Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  And yet he was so wrong for her.

  “Whoa, there. Keep that up, and we’ll put you on defense, sweetheart. Not that I mind. Not at all.” He slipped into his charming act so easily Mac wondered who he’d been practicing it on lately.

  Bruiser gazed down at her with his sexy half smile and laughing eyes. Lord help her, she wanted to taste him, lick him, and get him naked, not necessarily in that order.

  He set her back on her feet. “You okay, babe?”

  “I think so.” She wasn’t okay. She was way beyond okay and nudging toward the screwed-up end of the scale.

  He eyed her with concern gentling his eyes as he absently rubbed his stubble. “You’re here late tonight.”

  An obvious observation, but she kept her sarcasm under wraps. “We can’t take care of the turf when you’re on it. Besides, I could say the same of you. Practice ended hours ago.”

  “That’s how dedicated I am.” He grinned his full-blown panty-dropper smile. “I’ll walk you to your car.” Bruiser held open the door for her and walked beside her to the parking lot.

  They’d almost reached her car when Vince sauntered up. “Hey, Bruiser. You guys are looking good this year.” The jerk ignored Mac as if she were an insignificant speck of dirt on the asphalt. As usual.

  “As long as we stay healthy.” Bruiser turned to walk away, taking Mac by the arm and steering her the last few steps to her car.

  Vince called to Mac, faking sympathy. “I’m sorry about the scholarship, Mac. Maybe next time.”

  Mac stopped in her tracks and spun around. “What do you know about the scholarship?”

  Vince’s hand flew to his mouth in an unconvincing display of contrition. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. Veronica didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” But she already knew.

  “I was awarded the scholarship.” He delivered the gut punch and then smugly nodded at Bruiser and strutted off.

  “Asshole,” Bruiser muttered. “Mac, I’m sorry. Really sorry.” He stared at her, tucking one stray blonde strand behind her ear in a gentle gesture that nearly undid her.

  “Not as sorry as I am.” A sob rose past her throat. She hiccupped. Oh, fuck, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? She rarely cried, even over her brother. She just didn’t cry.

  “Come on, sweetheart, let me buy you dinner.” Bruiser’s truly sympathetic gaze melted her heart.

  She hesitated. It was a stupid, foolish idea, but she didn’t want to go home alone. Or even worse, to go home and find her father there spying on the neighbors. He’d been spending more and more time in the evenings at her house watching Sonja and Ben, who’d been much more active in their garden lately, almost like they were taunting Craig.

  “Okay.” She ignored the little voice telling her this was so not a good idea as she climbed into his car.

  They found a dark corner booth in O’Malley’s. She didn’t complain when he slid next to her, put his arm across the back of the booth, and his muscled thigh pressed hers.

  She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. He handed her a napkin. “I really wanted that scholarship.”

  “I know, honey, I know.” He hugged her close to him, tucking her under his arm, with the same possessiveness he gave a football as he busted his way through defenders.

  Mac turned her head and buried her face in his broad shoulder. It seemed the most natural thing to do. She sniffled again. The pathetic whimpering sound escaping from her constricted throat sounded like an abandoned puppy.

  The lost scholarship was the last straw. All the anguish she’d suppressed over the past three years bubbled up and swamped her.

  Bruiser held her to him as she sobbed into his chest, unable to staunch the flood of tears. Her breathing came in staccato gasps of pure sorrow. Nothing had gone right in her life since Will disappeared—except Bruiser. And that hadn’t lasted. Sure, he was here now, but only because he was one of the good guys, and he wouldn’t desert a blubbering woman.

  When she lifted her head, he dabbed gently at her tear-stained cheeks with a napkin. Despite his gentle smile, his eyes shone with fierce determination, as if he’d slay dragons for her—or even the Pittsburgh Steelers defensive line. It’d been so long since anyone worried about her well-being that she almost lost it again. A wet splotch on his shirt gave evidence to the extent of her tears.

  “What am I going to do?” Her voice sounded weak and plaintive. God, she hated weak women, and she’d become one herself.

  “The best you can with the hand you’ve been dealt, and I’d put my money on you any day.” Straightening in the booth, he looped his arm loosely around her shoulders, his hip pressed against hers. She laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Along with the gratitude, desire wrapped its tentacles around her rib cage. Her body signaled its interest, and her brain, as usual where Bruiser was concerned, took a vacation.

  “I’m truly sorry, Mac. Especially for my part in this.”

  “Your part? You had a part?” What did he mean? She twisted around and placed her hands on his shoulders and searched his face.

  “Yeah. Veronica suspected that you and I had something going, and she didn’t like it one bit. I think your association with me hurt you more than helped you.”

  Mac sighed. “Is that why you broke it off?” If there might be a ray of hope in this crappy dark cloud hanging over her, it would be that Bruiser didn’t really want to end their affair, but that he’d done it for her.

  “Yeah, that was part of it, along with not liking to talk about my brother.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “We were damn good together. You know that?”

  “Yes, we are.” Mac chewed on her lower lip, then just blurted it out. “Come home with me tonight.”

  “I was hoping like hell you’d ask.” His slow, sexy smile drove home how happy he was.

  “Where is this going?”

  “Fuck if I know. Let’s just go with it.”

  Mac nodded. Maybe she was crazy, but she was ready to take the journey with Bruiser. After all, some of the best road trips happened when she didn’t know where she was going until she got there.

  Chapter 18—Puzzled

  Bruiser pulled his car behind Mac’s in the driveway. He had to stop for gas, so she beat him home by about five minutes. The front door was open, and he invited himself inside. Mac stood by the kitchen counter staring at an envelope in her hand. As Bruiser came up behind her, he caught the Steelheads’ return address on the letter.

  Oh, crap.

  Mac’s hand trembled, and Bruiser squeezed her shoulder to steady her. She stared at the envelope long and hard.

  “Are you going to open it?” He sent up a silent plea that Vince, the jerk bastard, didn’t know a damn thing.

  Mac ripped the flap off the envelope and read the letter. By the crestfallen look on her face, no such luck. The letter fluttered from her fingers to the floor.

  Bruiser held her to him. “I’m sorry.”

  Mac sniffed again and leaned against his chest. Bruiser kissed her hair, inhaling the intoxicatingly fresh scent of her. Pure Mac, forever ingrained in his mind.

  “This is just not my day.” She tried to laugh but failed. Together, they stood in silence staring out across the backyard, both lost in private thoughts.

  Finally, Mac turned to face him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Despite the remnants of tears on her cheeks, she managed a smile just for him, one that snuggled close to his heart and made him feel special, not for the superficial reasons everyone saw, but for the person inside.

  He pulled her close, holding her tight against him, and lost his heart and soul gazing into those deep coffee-brown eyes of hers. She felt right, a rightness that went beyond mere lust and, despite some of the more obvious differences, fit him better than a custom-made tuxedo or an old pair of favorite faded blue jeans.

  Picking her up, he carried her outside to the back patio. He figured bed could wait. She’d feel better out in the yard she took such good care of, w
ith the crickets chirping and frogs croaking and the sound of a breeze rustling boughs of cedar trees.

  Mac didn’t question his intent, just clung to him, trusting him.

  He wanted to be that man for her, the one who stood beside her through all the good and bad things life threw at them, the one who fought tooth and nail for her, the one who gave her everything and got more from the giving than the receiving.

  But he couldn’t give her everything. He couldn’t solve her brother’s mystery any more than he could change Elliot’s situation. Maybe for a while tonight they could both pretend he could be that guy who could make everything okay—even if it was an illusion.

  He laid Mac on the chaise lounge with the overstuffed cushion covered in bright Hawaiian flowers. Glancing around the dark patio and out at the tall fence, he doubted anyone would be able to see them. At this point he didn’t really give a shit anyway. He just wanted Mac to fill the piece of him that went missing whenever she wasn’t around and to be her missing piece in turn.

  The only way he knew how to do that was with his body, because his glib tongue deserted him when the stakes were too high. Words weren’t adequate, words he couldn’t say or even think.

  So he turned off his mind and gave in to his heart.

  * * * * *

  Mac gazed up at Bruiser standing over her, looking like a lost little boy carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She knew the extent of that weight after conversations with Shanna and Brett, but she wasn’t going to say anything. More than anything she wanted him to trust her enough to reveal his secrets himself.

  He’d given her comfort tonight, and she’d do her best to reciprocate. “Let me take the lead this time.” Mac stood and pointed to the lounge chair.

  Bruiser didn’t argue. He stripped off his clothes, rolled on a condom, and lay on the chaise lounge, his tanned, ripped body visible in the moonlight. Damn, he was a fine specimen, from those blue-gray eyes, to the muscles rippling in broad shoulders, down to his flat, ridged stomach and strong thighs. The man even had sexy feet.

  Mac tugged her T-shirt over her head, and her bra followed. She shimmied out of her jeans and underwear. Straddling the narrow lounge chair, she lowered herself onto him, sitting back on her haunches and resting her ass on his stomach. His erect penis pressed against one butt cheek. Mac groaned as his muscular chest pressed against her breasts, her nipples hypersensitized. She arched her back, pressing her crotch into his, but not letting him penetrate, not yet. Tonight wasn’t about wild animal lust; tonight was something gentle and fragile like a rare and delicate orchid blooming for the first time.

  She leaned down, planting her palms on his chest, and gently kissed each corner of his mouth, inhaling his minty breath, and reveling in the controlled power underneath her thighs. She sucked on his lower lip and slipped her tongue inside his mouth, slow and easy, taking her time, tasting, exploring, cherishing.

  He held still, his hands resting on her hips, his eyes closed. His tongue mated with hers, but nothing else on him moved but for the not-so-steady rise and fall of his chest under her palms and his wildly beating heart. The deeper the kiss, the more sanity escaped her, but sanity was highly overrated anyway.

  Mac raised her head and studied his strong features. His incredibly long lashes feathered across his cheekbones. His eyes opened, deceptively lazy yet alert.

  “Make love to me, Mac,” he whispered as the words flitted off in the breeze, carried on an angel’s wings like a promise given and a promise received.

  Mac raised her hips and lowered herself back down on his waiting cock. Bruiser watched with hooded eyes. She sheathed him inside her, deeper and deeper until her crotch pressed against his. Hands braced on his shoulders, she threw back her head and closed her eyes, savoring the fullness of him, the hardness held inside her wet softness. She changed the angle of her hips to feel him higher inside her and wiggled on top of him, only to draw a guttural groan from the man.

  He gripped her hips and raised her up, then slowly lowering her back down, continuing the erotic, slow torture until their last shreds of sanity were obliterated by one final deep, eternal thrust that bound them together in ways neither could imagine or prevent.

  Bruiser’s body convulsed with hers as their releases came in pulses of pleasure, wringing every last bit of energy from them until she collapsed against him, body to body, soul to soul, heart to heart.

  Bruiser filled in all her missing puzzle pieces, those empty spots waiting for the right person to come along and complete the beautiful picture hidden in all the bits of joy and tragedy that make up a life.

  Now that she’d found those missing pieces, Mac didn’t want to give them up.

  Chapter 19—Back and Forth

  Elliot glanced up at Mac and Bruiser. They’d rescued him for the evening from the “Hippos”—his secret name for his aunt and uncle. He didn’t really care that they were both grossly overweight, but he did care that they were hypocrites, parading him out when guests came over to illustrate what good people they were to take in this hideously scarred orphan.

  That’s what he heard them call him when they thought he’d gone to bed.

  Bruiser told him that appearances didn’t matter to good people, so Elliot figured that ruled out the Hippos as good people. Aunt Ruth couldn’t even look at him. When she talked to him, she stared at the floor or over his head.

  Mac and Bruiser looked at him with love, not horror or pity. They also really looked at each other, thinking he probably wouldn’t notice. They’d been giving each other looks all night long. Obviously, they were hot for each other, not that he had much personal experience with stuff like that.

  Before the crash, he’d preferred books and gaming to girls. Now girls screamed and ran away when they saw him, and his burned fingers made it hard to play video games.

  After dinner, they played Monopoly. He hadn’t played it since his parents were gone. It was tough at first, but Mac and Bruiser made it fun. Elliot bought Boardwalk and Park Place and filled them with hotels. Mac landed on Park Place, and Bruiser landed on Broadway. It was all over after that. Moneybags Elliot, as they called him, kicked their butts. He was still gloating about that.

  The clock ticked closer to nine o’clock, when he had to return to his aunt and uncle’s house. His stomach cramped up. Really bad. He must have eaten some rotten pizza or something. Maybe they’d let him stay here if he didn’t feel like a car ride.

  Elliot hated his cousins’ pitying stares, his uncle’s indifference, and his aunt’s open dislike of him. As far as he could tell, the only reason they had him around was to be their errand boy.

  Get me this, Elliot. Get me that, Elliot. Feed the cat, Elliot. Put the dishes in the dishwasher. Elliot, don’t go outside and play, you scare the neighbors’ little girls.

  Bruiser stood up and smiled one of those fake smiles, and Elliot’s stomach went into convulsions, or at least it felt like that. “Hey, buddy, it’s time to get you back home.”

  “Can’t I stay here?” Elliot hated begging, but he did it anyway.

  “Sorry, buddy, we have to get you back just like we promised.” Bruiser didn’t want to take him back. Elliot could tell. So why did he have to do it? Bruiser could do anything. He was like a superhero. Why couldn’t he do this if he wanted to?

  Because he doesn’t want to?

  Elliot lashed out. “I hate it there. They don’t want me, and I don’t want them. Besides, I don’t feel good.” Elliot held his stomach and rocked back and forth on the couch, wailing and moaning like he’d seen the kid do on Two and a Half Men reruns.

  A quick look passed between Mac and Bruiser, but Elliot couldn’t figure out what the heck they were trying to tell each other without speaking the words. Maybe he’d overdone the stomachache, because they didn’t seem to be overly concerned, and they were usually the concerned type. Maybe too much moaning and wailing. It’d worked on TV.

  “We’ll do something after the game on Sunday. Mac’s goin
g to pick you up. You can watch in the suite with her.”

  “That’s five days away.” He didn’t like football much, but he liked being with Mac and Bruiser and all of Bruiser’s teammates, especially Tyler. Tyler slipped him really awesome gourmet chocolates when no one was watching.

  “Yeah, I know. But hang in there. The time will pass faster than you can imagine.”

  Elliot thought that was a whole lot of bull. After all, Bruiser didn’t live in the Hippo house with kids who called him Baby Frankenstein.

  “Maybe I could just stay over tonight.”

  “Elliot, you have to go home.” Bruiser’s voice got stern, like he was starting to lose patience, not that he ever did with Elliot, but Bruiser liked to make it sound like that.

  “That’s not my home. I don’t have a home anymore.” A lump clogged his throat at the memory of the old two-story home with the big front porch that his mother and father had lovingly restored until it was a showplace. He bit back a sob because he didn’t want them to see him behaving like a pussy. He’d already been a whiner.

  “Why can’t I live here? Don’t you want me?”

  “Elliot, it’s not that easy. They’re your relatives.”

  “You can do anything. And you promised you’d—” Elliot stopped when he saw the mad look on Bruiser’s face. If he gave them too much grief, they’d go away, like everyone else he’d ever loved, and he’d be left with nothing. He glanced at Mac, who’d been pretty quiet. She smiled at him like she liked him and was sorry they had to take him home.