“We’ve got a great team here, and if you keep your heads down and your noses clean, we’ll be bringing home the Cup this year. We can have fun along the way, but we’ve all got a job to do. It’s a long season and we want to have fewer injuries. So here’s to a successful year.”
Nick forced himself to concentrate, but as the morning wore on, he found it impossible to be in the same room with Anna. He caught himself looking at her every few seconds, even though he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. And he’d been irrationally furious when Giovanni Simone, the Italian player sitting next to him, had taken one look at Anna and smiled appreciatively, murmuring, “Ciao, bella!”
Sim’s voice droned on as he made the players write down their personal goals for the season, as well as those of the team.
Nick pulled a pencil and piece of paper toward him reluctantly, and scratched his neck. He glanced around, seeing that everyone else was squinting over their own work, scribbling away. He sighed, and wrote down some thoughts.
What I’m going to do
no mistakes
play better than my opposite number
help my teammates
score
give it all I have
Anna leaned over to read what he’d written, and his spine stiffened as he caught the all too familiar scent of her shampoo so close to him.
“That’s good, Nick, but you need to be more specific. Is it realistic to say you’ll make no mistakes? That’s probably not achievable. What would be more realistic? Think about that.”
He scowled as she walked away, and Giovanni raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Nick shook his head and tried again.
1. Less than two mistakes
2. No missed tackles
3. Be loud, be confident
4. I’m here to do my job and help my team
5. Stick to the game plan
6. Give it all I’ve got
7. Leave everything on the field
8. Enjoy this moment, enjoy the game and be grateful for being in this position to do what I do.
Anna passed by again, paused to read his words and smiled. But it was her professional smile. Nick was angry that he could tell the difference.
Later that day, when the lecture became interactive, he found it impossible to speak to her naturally, so he didn’t. Even when they broke into smaller groups to practise some of the techniques she’d suggested to help with their focus, Nick couldn’t concentrate. His energy was spent on trying to avoid looking at her, but his traitorous eyes continually sought her out, and he found himself listening for her voice, drawn by her laughter. It was a fucking nightmare.
His silence was obvious and noted with concern by his new head coach. Nick wanted to kick himself for giving the impression that he wasn’t interested, that he couldn’t get involved like the other team members. But just shaking hands with Anna had sent flames leaping across his skin. She didn’t appear to have noticed anything, but sometimes he felt her eyes on him as she talked, soft and questioning, then hard and irritated.
In every other way, he was back in the groove, training like his life depended on it, even on his off days, and ready to take his place on the team.
“What’s up with you and the psych woman, Anna something?” asked Jason Oduba, a Winger, as they filed out of the lecture room.
“What do you mean?”
“You know her from before, right?”
Nick glanced at Jason uneasily.
“Yeah, from when I was with the Minotaurs.”
“Yeah, right. So what’s your problem with her? I think she’s pretty good—I’m definitely going to try out her ideas. But you . . .”
“What about me?”
“You look like you want to kill her or fuck her. I dunno, man, you just seem to have an issue with her. You never joined in any of the group discussions.” He lowered his voice, “Sim asked if there was something up with you, I heard him. Man, you gotta shape up! Or you’ll be benched before you get a chance. Know what I’m saying?”
Nick’s stomach twisted. Jason was a straight up kind of guy, so what he said was on the level. And in any case, Nick knew exactly what Jason was saying. He’d done his best to fly under the radar with Anna, but it wasn’t working. He’d have to try harder. A lot harder.
Sim Andrews was of the same opinion when he pulled Anna to one side.
“You knew Nick Renshaw when he was with the Minotaurs, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Hmm. And how did he seem to you?”
Hot, sexy, amazing in bed.
“Determined, very keen to improve his game. But he was being dragged down by a persistent injury, so that coloured his judgement at the time.”
Sim tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently.
“Is he a team player?”
“From what I can see, yes. Although he never got to play for the Minotaurs, as you know. But I studied a lot of footage of his games with his previous team . . .”
“And?”
“He wasn’t the captain, but he was the spine of the team. They all looked to him in matches. He was that team.”
Sim Andrews sighed and shook his head.
“Then why isn’t he engaging with your sessions? The man turns into a block of stone as soon as you speak. What’s his problem?”
Anna felt her cheeks heat up. Me, I’m his problem. “I’m not sure. Probably just getting acclimated.”
Sim Andrews frowned in annoyance. “Talk to him. Get him engaged. I need every team member 100 percent committed, or they’re out.”
A rush of guilt made Anna feel nauseous. “I’ll talk to him.”
Sim gave a sharp nod of his head, glaring at Nick’s broad back, then stalked away.
As if he’d felt the angry stare, Nick swung around to watch Sim, then his gaze fell on Anna, and his eyes narrowed.
She smiled weakly, but he turned away, heading to the locker room to change for the team’s cardio workout.
During her next session, Nick avoided interacting with Anna and sat conveniently near the door so he could be first out of the team meeting room. Sim Andrews wasn’t the only one who noticed his behaviour. But it was another ten days before Anna finally had the chance to talk to Nick alone.
This time she was prepared. She’d simply wait him out.
So while Nick joined his teammates in ninety minutes of cardio, Anna completed paperwork, then leaned against the wall outside the training room.
The players streamed back to the locker room, hot and sweaty and chatting animatedly. Some headed for the showers, others for the ice bath, but Anna caught Nick before he did either.
“Can I talk to you?”
He folded his arms across his broad chest, his damp t-shirt clinging to him, and he stared down at her, his expression guarded.
“Sure.”
“Not here,” she licked her lips and Nick’s hard stare darted to her mouth.
“I have to get a shower,” he said coldly, his lip curling slightly as he spoke.
Anna straightened her shoulders and took half a step back when she realised how close she was standing to him, close enough to smell the salt and sweat on his skin.
She licked her lips again nervously.
“Sim Andrews asked me to talk to you.”
Nick’s stony stare became worried.
“Let’s just step inside the physio room for a minute so we can talk privately,” Anna said firmly.
Nick followed her down to the corridor to the second of the two physio rooms.
It was a smallish space crammed with two massage beds, three chairs and a medicine cabinet that held bandages, anti-inflammatory gels and a range of treatments for sprains, grazes and other minor injuries.
With Nick glowering down at her, the room felt even smaller.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” he asked, his body language defensive, his tone terse.
Anna cleared her throat.
“Let
’s sit down,” she suggested, pointing at two of the chairs.
Oozing reluctance, Nick sat.
“It’s been noticed,” she began carefully, “that you’re not engaging with the team or . . . or with me during my teaching sessions.”
His lips pressed together and his scowl deepened.
“Look, I know this is all kinds of awkward,” she sighed, “but your behaviour is already giving Sim concerns. It’s making him wonder about your commitment to the team.”
Nick exploded, his anger filling the space as he leapt to his feet and began to pace up and down, hands scrubbing over his face roughly.
“He’s questioning my commitment?! I train harder than anyone! I train on my off-days,” he spat furiously, his voice tight with emotion.
“Nick . . .”
“I’m out there, slogging my fucking guts out harder and longer than anyone else during practices!”
“Nick . . .”
“I’ve fought to come back from injury. I’m fit! I’m ready! I . . .”
“NICK!” Anna slapped her hand down on the massage table. “Will you listen to me!”
His jaw snapped shut and his stormy eyes narrowed on hers.
“Sim didn’t see that commitment during my sessions.”
“And we both know why that is,” he sneered. “You don’t want any commitment from me.”
Anna’s eyebrows shot up and Nick looked as though he was already regretting his words. He took a deep breath and looked away while Anna chose her next words carefully.
“You assured me that you could be professional and . . .”
“Yeah, well excuse me if seeing you again is fucking with my head! Not everyone can be as cold and calculating as you!”
She knew she deserved his anger, but her own frustration was rising to meet his. The volcanic pressure inside started to build, searching for an exit, searching for weakness.
“I cannot have any sort of relationship with a client!” she hissed, her body rigid. “You know that!”
“Didn’t stop you before,” he taunted.
“You weren’t a client then,” she choked. “But you’re right—I should have stopped. Oh boy, am I regretting it now!”
And she tossed her clipboard onto the table, pointing a finger in his face.
“Are you trying to ruin this for me? Is that what this is? Your ego can’t bear it, so you’re going to make sure I lose this contract? Or maybe ruining my reputation forever will settle the score. You tell me, Nick! What do you want from me?”
She was breathing rapidly, and two points of colour marked her cheeks in an otherwise chalky complexion.
He prowled toward her, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists.
“What do I want? I want to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget it’s my cock that’s been inside you. I want you screaming my name. I want you to say it wasn’t a mistake. That’s what I want, Anna, and it’s fucking killing me to not even touch you!”
He was so close, she could see the flecks of gold in his angry eyes, smell the salty sweat on his skin, and feel the heat from his large body.
She remembered. She remembered it all. The way they’d moved together, the way his neck corded and his eyes squeezed shut when he came, the way he’d tucked his face into her neck, his breaths racing.
Her body filled with heat.
“Oh, God! I . . .”
Nick didn’t let her finish the sentence, although it seemed unlikely that words would come to her.
One large hand wrapped around her waist, jerking her toward him, and his lips covered hers possessively, his tongue invading her mouth.
Her head screamed no, but her body was in the driving seat.
Anna’s hands scraped over Nick’s short hair, and when her fingers scrabbled futilely against the bristles, she wrapped her hands in his damp t-shirt, tugging him forward so their bodies were pressed together.
She lapped the salt at his neck, dragging her tongue stud over his skin in a way she knew that made him crazy.
He half growled, half groaned as she yanked the t-shirt over his head and he ripped her blouse open, the buttons popping and skittering across the floor in all directions.
His hard cock was tenting the front of his shorts, lodging itself hot and thick between Anna’s thighs. She moaned and bit his throat. Nick swore and snapped open her bra, squeezing her breasts and twisting her nipples almost painfully.
She retaliated by shoving her hand down the front of his shorts and wrapping her fingers around him, making him grunt and curse, goading him.
He smacked her backside, making her gasp, then forced her pants and panties down her legs.
Without a word, he spun her around so she was wedged against the massage table, and he pressed his hand between her shoulder blades, forcing her down.
“Yessss!” she hissed.
Nick’s face was a grim mask as he freed his cock, pushing his shorts and briefs over the curve of his arse.
He gasped a ragged breath, then drove inside her hard.
Anna screamed into the table, then bit a seam in the plastic covering, a muffled shriek rolling out as Nick’s thighs slammed against her, his cock ramming inside her ruthlessly.
He gritted his teeth as their skin slapped together, his hands gripping her hips, his sweat dripping onto her torn blouse. All the anger and frustration and longing were combined in a brutal fuck that sent him spiralling out of control.
Within seconds, his sac was drawn up tight and when Anna gave another muffled cry, clenching around him, he exploded, pouring himself inside her as he collapsed, pressing her even harder into the table.
His breath was harsh and his thighs trembled when he pulled out of her, his dick glistening.
Swearing to himself, he tucked his still hard dick away, yanked up his shorts and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Anna didn’t move.
She felt a trickle of warm cum slide down her thigh, and she forced herself to stand on shaky legs. Her hands trembled as she plucked a paper towel from the dispenser and cleaned herself up as best she could, but when she caught her reflection in the mirror, her face was bright red with an imprint of a seam down her cheek. Her lips were swollen and bruised, and her hair clung sweatily to her scalp.
She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. She could still taste him.
Anna stumbled to the washbasin and splashed water on her face, combing her hair with her fingers.
Slowly, she pulled up her panties and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress pants, but there was nothing she could do about her torn blouse. She tucked it into the waistband and buttoned her suit jacket tightly over the top.
Her reflection mocked her. No matter how she tried to repair herself, she looked guilty.
And freshly fucked.
NICK STORMED INTO the locker room, earning surprised looks from his new teammates, but he didn’t care.
What had they done? What had he done? He’d fucked her like an animal, and bloody hell, it had been the hottest thing ever. He was still half-aroused, but wholly disgusted with himself. There was no excuse for his behaviour. None.
God, he’d wanted her.
And now he’d had another taste, he wanted even more. He was hanging on by his fingernails, only his revulsion at the way he’d used her was keeping him from running back into the physio room and taking her again.
He threw himself in the shower, turning the water to cool as he shivered under the powerful stream. It helped him to think, and helped to ease the raging need inside him.
As the adrenaline dissipated in his blood, he began to think more rationally. And he was appalled.
He needed to apologise. Would she demand he was kicked off the team? The way he’d used her, mauled her.
Yeah, he’d start with an apology then try begging.
Nick dressed slowly, and something about his demeanour kept his teammates from asking questions. They all knew that he’d been alone with Anna—they assum
ed he was in a foul mood because he’d had his balls in a blender with Anna turning the handle.
Sitting on the bench, his bare feet resting on the tiled floor, he pulled out his phone and googled Anna’s address. Her office was listed on her website. That was a start. He’d send . . . no, he’d take her some flowers, and go from there.
He packed his kit away and muttered to his housemate, Fetuao, that he’d be back later. The huge Samoan Prop gave him a look and shrugged his massive shoulders.
“No wuckers, mate.”
Along with Giovanni and Bernard Dubois, they shared a house that the club owned. Mostly, it was for overseas players, but anyone who had accommodation issues could use it. Nick was still renting out his house near his parents, so this suited him.
Nick was furious with himself. He’d never, never treated a woman like that. He needed to . . . he had no fucking idea what could put this right. Flowers? Chocolates? He shook his head, despair filling him.
It took him the best part of an hour to drive across London to Anna’s office. He passed a florist on the way and stood outside indecisively, wondering if this was a bad idea in a long day of bad ideas.
He wanted to trust her, but it was hard. He definitely needed to apologise for how he’d behaved.
What sort of flowers said, sorry for fucking you like a wild animal?
He settled on white tulips, the most virginal of flowers.
When he reached her office, he realised that it was after hours and the building was shut. But since her office suite was on the second floor of a three-storey building, he wondered whether she lived above the shop. Taking a punt, he pressed the buzzer.
There was a short pause, then he heard her voice through the intercom.
“Hello?”
“It’s Nick.”
There was no reply, just static air, so Nick hurried on.
“I’m sorry, Anna. So fucking sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. I . . . I’m sorry.” He paused, but there was still no answer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never want to hurt you. I don’t want you to lose your job, I promise.”
There was another long pause and Nick squeezed his eyes shut, half praying.
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