She couldn’t stop moaning now, the sound rising in volume as every nerve in her body begged for release even as she fought it off, never wanting this moment to end. He quickened his pace and, as her entire body began to shudder in earnest, he plunged two fingers deep inside her aching aperture. She came apart.
When her tremors subsided, her vision cleared and the ringing in her ears gave way to the sound of the shower still running, she was in Ben’s arms, crumpled on the shower floor and totally without the strength to move. She was able to pull herself up only enough to rest her head on his shoulder and drape her arms behind his back. In answer he tightened his grip, and as his velvety erection pressed into her abdomen, she knew they were nowhere near finished.
She hummed in bone-deep satisfaction and closed her eyes, letting her cheek slide on his wet skin.
“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, chuckling against her ear. “I’ve got you.”
* * *
Regan hiked the towel higher over her breasts as she wandered the perimeter of Ben’s bedroom. He lounged on the unmade bed behind her, patiently watching her slow progress, totally unselfconscious about the erection tenting the towel he’d wrapped around his waist.
The room was almost adolescently untidy, and she picked her way across a minefield of discarded shoes and clothes to the dresser.
“I’ve told you I’m a neat freak, right?” She slid a week-old newspaper out of the way with her foot.
“I could’ve guessed if you hadn’t. Is the mess stressing you out?”
She paused, assessing her emotions, checking for any hint of anxiety. Then she turned to him with a delighted smile. “Not at all.”
He grinned. “Good. Because there’s no way I’m cleaning it for you.”
“Such a gentleman,” she teased, lifting one of the framed photos from the top of the dresser. Two lanky kids in shorts leaned against the front of an old Land Rover, their stiff posture suggesting they’d really rather not be standing so close together.
“Me and Lindsay,” he supplied before she could ask. He indicated the frame next to it, a sun-drenched shot of palm trees and lush green grass and vividly pink-and-orange flowers taken from a second-story window. “That’s the view from my bedroom in our house in Bulawayo. I used to set it out in hotel rooms when I traveled for tennis tournaments. Helped get me out of bed when there were gray, drizzly European skies outside.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a beautiful country, despite everything.”
She picked up the first photo again. “It’s awesome that your sister sacrifices so much financially so she can do a job for the greater good. It’s even more awesome that you help support her.” She replaced the frame and looked at him over her shoulder. “Makes the amount I get paid for hitting a ball over a net feel a little disgusting, actually.”
“Focus on winning the Baron’s first. Then you can shoulder responsibility for rectifying the evils of global capitalism.”
“You laugh, but I’ll have a lot of free time very soon. I can think of worse ways to spend my retirement.”
“Eyes on the prize, champ.” He touched the empty space beside him. “Now come here.”
She slid onto the mattress and he pulled her close, turning on his side. He tugged open her towel and flung back the ends, then trailed his fingertips between her exposed breasts and down her stomach.
Her heart picked up pace at his touch and she raised herself on her knees, straddling his hips.
“Do you have any protection?” she asked, reaching between them to stroke him through the towel.
To her utter indignation, he laughed. “Not so fast. There’s something I should’ve told you.”
“There’s a lot you still need to tell me. But I’m not sure I feel much like talking right now.”
He shook his head, grasping her waist and guiding her back down beside him. “I didn’t tell you the house rule.”
“Which is?”
His smile was full of mischief. “My turf, so I’m in charge.”
She frowned. “So, what? You mean—”
“Just what I said.” He rolled over and slid a shoe box out from under the bed, retrieved a strip of condoms and held them out of her reach. “We’ll get to this part when I’m good and ready.”
Her nerves flared with a mixture of worry and excitement at the implication behind his words. He wasn’t about to let her take what she wanted and be done with it, like all her other lovers had. He was prying control of this situation out of her clenched fist, a prospect as frightening as it was exhilarating.
“You’re the boss,” she pushed herself to reply. “Can I ask one question first?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do I want to know what else is in that shoe box?”
He grinned, yanking her against his chest. “You might find out later.”
Ben was a man who delivered on his promises. After nearly an hour of repeatedly bringing her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue, his fingers, even the teasing head of his erection and then pulling her back just before she fell over the edge, he flopped on the bed beside her.
“Okay,” he panted, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “I think it’s about time I fucked you. What do you think?”
“I think it’s past time,” she purred, bringing her mouth to his for a long, salty kiss. “Do I get to find out what’s in the box now?”
He waved a hand over the edge of the bed. “Knock yourself out.”
She scrambled over him to reach the box as he checked the date on the condoms before tearing one off the strip. She lifted the lid, preparing herself for raunchy porn movies at the worst and intriguing sex toys at the best—then froze when she saw what was inside.
“It’s me,” she managed after a stunned second, lifting out the previous month’s edition of a bestselling sports magazine. She’d been featured in a cover story that had focused so strongly on her tempestuous reputation that her normally upbeat publicist had delivered a tirade of abuse on the phone to the journalist.
“Of course it’s you.” Ben ripped open the packet with his teeth and began rolling down the condom.
“But there aren’t even any bikini pictures in here. Just me scowling, hitting balls.”
“So?”
She turned to him, still holding the magazine, unsure what to make of this strange development. “You jerk off to photos of me looking like an angry bitch?”
“I jerk off to photos of you looking strong and confident and unstoppable.” He plucked the magazine from her grip and tossed it on the floor, drawing her onto her back and easing on top of her. “I’m not here right now because I want that airbrushed woman in the swimsuit edition, all sweet smiles and beckoning fingers. I want the real deal—smart, complicated, tough as nails and sexy as sin.”
“What about anxious, moody and occasionally irrational?”
“I want it all. I’m a born competitor. Life without challenge would bore me to death.”
Regan blinked hard against the tears suddenly brimming in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her thighs, sliding the soles of her feet along the backs of his calves.
“Then let’s raise the stakes,” she murmured, barely managing to keep her voice steady as the hot length of him nudged at the opening between her legs. “First one to come loses.”
No way I’m winning this one, she decided as Ben finally pushed inside her, although his hoarse gasp suggested it might be a close contest. She arched her back as he built up to a smooth, steady rhythm, moving her hands down his spine to urge him deeper.
It had never been like this before—not even close. Ben slotted into her body as confidently as he’d strutted into her life, defying her, disrupting her, showing her how wonderful it felt to loosen her grip and gi
ve up control.
She moaned from somewhere deep in her core as he stroked in and out, pressure building in her body until her arms and shoulders were tense with it, her knees clamping and her abdomen rocking with increasing urgency. She dug her fingertips into his back as coherence slipped further and further out of her grasp until all she could do was tremble and whimper.
Ben pressed a kiss to her temple, then kept his face close to hers. “That’s it. You’re nearly there. Let go.”
Those two whispered words were all it took. She opened her hands, shut her eyes and poured herself out completely, shuddering as she dissolved, falling and spinning and flying until she landed in Ben’s arms, safe, sound and blissfully content.
* * *
Ben gingerly slid the condom off his still-tender flesh and deposited it in the trash alongside its predecessor. Then he flopped back onto the bed, stretching languidly before tugging Regan into his side.
Although he’d never been a one-night stand kind of guy, he’d had his fair share of sexual encounters. The women he dated tended to be smart, bold and strong, and in those respects Regan was the same—except she couldn’t be more different.
All his worries about whether she’d be able to give herself to him, whether she’d be able to jerk out of her inner monologue and throw herself fully into their lovemaking had been completely unnecessary. Her capacity for hot, consuming, limitless passion surprised him, but it shouldn’t have, not when he thought about the way she moved on the court. Or launched herself into their arguments, or looked at him with eyes that could melt the polar ice caps. He couldn’t believe he ever doubted her. Of course she gave of herself completely—she always did.
He glanced down at her now, her eyelids at drowsy half-mast, her lips curling in a satisfied smile as she snuggled in more closely. He swallowed hard as he tightened his arm across her back.
He’d loved before, and he’d loved fiercely, but never like this. Something was changing in him—something big. Something that would never be the same.
There was no denying it. He’d fallen. Hard.
Regan pushed up on one elbow and ran her hand through his hair. “You look so much better without that stupid hat.”
“I love that hat. Why don’t you like it?”
“Because when you’re wearing it, you’re usually yelling at me to hustle to the net or put more spin on my backhand.”
Her smile faltered, and so did his heartbeat. He knew what was coming—there was no avoiding it any longer.
“Where are you working now? You said you’re not coaching anyone.”
His jaw tightened. “This is a bad time of year to find new clients. No one wants to change coaches at the start of the summer circuit. Matt’s thrown me a couple shifts in the pro shop at Cavan Isles. They have a handful of courts and I’ve picked up some private clients at the community—mostly bored housewives.”
“You’ve gone from coaching an elite professional to the rich and face-lifted? Ben, you need to tell me what happened.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.” She gave him an encouraging smile that was like a sucker punch straight to his gut.
He pulled in a deep, bracing breath. “When I first started working with you, Des said that if I touched you, I was out. Turns out he was serious. When one of the Tallahassee papers mentioned that we’d been seen together at the staff party, he fired me.”
Her brows knit together. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m sure I could’ve mollified him. I know he can be overprotective, but he couldn’t really mean—”
He shook his head. “He found out that Catharina’s immigration papers were falsified, and he threatened to send them to the visa service if I contacted you. Even though I had no idea she wasn’t legal, I could still get in enough trouble to jeopardize my ability to bring my sister over.”
“But you came tonight. What changed?”
His smile was grim. “First I talked Catharina into going back to the Netherlands. I figured if she wasn’t in the country, how much could the government really care? I was researching whether or not it could still affect my sponsorship status when I realized that, without the kind of income I was getting as your coach and a few months to go before I could feasibly find a new player, I’d never be able to afford to sponsor my sister anyway.” He shrugged. “I had nothing left to lose.”
Regan sat back against the headboard. “I can’t believe Des would be so vicious. What does it matter to him whether I’m seeing someone or not? Admittedly dating my coach hits a little close to home, but I’m an adult, I can handle it.”
“I know Des cares about you,” Ben said carefully. “And I’m sure he thought he was acting in your best interest. But you have to remember, he’s also a businessman and you’re his investment. Sometimes those two things get so close that people forget which is which.”
“Like your dad.”
“Exactly.” He reached for her hand. “I didn’t want you to go through the same betrayal I did, at least not before your big tournament. That’s why I tried not to tell you.”
“I appreciate that—and I’m glad I know.” Her expression neutral, she nodded toward the chest of drawers. “My clothes are probably still wet. I need to borrow some from you, and then I need you to take me home. I have to make some phone calls.”
“Help yourself.” He watched in perplexed silence as she began to rummage through his drawers, pulling on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt that hung to her knees. She looked at him expectantly and he hurried to gather up a reasonably clean pair of jeans from the floor, still waiting for the emotional volcano to erupt.
It never did. She was silent on the drive to her house. When he pulled into her driveway she was out of the passenger seat so fast, he didn’t even have time to cut the engine.
“Thanks, Ben,” she said so briskly that he grabbed her arm to keep her from running up the walkway. She paused in the open door, leaning down to meet his eyes.
“Regan, you can’t—I mean, we—” He cleared his throat and started again. “This wasn’t just about sex for me. That’s not all I want. Do you understand what I mean?”
Her smile was sweet, but largely inscrutable. “What do you do with Boris when you travel?”
He frowned. “Matt usually takes him, why?”
“Better call him, then.” She reached across the car to brush her thumb over his lower lip, and despite everything, he felt his groin stiffening at her touch. “You’re leaving for London tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
Regan stretched and turned over in the enormous hotel bed, crossing her hands under her cheek as she stared at the sunlight filtering in through the sides of the curtains. She was supposed to be napping after the overnight flight from Miami, but her mind whirred so quickly she hadn’t even bothered closing her eyes. Although she’d only gotten an hour or two of sleep on the plane, she was as wide-awake as if she’d had twelve.
Inevitably her thoughts centered on her confrontation with Des. Ben had been putting the last suitcase into the trunk of her car when her manager pulled up to the house, evidently not content to let her brief but explicit voice mail stand as the last word on this conversation.
She braced herself for a fight as he got out of the car, and from the silent way Ben moved to stand behind her, she knew his expectations were the same.
But the Desmond Campbell who hurried up to her on the sunbaked driveway was not the boisterous, deal-making whirlwind she’d known for nearly ten years. His posture was cowed, his expression desperate and his brow furrowed with worry.
“Regan, I’m sorry,” he called as he jogged toward them, looking older and pudgier than she remembered in khakis and a golf shirt. “It was a mistake. I realize that now, and I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to
.”
Des’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, and although she saw his expression tighten with distaste, he kept his tone civil. “Percy, I shouldn’t have fired you. I overreacted, and I apologize.”
“It’s the blackmail that concerns me more than the heavy-handed management decisions,” Regan interjected icily.
“It wasn’t really blackmail, it was—”
She sighed. “If you came here to offer excuses, you may as well leave now, because I’m not interested.”
His shoulders sagged even further. “I came here to apologize to you. To both of you. No excuses, I was way out of line.” He took one step closer, and Regan looked up into the face that had always been a source of support and encouragement—until now.
“I shouldn’t have interfered,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that I thought I was doing what was right for you. I knew how upset you were over the breakup with Spencer all those years ago, and I didn’t want the same thing to happen again.”
He extended his hand as if to touch her arm, but she drew back. “How many other decisions have you made for me, that I don’t know about?”
“Absolutely none. We’ve always been a team.”
“How can I be sure of that now? How can I trust that you’re always giving me the full story?”
“I promise, it was just this one time.” His voice had taken on a beseeching tone, and his eyes widened with growing panic. Regan felt herself beginning to tilt toward relenting, to giving him a second chance when he spoke again, his words hushed and urgent. “We both know Percy isn’t the kind of man you need at this point in your career, and I was worried you were getting carried away. I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how you look at him, how he watches you. For God’s sake, Regan, there are pictures of the two of you in an alley in Tallahassee. I didn’t want him getting in the way this close to the end, and I simply thought that—”
“That’s enough, Des.” She silenced him with a held-out palm, but as Ben shifted his weight behind her she knew he’d heard what Des said. “We’re leaving now. Goodbye.”
Love in Straight Sets Page 18