Defending Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  Instead he slipped into the room as quietly as he could, unlacing his shoes and lining them up inside the door. Normally they’d go back into their spot in the walk-in closet as soon as he took them off, but he didn’t want to wake Kate, whose figure he could just about make out in the darkness.

  He snuck into the bathroom to brush his teeth and empty his pockets. He always placed his wallet, watch and keys in a neat pile on his dresser, but tonight he arranged them beside the sink instead. He stripped down to his briefs and draped his clothes over his arm to put in the hamper, then grabbed his phone and moved into the bedroom.

  After another couple of minutes fumbling in the dark, trying not to make a sound, he finally made his way to the bed and eased in between the sheets.

  Kate rolled over and pressed into him. “Hello.”

  “I was trying not to wake you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

  “I’m a light sleeper. Did you have fun?”

  He hummed affirmatively. “Jonas was incredible. The whole club was jumping. Awesome vibe.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “No, you’re not. But I don’t care,” he assured her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I want you to be happy, not try to make me happy.”

  “Sounds good. By the way, I rearranged all your clothes to give myself a drawer and moved in a bunch of my stuff.”

  Panic shot through his chest and he froze, horrified by the mental image of his carefully ordered drawers in disarray.

  “I’m kidding.” She laughed, propping up on one elbow. “I would never. Oh my God, you should see your face. You look like I just told you I crashed your car.”

  “Not funny,” he informed her, slipping his hands under her shirt to tickle her sides. She squealed and wriggled in his grip, until his fingers brushed over her nipple. Then she grew serious, placing her palms on his cheeks.

  “Hi,” she murmured before she kissed him.

  He inhaled sharply as she ground her hips against him, stiffening his already aching erection. He slid his hands to her rear, pushing down her panties to grip her firm flesh. She purred encouragement against his lips and he tugged the garment down to her knees, then pressed his fingers between her legs.

  He growled a curse at the wet heat he found. He started to move his hand but she grabbed his wrist and held him still, nipping lightly at his lower lip.

  “I want it fast and hard tonight, and I want it now. Think you can deliver?”

  “Anything,” he promised, his heart pounding so wildly he could barely breathe.

  She pulled her T-shirt—his T-shirt—over her head and tugged impatiently at his briefs. He yanked them off and rolled over to open the top drawer of his bedside table. As he rooted blindly for the box of condoms he felt Kate’s body against his back, and then she reached around to bob her fist once, twice, three times along his shaft.

  He groaned involuntarily, his hands shaking as he opened the packet and rolled down the latex. He turned around just in time to see Kate spread her knees on the bed and brace her hands on the headboard, inviting him to take her from behind.

  His dick throbbed and he offered a brief, grateful prayer in Turkish to a God he was confident wouldn’t begrudge this happiness.

  He moved into position and gently pushed one, then two fingers inside her, assuring himself she was ready. He replaced his fingers with the head of his erection, sliding it along her folds and over her clit, then easing the tip inside.

  She shot him an impatient glance over her shoulder. He buried himself in a single stroke.

  Her moan was guttural and she repositioned her knees, moving them wider. He took several long breaths, adjusting to the sensation of her warm, encasing flesh, pulling himself back from the brink of climax. Eventually his breathing calmed and he slowly stroked in and out.

  Kate met each thrust of his body with one of her own, urging him faster, harder, rougher. He obeyed gladly, sliding one hand up her stomach to thumb her nipple and cupping her sex with the other, holding her against his hips and teasing her clit.

  They went from zero to a hundred in only minutes. After a handful of thrusts Kate arched her back, begging incoherently before her inner muscles tightened around him in a way he knew broadcast her impending climax. Just the anticipation of her pleasure rocketed his own to new heights. He rubbed merciless circles over her clit as he increased the pace. She came within seconds, whimpering as her whole body stiffened, then trembled.

  The sight of her shoulders heaving with the force of her orgasm pushed him over the edge into his own. He clenched his jaw as he thrust into her and held himself there, pressure building almost unbearably and then exploding into a dizzying climax. He emptied into her, throbbing inside her hot sex, then gingerly pulled out, feeling like every one of his nerve endings was exposed and raw.

  Kate flopped onto her back. He tossed the used condom into the trash and stretched out beside her, trailing his fingers through the sheen of sweat between her breasts.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Outstanding.”

  He smiled into the darkness. “Could’ve been longer.”

  “Sometimes I like it quick and intense. Plus it leaves time for a second round.”

  “You’re insatiable.”

  “I’m in bed with a hot man and I want to take advantage. Can you blame me?”

  “Definitely not.”

  She laced her fingers through his. “I haven’t always been like this. If anything, sex tended to be mostly awkward. Couple of drinks, guy I was kind of into, twenty minutes of fumbling and I usually had to finish myself off. It’s completely different with you.”

  He kept his voice even, although her words had warmth spreading through his stomach. “Different how?”

  “Better, obviously. Way better. And it’s not just sex, what we do. It’s intimate.”

  “Deliberate,” he added.

  “I feel like I know you better after every time. Like we’re getting closer and closer.”

  He squeezed her hand, barely able to contain his excitement for another second. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “I have something to show you.”

  “Something good?”

  “Of course.” He unlocked the screen, pulled up his e-mail and scrolled to a message. He opened it and passed her the phone.

  She squinted at the glowing screen. “I’m confused.”

  “Read.”

  “I did. I don’t get it.”

  He took the phone and replaced it on the bedside table. “It’s my itinerary for the international friendly this weekend. I booked a second plane ticket. I want you to come with me.”

  She said nothing for so long he thought maybe she hadn’t heard. He was about to repeat himself when she blurted, “I lost my job today.”

  The phone went into sleep mode, dropping them back into darkness with the same unexpected suddenness as she’d made her announcement.

  “What happened?” he asked, not sure where else to start.

  “I didn’t hit my target, at least not according to Rich’s special math. It’s probably for the best. I wasn’t good at sales and I didn’t like it anyway.”

  He considered the implications of this development, at least as much as a professional athlete who’d never had a job interview could. “So now you look for something else?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Roland will dump Peak Tactical as soon as he finds out about this.” He covered her hand with his own, driven by an unfamiliar instinct to protect her. The possessive urge was startling and brand new. He’d always found independence and self-sufficiency attractive, yet here he was, ready to do almost anything to make sure Kate was all right.

  “Do you want me to make some calls?” he offered. “I don’t know much about your industry, but I’m happy to pick up the phone to anyon
e you think could be useful. And your apartment, will you be able to afford the rent? Because if you need a place to stay—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she interrupted. “I’ve got some savings to keep me afloat, and hopefully I’ll find something new soon. It’s just annoying to be back to square one.”

  He closed the space between them, pulling her against him. “The upside is you won’t have to use any vacation days to come to Sweden. You can get out of Atlanta, clear your head, be fresh for the job search when you get back.”

  “Oz,” she said softly, her tone broadcasting that she was about to say something he wouldn’t like.

  He eased back, giving her space. “What?”

  “I can’t go to Sweden.”

  Cool disappointment settled on his shoulders, dousing the hot flare of protectiveness that had overtaken him only moments ago. “Why not?”

  “Saturday is my sister’s birthday. She’s having a party in Jasper.”

  His jaw tightened. “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “It’s Tuesday. I didn’t realize you needed to know my plans for Saturday.”

  He withdrew from her, physically and emotionally. He released his hold on her as shutters slammed down around his heart.

  “Is it a big birthday?” he asked carefully. “Like her thirtieth or something?”

  “She’s my younger sister,” she reminded him.

  “I’m getting an award from the Swedish government the night before the match at a black-tie dinner.” He heard himself sounding more and more aloof. He tried to find an anchor in the conversation, to believe that he might still convince her to come with him. “My parents are flying to Stockholm to see it. Yusuf and his wife are coming from London, too. It’s a big deal. It would mean a lot to have you there.”

  Her sigh sounded exasperated. “I’ve committed to my sister. I can’t back out. Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you wanted me to go?”

  He didn’t answer. They both knew why—because earlier their relationship hadn’t gone as far as it had in the last two weeks. Earlier they weren’t sleeping together. Earlier he hadn’t given her a key to his house.

  “Forget it,” he said coolly. “If your sister’s birthday party is more important, you should go.”

  “It’s not about what’s more important, it’s about keeping promises.”

  “Fine. So keep your promise.”

  Her hesitation tightened the air between them. He hoped she was about to relent. Offer to call her sister and explain the situation, then ask increasingly enthusiastic questions about Sweden. Kiss him and fall asleep in his arms, looking forward to their first international trip together.

  “Goodnight,” she said instead, then rolled over. He pulled the duvet up to his chest and crossed his arm behind his head, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as he fought to understand what just happened.

  Maybe he was being arrogant or self-centered—he’d certainly been accused of both before—but he couldn’t believe she turned him down. He hadn’t just asked her to join him on a weekend jolly somewhere hot and frivolous. He wanted her by his side in front of his family, in front of all his fans, as he was given a nationally prestigious award before strapping on his boots to play for his country. And her reason for staying behind was a party. A party. Not work or a family crisis or any other immoveable, justifiable commitment. Her unreliable, unpredictable sister, whom she didn’t even seem to like very much, was throwing a birthday party. She chose a night of cheap booze over five days in Stockholm.

  He shook his head, astonished and bewildered. There had to be more to it. Maybe an overseas trip to meet his family was too intense.

  He liked any opportunity to travel, but he supposed that wasn’t the case for everyone. Maybe the idea of hopping a plane to Sweden and putting thousands of miles between herself and her home at a day’s notice was intimidating. In the Army she would’ve had plenty of notice before deployments, and the logistics would’ve been handled for her. Maybe she was nervous about traveling abroad, especially without time to plan for it.

  Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with the destination or the notice. Maybe she just wasn’t as all into this as he was.

  He devised The Plan to protect himself from the lonely downfall that claimed his uncle, to be an objective framework to ensure he didn’t make rash decisions or emotional mistakes. Yet the deeper he got with Kate, the more he ignored it, bending the relationship criteria and reaching to justify why everything would be fine despite their obviously disparate futures.

  The whole point was to find a woman who would commit to him forever. Kate wouldn’t even commit to this weekend.

  Unease and doubt settled heavily in his chest, a pair of uncomfortable, unshifting weights as he saw his uncle’s sallow skin and unfocused eyes, his once powerful, unstoppable body bloated and weak. The capable hands that had applauded his childhood soccer skills grown shaky and uncertain. The sure, capable feet shuffling down the hallway in the house where he grew up. The man who was his idol, his inspiration, his everything, slumped in a corner of the kitchen, pathetic and defeated, droning about his lost love with ever more incoherence.

  He eased onto his side, turning his back to Kate. He’d rushed into this thing with her, sprinted in with his heart wide open. He had to tighten his grip on the reins, pull himself back under control, recover his detachment and objectivity. He had to evaluate whether this was a good idea or a catastrophic one.

  It would hurt—it already did. But a little pain now was better than a whole lot of agony in weeks to come.

  Chapter 20

  Kate thumbed the screen of her phone to flick to the next picture on Oz’s Instagram feed. He wore a slick black tuxedo perfectly cut to his body, and she recognized his parents on either side of him.

  Next photo. Oz stood with a man who looked like a slightly heavier-set version of him and a woman in a hijab. His brother and sister-in-law.

  Next photo. Oz holding a gold, disc-shaped statuette, his other arm around the shoulders of a Hollywood-starlet Swedish actress who held a matching one.

  Next photo. The Swedish Prime Minister, a famous musician, the actress again, and—

  “Katie, your sister is talking to you.” Her mom’s stern voice cut through her distraction. Sheepishly Kate put the phone facedown on the counter.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “There’s another twelve-pack in the trunk. Can you get it? I forgot to bring it in and my nails are wet.” Emily held up her alternating pink-and-purple manicure.

  “Sure.” Kate grabbed the keys for the Sentra from the bowl on a window ledge and headed out to the car, barely aware of her surroundings as her thoughts churned and spun.

  She hadn’t heard from Oz since the award ceremony last night. In fact, they hadn’t had much to say to each other at all since she left his house on Wednesday morning. The pictures on his social-media accounts told the tale, though.

  She opened the trunk of the car and stared unseeingly at the forgotten twelve-pack. Oz was insane to invite her. A wedding reception in a hotel was one thing, but a televised red-carpet event was quite another. He obviously hadn’t thought it through. For one, she would’ve had to find something to wear, and she was pretty sure a clearance item from Wedding Belles wouldn’t cut it.

  He probably wanted to buy something for her, she acknowledged reluctantly. He probably had a grand notion of sending her shopping with his mother and sister-in-law, swirling around the high-end boutiques of Stockholm and meeting him at a hotel with arms full of bags like in Pretty Woman.

  But this wasn’t Pretty Woman, and she wasn’t in the market for a makeover. Losing her job clarified one thing she knew she wanted, and it was independence. Time to step out of men’s shadows and discover the shape of her own.

  It was a nice fantasy, a really nice fantasy, but nothing more, she concluded, hefting the twe
lve-pack from the trunk and slamming the lid shut with her elbow. She was not red-carpet ready and never would be. She wouldn’t know what to say to a gossip columnist, let alone one asking questions in Swedish. And sitting for hours at a fancy dinner, the television cameras rolling the whole time—no way. She’d rather spend a week in Baghdad. Far less stressful.

  For better or worse, Emily’s birthday party was right at her level. She tore open the twelve-pack and distributed the cans amongst the ice-filled buckets, coolers and other improvised containers on the front porch. Sure, it would’ve been nice to go on a big trip and get all dressed up. It was nice that Oz thought she could handle it, too.

  Flattering.

  Crazy.

  The beer unloaded, she made her way back into the kitchen. Her mom was emptying a bottle of vodka into a jug of fruit punch, her sister was applying top coat to her nails, and Dallas held up Kate’s phone, a photo of Oz filling the screen.

  “Is this your boyfriend?” her niece asked.

  “What did I tell you about taking things that aren’t yours? And how did you unlock the screen?”

  “I guessed the code,” Dallas said sweetly. She extended the phone to surrender it but Emily intercepted, sweeping it out of Kate’s reach.

  “Damn, Katie, your man is hot. What’s his name again?”

  “Oz.” Kate snatched the phone out of her sister’s hand and shoved it into her jeans pocket.

  “Oz,” Emily repeated, picking up the nail-polish brush. “Weird.”

  “It’s foreign,” their mother insisted. “Probably normal where he’s from. Bet it’s the same as Wayne or Mike in Switzerland.”

  “Sweden,” Kate interjected.

  “Same difference.” Her mom rolled her eyes, dragging a wooden spoon through the punch. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve stuck it out with him. You could do a lot worse.”

  “Hell yeah you could. Good job, Katie,” Emily encouraged her sincerely.

  “How far do you think you can push it?” her mom asked, stowing the spoon and pulling out a cutting board.

  Kate dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “What do you mean, how far?”