by Avery Flynn
“I so hate letting people down,” Addison added unnecessarily.
“Which is why you stayed married two years and eight months longer than you should have. Oh, God, I can’t take this anymore.” She tapped the shoulder of an older gentleman who was picking up Solo cups and trashing them in a plastic bag attached to his wrist. “Young man, would you be so kind as to make me a dirty martini with three olives?”
The “young man” who didn’t look a day under eighty twisted his mouth in a sneer.
“Anything for a lady.” Amazingly, not said with sarcasm. That was just the natural set of his mouth.
“Jimmy, you are a lifesaver,” Harper said with a cheeky grin.
They knew each other?
He smiled, revealing a toothy gap. “Been a while, Harper. How’s that old fart you call a father?”
Harper smiled sweetly, though Addison saw tungsten in that grin. She and her dad had a tricky relationship, to say the least. “Not quite as ornery as you. So tell me, Jimmy, how’re the kids?”
Two minutes later, they’d learned all about Jimmy’s four kids, ten grandchildren, and one ingrate of a son-in-law. When he moved off to make Harper’s martini, she turned back to Addison.
“Where were we? Oh, yes. You fucked this boy on a Persian carpet yesterday, and today you’re wondering if the chemistry between you can be dismissed out of hand. You might be all caught in his sex-ray, but—”
“But?”
“That boy is a little bit crazy for you, and I think you’re a little bit gaga for him. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but it definitely is a fact. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time you’ve been here.”
This was true. They’d spent only a few moments together before he was whisked away for photos. Definitely a good thing, because she’d been this close to feeling him up beneath the table.
His utter self-confidence that she wouldn’t be able to stay away from him floored her. Of course he was right—she was here, wasn’t she?—but she didn’t have to enjoy that he was right, nor that he was so cocky with it.
Though that wasn’t quite it. Ford’s assurance didn’t stem from arrogant conceit like her husband had excelled in, but from a comfort with who he was. Unlike Michael, Ford was respectful. Of her. Of them.
More accustomed to guys who focused on her figure, for both positive and negative reasons, Addy didn’t have a lot of experience with men seeing beyond the image to the woman beneath. The woman with goals and dreams and needs—both emotional and physical.
And right now, those physical needs were getting her into all sorts of trouble as her damn nipples headed out on a search mission. Ford stood near the Cup, his Viking warrior beauty reflected in it while he explained something to three young boys—his nephews, she guessed from the resemblance. Clearly, he was crazy about them and they adored him in spades. He threw back his head, laughing at something the shortest one said, and the vision of his tan throat got a ten from the nipple judges.
We have gone zero days without a panties-dampening episode.
His gaze clashed with hers, and she let it linger for a few dangerously long seconds. Was that it? The thrill of playing footsie with taboo? She wasn’t the daredevil sort, but something about Ford brought out this crazy, wild version of her.
On a balcony, in a bathroom . . . on a Persian rug, for crying out loud.
“Here you go, Harper.” Jimmy had returned with what looked like a perfectly made martini for Harper, complete with three olives.
“A martini in Jimmy’s Tap?” Harper mused as she accepted the glass. “And they said it couldn’t be done. Maybe a Rebels run at the Cup is more likely than people think.” The mention of the Rebels’ martini-in-a-dive chances of success inspired the Tap’s owner to launch into a spirited deconstruction of the team’s failure of a season. The price paid for a decent cocktail, Addison supposed.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She took it out.
Ford: Meet me inside the bar.
Hell, no. A common-sense infusion was needed. Now.
Taking advantage of Harper’s distraction, Addison texted back: That sounds like a bad idea.
Ford: Just for a minute.
Breathing deeply, she looked up—then wished she hadn’t. Ford had locked eyes with her, his face tight with hunger, his intent clear. That lava gaze found a corresponding callback in her body, an undeniable beat that thrummed stronger with each passing second.
She wanted him. She had never wanted anyone or anything this much.
Harper and Jimmy were chatting and everyone else was busy. They wouldn’t be missed, surely. Just a moment. Just a moment to touch.
Addison: One minute.
One last time, she told herself. Then she would hop on the train for sanity.
10
This was cuckoo. Absolutely nuts.
Yet Ford couldn’t help himself. It was if he was in some sort of fuck-trance, a pheromone fog whenever Addy was near.
The only people in the bar were a couple of old timers watching the Sox getting their asses handed to them by the Royals. Addy stood near the short end of the L-shaped bar, checking her phone. Through the honey-brown veil of her lashes, she watched as he approached.
“Ford, I just came in here to tell you that we can’t—”
Ignoring that because he suspected the end of the sentence wouldn’t be conducive to the raging erection that needed attention, he took her hand and led her down the corridor to the back office. Inside he dragged her, shut the door, and kissed her like his life depended on it.
Right now, it felt like it truly did.
He had to convince her, and he worried that even giving her time to think about it might not result in the W.
“Ford, what are you—oh fuck it, I know exactly what you’re doing, you tricky bastard.” She pushed at his shoulders, separating their lips. Absolute hell. “You’re supposed to be giving my brain a chance to come around to your attractions.”
“How’s that working out?”
“My brain is the one organ who is not on your side right now. But everything else . . .”
“I’m liking how everything else is thinking.” He kissed her again, pouring all his hunger into it, every ounce of need. But he knew he’d been pushing her in a big way, using the hormone overload to direct traffic. If she wanted this—whatever this was—he needed to hear it from her.
Pulling back was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
He stepped away from heaven and took a seat in Jimmy’s chair. His cock punched hard against his zipper but he told it to behave.
“That first night at the hotel, I imagined licking you to completion as I jacked off. I could feel the imprint of your clit on my tongue, taste the honey on your lips.”
He watched how her breasts heaved and her thighs squeezed together.
“Since then, I’ve been inside you, felt you like a vise around my dick. I’ve tongued your nipples, inhaled your scent. But I still haven’t drunk you down properly. That’s what I want right now. That’s what I want you to give me.”
Her breath came in short tugs, hitches in her chest that moved her breasts beautifully. “You can—you can just take it.”
“All I’ve done so far is take. I’ve been maneuvering you into rooms, kicking down doors, persuading you to let me in. I want this to be mutual.”
She laughed, a nervous tinkle. “You’d think I’d do this if I didn’t want to?”
“I think it’s easy to get caught up in the moment. Caught up in us. I want you to decide, Addy.” He realized he was setting some kind of test of her willingness to take the next step, not just in this small office but maybe tomorrow or the day after that.
He hadn’t intended to push, but he wasn’t a fling kind of guy. Two facts were clear to him: one, he wanted more, and two, he didn’t want to sneak around. He recognized it might take a little longer to get her into that mindset but he’d take a sign of it here and now.
“Puck’s in your half, Add
y.”
Maybe a hockey reference was a touch too close for home because that threw her. Scowling beautifully, she straightened against the door, determination in her body language that signaled she might be thinking of leaving.
Or coming closer.
She reached behind her and locked the door, then took a step toward him. And another.
His cock stiffened to the point he wouldn’t be surprised to find his zipper imprinted on it later.
Less than a foot of space separated them. He gripped the chair’s armrests so he wouldn’t reach out and close the gap between them.
This was her distance to erase.
Her fingers, polish-topped with a sparkly pink, unsnapped her jeans and drew her zipper down, all while she held his gaze with a carnal gleam in her own. He saw power in it and it made him proud to be her man.
No doubt about it. Ford Callaghan was owned by this woman.
She pushed her jeans down, leaving a virginal-white, lace-trimmed triangle. The dark strip of hair shadowing it made his mouth water.
He expected she’d move closer, offer her body to his thirsty mouth, but she surprised him by turning. She wiggled out of her jeans, her perfect ass swaying before him like a hypnotist’s pendulum. A spaghetti-thin strap of white bisected her glorious cheeks, a small patch of lace above the cleft like a target his eyes—and soon his tongue—should take aim at.
Kicking off the jeans, she placed her palms on Jimmy’s desk, her famous booty showcased like a glorious sculpture that wouldn’t look out of place in some museum. It wasn’t his imagination that she rubbed her thighs together as she did it, clearly seeking relief. He stroked a hand over his erection in sympathy.
“Take it, Ford. Take what I’m giving you.”
Jesus H. What had he unleashed?
The scrape of the chair’s wheels as he scooted over sounded loud, but his groan on getting up close and scenting her arousal had it beat for decibels. She was a big girl, no denying it, and there was nothing sexier than how she owned it.
His first touch of his fingertips to her skin found her trembling. Slowly, he dragged her panties down because despite how pretty they were, he needed unrestricted access. Nothing would get in the way of his tongue.
As if she sensed his need, she raised a knee onto the desk, displaying for him the sweetest sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Pretty in pink, glistening like a jewel, she was already moaning in anticipation. Just as his mouth was already watering for the same reason.
“I lick this, it’s mine.” Better she be warned.
He waited for her acquiescence, needing that final word.
“Yes.”
Inclining his head, he indulged in one long, delicious stroke of his tongue through her.
“Ford, oh, God.” She hitched her ass up higher, shoving it closer, making her need evident. “More. Don’t stop. Please.”
He spread her cheeks apart and slipped his thumbs in, separating. Her slick arousal dripped on his hands, so never one to be wasteful, he scooped all that honey up with this tongue.
Her taste. Sweet, tangy, best he’d ever had, bar none. He stroked a finger through, giving her swollen clit a testing swipe. She bucked in pleasure. He did it again, and then he applied his mouth to eating this woman out so she would never want another man’s within a five-mile radius of her body. He would convince her that pleasure like this was worth taking a risk on.
That they were worth taking a risk on.
For the longest time, he’d questioned whether he deserved to feel this good. This hopeful. He had wealth, talent, now the Cup, but it was nothing without someone to share it. He saw that same need in Addy—her drive, her push to succeed against the odds. Against the judgment.
He continued, teasing, tasting, devouring, layering sensation upon sensation, until she finally shattered against his mouth. Yeah. The physical risk was definitely worth the reward.
Now he just had to convince her of the rest.
Ford watched as Addy redressed.
“A gentleman would turn his back.”
He canted his head like he was taking in a Playboy centerfold. “Just savoring for my memory banks. And this gentleman plans to put eating out Addison Williams as a marketable skill on his résumé.”
She giggled and shook her head. “Wow, eavesdropping does pay. You do know what women want.”
He stood and gathered her in his arms. “I know what this woman wants. And I know what I want and what I can give you.” He kissed her softly. “After that great demonstration of my talents, are you gonna tell me I’m not up for the job of being your man?”
Her eyes turned glassy, a mix of desire and need. Apprehension, too. “You said you’d give me time away from you to think about it? Ten minutes after that promise, your face is between my thighs.”
“Just trying to help you come to the right decision,” he said with a grin, then gravely, “give us a chance, Addy.”
She pushed him away. Gently, but it was still a push. “Sneaking around so we don’t upset my ex-husband?”
“So, he’s still crazy about you then? Can’t blame him.” But hell if he had to like it.
“He’s not. He just doesn’t like to lose.” Her brow furrowed. “We weren’t all that compatible and he liked to make decisions for me. What to wear. What jobs to take. A little like what you’re trying to do now. Sex is one thing, dating is a whole other hockey game.”
“So if your ex wasn’t my boss, you’d have no problems moving this forward?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
He crowded her against the door of the office. “What would you say? Exactly?”
She screwed her nose up. Cute as hell. “You’re younger than me. Much younger.”
“And you need a younger man to keep you satisfied, Addy.” He let his hand coast to the round of her beautiful ass and cupped it like it belonged to him. “You’re filled with passion and ambition and appetites, and I’m the man to match you. I want a woman who knows who she is, who doesn’t need me to define her because she’s already her own person. My age, your ex, those facts are meaningless in the face of what we’ve started here. I think we could be pretty amazing together, Addison Williams.”
Her bottom lip wobbled and she closed her eyes, absorbing his words. Into her heart, he hoped, because that was his target. He needed her to know that he planned to fight for her.
When she opened them again, he saw she was still trying to hold her ground, though he’d blown a hole in one barrier to her resistance. So, she needed time to come around. He’d made his case. He’d give her space.
But not for long.
Giving Addy the time she needed to return to the patio, Ford leaned on the bar and watched the slight wobble to her gait with satisfaction.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Ford turned to catch Jax thumbing over his shoulder at Addison’s departing back. Her lips were kiss-stung, her skin was flushed, and even a blind man could deduce something intensely physical and raw had just occurred between them.
“None of your business, Jax.”
His brother’s face turned as dark as the sticky bar floor they could barely see. He pushed Ford back down the corridor.
“None of my business? You’re screwing your boss’s woman.”
“She’s not his woman. Not anymore. They’ve been divorced for nearly two years.”
“I’m sure that’s going to be a real consolation when he sees the two of you together. Because he will find out. Unless this is just a one-off.”
Ford swallowed, that phrase booming through his skull. One-off? Hell, no. He would make this happen.
It didn’t take long for Jax to figure that out for himself. He fisted Ford’s T-shirt and pushed him back so hard Ford’s head hit a framed photo. He thought it might be the one of Jimmy with The Big Hurt, Frank Thomas.
“You’re going to see her again? Are you out of your tree? He’ll make you pay.”
Maybe. Maybe not. “He can’
t fire me. He has no legal grounds to do it.”
“Doesn’t need to fire you, asshole. He can trade you to some piece-of-shit team, or worse, he’ll keep you benched for the whole of next season. You might never play again but whatever, it’ll give you plenty of energy to fuck his whore.”
A red haze darkened Ford’s vision at the edges, and he did the one thing that had been coming for a long time now: he took a swing at his brother. Not really fair because Ford had thirty pounds on Jax and was in a hundred times better shape. But no one spoke about his woman that way.
Jax managed to stay upright, even as he staggered back, his hand to his jaw.
“You prick. You’re going to destroy everything we built.” Instead of anger in his brother’s voice, Ford heard nothing but sorrow. “We placed all our hopes on you, Fordie. You were the only one left, carrying all the dreams forward. And now you want to mess with all that for a woman.”
He knew it was crazy but, yes. Addison was the kind of woman men went to bat for. Risked careers for. Fought wars over. His life was hockey but he could also have this. He just had to be a man about it.
Ford stared at the brother he had just punched, searching for remorse that refused to come. For ten years, guilt and recrimination had been his constant companions. No more.
“I can’t do this anymore, Jax. I can’t carry this weight you’ve loaded on me since that night. I screwed up but you shouldn’t have put me in that position either. Both of you so fuckin’ drunk that a dumb kid with his learner’s permit was left holding the bag.”
He should have called a cab, his parents, anyone. But Paulie shoved the keys in his hand and told him, “Don’t be a pussy, Fordie. It’s only a few fucking rain drops.”
Jax’s mouth twisted in anger. “It was an accident. No one blames you.”
“You fucking liar. You’ve been blaming me for ten years. For your leg, for your life, for the void left when he died. Do you ever think that maybe some of the responsibility for what happened lay at your feet? You and Paulie both? You were supposed to take care of me, Jax. You were older, and you were supposed to look out for me but you didn’t, brother. You let me drive that car in pounding rain. You let me kill him.”