by Koko Brown
“Who are you calling—”
Gemma hit the shut off button. She also ignored the subsequent call back. Tucking her cell in her back pocket, she stalked over to the railing. She’d show them she had her head on straight! They might think being barefoot and pregnant, stuck in the kitchen baking beef patties and coco bread, a better option. Not her! Her life trajectory was going as planned with nary a blip or detour.
Attend University.
Check.
Obtain her MBA.
Check.
Land a job in sports management.
Check.
Live in a fashionable flat in Camden.
Check.
Step foot on all seven continents.
Three down, four more to go.
Own her own firm.
Before she hit the big 4-0.
Have twins.
After she’d accomplished all of the above.
Of course, she’d omitted getting married intentionally. Men were messy, aspiration-sucking, time-draining obstacles. She didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count the number of women who’d put their lives on hold, set aside their dreams just so they could declare to the world, ‘I got a man!’
Thankfully, she’d taken her first and only detour at an early age. Devin Spencer had been a costly diversion which almost derailed her entire senior year. Unlike the rest, she’d never became a repeat offender. Instead, she’d wrapped the mantle of Independent Woman around her like a Teflon cape. Up until now, it’d served her well. According to her timeline, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Sure, she side-eyed couples with a twinge of envy, but then she got over it. They should be jealous of her! She had the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all—the one she had with herself.
Most spent their whole lives in a chaotic flux, relying completely on others for their personal happiness. And when these exulted gatekeepers didn’t uphold their end of the bargain, they had the audacity to get angry. Gemma snorted. She would never cosign on that crazy train. Her happiness was now and would forever be self-supplied, and not dependent on someone else’s stupid whims.
“It’s gonna take more than a sudsy peep show to throw me off track, Devin Spencer.” Teflon mantle firmly secured, Gemma stepped back inside to wait on her client.
Chapter Five
Maybe he’d gone too far.
Devin pretended to adjust the rearview mirror. Yep. She definitely wasn’t a happy camper. Pressed against the car’s passenger door, with her arms crossed, Gemma sported a mulish, pissed-as-shit expression. On top of that, during the entire ride to Aimée’s Cottage, she remained staunchly silent despite his repeated attempts to draw her out.
Hating her brand of punishment–being ignored by her was a bitch–Devin sighed and sank back into his own seat. He’d only been trying to get a rise out of her, tempt her with what she was missing. Not set his plans two steps backward.
“Go ahead and rip me another arsehole.”
She didn’t hold back. “What you did earlier was extremely inappropriate! I’m your agent for bloody sakes.”
“Exactly. If you were a man, I would’ve asked the same of you. You feminists want equal treatment, but can’t accept the consequences.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re digging a hole for yourself.”
“Stick to the boundaries?”
“Or I’m moving back to my flat.”
Devin gnashed his teeth. “You’re not going back there. Not until the alarm system has been installed.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Alarm system?”
“Along with a motion sensor light over your front door, a deadbolt lock on your privacy gate and a surveillance camera.”
She blinked at him as her mouth flapped open and shut like a pool filter. Devin resisted the urge to touch the top of his head to check if he’d grown a pair of horns.
“What about bars on the window or hiring an entire security detail? No!” She smacked her palm across her brow dramatically. “What about the Queen’s personal guard?”
“I contacted them. They were already booked.”
Gemma lifted her hands to her throat, stuck out her tongue and pretended to choke.
Devin grinned. “You shouldn’t make light of the steps I’ve taken to protect you.”
“You’re doing too much…it’s like you’re smothering me,” she said dropping her hands in her lap.
Her words hit him like a bucket of ice-cold Gatorade. He was only trying to keep her safe. Protecting what was his.
“You’ve overstepped the boundaries of our arrangement.”
Devin gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. If he heard the word boundaries one more time, he was going to kick something.
“We haven’t seen each other in years,” she continued, “but you’re acting like we’re ol’ mates. I’m your agent, nothing more.”
“Can’t help it,” he muttered around a ball of anger. He glanced at her and caught her fingering the gear shift, taking an undue interest in it. “We were lovers once, but you were also my best friend. One I really cared about…still care about.”
Her gaze swung to meet his. Maybe it was his imagination, but her brown eyes glittered as if he’d hit a soft spot. Knowing he was reaching, Devin continued, “I’ve tried, but with you I just can’t go cold turkey.”
Instead of the desired result, like her falling in his arms and kissing him senseless, her eyes narrowed. “You were quite capable of going cold turkey when you left for Croydon.”
Shit! He’d opened a can of worms. “You think walking away was easy?”
Taking a disproportionate interest in her manicured nails, she snorted. “So easy you ran.”
That’s how she saw his leaving Birmingham for Croydon’s development program? Him running away from her. What could he say when her accusation was partially true?
“I could’ve done better about staying in touch,” he conceded. “I got caught up with the demands of training and trying to prove myself. I thought if I gave us some space we’d both grow. You had more going for you than being some footballer’s wife, following me from stadium to stadium.”
Devin eyed her, searching for a reaction, but her expression remained closed and like so many times in the past, he found himself desperate to draw her out. “Don’t I at least get some credit for helping you to blossom?”
Yeah it was a shitty thing to say, but whenever he was desperate he tended to lose all his common sense.
“Gemma, I—”
Her laughter cut off his apology.
“You want credit for my success, do you? For all the crap you put me through, I should wring your thick neck.” She reached for his throat.
Devin held up his arm, deflecting her attack. “I came back for you. I called, wrote you letters, all to no avail. You’re not the only one who felt rejection.”
“I was going through stuff,” she muttered, somewhat deflated. “I fell behind in school. I stopped hanging out with my friends—the two or three I barely had. So, I pushed you away. I wanted to hurt you like you’d hurt me.”
Her admission hitting him like a kick in the gut, Devin gripped the steering wheel. “Why are you even civil to me? If you’d pulled what I’ve done to you, I wouldn’t be speaking to you.”
Gemma chuckled. “I didn’t for eight years, remember?”
“Then why now?”
“You needed help and I wanted a fat commission.”
Devin chuckled. “Walked into that one?”
“Splat.” For effect, she clapped her hands together. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” She reached out and playfully tweaked his arm, sending a jolt of lust straight to his cock. “I was more than a little curious about the person you’d become. A little bit of me wondered if the old Devin was still inside the XG underwear model plastered on a LED billboard in Piccadilly Circus.”
Devin remembered that bloody campaign all too well. For three mont
hs, he couldn’t hit up Tesco for his favorite pick ‘n’ mix without being mobbed. The women were great, but he didn’t take too kindly to all the wolf whistles from cheeky bastards.
“Finally,” Gemma rubbed her stomach when he finally parked the car. “Getting rid of all that baggage, I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” She pulled on the door handle, but Devin halted her with a hand on her arm. He was starving for something as well—her affection.
What else was new? From the moment he laid eyes on her, he wanted to invade her space. Win her over. Make her his. Even now, he needed his Gemma fix. Leaning over the arm rest, he broke the distance between them. Devin smiled to himself. Her eyes had grown as large as tea saucers.
“So where do we stand?” Another inch and he’d taste her lips. He bet they were sweet, yet spicy like the cinnamon-flavored lip gloss he’d watched her apply earlier. Impulsively, he caught her elbow. In the face of her shocked silence, he pressed his suit farther. Heart pounding he pulled her close, closer. His mind worked in overdrive, skipping past the kiss to wondering if she’d balk at a quickie in the back seat.
At the last moment, she placed her hand on his lips, shattering the moment. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re still my client. Nothing’s changed.”
Not waiting for his response, she yanked on the handle, opening the car door.
Plenty had changed. He was seeing the whole picture quite clearly now. He’d spent one day too many walking around with blue balls and jacking off in the shower. From now on he just needed to be a little more diligent about his pursuit, while removing the barrier of her contract. Make her want him so much she didn’t give a damn about a piece of paper.
***
Gemma affected a cheery demeanor, but inside she was rattled and raw. What had transpired in the car had been a close call, a complete abandonment of her common sense, her Teflon mantle. What was new? Eight years ago, she’d given him her virginity. She couldn’t afford the same mistake. She doubted her heart or her pocketbook could survive it.
If it hadn’t been for their trip down memory lane, Gemma would’ve demanded he take her back to his place so she could pack her things. His sincere apology and discovering he’d tried to reconnect with her, temporarily absolved him of his present transgressions. Too bad it hadn’t erased the emotions warring with her common sense, or the unbridled lust rushing through her veins.
Stick to the boundaries!
“You’re going to love this place,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Best crepe suzettes outside of Paris.”
“Well, it looks quaint.” Gemma noted the building’s 18th century charm with its gabled roof, stone exterior, and peacock blue shutters. The interior remained true to provincial French architecture with vanilla plastered walls, uneven brick floors and beamed ceilings. And the place smelled divine, the air scented with freshly baked bread and ground coffee.
“Ah, Devin, mon ami!” A middle-aged redhead, wearing a white, yet very soiled apron, hustled toward them. “Toujours aussi beau,” she exclaimed, and then kissed both his cheeks.
She glanced at Gemma and her blue eyes narrowed. “A new girlfriend?”
Devin chuckled. “No this is my agent, Gemma Clarke. Gemma, this is Aimée Millard, the owner of Aimée’s Cottage.”
Looping arms with Devin, Aimée eyed her up and down, literally sizing her up. “Pretty, but not exactly your type, non. Most of your girlfriends have all been tall, slender and blonde. Et vous, not quite.”
Did she just call her a pretty toad? Feeling somewhat lacking and left out, Gemma followed the pair.
“This is an odd choice.” Situated in the middle of the room, the table didn’t afford them any privacy. Reminded of last night’s set up, she plopped down in the seat to his left.
Devin shrugged. It was a simple roll of the shoulders, but it made his muscles bunch beneath his snug, white Henley and caused her to drool. “I like the sunshine.”
“The regular?” Aimée asked.
“We’ll have two. Heavy on the Nutella filling.” Devin rubbed his washboard abs. “High carb day.”
Aimée threw Gemma a look. “Et vous? Light on the Nutella?”
Great! Not only did the woman think she was a toad, but a fat one in need of a diet. Before she ripped the woman a new arse hole, Gemma bit the inside of her cheek.
“Skip the Nutella altogether,” she muttered not really a fan of the hazelnut filling. “I’ll take my crepe with blueberry sauce.”
“She has a crush on you,” Gemma pointed out as soon as Aimée left to fetch some coffee.
“She’s harmless.”
“To you, but I swear she wants to ride your dick.”
Devin laughed, drawing the attention of several patrons. “You sound jealous,” he said, wiping at tears.
“Far from it.” How did this turn to her?
“Just like Aimée doesn’t have a crush on me.”
“Believe whatever you want. When our plates come, we’re trading.”
While Devin suffered through another bout of laughter, Gemma’s cell pinged with a text message from Yvonne regarding the soccer academy. Crap! Her thoughts were so monopolized by this thing zinging between them, she’d forgotten today’s task. Back on track, Gemma punched out a quick reply.
“Who was that?” Devin asked when she set the phone aside.
“Jealous?” Two could play that game.
“When it comes to you, I’ll always be jealous,” he said candidly and with so much conviction, Gemma was glad they were sitting down. She was suddenly feeling a little dizzy.
“The text was from my boss,” she confessed. After his declaration, how could she hold out on him? “You need to make yourself available this weekend. She wants you to participate in Croydon’s soccer academy.”
Groaning loudly, Devin raked his hand over his mouth. “No.”
“Why not? It’ll be great publicity for you.”
“Can you believe the club charges three hundred pounds per child to participate? I love kids but most of them come from posh households. I would do it if the kids were selected from a lottery and weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouths.”
His admission caused a light bulb to go off in Gemma’s head. “Have you thought about hosting your own soccer camp for disadvantaged children?”
“I’ve thought about it, but my schedule is so busy and with no one in my family willing to help me get the ball rolling, the idea has remained just that.”
Gemma smiled to herself. He’d just dropped a huge bargaining chip into her lap. “How about we make a deal?” She held out her hand. “You participate in Croydon’s soccer camp this weekend and I’ll plan yours.”
Devin eyed her hand, but left her hanging. “Can you plan the camp before the end of the transfer window? Once the season starts, my schedule will be all over the place.”
Shocked by the immediacy of the project, Gemma almost wavered. “It sounds like I’ll be wrangling cats, but I think I can plan and execute your event in six weeks.”
Devin blinded her with a dazzling smile, making her belly flutter with more than just hunger. “We’ve got a deal,” he said, his hand engulfing hers.
“Awesome!” Gemma shook his hand, sealing the deal. Before she pulled away, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. The kiss was casual and brief, but it sent an electrical shock through her body, wrapping her in a sizzling web of want and desire. And the ache between her legs was so palpable she wanted to rush into the bathroom and take care of it personally. It wouldn’t be anything like banging the hell out of Devin, but it would be much better for her well-being.
Stick to the boundaries!
***
After breakfast, Devin made a pit stop at a supermarket around the corner from his flat. Since most of his food was organic and healthy, and Gemma subsisted on artificial flavors and fillers, he decided to be a gracious host and pick up a few more staples.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ge
mma pointed out as she walked beside him. He’d taken complete charge of the shopping cart and was now guiding them through the produce section. “I’m only staying a few days.”
“One look at my cupboards and you’re going to thank me for this. Even when the season is over, I stick to a pretty strict diet with an occasional cheat day thrown in here and there.”
Gemma eyed his trim waist. “Maybe I could adopt your habits.”
“Ready to take up my wheatgrass and green algae smoothies?”
“That sounds like a science project gone horribly wrong,” she retorted, her nose scrunching up in disgust.
Devin chuckled. “What about egg whites with spinach and a side of carrot juice?”
“Equally uninspiring.” She affected a yawn.
“Grass-fed beef with brown rice and broccoli?”
Gemma pursed her lips. She absolutely detested broccoli. “I’m seeing the light. You lead and I shall follow.”
For the next thirty minutes, they walked up and down the aisles. Like on the football pitch, Devin didn’t play around. His approach to shopping kept them moving and Gemma focused, which was good since she tended be rather scattered when she shopped and tended to forget something.
“Do you remember the time when we played that practical joke on your neighbor, Mrs. Hadley?”
“You have to be more specific. I pranked the poor dear more times than I could count.” So much so, Mrs. Hadley barely acknowledged Gemma when she visited her mum.
“When you told Mrs. Hadley her lawn was on fire…”
“And she ran outside in her nightgown and rollers, carrying a pitcher of water,” Gemma finished.
Devin doubled over in laughter. “And…and she stood there about ten minutes trying to figure out if her lawn was really on fire.”
“That was so wrong of us,” Gemma said through fits of laughter. She would never forget poor Mrs. Hadley standing in the center of her yard, completely befuddled, wearing a floral muumuu and a headful of pink sponge rollers. “I laughed so hard I think I peed on myself.”
“You didn’t.”
Noticing the sudden change in his voice, Gemma stopped dead in her tracks. Green eyes darkening to almost black, he stepped closer. Choosing flight over fight, she retreated backward and slammed into the grocery shelf. Seizing upon the opportunity, Devin placed his hand above her right shoulder. With the cart to her left, a shelf of canned fruit at her back, she was caged in on all sides.