Cade undid the last button and shrugged his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the floor.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
He was about to prove it by climbing onto the bed with her, but she levered herself up and pulled her legs in. As he put one knee on the bed, she reached up and traced the scar that ran along his collarbone and across to his right shoulder.
“Did it hurt very much?” she asked, wincing a little.
As much as he hated to be reminded of his injury, he was touched by her compassion. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the fingertip that had touched the scar. “Getting the scar didn’t hurt at all,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “The surgeon had the good sense to knock me out before he cut into me.”
“You know that’s not what I was asking.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I do, but the last thing I want when I have a beautiful, half-undressed woman in my bed is to talk about my shoulder. I’d much rather do this.”
She squeaked with surprise as he grabbed her by the upper arms, twisted, and fell onto his back with her draped across his chest.
“Mm, much better,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her waist toward her hips.
“Hey, what happened to the value of waiting?” she teased.
“Oh, I think I’ve been very patient.” His fingers found the hem of her dress near her thighs. “For example, I’ve let you keep this on far too long.” He started tugging upward.
She looked down at him, a sultry pout on her lips. “I thought you said you liked this dress.”
“Oh, I don’t just like it. I love it. But I especially love it when it’s off.”
He dragged the fabric upward, skimming the velvety skin of her thighs, hips, waist with his knuckles. As he reached her rib cage, she let out a gasp and squirmed, and he realized she was ticklish there. Something to explore further later. Right now, he just wanted her naked, and so he kept moving before she could think too much about the fact that he was going to have her in nothing but her skimpy lace panties—and soon, in nothing at all.
To his delight, she sat up to help him, straddling his hips in the process, bringing her heated, damp core in contact with the aching ridge of his erection. He groaned, nearly overcome with the urge to flip open his fly, rip off her panties, and sink into her without further preliminaries. She wouldn’t resist, he was sure, but if he gave in to temptation, it would all be over that much sooner, and that wasn’t in his game plan. No, this was more like a two-minute drill, where he had to take his opportunity to milk the clock for every extra second to pull out the win.
Apparently unaware of his internal debate, Angela lifted her arms and pulled the dress off over her head.
God, she was gorgeous. His cock swelled with appreciation at the full splendor of her firm but generous breasts and the lush, feminine curve of her hips. She might be tall and slender like the models he’d dated in the past, but unlike most of them, she was soft and round in all the right places with none of the sharp edges—either of form or, as far as he could tell, of character.
“Beautiful,” he said softly, not intending to speak aloud but unable to keep the sentiment to himself.
“I quite agree,” she said, smiling down at him with a ruthless little glint in her eyes.
He didn’t know what to make of that until she scooted a little farther down his legs and reached for the waistband of his slacks. Before he could stop her—or maybe he didn’t actually want to stop her—she had unbuttoned and unzipped him and was freeing him from his boxers.
Her hair formed an incongruously angelic halo around her head as her hand closed on his shaft and an expression of pure, carnal satisfaction crossed her features. She slid down his legs, farther, farther, until she was straddling his knees, but it wasn’t until her head dipped and her tongue flicked across the head of his penis that he realized—holy crap, she really was the perfect woman.
Real coffee, red wine, and head… Oh yes!
Her tongue was magic, and his balls tightened with anticipation as each swipe became slightly fuller, more aggressive. And then—oh, God, yes—he was in her mouth, dark and wet and sweet, with her hand gliding up and down his length as she licked and sucked and…
Hell. In some thick but still active corner of his brain, he knew he was about to come, and he had to stop it. Had to stop this, no matter how good it felt.
“Uh uh, love, not happening,” he admonished, levering himself up so he could escape the seductive suction of her mouth.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
For just a second, he read the question as a coy, female attempt to fish for a compliment, but then he saw from her concerned expression that she was actually afraid he didn’t like it.
As if.
He sat up and pulled her toward him until her nipples grazed his chest. “I love it,” he assured her, “but the place I want to be when I come is not your mouth.”
“That seems rather sexist,” she pointed out. “You thought it was good enough for me.”
“Oh, baby,” he said on a chuckle, “as long as you’re with me, whenever and wherever you come is just fine. In fact, the more places, the better.”
There was no more talk after that.
He managed somehow—he couldn’t quite say how—to divest her of her delicate underwear without shredding them, but he never did make it out of his own pants. Flipping her beneath him, he settled between her thighs, the swollen head of his cock resting against her hot, slick entrance. Something made him remember the condom he’d slipped into his pocket on the off chance they ever made it to the bedroom. Resting his weight on one hand—his good shoulder—he retrieved it with the other and opened the packet with his teeth.
He rolled it on with surprisingly steady fingers and then, gazing into her blue eyes, he eased into her channel. His own eyes damned near rolled back into his head at the exquisite heat and tightness of her. He was almost grateful for the barrier of the condom, because he was sure if he actually felt her, skin to skin, the game would be over then and there.
When at last he could trust himself, he leaned down and kissed her. Gently at first, almost chastely, he feathered his lips across hers as he thrust in a slow, lazy rhythm. Her legs clasped his waist—just as he’d envisioned they would—and he picked up the pace in response, their kisses becoming deeper, fiercer. Still, he fought for a thread of control until he heard the telltale whimper of her impending orgasm. Only this time, it was ten times better than last because he could feel her muscles constricting, gathering around him.
He pounded into her now, all finesse and restraint gone as she cried out and shuddered, squeezing him, pulling him onward and inward. His own orgasm started at the base of his skull, traveling down his spine to his balls and then, finally, to his cock, the jolts of pleasure so thick and raw, he felt almost disembodied.
Whoa. If it was this good the first time, he wasn’t sure he could survive the second, let alone the third or the fourth…or the hundredth.
Too bad he’d never get the chance to find out, because he’d sure as hell like to try.
###
They ordered room service and ate dinner in bed, transferring the plates and silverware from the table they were rolled in on to the laptop trays in the bedroom. Angela sat with her back propped against a bunch of overstuffed pillows, wrapped in the silk shirt he’d discarded earlier. She looked even sexier in his too-large shirt than in that second-skin, barely there black dress she had been wearing when she arrived, which was hard to believe. What was it about a woman in a man’s shirt—especially a man’s own shirt—that was so hot?
Cade didn’t have the brainpower to analyze the question at the moment, but he did know everything about Angela Petersen was hot, in or out of his shirt. And right now, with his appetite for food satisfied, out of it sounded pretty appealing.
“You finished?” he asked, pointing to her plate.
Placing her hand over her abdomen
, she gave a little groan and nodded. “It was delicious, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”
Given that she’d practically cleared her plate of an eight-ounce steak, baked potato, and an assortment of vegetables, that was probably true. It was also another thing he liked about her.
None of that “Oh, I’m not very hungry; I’ll just have a salad” crap so many women pulled, as if he’d think they were less attractive somehow if they ate like real human beings. Nothing could be further from the truth. After all, what was the point in taking a woman out for dinner if she didn’t even like food?
But Angela Petersen liked food. And coffee. And sex. What could be more attractive than that?
Lifting the tray from her lap, he set it on the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed facing her. “You sure you don’t want dessert?”
Her eyes rounded. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not kidding at all,” he answered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But then, the dessert I have in mind doesn’t have any calories.”
“Oh,” she breathed, half laughing, the vowel so perfectly Minnesotan in its length and cadence that he went hard at the sound, “that kind of dessert.”
“Oh, ya.” He grinned as he spoke, and she laughed aloud.
Pushing her back onto the bed, he stopped her laughter with his kiss and then proceeded to treat her to what he hoped was the best “dessert” of her life.
This time, he even managed to get out of his pants.
Two condoms and a half a dozen or so orgasms later, they fell into a companionable silence, her head resting on his shoulder, his fingers lazily combing through her satiny hair. It was only when she made a small, snorting sound that he realized she’d fallen asleep.
Pulling the blankets up over their shoulders, he spooned his body around hers. A perfect fit. Like two halves of a whole.
Where had that thought come from? That was getting kind of sappy, considering he was only going to be here for three weeks—although it occurred to him now that he hadn’t ever gotten around to telling her why he was in Harper Falls or for how long. Oh well, there’d be plenty of time in the morning. His wake-up call was set for five a.m.; he’d always been an early riser. That would give him plenty of time to explain, not to mention plan another date—for tomorrow night, he hoped—and make love before she had to leave for work.
And maybe, in those three weeks, he thought as he drifted into sleep, he and his sexy math teacher could graduate from basic math to fractions.
***
Angie woke with a jolt and an alarming sense of disorientation. The particulars of where she was—and with whom—came to her in pieces as she registered the masculine arm thrown over her waist, the silky-smooth sheets against her naked skin, and the faint, lingering scent of sex.
Oh God! She was in Cade Reynolds’s hotel room and it was—she lifted her head and sought the clock on the bedside table—past three o’clock in the morning.
She closed her eyes for a second, trying to conquer her rising panic. Okay, she was late, but she was an adult. Her father wouldn’t be overly concerned that she wasn’t home yet—although he’d probably ask questions in the morning she’d be hard-pressed to answer honestly—and anyway, if he were really worried, he would have called her cell phone.
But she did need to get home. Now. And avoid waking up her sleeping partner in the process. That way, there’d be no stilted farewells, no need for him to make promises about calling her that he wouldn’t keep. The sex had been amazing…no, absolutely mind-blowing, a term she’d never even understood before now, but that was all it was—sex. She’d had the time of her life, and she didn’t want to spoil the high by giving him the opportunity to let her down, gently or otherwise.
Biting her lip, she lifted his arm cautiously, pausing when he shifted positions and mumbled something, then sliding out from underneath when he stilled again. Thanks to a nightlight on the opposite wall, she managed to locate her discarded dress and panties on the floor at the foot of the bed. As she dressed, she looked around the room for her shoes, which she didn’t even recall having taken off, eventually finding them in the hall between the suite’s bedroom and the living room. They must have fallen off when he’d carried her to bed.
A little smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She had to admit, that had been downright romantic. And when he’d kneeled at her feet and kissed the insides of her knees…wow. When sports commentators said Cade had “the magic touch,” they had no idea how magical it truly was.
She’d wanted one night with him to last the rest of her life. She’d definitely gotten what she came for.
Suppressing a giggle at the double entendre, she picked up her shoes and padded softly into the living room. A light—dim, but enough to illuminate the space without blinding her—switched on as she entered the room, and she started, fearing Cade had woken and turned it on.
But when she looked back toward the bedroom, she could see he was still in bed, and she realized the room must have motion-sensing lights.
A great convenience for women doing the walk of shame.
Except she was anything but ashamed. For once, she’d done something impulsive solely to please herself, and she felt not one iota of regret or embarrassment about that. If anything, she was proud of herself for tossing caution to the wind and finally having the one thing she’d always wanted.
And she had to admit, the very idea that Cade wanted her, too, had already gone to her head. She was going to be on an emotional high for days.
The only problem with what had happened tonight was that it could go from her head to her heart. Which was why, after retrieving her handbag from the couch and slinging it over her shoulder, she tiptoed out into the hallway without even leaving a note. Because if he hated her for sneaking out without saying good-bye, he’d never have a chance to break her heart.
Chapter Five
By the time Cade pulled his rental car into the driveway of Harvey Lund’s red-and-white brick house, he’d managed to talk himself down from stone-cold anger to cool irritation. Or so he thought, until he looked at his hands gripping the steering wheel and realized his knuckles were white.
He let go and flexed his hands, trying to get the blood back into his fingers. If he held onto a football like that this afternoon, his audition for the Vikings would be a complete disaster.
They’d think Cade Reynolds had lost his touch and word would get around. Fast.
Let it go. She was just a woman. So what if, despite her claims that she didn’t have one-night stands, he’d really been just another notch on her belt? So what if she’d left without so much as a “Good-bye and thanks for all the sex”? It was his own stupid fault for imagining she might actually be interested in more than that. There was just something about her… Damn it, but he’d really bought her Minnesota-girl-next-door act. Maybe that was why he was so pissed off. He knew he’d been had.
He took a deep breath and got out of the car. When he reached the front porch, the door opened before he had time to knock.
“Heard you pull in,” his former coach explained from behind the screen door.
Cade tried to conceal his shock at the older man’s appearance as he followed him into the house. Although they’d kept in touch by phone and later e-mail, it had been more than a decade and a half since they’d laid eyes on each other. Cade had expected the other man to age, of course, but this version of Harvey Lund barely resembled the hale, hearty man of Cade’s memories. Dressed in pajama pants and a shabby bathrobe, Lund was still tall and stocky, but between the stoop of his shoulders and the tubes in his nose, he seemed pale and shrunken somehow. As he showed Cade into the house, he moved across the floor with a shuffling gait, dragging an oxygen tank behind him.
As if sensing Cade’s discomfort, Lund said, “Besides the damn ticker, I came down with pneumonia. Have to be on the oxygen for another week or two, just to be safe.” He plopped down on a tan leather La-Z-Boy directly across from the
TV. On the end table beside it was an assortment of pill bottles, a half-empty glass of water, a box of tissues, and one of those home blood pressure monitors.
A sudden, crushing sense of guilt punched Cade in the gut as, for the first time, the seriousness of the situation hit him. Harvey had come damned close to dying. How had Cade managed to let fifteen years pass without even once coming to visit this man who’d been coach, mentor, and father figure to him all through high school? Would it have been that hard to make the time?
No, it wouldn’t have been hard at all. So why hadn’t he?
But he knew why. He hadn’t because he’d been too busy living the high life and enjoying his fame and fortune to give any thought to the possibility that the man to whom he owed a lot of his success was getting older and, yes, would one day no longer be around.
Lund gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat, son.”
Despite a recent upholstery job, the sofa was clearly the same one he’d sat on numerous times as a teenager. The cushions hadn’t improved with age. “Thanks.”
He swallowed, wondering how to broach the question that was foremost in his mind.
Lund had said it would be a few weeks until he’d be ready to return to coaching. Seeing him now, Cade wasn’t so sure that was either possible or prudent.
“You thirsty? I can get you a glass of water. Or coffee.” Lund started to stand, but Cade quickly shook his head.
“No, no, don’t get up. I’m fine. And if I need anything, I can get it for myself.”
“Ah, I see,” Lund said with a chuckle. “Afraid I’m about to keel over, eh?”
“Well, to be honest, Coach, you’re not exactly the picture of health.”
Lund waved a hand. “I’m nowhere near death’s door. The heart attack was mild. If it weren’t for the damned pneumonia I picked up in the hospital, I’d have been back to work in a few days.” He covered his mouth and coughed wetly.
Cade wasn’t sure his friend’s doctor would have approved of that plan, but he was slightly reassured. If it was pneumonia and not the heart attack that made him look so frail, Lund would probably recover relatively quickly.
Skin in the Game Page 5