by Koko Brown
Face flush with embarrassment, Price Quimby turned to the camera. Behind him, Devin floated a pair of rabbit ears over his head.
The screen split to reveal the network’s main studio and Sports24’s Highlights Tonight host, Mel Tratham. “Don’t you have a sister named Tabitha?” he asked.
“Cheeky bastard.” Price jerked at his tie, loosening the knot. “This is Price Quimby with Sp—”
Click.
Gemma tossed the remote control on the couch. She’d studied Devin long enough. Even if she watched a month’s worth of media appearances, she would never be ready for their first face-to-face encounter in over eight years.
“Big girl panties.” Shoring up her courage, but heart pounding like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a coyote, Gemma picked up her cell phone. She pressed #21. One of the six clients she personally handled, Devin had his own code. She’d programmed his number into her phone three weeks ago when he’d formally signed onto Top Flight. A coward, she’d skipped all the pageantry by taking a last-minute cruise along the Mediterranean coast.
Filled with nervous energy, Gemma banged the pen against her leg. So many questions sprinted through her head. The one most at the forefront was why Devin had chosen Top Flight. Like every potential client, he’d received the company prospectus beforehand. Surely, he’d recognized her from her stock photo and bio. And with only four full-time employees, there was no way he’d missed her.
Of course, she’d changed considerably over the years. The baby fat had melted from her cheeks as did much of the weight around her middle. She hadn’t lost the eleven stones which contributed to secondary school being a living hell. The extra pounds had simply shifted when she’d grown six inches from a diminutive five feet.
Her mousy brown hair no longer floated around her head like a frizzy halo causing her fits with its sheer volume and unmanageability. Shorn and dyed a hip cherry-cola hue, her hair now hung to her shoulders in a sleek asymmetrical bob.
One thing which hadn’t changed was her voice. Husky and full-bodied from countless hours of vocal lessons, her voice had been shaped by her mother’s misguided dream that her only daughter would one day become an opera singer. As a result, Gemma sounded like a fifty-year old butcher who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. Bullied by her classmates and given the nickname toad, her only respite had come through Devin, who’d made her read Lord Byron’s poems to him.
Maybe she was just being paranoid. More than likely, Devin didn’t remember her at all. While their sixth form remained etched in her memory, he’d probably written it off as some childhood fling. After all, he was one of the best goalies in the Premier League, filthy rich and a bad boy with enough notches on his bed to rival Mick Jagger’s.
“Talk to me.”
Gemma jumped almost dropping her cell. She hadn’t heard Devin pick up the other end.
“Hello…anyone there?” His voice poured over Gemma like warm Nutella. Deep, rich and surprisingly cultured, his accent was devoid of the brummie intonations of their native Birmingham. Unlike cockney, which had an unusual cult following, absolutely no one outside the west midlands appreciated the local accent.
“I…ah…hello.” She took the phone from her ear and slurped in a deep breath. In less than a second, he’d reduced her to an awkward schoolgirl. Gathering her bearings, Gemma took another soothing breath and then launched into what she hoped was a professional introduction. “Hello, Devin, this is Gemma Clarke with Top Flight. You’ve been shackled to me (well-timed chuckle) and I believe we have an appointment this evening, six o’clock at the Belvedere Supper Club.”
Gemma gave herself a high five for execution. She sounded like a wind-up doll, but at least she’d spit it out without any of the embarrassing hiccups.
“I’d rather meet here, at my place.”
Thrown for a loop, Gemma’s heart beat double time. “Y-y-your place?” she asked, once again tongue tied.
“My place offers privacy. Trust me. With the transfer window in full effect, every bloke will be underfoot and our meeting would be a waste of time.”
His reason for meeting at his place made perfectly good sense. Then why did she feel woefully deflated? Because deep down, she’d hoped his suggestion hid an ulterior motive—like getting into her knickers. Once upon a time, he’d used every trick in the book to get her out of them.
Her libido percolating like a tea kettle, Gemma shoved the ballpoint pen between her lips and went to town chewing the tip. Adding Devin Spencer to her client list was going to be a challenge. Not just professionally, but personally as well.
“Your place is fine.”
“How about sushi?”
Confused, Gemma paused mid-chew. “Sushi?”
“I’ll order in for us. If memory serves me, I haven’t met an agent who can conclude business in under an hour.”
If his memory served him so well, why hadn’t he acknowledged their previous association? No bloody ‘how the hell you have been’ or even a hint of recognition in his voice. Of course, Gemma overlooked the fact that this reunion was a two-way street.
“Sushi sounds great,” she replied so tightly, her jaw hurt. He could order whatever he wanted. She wouldn’t allow herself to eat any of it. She planned to rush through their meeting so fast her car engine wouldn’t get the opportunity to cool.
“Do you have my address?”
Gemma eyed the leather portfolio sitting on her coffee table. Ever since it had arrived in the mail from the company’s headquarters in Rome, she’d scoured every single detail. “It’s in your file.”
“Good. I’ll give Marty a heads up and I’ll see you at six. Don’t be late. Just so you know…I hate to be kept waiting.”
***
On the way over, Gemma drove well below the speed limit. She stopped at every orange light from central London to Croydon. And once on the elevator, she hit all the call buttons, causing the lift to stop on every floor.
Despite her bravado, Gemma gathered her bearings. Devin Spencer didn’t mince words with any one, not even his bosses. Last season, a very public row with Croydon F.C.’s general manger, Leighton Royce, had played out in the press. Many believed it was the reason he remained a free agent.
And that’s where she came in. With no offers on the table, Devin was facing a penalty kick of epic proportions. The season was starting in less than two months, and if she didn’t get Devin to straighten up his act, they’d all suffer the consequences. The star goalie would be locked into a crappy contract undeserving of his talent and Top Flight would take a blow to its budding reputation.
To Gemma’s ultra-competitive boss, this was unacceptable. So, she was tasked with a more hands on approach. With a little bit of tough love, and a possible miracle, she had to make Devin all shiny and new, so they could serve him up to the wolves.
Despite going over Devin’s file multiple times, she wasn’t any closer to figuring out the root of his short fuse. From what she remembered of him, Devin didn’t have any skeletons in the closet. He’d been a nice kid with a rather boring upbringing. The oldest of four, he’d come from a middle-class family. His father owned a mechanic’s shop, and his mum had been a hairdresser.
Discovered in a local park playing football, he’d been handpicked to train in Birmingham’s youth academy. Seven years later, he signed his first professional contract with Croydon’s development program and sounded the death knell to their odd relationship.
Far too soon, the elevator reached the top floor. Gemma alighted and stepped into a private foyer, her pink-soled Mary Jane stilettos echoing on the marble floors. If not for the strategically-placed recessed lighting, a kidney-shaped settee, and a side table topped by a vase of fresh hydrangeas, the space would’ve been quite frigid.
Unable to help herself, Gemma made a quick, last-minute perusal of her appearance in a floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the elevator. Her clients had a team kit and so did she. Top Flight’s agents were required to dress at the height of fashion. “If our clients see us
looking a hot mess,” Yvonne had pointed out while outlining her employee clothing allowance, “Then they believe we’re handling their affairs in the same manner.”
Due to the warmer weather, Gemma had gone light on the makeup, opting for a natural look which complimented her favorite go-to-outfit, a textured pink bell-shaped skirt with a matching summer cardigan. And every hair of her asymmetrical bob hung in a smooth line to her shoulders.
She turned to the side, and checked out her profile. I should’ve worn pants. The short skirt showed off her toned legs, but the billowy shape over emphasized her backside which was already quite generous.
Damn you, Gladys Clarke, for gifting me with all this jelly!
Sure guys liked big bums, but not every girl wanted a butt one could set a tea cup on.
“Are you going to stand there all day admiring yourself?”
Startled, Gemma whirled around. Standing in the doorway of his apartment, dressed in a white V-neck tee and olive green cargo pants, Devin Spencer was a hundred times more gorgeous in person.
Gemma inwardly groaned. She tried to keep it from happening, had steeled herself from it on the drive over, but her body instantly responded to him. How could almost a decade of built up animosity, melt away in a split second?
Maybe it was his tall, athletic body made rock hard by hours spent on the field. Or it could be the incredible head of hair. Short on the sides, and long on top. Possibly, it was his full bottom lip. She used to enjoy sucking on it for hours. Perchance the bad boy ink? But more than likely, Gemma mused, it was his mesmerizing green eyes, tinged with golden flecks. They’d always made her feel like she was the only girl in the world.
Despite the passing of time, nothing had changed. Being in the same room was like dumping twenty gallons of coffee in her veins. Heart pounding in her chest, pupils more than likely dilated, she shuffled over.
“Gemma Clarke.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her. “Long time no see.”
Chapter Two
He remembered!
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Speaking of eyes, she centered hers on his chest, so as not to be drawn in by that panty-dropping gaze of his.
“Nice seeing you again, Devin,” she said, sticking out her hand, her tone and body language staunchly professional.
For several seconds, Gemma thought he was going to leave her hanging. But his hesitation had only been a ploy. When she looked up, his hand engulfed hers and a sizzling jolt shot up her arm, connected with all her nerve endings, especially the hundred or so centered in her groin. To ease the growing ache between her thighs, Gemma crossed her legs at the ankle. Outwardly, it appeared like she was being coy.
“How have you been?” Proud her voice remained devoid of emotion, Gemma mentally pumped her fist as she slipped her hand from his.
“I’ve been a bad boy.” He even had the temerity to sport a sheepish expression as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.
“So what’s new?”
His rakish grin didn’t falter. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to whip you into shape,” she quipped with surprising ease. Like riding a bike, she hadn’t lost the ability to stay toe to toe with him. Before all the money, fame and women, he’d been her closest friend.
“Against my better judgment, do come in.”
Feeling a little more in her element, Gemma allowed herself to relax as she followed him down a long hallway lined with black and white action photos of him on the pitch.
“Quite a collection you have,” she said, eyeing a particular photo of him, airborne and arms outstretched, reaching for a ball.
He cut his eyes at her, the edges of his smile deepening with dimples. Gemma’s belly tumbled. Everything about him oozed sex appeal.
“Narcissistic?”
“A tad,” she teased. Without thinking, she reached out and tweaked his arm like she used to when they were kids. The warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips made Gemma’s body tingle. But it didn’t compare to the way his gaze locked with hers when he fingered his arm. It was the same look he’d given her when he was no longer interested in his studies and more interested in finding out the color of her training bra.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he reached out as if to grab her hand. “Gemma, I—”
“I guess it comes with the territory, being a celebrity athlete and all,” she cut him off. She stopped abruptly and pretended to study a photograph. He stopped as well, but didn’t crowd her.
Gemma patted herself on the back. She wasn’t quite sure what she would’ve done if he’d touched her. Probably melt into a puddle of pheromones at his feet. Unable to resist, she peeked at him. Her gaze latched onto the tanned skin exposed by the deep V-neck of his shirt, the traces of what appeared to be a heart-shaped tattoo peaked above the collar. As a shiver stole over her, she bit the inside of her cheek. What she wouldn’t give to trace his ink with her tongue.
“The photographs weren’t my doing.” He started walking and like Pavlov’s dog, Gemma panted after him. “I didn’t decorate this place.”
Thinking of the supermodel girlfriend he’d dated off and on for two years, Gemma’s mood soured. So much so, she almost didn’t appreciate the rest of his home. An open layout, the living room flowed into a gourmet kitchen and a dining room with seating for eight. Sunlight poured onto chocolate stained floors from a bank of windows stretching from one end of the room to the other. All of the furnishings were masculine, not heavy but designed for comfort. None of that modern minimalistic crap people their age believed was hip.
“Well, whoever it was they have great taste,” she said, admiring the two leather club chairs and matching sofa in the main living area. She reached out and touched the dark brown material and it was as soft as churned butter.
“I’ll tell Mum you approve. She didn’t take too kindly to my underwhelming response to her efforts.”
Surprised, Gemma’s eyes widened. “Your mother decorated the place?”
“Who else would I allow to furnish all of this?” He stretched his arms wide, lifting the hem of his t-shirt. His low slung cargo pants afforded her a perfect view of his v-cut abs and what she’d once dubbed his yummy trail.
Unable to help herself, her gaze followed the line of hair to his crotch. Even at seventeen, Devin’s package had been long and thick, and it took several painful attempts to relieve her of her virginity.
“This is going to hurt,” he warned.
Lips pressed together, fingernails digging into his shoulders, Gemma nodded.
Propped on his elbows, Devin leaned down slightly and nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Are you sure, Gem? We can wait.”
“I want this,” she gushed before she lost the courage. “I love you. And I want us to be together.”
“If we don’t do this, it doesn’t mean—”
Gemma wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled so hard he fell on top of her. Instead of shying away or giving her an out, his arms slipped around her, pressing her slowly but strongly against him. Skin to skin, she shivered at the thrill of his body heat, the pounding of his heart.
This was dangerous and it was wicked and it was frightening. But why did it feel so good? Head ringing, chest heaving she turned her head in search of his mouth.
“I love you so much it hurts,” he whispered against her lips. He pressed closer, invading her mouth, filling her.
His hand sought her breast, cupping and kneading gently. The tantalizing pressure of his touch, his ardent caresses stoked a fire along her skin, inundated her with a plethora of sensations, ignited a twisting knot of longing which made her writhe and moan with a mixture of discomfort and pleasure.
Needing an outlet, she began to explore the wonders of a boy’s body. Her hands spanned the breath of his wide shoulders. Her fingers traced the muscles in arms, the rise of his ass. In no time, his moans of pleasure matched hers in intensity. He lifted hi
mself slightly and one muscular thigh wedged itself between hers, urging them apart. She looked up at him in wonder and confusion. Their gazes locked.
“I’m ready.” His breathing was harsh and his hands unsteady as they stroked her hair away from her face.
“Me too.”
His hands slipped beneath her hips, lifting her, parting her legs on either side of him. As she took several calming breaths, he probed her tenderness, slowly pushing inside. Gemma’s heartbeat increased its tempo at the weirdness of this and the strange need to see this through. Even as a part of her wanted to rebel, another part held on even tighter.
“You’re so snug.”
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “I-I- I don’t think I can go through this again.”
Heeding her warning, Devin gathered her in his arms. His words were apologetic murmurs that made her meet the passion of his kiss and the thing pushing inside her. His sharp intake of breath, a hissed exclamation that whispered across her skin, and then she cried out at the searing pain.
Instinctively, she struggled against him. And just as instinctively, he held her tighter.
“I’m so sorry Gem…I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
He kissed her eyes closed, stroked the furrowed lines of distress from her brow until the sting of torn flesh and the tension, wrapped so tautly around her limbs, eased.
At first, the fullness inside her was unpleasant, but with each stroke, her body began to mold around him, anticipate the rhythmic pulse of his body joining hers. Something she could neither define nor explain, swelled inside her. Something that brought him closer to her than seemed possible for any human being ever to be, and yet she wanted him closer. So close, no one could pry them apart.
Even stranger was the unbearable desperation, the suffocating knot of yearning she didn’t know how to satisfy and was inexplicably just beyond her reach. She greedily accepted the thrust of his tongue as she arched to meet the thrust of his hips, the length of him pressing deeper. He was her saving grace, her salvation from this bodily torment.