Players

by Rachel Cross

  She was mesmerized, her heart pounding a wild rhythm, as he undid the buttons of his jeans. He worked at them slowly, button by torturous button, and she curled her fingers into the sand to keep from jumping up and helping him.

  She couldn’t help but smile. If he was teasing her, it worked.

  All sense of teasing fled a heartbeat later, and he made quick work of his jeans. It was like heaven when he finally rejoined her, covering her body with his. His warmth enveloped her, and sensation swallowed her. The silky texture of his bare skin against hers, her breasts flattened against his chest, the coarse hair on his legs.

  His freed arousal nuzzled her heat, and for a moment he stilled, his eyelids fluttering closed, a quiet moan slipping from his lips. Her body echoed the same white-hot need, and she wrapped her arms around him, clung to him.

  When his eyes opened, he once again defied the untamed image she first had of him. He threaded his fingers through her hair and leaned down to gently capture her mouth. He kissed her long and slow, his tongue slipping inside to caress hers, and made her shiver with tenderness and ache with wondering if he’d make love to her the same way.

  He drove her to the brink of insanity and left her desperate to join with him, to quench the inferno he’d set ablaze within her. She slid her hands down his smooth, sleek back to cup his bottom and arched her hips against his.

  Michael left her mouth to feather kisses across her jaw and down her neck, before lifting his head again. Even in the darkness, the devilment glittered in his eyes.

  “Am I driving you crazy?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, rolled her head from side to side, and clutched his firm backside tighter in her hands. “Yes.”

  A low chuckle rumbled out of him, and he flicked his tongue over her earlobe. “Good. That’s exactly what you’re doing to me.”

  His heat left her again, and the quiet sound of a plastic packet being torn open drifted to her on the wind. A few heartbeats later, he returned and brushed his mouth over hers. “Look at me, Cat.”

  She peeled her heavy eyelids open. One by one, he captured her hands, pinned them above her head, and she knew the action wasn’t just another tease. It was a bold declaration of possession. It was in his eyes. They burned with such intensity it captivated her, left her breathless with anticipation. When he arched into her, filled her, she swallowed a soft cry, felt that possession right down to the tips of her toes.

  He contradicted the fierce statement, however, when he began to move within her. He made love to her with agonizing slowness, set a deep, languorous rhythm that drove her to the edge of madness. It was electrifying and exhilarating. She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t wrap her arms around him and cling to his body. She could only feel, had no choice but to let go, to let him take her soaring.

  So she gave herself up to him. Reveled at the unbelievable pleasure of being so wholly possessed, so light and free, barely able to catch her breath.

  Each measured movement propelled them forward, sent them careening toward the edge at an increasingly frantic pace. He dropped his forehead against hers, stared so deep she felt him touch her soul. The dark depths spoke to her, said more than words could, echoing all the emotions thrumming through her. They needed each other, with something that transcended physical pleasure and sexual release. It was a union of spirits, of souls. The freedom they could give each other, that waited for them on the other side. She surged up, rose to meet him, let him take her careful world and spin it out of control.

  Like a volcanic eruption, her climax struck, intense, rapturous, liberating. Michael captured her mouth, swallowing her cries, as wave after endless wave of bone-melting pleasure ripped through her. Lost to everything but him moving over her, inside her, she flew over that edge into sweet oblivion and soared through the heavens.

  Somewhere in the midst of it, his body tensed against her. He pulled his mouth from hers and released her hands. Her name slipped from his lips on a long, low groan that seemed torn from his chest. With one last, deep thrust, his own release claimed him, his body shuddering against her.

  He dropped his forehead into the curve of her shoulder, his breaths hot and harsh in her ear. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him, her body echoing the tiny tremors, the aftershocks that still wracked him.

  They lay that way for some time, silent and still. She was afraid to move, to let him go, afraid she’d wake up to discover this was only a dream.

  With the steadying of her own breathing, she slowly became aware of her surroundings again, of the cool water lapping at her toes, and the fact they lay out in the open, exposed.

  “Michael?” She stroked his back.

  “Hm?” His reply floated muffled and sleepy from her throat. He didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.

  “We should go in the house.”

  “Right. Soon as I can remember how to move.”

  Her quiet laugh echoed through the night.

  • • •

  Michael woke the following morning in a soft, warm cocoon of pillows and tangled blankets. Distinctly feminine curves molded to him, Cat’s skin soft and enticing. He ignored the bright sunlight trying to coax his eyes open and instead tightened his arm around her waist.

  He couldn’t recall what time they finally moved inside last night. He’d been too busy to care. A smile crossed his mouth at the thought. They’d dropped their wet clothing in the washer and headed upstairs. A shower meant to tease and wash off sticky sand had turned into erotic play, the likes of which he wouldn’t soon forget. The woman had given him a new life for one night. He owed her a lot.

  Cat shifted in her sleep and her backside wiggled against him, instantly awakening his senses. He opened his eyes, squinting through the piercing brightness pervading the room, and let his gaze drift over her. She laid snuggled spoon-style in front of him, the white sheet draped low over the swell of her hip, leaving her bare from the waist up.

  Unable to resist the call of her skin, he slid his hand over the curve of her hip and let it dip into her narrow waist, luxuriating in the creamy texture. He hadn’t felt this relaxed since before his mother called two days ago to give him the bad news about his father. A permanent knot formed in his gut that had only gotten tighter and larger when he came off the highway and made the thirty minute drive into town. Now the knot was gone and he was . . . in awe of her.

  When he glided around her ribcage and up to claim one full breast, her nipple hardened beneath his touch. His body responded full force, his blood pumping hot and hard through his veins. As he hoped, Cat purred and pressed her backside against him.

  “Morning.” He leaned in to nip the curve of her shoulder. His arm tightened reflexively around her waist, and he rocked his hips against her in return.

  She rewarded him with another soft mewling but pulled away and rolled to face him. Playfulness gleamed in her eyes. The sun filtering into the room played off red highlights in her now-tangled locks and added a certain sparkle to the depths of her eyes. She looked gloriously mussed and every bit as at ease as he felt.

  “You are the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in a long time, do you know that?” He pulled her close again.

  “Aren’t you ever satisfied?” A saucy grin played at the corners of her mouth, desire smoldering in her eyes, as she slid one slender leg over his hip and arched against him.

  Fire flooded his veins, sending his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  “There’s a gorgeous, naked woman in my bed.” He rolled her onto her back and tucked her beneath him, molding his body into her soft curves. “How can I resist?”

  He leaned down and nuzzled her throat, then trailed his lips across her jaw, savoring the sweetness of her skin. She arched her neck to give him better access and dragged the tips of her nails lightly up and down his back, the shivers the sensation created only fueling the inferno blazing within him. When her hips rose to meet his, his body burned with the intense need to plunge into her heat, to lose himself all o
ver again.

  The ending he knew was coming was seared in the back of his mind.

  “Besides,” he lifted his head, “I want to make you scream one more time before I have to take you home.”

  He meant the comment as a tease, to dispel the weight settling in his chest and daring him to acknowledge the need twisting in his gut. An overwhelming need to see her again. One he firmly intended on ignoring. Leaving it at one night was best for both of them. One night was simple, uncomplicated.

  “Shower with me.” He brushed his mouth over hers, relieved when she leaned into his kiss.

  “Sounds heavenly.” She smiled, relief flashing in her eyes, and nodded.

  He exited the bed, pulled her up with him and led her into the adjoining bathroom.

  As much as he wanted otherwise, their relationship had to remain the way it was. He was leaving in a month’s time. He wanted to mend the bridge between him and his father. With any luck, he’d have the courage to visit the Hartmans and say all those things he should have said ten years ago, maybe even stop by Kaylee’s grave, and ease the wound on his soul from that nightmarish night. His heart, though, wasn’t in this town, and in the end, he’d head back to L.A. The last thing he wanted was to bring her pain or disappointment.

  As they crossed the threshold into the bathroom, she pushed into his arms, lifted onto her toes, and nipped at his bottom lip. As he stood staring down into her gorgeous eyes, the truth hit him. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t let the night end on a lie. He owed her the truth. It was time he stopped running from the past, and it started with her. One night or twenty, if she was going to accept him for who he was, he had to be straight up with her.

  Chapter Four

  Cat leaned back against the kitchen counter downstairs. Behind her the coffee maker dripped, filling the small space with the sound of liquid streaming into the glass pot and scenting the air with the delicious aroma of a fresh brew. Her shower with Michael had been phenomenal. Her insides still tingled, and as they’d dried each other off, he’d kissed her gently, and told her he had something he wanted to tell her. He’d asked her to come down here and make coffee while he shaved.

  The night had been exactly what she’d wanted it to be. A single night with a gorgeous man who made her feel alive, truly alive, for the first time in a long time.

  She turned her head, scanning the kitchen around her. The house itself was small and quaint. One bedroom, which took up the top floor, containing the only bathroom. An open living room and a small dining room she’d passed on her way into the kitchen. The furniture was sparse and modest, everything done in warm, earthy colors. The place had a humble, homey feel that wrapped around her, somehow suiting the man she’d come to know.

  The coffee maker began to sputter, and she turned, intending to search the cabinets for mugs when a picture on the wall opposite the stove caught her attention. In it, Michael sat with a dark-haired woman on a good-sized wooden deck. He was younger then, barely a teenager, and the woman appeared to be in her late forties. She clutched Michael’s hand, her bright smile lighting up her face.

  She recognized the woman. Abby Brant. The Brants were the other big, prominent family in Crest Point. They played a huge role in supporting the community, were trusted and well respected. There’d been a Brant in Crest Point since before the town formed more than a hundred years ago. They were old money. Rumor had it their family was part of the original settlers who came during the gold rush in the eighteen hundreds. Nowadays, they owned a chain of five-star hotels scattered all along the West Coast.

  They owned the bar she’d met Michael in. According to the Weekly Tribune, the town’s small newspaper, they kept it open as a piece of nostalgia.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you last night.”

  At the sound of his voice, Cat turned to find Michael in the kitchen entrance. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his torso like a second skin, outlining every solid muscle. His wet hair still had a tousled look, as if he simply dragged his fingers through it, but his jaw was now clean shaven and smooth. He looked . . . delicious.

  She yearned to mold her body to his length and run her fingers over his freshly shaven chin, but resisted the urge. Their night was over, and it was time to separate her emotions from the night itself. “About what?”

  “Who I am.” He pushed away from the doorway, moving into the room at a slow, easy pace.

  The expression on his face had uneasiness settling in her stomach. Gone was the playful glint in his eye that had made their shower something she wouldn’t soon forget. Worry had seeped into his dark eyes. As if he had bad news, or perhaps was afraid of how she’d react.

  She let out a nervous laugh. “It can’t be that bad—can it?”

  His gaze flitted over her face, as if gauging her reaction. “I don’t think so, but it depends on who you ask around here.” He pulled the picture off the wall and stroked his thumb over the glass. “This is me.”

  She nodded. “With Abby Brant. Judging by the look on her face, she’s very fond of you.”

  “I sure hope so.” He let out a quiet laugh, and while his tone said he teased, when he met her gaze, the worry in his eyes was palpable. “She’s my mother.”

  Her smile fell as exactly what he meant hit home. She knew him. Okay, she didn’t know him, but she knew of him. “You’re Michael Brant.”

  No sooner had the name left her mouth than the memories flooded her mind, flashing like the snap of a camera light. When she was twelve, her mother had an affair with then-Senator Randall Brant, a very married, much older man. They were caught together on numerous occasions. There were even rumors he’d leave his wife for her. In the end, the senator paid her mother a large sum of money to disappear and keep quiet. It was why her parents divorced, and why they left Crest Point all those years ago. If she were doing her math right, Randall Brant would be Michael’s grandfather.

  “Oh God.” Cat’s stomach plummeted as the fantasy of the night went poof! before her eyes. Michael was heir to a fortune. Here she was, the daughter of a woman who’d been well-known once for things that made Cat’s cheeks hot to think about.

  Cat closed her eyes, shutting out the images. She’d spent her whole adult life running from the filth of her mother’s reputation. Now here it was, staring her in the face again.

  A quiet thunk against the wall drifted to her, and Michael’s now familiar scent invaded her senses. His warm, soft fingers stroked her cheek. “Say something, Cat.”

  She opened her eyes, caught once again like a fish on a hook in those fathomless dark eyes. He was here, telling her this, because he no doubt wondered what she’d think of him. The worry in those dark, searching eyes all but screamed that at her. But what would he think of her when he found out who she was?

  Breaking the contact, she turned back to the cabinets, pulling open one in search of coffee mugs.

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” That you were someone even in my dreams I could never have? She wanted to hold on to the fantasy of her night with him, to cherish it. Now, the fantasy evaporated. Too much stood between them. Too many complications. The differences between her and Michael had become about so much more than him being a drifter. They were from two different worlds. Men like him, from families like his, dabbled in women like her from the wrong side of the tracks. Nick had taught her that. Even the secretary she’d caught him with was simply a toy to him.

  A beat of silence passed, and Michael let out a heavy exhalation behind her, a sound of acceptance, defeat, dejection. He stepped up behind her, his warm, solid body pressing against her back, pinning her where she stood. Reaching around her, he opened a cabinet door, revealing a shelf full of glasses and mugs. “Because I was afraid.”

  His words and the truth behind them settled into her core. She knew that feeling. Too well. “Of what?”

  “What did you need from me last night, Cat?” His hot breath teased her neck, the sensitive skin below her earlobe, and images i
nvaded her mind. Of his mouth latching on there, leaving his mark. The possessive look in his eyes when he plunged inside her body, claimed her as his. How simultaneously wrong and right it felt to be claimed that way. They were strangers, yet deep down, she couldn’t deny she gave him a piece of herself last night.

  “I wanted the fantasy. You were a little wild, a little dangerous. A Harley-riding bad boy in black leather with a wicked gleam in your eye who challenged anyone to try to judge you.”

  A faint chuckle sounded behind her, so infectious one corner of her mouth curled in response.

  “You were everything I wanted to be and exactly the type of man I never go for.”

  “Is that why you took that ride with me? Spent the night with me? Because I’m different?”

  She hesitated, her heart stalling in her chest, then shook her head. She spent the night with him because the façade intrigued her. The unexplainable pull between them and the uninhibited desire in his eyes sucked her in. The tenderness of his touch overwhelmed her. He overwhelmed her.

  “No. I did it because I felt safe with you.” Safe to fulfill a fantasy without fear of it getting out of control, without fear she’d find out he really was every bit as dangerous as he appeared. And though she couldn’t explain how she knew, she’d bet every last cent she had that the only thing truly dangerous about Michael Brant were his discerning eyes.

  “That’s exactly what I needed from you. The anonymity. You were the only person in this town who didn’t seem to know who I was, who hadn’t already formed an opinion of me. Over the years, I’ve convinced myself I didn’t care what people thought, but I came back expecting judgment. There are people here who aren’t fond of me. And with you, for one night, I was just a man. I had no name, no obligations, no expectations.”

  He shifted closer, his body brushing her back, his heat seeping into her skin.

  “I needed you.” His breath against her sensitive skin made her shiver. “I was just . . . me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if you’d ever heard of me, what you thought of Michael Brant.”