Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  “You do dance?” A little late now to be asking that, but what the hell. She could step on his feet all night, and he doubted he’d notice. Not with that nice little body close to his and those brown eyes holding him captive.

  “Only a little, but I’m athletic and a quick learner.” Her eyes twinkled brighter than stars in the night sky.

  “So, let’s give it a try.”

  “Can I take off my shoes?”

  “Sure, other women have.”

  It was a two-step to a country song, and Mac had no problem keeping up with him. She twirled and wiggled that cute little body all around him, anticipating his every move until he was panting after her like a horny old dog. Bruiser was having a damn good time, which surprised him. In fact, it’d been a while since he’d had this much fun off the field or out of the sack and been this relaxed at a party. It’d been even longer since a woman intrigued him. This insane attraction to Mac blindsided him and pretty much knocked his denial on its butt, even though he should’ve seen it coming given his recent obsession with her.

  The fast dance ended, and Mac raced for the edge of dance floor, but Bruiser caught her hand and tugged her back into his arms. Bad idea, but he’d been full of bad ideas all evening. He couldn’t explain why, but he had to have that fit little body pressed against his in a slow dance. Okay, hell, he probably could explain why if he really thought about it.

  Mac didn’t resist; instead, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Despite muscles honed from her hours of physical labor, she felt like a woman—all woman—and he liked that. A lot.

  She gazed up at him with a slight smile. Her perfume floated around him, leaving him in a haze as if he’d just drunk a tumbler of fine whiskey on an empty stomach. Her size fit him well. Everything about her fit him, from her soft breasts rubbing against his chest to her fine thighs brushing against his. And her eyes were the type of eyes that made a strong man weak—eyes that haunted a man’s dreams and took hold of a man and never let him go.

  He grinned down at her like a damn fool, just happy to be him and enjoying life.

  Sliding his hands down her back, he grabbed a handful of ass just to get a rise out of her and break the spell she’d so easily woven. She glared at him and smacked his arm. “Next time, it’ll be a knee to the groin, buster.”

  “I think you mean that,” Bruiser said.

  “You know I mean that. You sure know how to take advantage of a situation.”

  “Hey, I might be pretty, but I’m not stupid. Gorgeous night, great company, sexy little body plastered against me. What more could I want even if I’m concerned for the safety of my manhood?” No truer words were ever spoken.

  “I am not plastered against you. You’re holding me there.” Her brown eyes flashed fire. Damn, he liked when she was all indignant and wallowing in denial.

  He raised one eyebrow. She half-heartedly tried to pull away, but when he loosened his hold to allow her to extract herself, she didn’t take him up on it.

  He maneuvered her to a darker part of the patio, away from most of the dancers. She clung to him. Her incredible lips parted slightly, and she sighed the most provocative sigh he’d ever heard. He doubted she meant for it to be provocative, but pretty much any sound coming from those lips right now turned him on.

  Their gazes locked, and Bruiser forgot everything he’d ever learned, including the ability to form simple words. Mac looked as dazed as he felt. He couldn’t look away, even as the alarm sounded in his head to get out and get out fast. He’d always paid heed to that alarm, but not tonight. Not with Mac. To hell with it. He silenced all his inner thoughts except the ones that swore this was a good idea.

  Yeah, a very good idea.

  His gaze slipped lower, to those luscious lips of hers. Big, full, and absolutely feminine. Bruiser lowered his head. Her warm breath feathered his lips. He wanted to kiss her, and she wanted him to. He knew the signs. Only an inch separated them. So close. So very close. Her pink tongue darted out, and she wet her lips. Heat rolled off him in waves, like a hot sidewalk on a hundred-degree day. Oh, God, his knees almost buckled. He tilted his head, just one more inch. One little inch between his lips and the Promised Land.

  Then he remembered Brett.

  Brett, his buddy. His fishing partner. The only guy who truly understood him. Loyal to a fault and always there when needed. And Bruiser, the asshole, was about to kiss the hell out of Brett’s love interest.

  Friends were more important than a casual fuck. He could get a casual fuck anywhere. Right now, his actions affected two friends—Mac and Brett. He loosened his hold on Mac, allowing her to put a few inches between them. She stared at him, her lips still parted, and blinked several times, as if she couldn’t believe her bad luck. Neither could he. What a fine time for his sense of honor and decency to assert itself.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

  Mac’s disappointment was written all over her flushed face, which was out of character. She usually had a better poker face than that. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked beyond him. “You’re not, really. It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. We’re friends, and I’m not the right guy for you.” Bruiser managed a half smile in an attempt to downplay what had just not happened. “Now, Brett—there’s a guy who could make a nice girl like you happy.”

  “Brett?” She squinted at him, as if trying to process his words.

  “Yeah, Brett’s kinda interested.” His statement had the desired effect of driving a wedge between them. Bruiser stepped back, putting more distance between them physically and emotionally. His arms dropped to his sides, feeling empty and aching for her. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “In me?” She pointed at her chest, right at her cleavage, and he bit back a groan.

  “Sure is,” he managed, though he sounded strangled. “Has been for a long time.”

  “Isn’t he your best buddy on the team?” She perched her cute ass on a rock wall and put her shoes back on. He gaped at her shapely legs until she gazed up at him. Oh, God, he wanted to bend her over the wall and kiss the hell out of her.

  “Pretty much.”

  “I know you can’t help but be your usual jackass self, but if Brett’s interested, why were you hitting on me?” Her accusation punched him below the belt, but his selfish dick refused to give up its quest.

  “Because I’m truly an ass. I apologize. It won’t happen again. So, will you?”

  She stared up at him, hugging herself with her arms, as if she were cold. “Will I what?”

  “Go out with Brett?”

  “I can’t answer that, since he’s never asked me.”

  An unexpected stab of jealousy caught Bruiser completely off guard. Jealous? He hadn’t been jealous since he caught CeCe flirting with the quarterback on his old college team. Damn. He needed to screw his head on straight, abandon his odd attraction to Mac, and go back to being a player, a role he’d starred in since puberty. Only hooking up with anonymous women didn’t hold its usual appeal.

  And despite all his inner bullshit, he knew the exact reason why.

  * * * * *

  Mac pushed herself off the stone wall and ran for the bathroom in the pool house as fast as her killer shoes would carry her without breaking an ankle. She didn’t look back until she reached the bathroom door. A glance over her shoulder revealed Bruiser standing alone near the dance floor staring at her. Dang, uber-confident Bruiser looked adorably confused and uncertain—a lethal combination.

  After pushing the bathroom door open, Mac shut and locked it. She rested her forehead against the cool tile wall until her breathing returned to somewhat normal and her heart ceased racing down the homestretch. At the sink, she started to splash some cold water on her face, then remembered her eyeliner and mascara. Damn, but it sucked being a woman.

  She stared at the stranger in the mirror and had to admit she did look pretty damn good, which explained Bruiser’s insane tempo
rary infatuation with her. Kelsie and Co. were miracle workers, not to mention Shanna and Eunice. She might even ask Kelsie to show her how she applied Mac’s makeup earlier in the day. Not that Mac could duplicate the finesse of a master, but maybe she could manage without doing too much damage.

  She was stalling. Applying makeup was the least of her problems.

  Mac’s head pounded harder than a drummer in a hard-rock band.

  Bruiser?

  Brett?

  First, Bruiser’s attention knocked her on her ass, then Brett wanted to ask her out? She’d suspected that the quiet backup quarterback might actually be interested in her even though he never showed any outward signs. Brett was a nice guy, a good-looking guy, the type of guy any decent woman with half a brain would love to date. So why wasn’t she excited? This stupid-assed crush she had on Bruiser would never amount to anything. Hell, she so didn’t even want it to go anywhere. It was just a safe, harmless crush.

  Tonight, something had changed between them, and she was afraid they’d never go back to being casual friends. Not that she had much time for even casual friends, not with her brother missing and her father on the verge of a breakdown.

  Why did things have to be so complicated?

  Steeling herself, Mac stood up straight and strolled out of the bathroom as if she hadn’t a care in the world, then stopped dead when she heard voices and her name was mentioned. Holding her breath for fear of being caught, she stood there, exposed to anyone who rounded the corner. Backpedaling, she plastered herself against the wall behind a large potted plant.

  “Really, Bruce, a gardener?” Veronica was incredulous.

  “She’s a groundskeeper, and a damn good one. Plus, she knows her plants.” Her heart warmed at Bruiser’s defense of her.

  “If you needed a date for tonight, you could’ve asked me. I would’ve set you up with any number of appropriate females. She’s not in keeping with the image the team expects you to portray.”

  “Not the team. The image you expect me to portray. Besides, I think she looks damn good.”

  “That much was obvious. You were salivating after her like a teenage boy at the prom with the head cheerleader.”

  He shrugged.

  “Bruce, you’re the face of our team. Women worship you. Guys want to be you. You need to keep up that image.”

  Bruiser snorted. “First of all, who I choose to spend time with is none of your business. Mac and I are friends. She wanted to come here to show you another side of herself.”

  “Oh, now I understand. This is a pity date.”

  “I wanted to do this. Take some time to get to know Mac better. She’s a hard worker and dedicated to her job.”

  “What are you, her campaign manager?”

  Mac closed her eyes. This was so not going well.

  “She’s applying for the staff scholarship. I want you to consider her.”

  “The facilities director is endorsing Vince. If he’s not convinced she’s the right choice, why would I override his decision?”

  “Mac’s the best person for that scholarship. Her continued education would be a great benefit to the team.”

  “And you know this how? It’s not like you’ve mowed one blade of grass in your life.”

  “Maybe I have.”

  “Bruce, drop it. Forget doing her any favors and go back to taking care of yourself. It’s what you do best.” Veronica’s laugh taunted Mac, and Mac flexed her fingers, engaging in a temporary fantasy involving wrapping them around Veronica’s blue-blood throat.

  “Veronica, just give her a chance. She’s only a few years from her horticulture degree.”

  “It might as well be light-years. She’s too young and not a good risk for the investment.” Veronica’s voice faded away.

  Holding her breath, Mac waited until their voices blended with all the others. She rubbed a hand across her queasy stomach. The tantalizing smell of salmon and prime rib did nothing for her appetite. She was not a typical young woman, which should have been blatantly obvious to Veronica if she’d ever noticed Mac working at the facility. Obviously, she hadn’t.

  Mac called for a taxi and started walking, meeting the driver a few blocks away. Once she was safely in the back seat, she tapped out a text message to Bruiser: Not feeling well. Didn’t want to ruin your night. I got a ride home. Please enjoy the evening.

  Somebody should.

  Chapter 7—Illegal Motion

  Despite it being a very bad idea, Bruiser left the barbecue just before midnight and drove to Mac’s house. Probably a little late to be paying a visit, but good sense had deserted him for some damn reason.

  Bruiser stepped out of his car and was on the front porch in six long strides. He pounded on the thick wooden door. “Come on, Mac, open the damn door.”

  A few minutes later, Mac threw the door open, looking more than a little pissed and sexily rumpled, reminding him of a woman who’d spent the night with her lover. Only she hadn’t. At least he didn’t think so. He looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone inside. Relief swept through him.

  He liked her like this—not that he didn’t like her all dressed up too. This was his Mac. The real Mac. Her face scrubbed free of makeup. Her flawless skin au naturel. Her golden hair in a haphazard ponytail. Unlike the beauty of earlier in the evening, he could handle this Mac. At least, he hoped he could.

  “What the hell do you want?” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him.

  He squinted into the bright porch light. “I came to see if you’re okay.” Lame, Mackey, really lame.

  “Of course I’m okay. Now, good night.” She tried to push the door shut.

  He stuck his foot in it. “If you’re okay, why did you leave the barbecue before dinner?”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Bruiser rolled his eyes, pushed his way inside, and plopped down on the couch. He glanced around the cozy little living room and liked what he saw. Definitely a homey place, the kind a guy would look forward to coming home to after a long day at work. Neat and tidy without being overly so; the room didn’t fit his image of Mac. In fact, he saw a woman’s touch reflected in the attention to detail and the placement of the country-style accessories. But then Mac was a woman, a fact of which he’d been painfully reminded tonight.

  Grabbing the remote, he switched to ESPN and made himself at home, even though he hadn’t a clue why he was doing it. He grinned, goaded by Mac’s annoyed expression. “Nice house.” He gave her a once-over, and his gaze stalled out in the vicinity of her tits. Holy fuck, she had a nice rack. Not that he hadn’t noticed earlier, but hell, she’d traded in her party clothes for a long, formfitting tank top with no bra. Her nipples stood out against the thin material, like they were happy to see him. He sure as hell was happy to see them.

  Catching him gawking, Mac quickly crossed her arms over her chest, which hiked up the bottom of her shirt. A nice pair of red lace panties peeked out from her jeans. Lace? Mac? Well, he’d be damned. Bruiser tried not to smirk but failed miserably, which seemed to piss her off even more. Pissed-off women possessed a lot of passion when channeled in the right direction, and a pissed-off Mac turned him on. Way too much.

  Coming here had been a bad idea. He should just leave. A black cat that looked like a refugee from a losing battle sat on the arm of the couch and sized him up, cocking his head to see him out of his one good eye. Bruiser was pretty sure the cat found him lacking. He didn’t much like cats. His mother had had cats when he was growing up. The little shits made it their job to torture him every chance they got. He leveled the cat with a leave-me-the-fuck-alone glare. The cat glared back, as if to say, My house, buddy. Not yours.

  Mac stood nearby, not seeming to care that she wasn’t exactly dressed for company. She propped her hands on her hips. Bruiser licked his lips as her chest rose and fell, mesmerizing him. He loved the challenge of a pissy woman, loved to cajole them into bed and turn them into putty in his experienced hands.

>   “You need to go.”

  He shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “How about a pizza?” The cat crawled across the back of the couch and sat near his shoulder, switching its tail and swatting him on the cheek with each stroke. He scowled at the cat. The cat scowled right back.

  “You don’t much like cats, do you?”

  “What’s to like about them?”

  She almost smiled but not quite. Instead, she turned her belligerence up a notch, which only served to nudge his interest up a notch higher.

  “How about you leave? Now.” Seeming to realize she might be showing a little too much, she tugged on her top, which of course pulled the material tight against her breasts. Bruiser drew in a sharp breath and cursed the powers that be, while at the same time thanking them for his good luck.

  “Ah, come on, Mac. It’s Saturday night. I left the party early because you ran out on me. The least you could do is be a charming hostess.” He turned his practiced hundred-gigawatt smile on Mac, the one guaranteed to make a woman drop her panties.

  Mac didn’t drop anything, least of all her annoyance. “If you hadn’t noticed, charming is not in my job description.”

  He chuckled. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed.

  “Bruise, I have to get up early, okay? So, see ya.”

  “Hey, it’s Sunday tomorrow. I never would’ve pegged you for the church-going type.”

  “I’m not, but I have plans.”

  A smart guy would take the hint and leave. Not Bruiser. Actually, he should’ve never come here in the first place. No good could come from him being in the company of a half-dressed Mac. Especially considering how much she’d turned him on earlier.

  Remember Brett. His repressed conscience demanded to be heard, and he looked away from Mac, battling with himself. He should walk out this door. Right now.

  Mac helped him out and walked to the door, yanking it open. “Thanks for dropping by.” She gestured toward the porch.