by Amy Andrews
He shoved his hands on his hips. “Is that it? You let me go down on you, and you come so loudly I’m pretty sure the cops are going to be kicking the door in any second, and now it’s good-bye, see you later, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out?”
She shrugged, her expression bewildered. “You want some payback?” she snapped. “You want me to get on my knees and suck your dick?”
Tanner recoiled. “No!”
“Oh, you want a thank-you?” She gave a shrill laugh. “Thank you, Tanner. You are an oral sex god. I can do a hashtag for Twitter if you want. Hashtag gives great head or hashtag Captain Cunnilingus?”
Tanner stared, stunned for a moment. Captain Cunnilingus? It was so absurdly funny a laugh escaped before he could stifle it.
He would never live that one down.
“I’m sorry, Tilly,” he said, grinning despite the absurdity of it all. “I don’t want anything. I just want to…”
Love you.
His smile faded. His heart hammered in his chest. That’s what he wanted. To love her again. But she didn’t look in any kind of mood to be throwing that out there. He had some more making up to do. “I want it to be…okay between us again.”
She stared at him for long moments, tears filling her eyes as she obviously struggled with what to say. Tanner wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms, but he didn’t want to scare her off saying whatever was causing that battle in her eyes.
She shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You broke my heart, Tanner. And that’s not okay. Things can never be okay between us again.” She cleared her throat and blinked furiously, dissipating the tears. “You treated me like a fool, and you played with my heart, like it was one of your damn footballs to just kick around. But you fumbled the ball, Tanner, and you lost the game.”
Her words may have been soft and calmly spoken, but they were as thorny as the tats on his arms. He hated seeing the hurt he’d caused. It was like thorns tearing into his heart. And even if he could have taken it back he wouldn’t because she’d gone to Stanford and had a life. Her life. Not his. All he could do was go forward and hope that by doing so he could make up for what had happened in the past.
It was tempting to tell her the truth about that night, to clear his name. But now wasn’t the time. She was too mad to hear it. She’d probably just reject it outright. But he wasn’t going to pussyfoot around this anymore, either.
He wanted her back. And he was putting her on notice.
He took the two steps required to bring them within touching distance. He half expected her to take a step back, but she set her chin determinedly, obviously feeling stronger now she’d had her say.
“I may have lost,” he said, lifting his hand and brushing a stray lock of fringe back into line, “but I’m older and wiser now, and my game’s only gotten better. And I have three more dates—” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “Interviews, for a rematch. And this time I’m playing to win.”
She didn’t say anything, just held her ground, looking at him with her big blue-green eyes, so much bigger now with her wispy pixie haircut. If she was worried, she didn’t show it.
But he heard the hitch in her breath as he walked away. And it gave him hope.
Chapter Ten
Somehow, Matilda wasn’t sure how, she ended up on Tanner’s arm ten days later, as his date to a black-tie charity thing for Farm Aid. At least, that was what every photographer and entertainment journalist on the red carpet seemed to think as he ushered her along.
As far as she was concerned, it was another interview opportunity. Only. No date. Definitely no Captain Cunnilingus. Although, God knew that had been running on a loop through her head ever since that night.
“Tanner!” Callie Williams, notorious gossip columnist, called him over. He sauntered toward her and her cameraman despite Matilda dragging her heels.
“Callie, how delightful to see you.”
She beamed at him. “I see you’ve brought your Twitter amour with you.”
Tanner smiled that cheeky grin of his. “We’re old friends,” he said, neither confirming nor denying anything about the state of their relationship.
Callie pouted. “Oh, go on. There’s a lot of speculation about you two. What about the ‘might be love’ hashtag?”
Tanner chuckled. “That wasn’t started by me.”
“No. But you’ve been using it,” Callie pressed.
“I’m interviewing him,” Matilda cut in, damned if she was going to be some silent, pretty handbag for him while the speculation about them raged. “That’s it. No romance. No ‘might be love.’”
“What are you wearing, Matilda?”
Matilda blinked at the sudden switch in topic. She had a good mind to tell the other woman it was Kmart and normally it wouldn’t have been too far wrong, but being a style columnist—for the moment, at least—did give her some perks. She’d rung an upcoming designer she’d recently showcased, who’d been delighted to outfit her.
The dress was a clingy red velvet number that reminded her a lot of that dress in Pretty Woman. Which seemed appropriate, given that Tanner had paid for the thousand-dollar-a-plate event for her.
But if he expected her to have a condom of every colour in her clutch, he was sorely mistaken.
“It’s Simone Cawley.”
“And your underwear is from the planet Krypton, I take it?”
Tanner chuckled, and Matilda wanted to scrape her ridiculous stiletto down his calf. She opened her mouth to give a cutting reply, but Callie had already spotted more interesting fish over Matilda’s shoulder and was beckoning at a reality TV star. Tanner, still grinning, bowed away graciously, and Matilda was grateful that they were heading indoors, away from the press gaggle and the flashing bulbs.
Once inside, he ushered her to a table and pulled out a chair for her. There was a woman sitting in the seat beside her talking to a man who looked a good ten or fifteen years older than her.
“Tilly, this is Valerie King. Her father is Griffin King, the Smoke’s coach.”
Matilda had read a fair bit about the enigmatic coach of the Sydney Smoke during her research for the feature series. He was good-looking in a gruff kind of way, and there were a lot of pictures of him scowling. It seemed he didn’t suffer fools very gladly.
Matilda smiled at the woman she judged to be a few years younger than her. She was a tall, striking redhead. “Hi, I’m Matilda. Nice to meet you.”
Valerie beamed at her, obviously much better at the smiling thing than her father. “Oh, hi. You’re the journo writing the features on Slick? I’ve never laughed so hard than I did over the whole kryptonite panties thing.” She grinned, and her eyes twinkled merrily. “I love that the hashtag is still going off on Twitter.”
At any other time, Matilda would have been thrilled that something she’d written had gone viral, but given that it had only piqued interest in her and Tanner’s relationship, she wished she’d never coined it.
Tanner rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t encourage her, Valerie,” before introducing Matilda to the guy sitting on Valerie’s right. “This is Dan Randall. He sits on the Smoke’s executive board.”
Dan shook her hand, and the four of them made pleasant conversation as the function centre filled, and other people—who had, according to Valerie, paid a premium to be at Tanner’s table—joined them. Matilda was surprised at how easily Tanner schmoozed these days. He hadn’t exactly been socially awkward back in high school, but the footy field had definitely been where he was most comfortable.
But here he was in a tuxedo, being witty, entertaining, and generous with his time with the three couples at their table. No question seemed to be off-limits—although, to be fair, most of them were about rugby. He posed for selfies with them and signed paraphernalia they’d brought along, from bumper stickers to footballs to T-shirts. He even danced with each of the women as the jazz band struck up after dinner.
This was exactly the charm tha
t Matilda had written about. But there was nothing forced or disingenuous about it as had been the subtext of her article. This was Tanner just being Tanner, the boy from the country who she’d known since he was fifteen.
“I think it’s our turn,” he said as he and Valerie arrived back from the dance floor.
Matilda shook her head. “No, thanks.” The last thing she wanted was to be held by him, jostled nearer and nearer by the crush of bodies on the dance floor, reminding her of the liberties she’d already allowed him. Tonight had been enjoyable because it hadn’t been one on one. Because there’d been other people around to dilute his impact.
“You should,” Valerie insisted. “He’s really very good.”
Matilda had no doubt. The man seemed to be good at every damn thing. “Yes, but I, on the other hand, am terrible.”
“It’s just swaying to music.” He smiled, holding his hand out.
“I’ll write a thousand dollar cheque to add to the kitty right here, right now, if you dance with him,” Dan piped up, pulling a chequebook out of his inner jacket pocket.
Matilda turned startled eyes on the man who hadn’t said a lot through most of the night. One thousand bucks? The dress she was wearing seemed more and more appropriate. “What on earth for?”
He shrugged. “Because you two look cute together.”
Cute? Matilda blinked. Was the man drunk?
“Go on, Tilly.” One of the women sitting opposite winked at her. “Do it for the farmers.”
“Yeah,” her husband grinned in agreement.
Tanner wiggled his fingers, a smile playing on his full mouth. “Yeah, Tilly. Think of the farmers.”
She looked around at all the grinning and expectant faces and Dan with his pen poised. Oh, for the love of…
Matilda sighed and took his hand to the raucous applause of her table. She regretted it instantly as he forged a path through the crowd, too conscious of her hand in his, of the broadness of his shoulders and the exquisite cut of his jacket, of the low buzz spreading like wildfire from one cell to the next until her entire body was humming.
The band was playing “Moon River,” the saxophone oozing out its sexy notes as he slid his hand around her back and pulled her in just close enough to allow for the nearby dancers but no closer. His propriety was appreciated, but it was still way too close for Matilda’s comfort.
“Happy now?”
He had the good grace not to answer. Or gloat. He just grinned at her as he performed some fancy pivot manoeuvre, pulling her close and spinning them both around a couple of times before easing back from her again.
Matilda’s pulse tripped. “Impressive,” she murmured. The Tanner Stone she’d known had been a shuffler. “Where’d you learn to dance?”
“Took some lessons a few years back when I was best man for one of the guys. Didn’t want to look like a complete heathen.”
“The maid of honour was that hot, huh?”
He grinned, completely unabashed. “You wound me.”
Someone jostled them from behind, forcing them closer, as she had feared. Their proximity ratcheted up the awareness rippling through Matilda’s body. In her heels, the top of her head fit neatly under Tanner’s chin, and she fought the urge to press her cheek to his shirt. He smelled amazing—no chemical undertone this time—and she wanted to intoxicate herself on the ouzo essence of him as she listened to the slow, steady thump of his heart.
A stark contrast to the rapid trip of hers.
“Thank you for being nicer in your article on Friday.” His voice rumbled around her, oozing like notes from the sax.
“No worries.”
Matilda had decided to stop giving him such a hard time after the other night. She may have started this thinking of it as killing two birds with one stone—a fast track to features, and revenge on Tanner Stone. But she hadn’t found the jerk she’d expected. No matter how mad she was with him over Jessica Duffy.
He’d rebuilt her grandmother’s porch railing. And painted it. Then spent an hour in her place hanging art that she’d been neglecting for five years. And the fact that he’d gone down on her and given her a truly spectacular screaming orgasm was as much on her—lying there lapping it up—as on him.
Part of being a responsible journalist was to be impartial. It wasn’t a place for revenge, and it shouldn’t be coloured by personal baggage.
She was too old to be petty.
So she’d written the article about his early years at the Sydney Smoke with absolutely no agenda. It may not have been effusive but it had been solid and stuck to the facts.
“I was a little disappointed there was no mention of Captain Cunnilingus,” he murmured, his mouth near her temple, goose bumps prickling across her scalp.
Matilda glanced around her, her face flushed at the brazen words, hoping no one had overheard. She was hyperaware of where they were, of how many eyes were on them. His large hand rested firmly on the small of her back as if he was he worried she might try to flee such risqué conversation.
He needn’t have.
Even if she could push past all the bodies, she doubted her wobbly legs were up to the task now she was flashing back to the moment his tongue had found, with startling efficiency and precision, exactly the right spot. She’d relived it about a hundred times since, and it never failed to quicken her breath or cause a heavy rush of longing between her legs.
But she was annoyed at the amused catch to his voice, and irritated that he was choosing such a public place to flirt with impunity. She guessed this was what he meant by those parting words the other night. This time, I’m playing to win.
Matilda straightened her spine as the words circled on an endless loop through her head. No matter how mellow she was becoming, she wasn’t in the game anymore, and she’d be damned if she was going to let him turn her on in front of a couple of hundred people. Not without a fight, anyway.
See how he felt taking a little of his own medicine.
“You think,” she said quietly, deliberately shuffling her body closer until it was pressed along the length of his, “I should have told everybody that Tanner Stone went down to”—she lowered her voice for dramatic effect—“lady town?”
He chuckled, and it disturbed the wisps of hair at her temple. “Hmm. Maybe that would be a bit too much information.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Tanner.” She tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “A man with a gift like that shouldn’t be shy about it.”
“I’m gifted, huh?”
Amusement laced his voice, but Matilda could also discern the husky edge to it and was intimately attuned to the tightening of his hand on her back.
Maybe this conversation was having an effect on him, too?
“You should rent a billboard.”
If he was confused by her banter, he didn’t show it, but he did search her gaze for long moments as they swayed to the music. Long moments during which she became aware of the hardening ridge of his arousal. Her pulse spiked as it pressed with more and more urgency against her stomach.
It was having an effect on him.
She shifted against him deliberately, goaded by his brazenness and the wild pulse between her legs. It felt good.
“Any time you want my services, you know my number.”
His voice was like gravel now, and it was all she could hear as the world narrowed down to just the two of them, rubbing against each other more than dancing. The music faded, the people pressing in around them faded…propriety faded.
“Oh, you do house calls?”
“For you?” His gaze dropped to her mouth before flicking up again. “Absolutely.”
“That’s very selfless of you.”
“Not really. I get plenty out of making you come.”
Matilda’s breath hitched. If that was a line, it was a damn good one. “You wouldn’t want a little…” She shifted against him again, and a triumphant buzz coursed through her body as his hand clamped harder in the small of her back. �
��Something in return?”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Only what you’re willing to give.”
“Like some…necking?”
He stared at her mouth again. “That could be quite nice.”
“Maybe”—she slid her hand from his shoulder up into the hair at his nape—“second base?”
His gaze dropped to the artificial depths of her cleavage. “I do like second base.”
“What about a…blowjob?”
He glanced up, swallowing hard and huffing out an uneven breath. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“Oh?” she asked innocently. “You like blowjobs?”
“I’m quite partial to them.”
“Really?” More wide-eyed innocence.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “If you think I haven’t been fantasising about your mouth around my cock, then you’re crazy.”
It was Matilda’s turn to swallow, as a mental image of her on her knees sucking his dick, his hand on the back of her head, shimmered like a mirage through her mind.
He was upping the stakes. Bring it.
She turned her face, her lips near his ear now. “I remember how you liked me to go deep.”
“I liked it any way you gave it.”
“Except I didn’t swallow.”
His half laugh came out all ragged and uneven. “I don’t care.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I do now.”
“Christ, Tilly.” The low groan wound silken fingers around her libido. “You’re killing me.” His lips brushed the sweet spot behind her ear. “Stop it.”
She wasn’t exactly doing herself any favours, either, but he’d blinked first and that’s all she cared about. As if acknowledging her success, the song came to a close, and couples around them broke apart to clap and cheer.
The bubble around them burst as they followed on automatic pilot, clapping with a great deal less enthusiasm.
“That’s all for the dancing for now folks.” The emcee’s voice boomed around the room. “The band will be back later, but right now its auction time. Let’s hear a big round of applause for our celebrity auctioneer, Tanner Stone, captain of the Sydney Smoke rugby team. Where are you, Tanner?”