She swallowed. Damn her mouth was wet. “I want an A.”

  A devious smile graced his lips. “What are you willing to do for it?”

  She gasped. His smile widened. Of all the—she ought to smack him! No. Wait. Was he teasing her? Of course he was teasing her.

  Worse, she liked it. Worse than that, he moved to sit behind the desk and she longed for the heat charging between them, his scent overpowering her senses. His nearness.

  A knock outside the office jerked her thoughts back. Straightening, she took in the curvy female silhouetting the doorframe.

  “Michelle,” Elliott said, hurrying to his feet. “What’s up?”

  The petite brunette couldn’t be over twenty and openly measured Brooke up. Then dismissed her.

  “Are you busy?” Michelle said, her voice frail and feminine.

  Brooke ground her teeth. Yes, he was busy. With her. Michelle walked to the desk, to Elliott, and brushed her fingers on his shoulder. Picking at imaginary lint, are we? A reason to touch him? How transparent could the girl get? Like Brooke was some kind of threat.

  Puh-lease. She had no designs whatsoever on a guy far too young—and too hot—for good sense. The last thing Brooke needed in her life was love anyway, let alone a love triangle. She should go. Her heels scraped the wood floor as she moved to do exactly that.

  Elliott stood. “Will you excuse me a moment, Brooke?”

  His tone was all business. The meaningful look he gave her had her nodding and sitting back down. Sure. Okay. For a moment. He hadn’t given her a straight answer yet. Plus, what hurt could there be in waiting while he spoke with Michelle outside the door. Close enough so she might overhear.

  She shouldn’t eavesdrop. She didn’t care what Michelle had to say to Elliott, or he to her.

  “Friend of your mother’s?” Michelle purred.

  Brooke bristled. She was older than Elliott but not old enough to be his mother or a friend of his mother’s. Was she?

  “She’s a student. I thought we agreed I would call you later,” Elliott said in a near whisper.

  Call her later? All sorts of desultory conclusions burst into Brooke’s head after hearing the last part. Was Michelle his girlfriend?

  “When?”

  “When I can. I said I would and I will. But, I can’t talk right now.”

  Brooke felt all sorts of foolish. She’d almost thrown herself right into his hot lap.

  “I can’t imagine Shope would approve of you talking to his students without him,” Michelle said, her tone at once a threat and a plea. The girl was definitely attached. “Who am I to say so, though? I guess it’s none of my business. I just thought you might want to finish where we left off.”

  Brooke envisioned her looking up at Elliott, eyelashes batting away alongside that sex kitten mewl. What was he doing giving Brooke anything romantic if he was already involved?

  Oh, God. What if he hadn’t meant those books as a romantic gesture at all? A cold sweat broke across her neck. What if she’d somehow blown the entire thing out of proportion? Her chest grew tight. She shouldn’t have come here.

  “Michelle, please, this is my job. I need to finish my meeting.” His voice was louder now.

  “I’ll be waiting.” The unmistakable smack of stilettos clicked away.

  A moment passed before Elliott came back in. Composing himself? Likely. The girl was probably running hands through his hair the entire time. Through his hair, down his chest, along his abs. Brooke bit down. She didn’t care. She didn’t even care about her grade anymore or whatever challenge she’d thought she’d seen. She stood to go as he returned to the desk.

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  Brooke turned, ready to cut him with an icy remark. She fell short, her lips parted. He’d taken his glasses off. Her breath caught, seeing his undisguised attraction. The word smoldering came to mind. She’d never felt a man look at her the way he was looking at her.

  He came around the desk. He shut the door. Locked it.

  Her heart thumped up her throat.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” Brooke said, amazed her voice didn’t crack. “I think I have to go.”

  “Don’t go,” he said again, stepping close.

  His words enveloped her. Had she thought his glasses made him irresistible? She’d been wrong. His lashes set off depths so blue, so intense, they might penetrate her soul.

  Slowly, he reached up, pushed a lock of hair from her face. His finger ran along her cheek, to her lobe, down her neck and up to her chin. With gentle pressure, he tipped her chin up. Brooke’s hands shook. Her mouth watered. Her mind searched for words and found two: don’t go.

  How could she?

  His gaze captivated hers. He lowered his head. She closed her eyes. The tremble in her hands spread up her arms, down her legs. Yes. God, yes. Let him kiss her. Let her taste his lips on hers, his breath, his mouth.

  “Stay,” he whispered against her lips.

  She failed to shake her head, no, she wouldn’t go. He began at her chin, a graze, and in slow succession, breathed and kissed and wet her skin. Kisses. Tantalizing, sensual, tickling. Around her mouth, teasing he
r. Away again, torture.

  Her knees turned to water. She almost whimpered. His mouth found her hungry lips.

  Brooke gasped. His hands raked into her hair. He kissed her lower lip, moved to the side, never quite meeting her fully. Brooke moaned, awash with a full body shiver. Musk and sandalwood intoxicated her senses. Mint, sweet on her tongue. She swayed her weight toward his body. He slid his hand over her lower back, steadying her.

  Her lips parted, begging entry. He took it. His tongue carefully delved, explored as her lips, suckled and pressed. Brooke returned each caress, mindless of all but each sensation coming over her mouth, washing her body.

  Her hands rose to his chest. His roamed over her back, ever lower, inch-by-inch to her hips. He broke the kiss and pulled away.

  Brooke opened her eyes. She could hardly think.

  He swallowed. “I want you.”

  A small ache jolted to life between her legs. She wanted him, too. Bad. Shamelessly. The realization sent her a step back. She couldn’t.

  Elliott’s hands tugged at her hips. He shook his head. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry. But, please, don’t go. Not like this.”

  The ramifications of what she’d just done, of what she allowed him to do, of where they were and who he was, rammed through her mind, penetrating her haze.

  Brooke put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t do this.”

  “No,” Elliott said. “Don’t say that. Just close your eyes. I promise. I won’t ask anything of you.” He moved closer, his eyes charming the fear snaking through her. “Stay.”

  He leaned in and his scent, his heat, teased her senses. He made her thirst for more. One more taste. A small interior voice urged her to try it. What harm could a little bit more really cause? When had a man ever made her knees go weak? She deserved weak knees. Wet, hot kisses.

  She needed them.

  Brooke let him tug her closer. She shut her eyes. Elliott’s mouth met hers, sweet at first, then urgent, and pleading. Her hands dug into his clothes, her hips sought his. He felt so good. So hard, muscular. So good.

  Her mind designed the flesh beneath her hands as she traced his contours. Not enough. She needed skin. She tugged at the hem of his shirt. Elliott groaned.

  “God,” he whispered. His tongue licked magic over her collarbone. His hands cradled her waist, her neck. “You taste so good.”

  Brooke whimpered. Her nipples peaked, aching for touch. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he positioned their bodies onto a nest of papers. Her need thrummed harder. Moisture sprang between her thighs.

  Elliott cupped her face. His body stilled above hers, inches from answering what her limbs begged for. His touch. “We have to stop,” he said.

  Heaviness gathered back into her chest. “Stop?”

  Elliott nodded. Emotion shone in his eyes. “I want you. Make no mistake about that.”

  Then why stop? She couldn’t ask, though. She wouldn’t make more of a fool of herself over him. Not when she knew how rash she was being even coming to this office, let alone clawing his body like a sex kitten.

  Her surroundings slipped back into focus. Elliott helped her to her feet. She ignored how wobbly her legs were. Had she been ready to give herself to him right there on Shope’s desk?

  She should be thanking him, really. Good sturdy common sense had plainly exited her brain. If not for his clear head, they might be naked, limbs entangled for anyone to walk in on. No, wait, he had locked the door.

  Still. “I should go.”

  He took her hand, kissed it. “When can I see you?”

  The weight in her chest lifted. “I don’t think you can. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

  He cocked his head. “Yes you are.”

  She opened her mouth to protest. He brought her wrist to his lips and licked the sensitive flesh there, effectively shutting her up. She didn’t know what she could have said. An unstoppable prayer formed inside of her. Please, it said. Him, this, yes. Please. His lips caressed her skin, his fingers entwined hers.

  “If I give you my number, will you call me?”

  Brooke jogged her chin up and down, willing her eyes not to close. His breath tickled.

  “When?” he asked.

  She half shrugged.

  His mouth left her wrist. He pulled her to him. “You deserve better than a desk. Unrushed.”

  “Tonight?” A twinge flipped her belly.

  The click of high heels approached. Elliott swiftly moved for the door, unlocking it. He opened it in time for Michelle to arrive, petulant frown and all.

  A stiff farewell was all they had left, leaving Brooke feeling more than a bit befuddled on her drive home. Over and again she asked herself, had she fantasized it all?

  Another glance at seven digits scribbled on a scrap of paper was all the pinch she needed. He was real. It was real. Now, all she had to do was get the nerve to call him.

  Chapter Nine

  Kiki had had cupboards bigger than this place. All five windows of Millie’s two bedroom furnished apartment stood open. She slid the glass door wider to the sorry excuse for a balcony. How did people live like this? Even with it all opened, the walls were closing in on her. Centimeter by centimeter. The melting snow saturated every sound. Wet dripping. Wet leaves on trees. Incessant chirping from happy little flipping birds. It all made her teeth grind.

  The front door lock clucked open.

  “Oh, thank Jesus you’re back,” she said to AJ before the door hit closed behind him. “I have never been so happy to see your face.”

  “Thanks. I think.” He set a large box down by his bedroom door, the vault, she’d come to call it. He gestured at the windows. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m getting a little whiggety.” She wasn’t sure how much to tell him. Or how to start.

  “About?”

  If she didn’t stop chewing her nails, they’d bleed. “I think I’ve screwed myself.”

  “Alright.” He came around the faux tweed sofa. “How?”

  She couldn’t be sure he was taking her seriously. He looked like it. Though his movements were a little on the give-the-patient-another-tranquilizer side, he wasn’t laughing. Yet.

  “Brooke might be bent over a desk, getting nailed by a strapping young history scholar, as we speak.”

  His lips curved. “And this is a bad thing?”

  “Yes.” Millie sucked on a fingertip. Yep, blood. “You see, when I said the other night that I had a plan?”

  “The foolproof one? The no chemistry lessons required one?”

  Ouch. “That one. Well, it appears I’m an idiot, again. Either that or the unluckiest cupid to ever get stuck in this—.”

  “Alright. Slow down.” AJ put up placating hands. “I need specifics if you want me to understand. I assume you do because it’s the only way I can help. You do want my help, don’t you?”

  Yes. No. “When we broke into Brooke’s and I found that picture, and after seeing Jason’s file—thank you, by the way, for getting it—I decided he was my best option.”

  “Right. So. Is the ex-husband still the best option?”

  Millie shook her head.

  “I see. I suppose that helps explain why you insisted you didn’t need any of my—what was the word you used again?”

  Playing dumb. Couldn’t make this easy on her, could he? “Mojo training and I didn’t think I would need any. I thought them having a past would be enough.” She thought she needed to be big girl. Besides, she didn’t always think straight around him. “You’d already done enough with the reservation.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious again but, if it were meant to be, wouldn’t they still be married?”

  “Not necessarily. Something else could have come between them. Family. Finances.” Who knew? She wasn’t about to argue the point now, though. “In any case, I’m positive my plan would have worked. Perfectly, too, but this guy popped into the picture and mucked everything all up.”


  AJ’s smile fell. He plopped onto the sofa. “Are you saying you picked the wrong guy?”

  Millie pressed her lips together. “No, I’m definitely not saying that.” Elliott was not love stuff. “I’m saying someone showed up on the scene and screwed up my strategy. I know, maybe this is a test. You know, the angels throwing me a curve, make me work to keep you kind of thing?”

  He shrugged. “Why make you work for something you don’t even need? I know you hate hearing this, but we could be a team. They put us together for a reason.”

  Yeah. To make the sentence harder. But, leave it to AJ to point out the obvious. What did he expect from her? Depend on him so much that when she failed yet again, when they took her, her withdrawals from him were that much worse? Not just a few shakes but all out cramps and nausea?

  “Look. I’m just trying to get it right this time. I thought by doing it myself, by taking on the responsibility, I’d be doing what they wanted.” What she wanted was a freaking retrial. A do-over. “I never have to help you with your matches.” She should sit down. But she couldn’t. “I was wrong. Okay?”

  “I’m in this with you, Millie. And my goals will never be at odds with yours. We’re meant to be a team. But you have to start trusting me for this to work. If not me….”

  “Yeah, yeah. Someone else.” The idea sickened her. Some unknown, new roommate/cellmate. Hairy, sweaty and fat came to mind. Back throat bile, anyone?

  Why did she hate the thought so much? Face it, she was more attached to AJ than a lost dog. Her tail whapped the floor whenever he was near. How could she not be? He’d been the only one to help her muddle through this hell and had done so with kindness and patience she wasn’t sure she deserved. Not to mention charm.

  “I’ll work on it.” Millie air-crossed her heart. “I’ll start now, in fact. Right now, I need you.”

  He got to his feet and prowled her direction. “I’m all ears.”

  Eyes, too. Millie ignored the suggestive gleam in them. “Can you get me a file on Elliott Jovovich?”

  “Sure thing. Is he the strapping buck or what popped up?”