Box of 1Night Stands: 21 Sizzling Nights

by Anthology

  “Well, apparently, we have ourselves a game and you and I are coaching.”

  She stared at him. What the hell? He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. She saw about twenty kids ranging in age from ten to teenagers, all watching them. She grinned.

  “Okay, but my team is gonna kick your ass.”

  To her utter shock, he stepped into her personal space, his lips mere centimeters from hers. His arm wrapped around her waist. She sucked in a breath.

  “Big talk, but I’ll take that challenge.” He still held her, one arm curled around the small of her back. When his lips touched hers, it felt like coming home. Her inner reserve made her move away when she ached to wrap her entire body around him. She put her hands on her hips and ignored her painfully erect, sports bra-covered nipples.

  “Nice try, Castillo. See you out there.” She turned, brushing his shoulder with hers as she breezed by, hoping he couldn’t hear her pounding heart or see her quivering knees.

  Chapter Three

  Ramon let the scalding hot water sluice over his skin, trying to process what had happened earlier. Damn, but he’d been in heaven out there. Getting to spend three solid hours watching her, observe the way her body moved, the way the sweat beaded her face, see how simply fucking amazing she played, had been a buzz. And the sensation of coaching those kids, about half of whom were actually pretty good, had been perfect. Who knew? He ducked his head under the pounding stream of water. His cock stiffened, not an unusual occurrence, as he’d been on a self-prescribed break from sex for months. But right now, his mind held nothing but lust for Gillian Winter.

  Earlier, as her team celebrated their 3-2 victory, she’d smiled over the kids’ heads at him. He’d never understood the sensation of having his heart leap into his throat until that second. The moment they’d shared earlier, when he’d kissed her on pure impulse, came rushing back. Close up, he’d seen a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He’d resisted the urge to touch his tongue to them, had chosen her lips instead. She felt so right. And the fact that she’d instigated his trial by fire re-entry onto the soccer field meant more that he could imagine. The whole thing, having transpired in the last few hours, seemed surreal.

  “Dinner?” he’d mouthed over the din of celebration. She’d smiled and nodded. Harrison had chosen that moment to crawl up his torso. He’d heaved the kid up onto his shoulders, turning reluctantly away from her to receive thanks from his players and their awestruck parents.

  The date hadn’t been hard to arrange. A quick call to Jackson telling him he needed a reservation for two that night took care of everything.

  “Ah, finally,” his cousin had said. “Tell me it’s with my friend, the lovely Ms. Winter.”

  “Yeah.” He had ice on his shin and knee per his doctor’s orders after the long workout. But to tell the truth, his knee seemed stronger than it had in a damn long time. “But shit, I don’t know…I mean, she’s….”

  “Just go with it,” Jackson advised. “She’s been through a lot. I remember when it happened. What a goddamn horrible day. We’d had lunch earlier. I’m still trying to get her to come work for me, you know. Then about two hours later, her secretary called me, frantic. I could hear her in the background sobbing.” Ramon shifted on the couch. The thought of that beautiful, strong woman, ripped apart and crying almost made him ill. “I dropped everything and ran down to the MGM. It took me an hour to talk her out of her office. She’d locked the door, wouldn’t come out. We had to get to the hospital, and someone had to tell Harrison. God….” Jackson trailed off.

  “I don’t want to leave.” Ramon blurted out, surprising himself. “I-I think I might stay and, you know, take you up on your offer.”

  “But your contract?”

  “I’m fine. One thing I learned growing up poor is how to save. I could go five or six years and not work and live pretty damn well.”

  “Hmmm, but what about playing? You know, the spotlight you’ve gotten so used to?”

  “I haven’t missed it. What I’ve missed is the game. I figured that out today.”

  “And Connie?”

  Constance Wright had been the television reporter he’d dated for about a year prior to the accident. He’d pushed her away, not let her see him damaged, and after about three months, she’d stopped trying. He heard she’d been promoted, moving to a bigger market as an anchor.

  “Wrong time and place, wrong woman.”

  “Yes, well, allow me to remind you that rushing into anything with Gillian will be a challenge and one I don’t encourage. You’re impulsive. Be sure of what you’re doing. Because if you hurt this woman, I will personally break your other leg in a way that won’t so easily recover.” Jackson’s voice had been low.

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll contact her myself, if you don’t mind, and let her know the details of your date.”

  “Sure. And do not come in here with rose petals or candles or any other bullshit. I really don’t think we’ll end up here tonight. Especially if I’m not rushing her.”

  “Hmm, no promises there. Your dinner will be at eight thirty at Jacques.” Jackson rattled off the most sought after table in Vegas. “No jeans. You don’t need a tie, but she might like it if you showed up in one.”

  “Shit. I’ll have to find—”

  “I’ll have something sent up,” Jackson interrupted with a sigh. “You’re a real pain in my ass sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah, always have been.”

  “Have fun. And remember what I told you.”

  He recalled the conversation as he stood under the steaming hot water and rubbed his cock absently. Take it slow. He knew that did not box with his usual method. And damn if he didn’t want her, wanted to wind his hands in that long red hair, taste those full lips again. Dear Lord.

  His rhythm increased and he tilted his hips up, braced himself against the tile with his other hand, imagining her mouth on him, his lips tasting her clit, hearing her scream in ecstasy, feeling her come all over his face. “God!”He grunted, his body spasming and releasing a small measure of the tension he’d held for months since he’d been in this godforsaken desert town. Placing both hands on the shower wall, his breathing slowed and his cock softened some. But he knew himself well enough to realize that until he could sink deep inside her body and let her pull him to real orgasm, he’d not feel true relaxation.

  Slow. Jackson said she needed that. He would try, because he didn’t want to lose her.

  ***

  Gillian stared in the foggy mirror; unable to process that she actually had a date at last. A date with none other than Ramon Castillo. A man she’d only met in person that morning. A man who’d captured a nation’s fancy on the soccer field for so many years after her own hard-won career had been over, after she had left the pitch for motherhood, and an office job. She shoved down the resentment she’d carried around for so long. It wasn’t his fault she’d made the choice she did. Not his fault he got paid millions of dollars to play a game that would have only ever netted her a low six figure salary at the most.

  The photo she kept stuck inside the mirror’s edge drew her eye—Joe caught in a moment of laughter. His beloved blond-haired, blue-eyed good looks always made her ache with loneliness. But today, she sensed a new peace. Something about the way Ramon had held her, kissed her so briefly, had been incredibly perfect. Joe’s eyes, never changing from that moment captured by her camera, seemed to soften, even encourage her.

  She sighed, and started applying her usual minimal makeup when her phone buzzed. Jackson. She pressed the speaker button. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. A little nervous, maybe.”

  “Well, wear your very best party dress. I have a table for you at Jacques at eight-thirty and a private booth later at Taboo.”

  “Wow, you don’t fuck around do you, Castillo?”

  “Of course not. Not when it comes to you and my beloved cousin. But….�
� He hesitated.

  She contemplated her closet and waited for Jackson to continue. She had several great dress options, but didn’t want to seem to obvious, too needy, so she settled on the deep green silk, sleeveless, a sort of outfit that could be fine at work or a fancy dinner.

  “So help me, if you put on that frumpy green piece of shit….”

  She shrugged and put it back in the closet.

  “Wear the red one, with your highest, sexiest heels. Put the hair up, too, let a little trail around your face.”

  “What the hell, Castillo? Since when you do become my homosexual personal stylist?” She hated it when he was right. She drew the admittedly perfect dress over her head and adjusted the fabric around her hips. A bra was impossible with the low neckline. She threw her shoulders back, hoping her thirty-six year old breasts, always bigger than she would have liked as an athlete, looked younger than they appeared to her.

  “Woman, I am about as opposite from homosexual as you can get and you know it. But I need to give you some advice.”

  She put her hair up, securing the bulk of it with clips.

  “I’m waiting.” An understatement, she realized. Her entire body zinged in anticipation of Ramon’s hands on her. Her face colored. She had not had sex since Joe died. Had not even kissed another man until that very day.

  “He is a lot shyer than you think. All the BS about the women in his life is exactly that. Utter bullshit. He kept up appearances. And no doubt had his fair share of pussy, since it got thrown at him daily. But he….”

  “Stop right there,” she interrupted, picking up the phone. “It’s only dinner for Christ’s sake. You said yourself he’s leaving next week for good. I don’t intend to be some kind of quickie for this guy. I simply want to thank him for helping with Harrison today, have a nice dinner, whatever. I can’t handle a one-night stand right now, you know that.”

  “Maybe you should consider it. It’s been two years. A lovely night in the arms of a talented lover, it would work wonders for you. But what I’m trying to tell you about Ramon is….”

  “Look, Dr. Ruth, I can handle this.”

  “Okay, okay, but if he seems a little reluctant, going sort of slow, don’t take that personally. He is very interested in you. But he’s not good at following through when it’s not merely his cock that’s involved.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  What I mean, is that I believe our Ramon has fallen for you.”

  “Jesus, Jackson, we just met this morning. We spent a whole day together, yes, but this time yesterday Ramon Castillo was only a name to me.” She put a final touch of powder on her face, slipped her feet into sexy, nearly invisible high-heeled sandals.

  “Listen, one more second. He’s hurt, damaged; he has lost the one thing he loved more than life—the ability to play soccer. But something happened today that moved him toward healing. I don’t know what, but I think I know who. So, don’t let him play hard to get tonight, querida. Make him yours.”

  The frustrating conversation ended abruptly, leaving Gillian holding the phone, every nerve ending on fire with possibility. For the first time in years, she felt truly alive.

  Chapter Four

  Ramon got to the restaurant early, wanting to find the table and collect himself before she arrived. His heart raced. Nervous beyond anything he’d ever experienced before any game. It was maddening. He gulped down a straight scotch then sipped at a second one.

  His jaw dropped when she finally arrived, draped in shimmering red fabric that stopped just below her luscious ass. It was as if a Greek goddess had appeared in the restaurant. He gulped. She hadn’t seen him yet so he studied her freely. The line of her alabaster neck, exposed by her up swung auburn hair begged for his tongue. Those freckles, now covered by a light sheen of powder, beckoned. He gripped his knees below the table, watching as she greeted several people. After what seemed like an hour, her eyes found his. They lit up, and his entire soul fell into their green depths.

  Slow. He gritted his teeth. Must go slow.

  She made her way over. He got to his feet, feeling clumsy, as the host held out her chair.

  “Mr. Castillo, Ms. Winter, welcome to Jacques. Mr. Jackson has taken the liberty of ordering for you, so if you will permit us, we shall serve the first course.”

  Jackson, the control freak bastard. Ramon bit his lip to keep from cursing. Leave it to him to keep them from using the menus as an excuse not to talk. He watched her sip the wine that appeared in front of her. Words stuck in his throat. She finally spoke first.

  “Listen, thank you so much for today. You have no idea how much it meant to Harrison.”

  He blinked.

  She continued. “And I had fun, although I think I might have kicked your ass.” He relaxed at the sight of her genuine smile.

  Once their first course had been served—a light gazpacho with a dash of crème fraîche on top—they were laughing at the memory of the final winning goal. He took a bite before his throat closed up again. Her intense gaze darkened when he winced at the sudden pain in his knee.

  “Oh, God, we overdid it today, didn’t we? I am so sorry.”

  “No, it’s my fault, and believe me this twinge is nothing compared to what I’ve been dealing with. I wouldn’t have missed today, actually. For many reasons.” He grinned and held out a hand, his brain screaming go slow, but his heart and body arguing otherwise. She touched her palm to it.

  “Thank you, Gillian. Truly.” He reluctantly let go, the memory of her skin like a live thing undulating on his skin.

  “You’re welcome.” She ducked her head, took another sip of wine. He forced himself to lean back, remain nonchalant. But his heart pounded in his ears.

  “So,” he said. “Tell me about Joe.”

  She gaped at him. He stared back and continued, “Joe Winter was a coaching legend. You guys were quite a couple. But why did you stop playing, really?”

  Gillian sputtered, tried not to choke on the bite of cheese that had arrived as a palate cleanser between courses. The nerve of this guy. The band wrapped around her chest since the moment she’d seen Joe’s still, dead face, tightened. But the man sitting across from her now wasn’t being a jerk. His gaze remained soft and open, welcoming her honest conversation, not bullshit small talk. They only had a day. Might as well talk about the big stuff.

  “I loved Joe with every fiber of my being, from the moment I met him. As a rookie on the team he’d been coaching three years, I was little better than chopped liver to the rest of the team, including the already entrenched goalie. We, um, had sex within the first month. A bad idea. I knew it. He knew it. But, hey, love, you know?” She shrugged, tried to take a bite, but put it down. Her throat closed with unshed tears. “I played for two years, and we kept it quiet. Then, I got pregnant.” She took a deep breath.

  Ramon suddenly leaned forward, both hands on the table this time, beckoning hers. She gave into her need for another physical connection with him, grasped them and closed her mind against the pure chemical reaction she had to his touch. Jesus, this is patently insane. Her mind ticked off the reasons why.

  A seven-year age difference, his imminent return to life as superstar, playboy soccer player the day after next. He was Ramon Castillo, for Christ’s sake. She, a mere catering manager, has-been player, widowed mom. But as she drowned in his deep brown gaze, she had to cross her legs against the pressure building up there. She knew her thong excuse for panties had to be soaked.

  “I am so very sorry that happened to you. Joe was an incredible coach, as I said. You guys had a great life, a son, a home. I wish….” He looked down a minute then back up at her. She bit her lower lip. “Well, I wish life hadn’t been so hard on you.”

  She decided to jump in with both feet. “Tell me about your leg.”

  He grinned, released her hands and leaned back. “Touché. You sure you wanna know?”

  She nodded and listened to the story she’d heard a million times, this
time straight from the horse’s mouth.

  It had been brutal, and his honesty about his sudden panic attack that morning at the soccer field was refreshing. She winced in sympathy, suppressing the urge to jump up and cradle his dark head against her shoulder. Any true athlete’s worst nightmare is getting injured. But the nature of his, and the venue where it occurred were etched into anyone’s “top 10 worst ever.” He was matter of fact about his chances of ever playing again, but she knew he would never be able to let go of the game. Her heart ached for the young man, abandoned as an infant, rescued by the Castillo family and folded into their midst, but never really feeling a part of anything until he became part of a soccer team.

  She leaned back, crossed her legs and sipped the rich red wine Jackson had sent with the main course. The emotions coursing over the man’s dark, expressive face were myriad. She had the odd sensation of feeling connected to him, like she had known him much longer than the mere sum total of the few hours they had between them. At one point, as he relayed waking up from the first surgery, terrified, not remembering what had happened and trying to rise from the bed only to be slammed back in place by the pain, tears pressed against her eyes.

  His flippant, funny descriptions of the ensuing torturous round of therapies made her laugh, but she knew he covered an undercurrent of frustration and anger. She wished she could figure out the best way to let him know that she knew exactly what he was going through—that they shared devastating losses between them. Floating through the days, going through the motions, was all well and good for the outside world. But the gaping chasm in her life, and in his, could never be truly comprehended by anyone who hadn’t lived through something similar. Her mind suddenly, for the first time in years, seemed laser-focused.

  Ramon startled her when he put his napkin on the table and got to his feet. Had she said something wrong? He looked down at her, ran a fingertip along her face briefly, before laying his palm on her bare shoulder.