“Stephen?” Voice muffled, Mags spoke against his skin. “You realize you’re only wearing a towel, right?”
“Yeah. I’m aware. You were the one who couldn’t wait to get in here and see me naked.”
“What?” She pulled back, thumping a fist against his chest in mock outrage. “You had a phone call.”
“And we have no notepads or pens in the house anywhere. Nor do I know my own mother’s phone number to return her call.” He kissed her before she could argue again. She tasted like sugar and vanilla, as if she’d been snacking on cookies before she’d picked him up, and smelled like lemon again. Though he hadn’t taken the full tour, he noticed everything in the entryway shined like it was brand-spanking-new.
“I swear, from now until I’m dead, anytime I smell lemons, I’ll get hard.”
“Hmm?” Eyes half-closed, she didn’t fight him as he worked the button of her jean shorts. Having ditched her flip-flops earlier, it was no problem to pull both her shorts and panties off and dump them on the floor beside the bed. “Lemon, why?”
“Because you always smell like lemons. Like the furniture polish.” When her eyes widened, he added, “I like it. It’s you. It’s unique. I could find you blindfolded just by following the scent.” He kissed her again before she could say something stupidly feminine about how she didn’t want to smell like furniture polish. She had no clue—no earthly clue—how the tiny details like that that created who Margaret Logan was were exactly why he couldn’t stop wanting her.
His hand strayed between her legs, finding her open for him, slick for him. She could act outraged and shocked when he moved on her, but Margaret wanted him. She wanted him to touch her like he did. There was no hiding the evidence. When he slid one finger inside her, using his thumb at the center of her nerves, she arched and wiggled beside him.
“There,” she whispered. “There, right . . . oh!” His name came out then, like a plea, and he answered her by pushing her through the climax. After the vibrations wore off, she watched him pull his towel off with heavy lidded eyes. “That was so very needed.”
“Here comes some more, if you’re ready for it.” Digging in his nightstand for a condom, he sheathed himself quickly and positioned over her. “Mags.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes fluttered closed, one hand lazily caressing his biceps.
“Mags. Please.” The strain in his voice was embarrassing, but he couldn’t hide it. “Look at me.”
When her eyes met his, he asked, “Is this okay?”
She blinked, as if surprised, then nodded. “Yes.”
Not one to ask twice, he pushed through her curls, found her opening, and landed home. “God,” he moaned, letting his forehead drop to hers for a moment while he just savored. “God. You’re the most amazing . . .”
After a second, she chuckled. “Lost your train of thought?”
Thought? Who could think when your dick was surrounded by the most heavenly velvet heat imaginable? Thoughts were for guys who couldn’t appreciate what was right there. He moved, listening to the change in her breathing. “Missed you,” he said, his voice husky.
“Me, or this?” The instant the words were out, her cheeks flushed and she turned her face into the pillow. “Never mind.”
“You.” He wouldn’t tease her on this. “This is great. This is amazing. I will never not want this.” He emphasized the point by pulling out and sliding home again, more forcefully this time. “But I missed you. My Scrabble buddy. My partner. You.”
She said nothing, but the flush receded enough that he was comfortable continuing. Her hips lifted up, meeting him, stroking the fires between them.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered. Her hand slid between their bodies, but stopped short. The flush returned. “Mags, I want to feel you go off with me inside you. Do it. Touch yourself.”
“You say the worst things,” she grumbled, not meeting his eyes. But her fingers crept closer, closer to the goal.
“The worst things are the best things to say during sex.” When her fingers brushed against the base of his cock, he nearly shot off without her. “C’mon, sweetheart. Stroke yourself. Let me feel it.”
She kissed his arm, not looking at him, but her fingers worked lightly against her clit. Inside, her body clenched around his length in response.
“That’s it.” Her hips moved, she bucked, and the clenching became more rhythmic. “Just a little more. I feel you. You’re so close, baby. So close.”
“That’s . . .” She gasped. “My line . . . oh!” Head tossed back, she climaxed once more, and he pulled back and sank home to join her in the orgasm meant for two.
Chapter Nineteen
“So, how was your time without me?” Mags joked and rolled until she sprawled over Stephen’s sweaty body. His shower had been pointless, apparently. “Lots of good stuff at camp? Make any new friends?”
“You make it sound like I went to sleepaway camp. We weren’t out there hiking and learning to canoe.”
“Did you bring me back a friendship bracelet?”
He wrapped one lock of her hair around his long finger and tugged gently. It felt good. “It was hard work every day. Probably more so for me than anyone else.”
“How was . . .” She bit her lip, unsure how to continue. When he raised up and kissed her gently, she took that for encouragement to ask the question. “How was it without alcohol?”
“Hard. Hardest three weeks since I stopped drinking, for probably a lot of different reasons. Getting hit daily isn’t easy, but alcohol managed to dull the pain some. Not that I was drinking on the sidelines or anything. But it was almost like my entire body was permanently numb. So when I would take a hit, it would knock me down, but I wouldn’t even know. So learning to take the hit when I would feel it all the way to my bones was rough. Not to mention, I’m not as formidable as I used to be.”
She gaped. “You’ve gained like twenty pounds of muscle!” To emphasize, she squeezed his biceps, which had definitely hardened into delicious eye candy. “How could that not be formidable?”
“Because I’m not a brick wall anymore. Yeah, I’m faster, I’m leaner, I’m damn sure better with stamina. Every down isn’t leaving me heaving for breath.”
She nuzzled against his chest, thankful he’d been too wrapped up this time in what they were doing to realize he’d gone without a shirt. And wondering when the shit would hit the fan. God, if he’d gotten benched, or worse, she’d have to go down there to those offices and kick the coaches’ asses herself.
“But I’m being moved to a new position. Something that works better for me.”
At that, she raised her head. “New position? Is that good?”
“Great. They trust me, and the coaches were positive about the change. It felt good to walk away every practice knowing I was adding something, instead of just being . . . numb.”
“So what else made being sober hard?” She was his accountability partner. She needed to ask the important questions.
“Missing you.” His honesty was surprising, and she blinked. But he didn’t falter. “You were such a big part of keeping me on track, and then you were just gone. It sucked.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t— “You didn’t call.”
Damn it, Margaret.
“I didn’t call.” Squeezing her hip, he rolled so they were both on their sides facing each other. He smoothed a strand of hair from her face, and her pulse thundered.
It would be a horrible idea to fall in love with this man.
Not that you’ve ever been great at making the right choice where he’s involved.
“I needed to know I could do it without you. And I was still stinging from your Houdini act the morning I left. So I didn’t call. I just thought about it at least twenty times a day.”
He’d sent the cards. They’d been perfect. She knew he was telling the truth there. No man sent business cards to a woman he wasn’t thinking of. And only a man who truly understood her would know that sending fl
owers wasn’t going to hit her heart the same way the small pack of cards that showed he supported her business ideas had.
Yup, keeping her heart from falling straight down at the floor by his feet would be hard. So hard.
“And we also had a lot of interesting conversations about Coach’s impending divorce.” With a grimace, he added, “Training camp was more closed to fans and media than I’ve seen since I got here. I think everyone wants to just give it time to blow over, but after last year with Cassie and all their talk about being a family unit . . . I don’t know.” With a sigh, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I regretted not calling and asking you and Cassie to run out for a few scrimmages. Cassie said she wouldn’t come because of the media coverage, but I nearly broke down and begged.”
“I’m glad you’re back.” She ran a finger over his jaw, smiling as he nipped at her hand playfully. “What’s next for us?”
The moment the words came out, she wanted to suck them back in. She’d meant the question in an immediate sort of way, trying to find out his schedule for the coming weeks. But one could interpret it as her hinting not-so-subtly about the future for them as a couple.
Not that they were a couple.
Were they a couple?
Stop it. Let things go. It feels good, it feels right, and he’s doing well, so let it ride.
Easier said than done, unfortunately.
***
“And you’re sure Trey doesn’t mind if we hang out here while he’s gone?” Mags shifted in her seat and glanced around the room. She’d been to the quarterback’s home before, for the barbecue, but she hadn’t had the chance to really look around, since they’d been outside for most of it. It was modest, but obviously nice. Well, modest except for the huge TV hanging above the mantel. But that was expected. Otherwise, nothing that screamed filthy rich like some players’ homes did. Good community, but humble at the same time. She approved.
“It’s my place, too, now. I was so over the pool house. I loved being near the girls, but now that they’re only there every other weekend, it was too much.” Cassie set down the bowl of popcorn she’d brought in from the kitchen on the coffee table and settled down in the recliner, which looked very masculine, down to the Trey-sized divot left in the cushion. When Cassie caught her staring, she grinned. “Yes, it’s Trey’s special seat. And yes, I’m sitting in it without permission. Gonna tell on me?”
Mags thought about it for a moment. “What would you be willing to pay for my silence?”
Cassie threw a piece of popcorn at her, and they both laughed.
“Fine. I can be bought by this delicious girlie cocktail—which I can drink here since Stephen is not around—and popcorn, not to mention the girl time. I like the other ladies, but it’s good to have some time to ourselves, you know?”
Cassie nodded, but she looked a bit nervous. “Actually, about the alone time . . .”
As if on cue, another woman walked in from the direction of the stairs. “Hello, all. Who’s ready to watch sweaty men in tight pants grab onto each other and wrestle to the ground?”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Margaret, this is my friend from Atlanta, Anya. Anya, this is Stephen’s . . . Mags.” Cassie grimaced and looked back at Margaret with a shrug.
Mags shrugged it off. It was hard for Cassie, because she knew the truth, to lie on purpose. She stood and held out a hand to the pretty blonde whose hair reached nearly to her butt. “Not a football fan, I take it?”
“I’m a fan of the scenery, but otherwise?” Anya sat with grace and folded legs cased in loud print leggings under her on the other side of the couch. Paired with an oversized sweatshirt that hung just so off one shoulder, she should have looked like an ’80s throwback. But somehow, between the drape of the shirt and the way she carried it, it looked cool instead. “So, Stephen, hmm? I met him when Cassie met Trey. He’s a sweetheart.”
A ball of fire burned low in her gut. What was that about? Margaret nodded, trying to examine the instinctive reaction to the polite woman. Cassie wouldn’t be friends with a bitch, and Anya gave off no negative vibes. So what was the deal? “Yes, he is.”
“He was so cute that night,” the other woman went on, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn and popping them in her mouth. “Trying to talk me into dancing and easing me away from Cassie so Trey could have a chance. Big teddy bear.”
The fire flamed higher. Yup, identity confirmed. Jealousy. Irrational, misplaced jealousy. “So, Anya,” she said, forcing herself to stay friendly. “You live in Atlanta. In for a visit?”
“In for a something. I’m imposing on Cassie’s good graces for an undetermined amount of time. We have wedding things to plan.”
Oh, right. Wedding things. Given Trey’s status, and Cassie’s father’s status, and the public intrigue over their relationship when it had been announced last season, Mags had no doubt the wedding would be planned to within an inch of everyone’s life. “Fun.”
Cassie shook her head. “Torture.”
Anya simply smiled quietly and took a sip of water.
“What do you do out in Atlanta?”
“I’m a fashion consultant. I work for a department store, helping shop for those who don’t want to take the time to come in themselves and pick out outfits. And I do a little consulting on the side, which fortunately, my job is okay with.”
So she was gorgeous and worked on making other people around her pretty. Mags glanced down at her worn jeans and Bobcats T-shirt with bleach spots on the hem. Yup. Totally in the same league. “Sounds fun.”
“Sounds boring,” Cassie said with a grin.
“Says the woman who spends time thinking in binary code, on purpose,” Anya shot back. “It’s a fun job if you want it. And I do.”
“Boyfriend back home?” she asked, hoping it didn’t sound desperate.
“No, I—oh!” Anya waved at the screen. “Look, something is starting. This is so much more exciting now that I’ve met a few of these men. I’m not all that into sports, normally, but the personal connection makes it more interesting.”
“I bet,” Mags muttered into the wide opening of her cocktail glass and drank.
“It’s just preseason games,” Cassie reminded them both. “Don’t get all that excited. The real pomp and circumstance comes during the regular season. But this is Mags’s first game to watch Stephen as his special someone.”
Anya beamed at her, not at all calculating. “Awesome! You have to be really excited, then. I’m so glad he’s healthy and back on the field. I was worried about him.”
Purposefully tamping down the flame of jealousy, Mags nodded. “I am excited. Oh! Trey!” The three women turned their attention to the TV where Trey was giving a pregame interview with some gorgeous Amazon of a woman.
They’d been in California for two days, and Mags missed Stephen almost more than she’d missed him in the whole three weeks he’d been gone before. Maybe because they’d spent every night in bed together, solidifying their nonrelationship relationship. Or maybe, the closer her heart crept to love, the harder it was to be apart from him.
Whatever it was, she was very much scared that something would soon come in and wreck it. Nothing in her life had gone so smoothly before. Why would she assume this would?
As a commercial came in before the kickoff, Anya turned in her seat a little. “So, Margaret—”
“Mags is fine.”
“Mags. What do you do?”
“I’m a house cleaner.” She threw out the test with practiced ease. Telling people she cleaned houses for a living quickly whittled down those who were worth her time and those who were too snobbish to bother hanging out with.
Anya passed with flying colors as she nodded. “That’s interesting. Do you work for yourself, or for a company?”
“I’m in between, actually. I worked for a company, but now I’m starting to strike out on my own.”
Anya’s smile lit up her eyes. “I’m working on stepping out fully on my own, too. We should c
ompare notes.”
“Ask Josiah about eco-friendly cleaners” was Cassie’s suggestion. “People are crazy these days for green stuff, and he’s got the lowdown.”
“I bet he could just give you all sorts of information. He’s just full of facts.” Anya looked a little peeved at the thought, but didn’t elaborate. “Game’s on.”
***
Stephen settled down in the chair the assistant pointed out for him for the postgame interview with the press. Trey was one seat over to his left, Josiah two to his right. Coaching staff—Coach Jordan included—separated them. His hands shook, so he clasped them together between his thighs under the table.
The coach to his right, Coach Talbin, gave him a funny look and covered his mic with his hand before leaning over. “Problem, Harrison?”
“No.” Lies were best kept short and sweet.
“Then why is your leg bouncing against mine like you’re trying to get some after-dinner action?”
Jesus. He realized he’d been jiggling his leg instead of letting his hands shake, and forced his entire body to freeze.
He wanted a beer.
He wanted Mags.
He wouldn’t be getting either, so time to suck it up and deal with life in the sober lane.
The postgame press conference started much like all winning conferences did, with the reporters asking what went right, what could be improved upon as they looked a new season in the face, and asking about the rookies and transfers gelling with the team.
Normal order of things would shift to asking Trey a few questions, even by rote. But this conference took a different turn.
“Coach Jordan.” Standing up, the woman appeared among a sea of male journalists. Stephen noted her perfect suit, shiny curls draped over her shoulders, and the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. He’d take Aileen’s sweet innocence in Converse sneakers any day.
Takes Two to Tackle Page 19