Not that there was anything unusual or out of the ordinary about the room. It was big, with cathedral ceilings making it seem even larger. Thick carpet covered the floors, the same dark cream as the rest of the upstairs, but the color in here was broken by the large area rug under the bed. The abstract design boasted bold splashes of brick red and forest green and earth brown. Those same colors were repeated in the comforter covering the large king bed and in the assorted prints covering the painted walls.
The room was neat and tidy. Even the top of the dresser was clean, except for two framed photos and a small bowl filled with change. The only messy spot in the room was the small chair in the corner—and the several pieces of clothing haphazardly tossed over it.
Being here was probably a bad idea. She felt like she was intruding, like she was about to dive into waters that were much deeper than she expected. She could talk to him later. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But somewhere safe, like the kitchen or living room.
Not here. Not in his bedroom, where she couldn't stop staring at the large bed.
Not now, when she couldn't stop remembering the one night she had spent with him in that very bed.
Cara started to move toward the dresser, planning on dropping the icepacks there before turning around and leaving. She waited too long, though, because Travis walked out of the bathroom and all coherent thought fled her mind.
A pair of low-slung sweatpants, the material faded and worn, hung from his lean hips—and that was all he wore. No shirt. No socks. Just those worn and faded sweatpants. He must have splashed some water on his face because a few droplets covered his bare chest. She watched—stared—as one single drop slowly slid down his chest, following the thin line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of the sweatpants.
"You brought two of them? Thanks." He took the icepacks from her hand then moved toward the bed and sat on the edge. Cara couldn't take her eyes off him as he adjusted several pillows then stretched out on the bed with a low sigh.
She expected him to place the icepacks on his face. She wanted him to do that, so they'd cover his eyes and she could make her escape without him seeing her run out the door. He didn't do that, though. Instead, he held them loosely in one hand, his gaze on hers, then patted the bed next to him.
"Feel like keeping me company? You can tell me what you did the last few days before I start snoring."
She should say no. Just force the word from her mouth and force her feet to carry her from the room. She did neither. For a long minute, she did nothing. Then, one step at a time, she made her way over to the bed and slowly climbed onto it then slid over until she was next to Travis. The mattress dipped ever-so-slightly under her weight then molded itself to her body. Teasing her. Enticing her to relax. Encouraging her to let down her guard.
Travis rolled to his side and propped his head on one hand. The icepacks lay next to him, forgotten. "I heard you had company last night."
"Um, yeah. That was okay, wasn't it? I didn't know—"
"Why wouldn't it be okay?"
"I don't know. I mean, it's your house and—"
"Cara, you live here, too."
Now. This is the perfect opening. Ask him now.
But Cara couldn't get the words out, not before he started talking again.
"I think it's great they came over and that you guys are becoming friends."
"Yeah, I guess. They all seem very nice."
"They are." Travis yawned, a large yawn that popped his jaw and made her sleepy just hearing it. He winced then grabbed one icepack and held it to his mouth, his eyes briefly closing as he sighed. Cara shifted, started to move away from him.
"You're tired, I should go—"
A hand closed around her arm, holding her in place. She looked over, the breath catching in her lungs at the smoldering expression in Travis's eyes.
"Stay. Please."
Cara hesitated then slowly nodded, stiffened just the slightest bit when Travis pulled her toward him. But only for a second. His body was so warm, the arm around her shoulders so comforting. She moved a little closer, her head dropping to his chest, her body slowly relaxing.
She was in that gray void, between consciousness and sleep, when she felt the light brush of Travis's lips against the top of her head. Then, just before she finally drifted off, she felt the warm weight of his hand resting against her stomach.
As if he was holding both of them in sleep. Watching. Protecting. Her and the baby.
Chapter Twenty-One
A featherlight touch, like the breath of an angel, danced along his chest. Soft. Enticing. Teasing his skin, teasing him, as it traveled from his collarbone to his throat to his sternum. Travis sighed, fighting to keep the curtain of sleep wrapped tight around him. He didn't want to wake, not now. Not when that soft touch sent flames of need shooting through him. Desire banked just below the surface, smoldering embers that flamed to life with each gentle touch. Something brushed against the flat of one nipple, eliciting a soft sigh from him. The sigh turned to a strangled gasp when the touch was replaced by something hot and wet.
He reached out with his hands, his fingers tangling with the thick strands of silk covering his chest. A curtain parted in his sleepy mind, pulling back just long enough to give him a glimpse of a single memory: his hands, plunging into the thick waves of Cara's hair as he cradled her head and kissed her, his body rocking into hers.
He moaned as the sharp bite of desire shredded the last remnants of sleep. His eyes fluttered open, another moan escaping as he glanced down to see Cara sprawled across his body, her full mouth raining gentle kisses on his heated skin.
"Cara." He breathed her name, the sound rough and hoarse and filled with need. She tilted her head up, her brown eyes wide as she met his gaze.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No. God, no." He shook his head then reached down for her, his hands closing over her arms and dragging her up his body. He cradled the back of her head with one hand and leaned up, wanting—needing—to feel her mouth under his. She stiffened and pulled away, shaking her head.
"Your mouth. I don't want to hurt you."
He frowned, the words making no sense at first. Then he remembered: last night's fight; his split lip; the other assorted cuts and bruises.
"I don't care." The words came out as a low growl. Cara's eyes widened for a brief second, then fluttered closed when he captured her mouth with his. There was a brief second of stinging and then only Cara. Sweet. Warm.
His.
He deepened the kiss, swept his tongue inside her hot mouth and swallowed her sigh. He ran one hand along her back, reached down to cup her firm bottom as he rocked his hips against her.
She sighed, a breathy little moan that drove him wild. He dreamt of that sound every night, dreamt of Cara's warm body wrapped around him, cradling him, welcoming him.
Only this wasn't a dream. This was real. Here. Now.
And he wanted her.
Needed her.
Now.
He rolled to the side, easing Cara to her back. He slid his hands down, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pushed it up. Up further, until his knuckles brushed against the hardened peak of one tight nipple. Her body arched and she gasped, the sound high and sharp.
Travis pulled away, stared down at her. "Did I hurt you?"
"N-no. I'm just—my breasts are sensitive."
He almost pulled away, started to apologize. But Cara grabbed his hand and led it back to her chest, placed it against the firm mound of one small breast.
"Don't stop. Please."
Travis swallowed back the groan of desire and dipped his fingers under the edge of her bra. He slid the soft material up, marveling at the satiny smoothness of her breast, at the way the nipple darkened and grew even tighter under his touch. He dipped his head, pulled the tight peak into his mouth, and sucked.
Cara arched against him, her breath rushing from her in a hiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him in place as he sucke
d and teased. One long leg wrapped around him, her hips lifting.
Seeking.
Searching.
Travis pulled away, pushed to his knees and fumbled with the button and zipper of her jeans. He grabbed them, yanking them and her underwear down, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thigh and calf as he peeled the denim and satin from her. He did the same with her shirt, tossing it and her bra to the floor.
Then he kneeled beside her, staring down at her beautiful body. Her wavy hair fanned around her face, wild and thick. Glazed eyes, filled with shy need, watched him from beneath thick lashes. Full lips, swollen from his kisses, parted on a sigh when he reached down and traced her jaw with the tip of one finger.
Down, tracing the length of her throat. Down lower, to swirl around the tight peak of first one nipple then the other. Lower still, to the smoothness of her stomach. Still mostly flat, barely showing signs of the life cradled within her.
He flattened his palm against her belly. Protectiveness surged through him, the force of it taking his breath away. Cara's hand closed over his, her fingers trembling just the tiniest bit. He saw the unasked questions in her eyes. The fear and doubt.
He turned his hand over, threaded his fingers with hers, then pulled their joined hands to his mouth and dropped a kiss against her knuckles. He didn't have the words to reassure her, didn't know how to express himself in the way she needed to hear.
So he said the only thing he could think of and hoped it would be enough—for now.
"Mine. Both of you."
Her eyes flared. With surprise? Something else? Travis didn't know. But she didn't pull away. Didn't push at him or scramble off the bed. Her hand tightened around his and she tugged, pulling him down to her. He stretched out next to her, his mouth closing over hers once more.
There was nothing sweet or warm about this kiss. This was hot. Deep. Needy and demanding. Giving and taking.
He trailed his hand along her body, down to the wet heat between her legs. Cara arched into his hand, her whimper of need filling his mouth. He slid one finger against her clit, the touch light and gently teasing. Then a little harder, a little faster. She opened her legs, her hips thrusting against his touch, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he stroked her.
Harder. Faster. Faster still.
He slid one long finger into her tight heat, felt her muscles clamp around him. He broke the kiss, eased away and gazed down at her. She was more beautiful than he remembered, from their first night together two months ago. Quiet but not reserved, not when they were together, not like this. Open. Honest in her need, even without words.
His heart squeezed and the breath rushed from his lungs. This was what he wanted. Cara—and him. Together. He'd want her even if she wasn't carrying his child.
He leaned down, caught her mouth with his for a deep kiss, then trailed his lips along her jaw, up to her ear. "Come for me, Cara. Let me watch you."
Her eyes fluttered open, her dark gaze finding his. Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders, her hips rocking faster as he stroked her. Faster still, until her back arched and her breath escaped in a low cry.
He caught her mouth once more, swallowing her cries as he shoved his sweatpants down and off. Then he was on top of her, stretching out along her body, settling between her legs as they wrapped around his waist.
Kissing, always kissing. Deep and wet, frantic. He braced his weight on his elbows and plunged into her with one smooth stroke. Their breathy moans mingled together, lost in the deep kiss as he drove into her. Hard. Deep. Slow. Hot flesh against hot flesh.
Driving. Thrusting. Deeper and harder. Faster, until the world exploded around them in a flash of need that fused them together.
Right where they belonged.
With each other.
Together.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mystic's was crowded—not an unusual occurrence for a Saturday night. People filled the small tables surrounding the floor, listening to the patrons who were brave enough to go up on stage and sing karaoke. Some of them were good, some definitely needed more practice. Cara simply tuned them out, focusing on the heavy silence settling around the table. She looked around, taking in the forlorn expressions of the three women surrounding her. Was an identical expression on her face? Probably.
The Bombers had lost tonight, their last game of the year. What made it especially bitter was that this was the first loss Cara had witnessed. She knew they'd lost before—every team did. But she'd never actually been to a game yet where that happened. The entire atmosphere changed—which made sense. She still didn't like it, though. And if she felt this way, how must Travis and the others feel?
"I think I like it better when we win."
Haley laughed, the sound welcome after the last twenty minutes of depressing silence. "Spoken like a true newbie."
"I know, I know. It's stupid to say. But it's still depressing."
"True. But unfortunately, it's part of the game. Everyone has to lose once in a while." Jenny propped her elbows on the table with a sigh. "I just wish we weren't losing so much lately. Tyler beats himself up every single time and blames himself for it."
"They all do. This just means I have to be extra creative to get Zach's mind off it."
Cara laughed along with the others but was helpless to stop the blush heating her face. The women had somehow been able to tell when she and Travis had finally crossed that invisible barrier between them. Now, much to Cara's embarrassment, they were a little more open talking about sex. Not that she was uncomfortable with it—not really. It just wasn't something she was used to. Especially when they teasingly—and not so teasingly—asked her for details.
She had a feeling she should get used to it if she planned on spending time with them—and she did. How could she not, when they were so open and warm and accepting?
She reached for her glass of iced tea to take a sip, then set it down with a grimace before pressing her hand against her stomach. Jenny and Megan both straightened in their chairs, frowning at her.
"Why are you doing that? Is everything okay?"
"What?" Cara looked down, noticed she was still holding her stomach, then shook her head and laughed. "Everything's fine. I just feel bloated. And my jeans are starting to feel snug."
"You're pregnant. Of course they're going to feel snug."
"But now? I'm not even three months pregnant yet."
"How far along are you, anyway? I don't think you ever said."
Cara frowned, mentally counting back. "Eleven weeks." Exactly eleven weeks tonight. It was easy to figure out when you knew the exact day of conception, not that she was going to say that out loud.
"So then you are three months pregnant. Close enough, anyway. Definitely time for the baby bump."
Cara opened her mouth to deny it, snapped it shut when she realized Jenny was right. She looked down, something like shock rushing through her.
"We need to go shopping."
The statement came from Megan, which surprised Cara enough that her head shot up. "Shopping?"
"Yeah. For maternity clothes."
"Maternity clothes." Cara repeated the words, her voice a little high and shaky.
"Yes, maternity clothes." Haley laughed then nudged her in the side. "I wish you could see your face right now. You look shell-shocked."
Cara didn't disagree—she felt shell-shocked.
Maternity clothes.
Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew she was going to need new clothes. But she had never given it any real thought. What else had she pushed to the back of her mind? What else would need to be done in the months ahead?
She grabbed the tea and took a long swallow, just enough to push the brief flare of panic back. Haley leaned toward her, placed one hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.
"You'll be fine. You have Travis. And you have us. Nothing to worry about. In the meantime, just undo your pants. It's not like anyone is going to notice, not when the jersey hides i
t."
Haley had a point. The jersey Travis had bought her—emblazoned with his name and number on the back—was at least two sizes too big and hung down to mid-thigh. Cara nodded then discreetly reached down and unsnapped her jeans. A sigh of relief escaped her, which made the other three women laugh.
The players from the Bombers came in not long after, still in their suits although most of them had shed their ties. Zach. Tyler. Travis. Jason—although he carefully kept his distance from the goalie. Kyle and Nathan. And Ben, who still made her uncomfortable for reasons she didn't understand. They were smiling and joking, but definitely more subdued than she was used to seeing.
Travis slid into the chair next to her, draped his arm over her shoulder, and leaned in for a quick kiss. The nonchalant display still caught her off-guard but she was slowly becoming more used to it. The fact that it seemed so natural, so right, certainly helped.
Had it been just a little over a week since the night they'd made love for the second time? Yes, it had. And it had only been a month since they'd been together. Well, not together—since she had told him she was pregnant. A month, yet things had changed so much in that time. She would have never imagined, the afternoon she came here to tell him, that they'd end up together. She had simply planned on telling him and then leaving, had never expected him to track her down.
Had never expected him to take responsibility.
Had never expected them to be together.
Yet here they were and part of her couldn't help but be a little afraid. Was it too much, too soon? It felt like it...and yet, it didn't. How did that even make sense? And she knew, with a certainty that stunned her, that it was already too late, that she was falling for him.
Just like she'd been afraid of doing from the very beginning. Not when she had discovered she was pregnant, not when he had tracked her down afterward. Before then. Back on that first night—that very first night together, when she had shyly gone up to him. When he had taken her home.
Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6) Page 15