Gray's Girl (7 page)

The vehicle pulled away, the slightly battered sedan a total contrast with the luxury limo from last night. She still couldn’t believe he’d done that, ordered them a limo. Not just that, but, even though she’d been all over him, he’d wanted to wait until they’d gotten back to her place, instead of taking her up on her invitation and going for it right there in the luxurious interior. And she’d been in enough with her bosses to know the difference between a real top-line limo service and a special occasion one that catered to hen nights and proms.

It was also a total contrast to her ex. If Robby ever ordered a luxury cab after one of their dates, he’d expected a handjob or something. For a limo, he’d have wanted the works and be damned if the driver or anyone else saw them. She shuddered, but that was him all over. He thought the world revolved around him.

I want more than a one-night stand.

Heat and pleasure rolled through her, a delicious counterpoint to the butterflies of excitement racing around her stomach at the thought of seeing Gray again. Did he mean it, that he wanted more than one night with her? Or had it all been an act, a good act, to get her to invite him in so they could… But they hadn’t; she was fairly sure of that. She wasn’t sore. There was no…other evidence. So it didn’t make sense.

She stopped for a moment and looked up at the impressive building. The Willesdon Wolves were an old team, founded in the 1900s, and the building reflected that. She never thought, though, that she’d be walking around to the players’ entrance and giving her name to see her brother play here, if only training at the moment. The man on the door scanned a list out of sight behind the grilled window and nodded.

“Go right through, Ms. Cross. I’ve got you down…twice actually. Guess they really wanted to make sure you got in.”

She stopped at that, turning back to look at him curiously. “They?”

“Yeah. I have you down as the personal guest of Damon Cross and Leighton Gray.” He grunted slightly. “First time Gray’s ever put anyone down.”

“What? Ever?”

Warmth spread out from the center of her chest at that little nugget of information. She knew the wives and girlfriends often came down to watch training. Well, more the girlfriends. The wives were more settled in their relationships, happier to see their men after they were mud and sweat-free.

“Nope. We were beginning to think he was a chutney ferret.”

She frowned, the northern dialect lost on her for a moment. Although she’d been brought up around here, having been in London for so long some of the sayings had slipped by her.

“Yeah, chutney. You know…” The older man blushed, waving his hand vaguely. “Inclined the other way, batting for the other team?”

“Ah.” The penny dropped and she laughed. “Oh no, he’s not. Believe me, he’s not.” With that, and savoring the look on the old boy’s face, she swept through the training entrance with a smile on her lips.

It didn’t take her long to make her way pitchside, even with the warren of corridors. The sheer noise from the pitch echoed through them, making her quest easier. She emerged from the darkness of the building into the sunlight. Now heading into late spring, the weather was beginning to heat up and she felt sorry for the men pounding across the turf as she found a seat in the shade and sat down to watch.

Gray and her brother were easy to pick out, although her attention was all on the first with just a quick glance spared for the tall figure of her brother. Instead, it was Gray who captured all her attention.

His bright mop of blond hair was like a beacon, easily visible even if he hadn’t stood head and shoulders above most of the other players as they ran through what she assumed were a series of set plays. Determined expression on his face, he had the ball tucked under his arm and led a charge against what looked like an army of coaches armed with crash pads.

Even running at half speed, he was impressive. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he thundered down the pitch, shoulder lowered as he bulldozed his way through every barrier the opposition tried to put in his way. Finally he broke through the last barrier, massive thighs pumping as members of the other team trailed him.

She held her breath as a challenger came in from the side, but he’d already seen the threat. His studs dug into the turf as he abruptly changed direction, the sheer power and flexibility required to do so boggling her mind. Behind him, the other players poured through the gap he’d created, the dark-haired streak that was her brother in the lead.

Masculine shouts reached her, calls for the balls, positioning orders, most of which made no sense to her but obviously did to Gray. Another challenger came in, then another and another and even Frankie could see he wasn’t going to be able to avoid them all, no matter what fancy footwork he pulled.

He didn’t even try. At the last moment he turned, throwing the ball to Damon in a slick move that said the pair had practiced it a million times, then dug his feet in. Half a second later he was tackled, a big hit that had everyone on the benches wincing.

Frankie shot to her feet, her heart in her throat and her hand over her mouth; panic swarmed through her like a cloud of locusts, eating up every available resource until all she could think of was him. Her gaze riveted to the tangle of bodies and limbs where he’d hit the ground, one booted foot visible under a pile of bodies.

Oh God, let him be okay. Please let him be okay.

Her breath punched out of her lungs as the mound moved, Gray emerging from the bottom with a laugh. Relief flooded her, so strong she could taste it—

A ball thudded into the turf in front of her feet.

The sound of booted feet swiftly followed it; another player, one she didn’t recognize, swept her from head to foot with an interested glance.

“’Ey up, sweetheart, come to see the best train?” His grin was so wide and charming that she couldn’t help but smile back. Catcalls and comments reached them as the other players registered their conversation.

“Something like that,” she responded easily, which drew another grin. He didn’t get time to reply before a barked order from one of the coaches had him snatching the ball from the ground and sprinting back to join the rest of the squad.

She didn’t bother watching him. Instead her gaze went straight back to Gray’s tall, wide-shouldered figure. Only to find him watching her with a steady blue-gray gaze. As soon as her eyes met his, he smiled, an expression full of lazy heat that made her heart turn over.

The coaches called the team to order and another set play began. This time though, if there was an opportunity to get the ball onto her side of the pitch, it was taken, and she was treated to display after display of prowess as each player tried to one-up his teammates.

A try was scored and she watched, waiting for the conversion kick. Instead of going between the posts, somehow the ball ended up sailing through the air to slam into the barrier just in front of her. She chuckled as the kicker, one of the smaller players on the team—which meant he could dwarf a normal-sized man—trotted over to her with an impish grin on his face.

“Nice kick,” she commented, hearing one of the coaching team going ballistic in the background. “Must take some skill to kick behind you like that.”

He didn’t get time to answer as a furious bellow echoed across the pitch. “Bryant, you get your arse back over here!”

He winked. “Yeah, I got mad skills, on and off the pitch. Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

Frankie chuckled as he ran off, only to hear him yell, “Fuck me, Gray. If I’d known Cross’s sister was that hot, I’da let me brother walk from the bloody airport. I’d—”

Gray and her brother intercepted him, Damon punching the ball from his grasp and her man grabbing the newly named Bryant in a headlock before he could finish what he’d been saying.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” The coach sounded apoplectic. “Gray, put him down. Cross, don’t you fucking dar—”

Gray reluctantly released the other man as ordered, but it seemed he couldn’t resist a little payback, shoving him hard toward the coach. Damon, though, took the opportunity to boot the ball back down the pitch. Right toward Frankie.

Gray took off after it, a glare at the three other players who started running as well stopping them in their tracks. Even from across the pitch she could read his body language, protective, aggressive… Hell, he looked ready to rip the others a new one if they so much as looked at her the wrong way.

He was amazing. She watched as he ran toward her. The awkwardness she remembered from his youth was gone. Back then he’d been clumsy, always knocking into things, as if the long arms and legs, the tall frame, belonged to someone else. Now, though, he’d grown into it. There was no ungainliness. Instead there was raw power, solid muscle, and the confidence to use it.

Awareness filled her, a tiny frisson shivering through her from her toes all the way up through her body and stopping at some very specific places en route. Erotic images rolled through her mind as she imagined that heavily muscled body moving over her, in her… All that power bent to one purpose—pleasure.

He reached her. Smiled. She almost melted into a puddle on the concrete underfoot. Christ, if he could do that to her with just a smile…

“Go away!” She flapped her hands at him, keeping an eye on the irate-looking coach down the pitch. “You’ll get into trouble.”

Sure enough, a bellow reached them. “What do you think this is, Gray? A fucking stroll in the park with your ladylove? Get back over here.”

“See?”

He grinned as he picked up the ball, then reached out for her. She didn’t get time to react as his big hand cupped her nape, and he leaned down to possess her lips in a quick, hard kiss.

“I’ll take the rap. I’d rather be getting down and dirty with you than this anyway. Meet me in the changing rooms after practice?”

She nodded as he released her, having to stop herself from bringing her hand up to cover her lips in wonder. How naive would that look? She couldn’t stop herself watching him as he ran off, though.

Oh Lord, the changing rooms… She couldn’t wait.

Chapter Five

Twelve.

Frankie couldn’t believe she was doing this. About to sneak into the lads’ changing room like some sort of naughty schoolgirl. The training session had long since finished and most of the players had already left, some opting to just grab their bags and head home to shower.

The rest had filed past Frankie after showering and changing, their curious stares and polite nods the only interaction she got from them. That they’d been warned was obvious, and it deepened the warm and fuzzy feeling she had in the center of her chest.

Gray had warned them off, staked his claim. He’d meant it. He did want more than a one-night stand.

Thirteen.

The door banged again and she jumped, sure that her guilt was written all over her face in red marker. The guy who came out simply nodded to her, averted his eyes, and headed on down the corridor, so studiously ignoring her that she wondered what Gray had threatened them with.

That thought didn’t last long. As soon as she had one thought of Gray, others crowded in and took over, replaying that kiss and the one in the limo last night over and over until she was hot and bothered, squirming on the plastic fold-down seat. This area was obviously not a public one, the walls plain white and the floor mop-clean.

At the moment, however, muddy streaks and stud made a trail from the direction of the pitch. Evidence that nearly twenty sweaty, muddy men had tracked through with little on their mind other than a hot shower and easing their bruises. She remembered the drill from when Damon and Gray had played in their local team as young teenagers and smiled. As much as things changed, they remained the same.

Fourteen.

Like the devil, thinking of her brother made him appear. His face split into a wide grin as he saw her sitting there, her hands under her backside to stop her fidgeting.

“Hey, Frankie, wanting a lift home?”

Here it was. Crunch time.

“Actually no, I’m waiting for Leighton.”

“Ohhhh, Leighton, is it? Giving him his Sunday name. Must be love.” He started to sing. “
Frankie and Leighton, sittin’ in a tree…”

“Grow up, numbskull,” she snapped, but her words held no anger. She was too used to her brother to get wound up by him easily. “He gonna be long?”

Damon cast a glance back at the door and shrugged. “He’s titivating with his hair, so God knows. He doesn’t normally spend this long on it. Probably trying to impress you, daft twat.”

“Oi! Who you calling a daft twat?” she threw back, glad to have some normal conversation to take the edge off her nerves. The last thing she needed was Damon to pitch in and take umbrage to her relationship with Gray. Did one date and a couple of kisses—mind-numbingly hot kisses, mind you—make a relationship?

“Not you. Get with the program! That bloody idiot in there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the changing rooms. “Right, I’m off. Ring me if he doesn’t emerge or you need a lift, okay?”

“Sure thing; give my love to Sophie.”

“Cheers, will do.”

C’mon, hurry it up, brother dear.
She watched him walk down the corridor at a slow amble, as though he had all the time in the world.

Nervous sweat crawled down her spine. Each step he took seemed to last longer than the one before and any moment she was sure he was going to turn around, nail her with that piercing gaze of his, and ask what the bloody hell she thought she was doing, sneaking into the men’s changing rooms at her age. Finally he reached the corner and disappeared around it. The instant he was gone from sight, Frankie was off the seat and through the door in front of her.

She stopped a few steps inside the door. The heat and humidity of recent showers enveloped her in a warm, wet blanket as she looked around. The room was empty.

Shit. Now what?

Biting her lower lip, she looked around. Had she missed him coming out? Was there another door somewhere she didn’t know about? Just as her blood pressure was about to go through the roof, Gray walked around the corner, running a hand through his hair.