In Touch (Play On #1) (10 page)

Right. It was time to spice things up a bit. Gillian wanted desperately to get back to the intensity at the car. The craving. Her body demanded it. Beyond that, she didn’t want to think. How often did a girl have an Irish hunk in her living room? Jock or not.

She dropped down and crept up on her hands and knees. She kissed him along his chest to his waistband then tugged his swim trunks down his legs. He stirred, and she was glad to see she’d affected him, that he still desired her.

As she crawled back to Padraig, she locked gazes with him until he dropped his to her breasts. She hovered above him, her hair falling to both sides of his face so a tunnel formed, each at an end. For a moment, he didn’t move. So she didn’t either.

When he finally returned his gaze to hers, she wet her lips, inviting him to make a move, do something. How much more did a girl have to do?

It must have been enough. He grabbed both of her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. At her gasp, he tugged down the bikini to expose them. Lifting his head, he took one nipple into his mouth and sucked. When he circled his tongue and nipped, she bit her lip to hold in a groan. He moved to her other breast, doing the same, biting gently on the nipple, then blowing air.

Her throat tightened from the emotion. So long. It had been so long since she’d allowed someone into her physical space. She swallowed the tears that brewed behind her eyes.

She kissed him, soft at first, then stronger, her tongue digging in and out. She sat up, straddled his erection, and removed her top. His hardness was overwhelming. She’d needed this. To feel so strongly again. For anything.

He moved his hands to her butt where he began to rock her gently over his length. Candlelight flickered over his face. He was beautiful. Such dark eyelashes around bright blue eyes. With each pressure against his erection, Gillian felt herself slipping further into that surreal world of pleasure—comfortably numb, the sharp edges of life blurred to soft borders like smudged charcoal.

Her mouth dry, she went to suck his ear to create moisture, her dangly earring feathering over his face. She sucked his lobe and wet her tongue in his ear. If they didn’t break soon, she would come from humping his cock through her suit bottoms. And that wasn’t enough. She wanted it all. For the last five years, her sole purpose had been to ease the pain of others. Now, she would take from him.

Padraig grunted. She could tell he was close, too. In a flurry of movement, he pulled her down and grabbed her bikini strings. He yanked them off in the midst of a tangle of legs.

Completely bared, she sat upon his thighs and took his dick into her hand.

The pillow had shifted away, and his head thumped back onto the floor as he groaned.

Loathe to break the connection, she had to ask. She hadn’t been down the condom aisle for so long. “Do you…have anything?”

“My wallet,” he grunted.

She squeezed his length once more, then lunged for his jeans where she found a brown wallet. In a hurry, she flailed with the tiny pockets, then commanded herself to slow down. When she found it, she ripped the foil open with her teeth and rolled the rubber over his dick slowly.

When she lowered herself onto him, the room fell away, phosphenes dancing behind her closed eyes. So good to be whole again. When the lights fizzled, she opened her eyes to see Padraig staring at her. His hands grasped her hips, then led her up and down. She rolled her own nipples, wanting that, too. He joined her with one hand, squeezing one breast, then the other as they moved together, first slowly, then building faster until he pounded out his release. And when she licked two fingers and rubbed her clit, she came full and fast, the image of his ecstasy pushing her over the edge.

Gillian had dropped him off at the end of the block, and he had walked the rest of the way to the house. Both wanted to avoid the other boys and their questions. And although neither had said much on the ride over, didn’t even broach the subject of what was next, Gillian had kissed him goodbye, a long and lingering taste of her lips.

Two mornings later, and he still woke up to that kiss. Sometimes, when he was in the heat of a moment, right in the midst of amazing, he didn’t understand the impact until the whirlwind had passed. That’s where he was now.

She was an enigma. Underneath her façade, there was an ocean of perplexity. But also beauty, grace, intelligence.

He scratched his scalp furiously. Fuck, he shouldn’t be getting involved. If he’d wanted a shag, he should have just gone out with Del to the bar and found a one-nighter. But it was like he couldn’t resist. Now, what the feck was he going to do?

Most incredibly, he had forgotten to take his pill last night.

He opened the bottle and shook the pills out into his hand, then counted. Twenty-four. And since he hadn’t taken one last night, then all of them were there. If he could cut it down to only two pills a day, he’d be able to last two more weeks. Almost. By next Friday morning, he’d have to organize a doctor’s visit. Maybe he could borrow Del’s junker to get there.

There was no pain in his back this morning, but he popped one anyway. In the morning before training and one at the end of the day, he promised himself. That was it. That was all he would take.

Only Rory had been up when Padraig had returned, watching late-night television, some comic talk show host, Tosh-O, a sarcastic and edgy fecker. Rory hadn’t said a word even though he must have heard him come in. But the Scot was good like that, kept to himself, didn’t get involved.

Unfortunately Del wasn’t going to be so easy. When Padraig made his way into the kitchen, he immediately asked, “Where were you Sunday night?”

“Here.”

“You didn’t show up at the pub, and you weren’t here when I went to bed.”

“What? Are you my captain and mother now?”

Del’s chair scraped back, and he rose to his full height and girth. At first Padraig thought Del was going to have a go at him, but instead he picked up his bowl and placed it into the sink, turning on the tap to rinse. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just making sure you’re all right, bro.”

“I’m grand.” Padraig moved to the cupboard to grab out a bowl for breakfast.

“So where did you go after your therapy with Gill? I thought you were going to meet up with a few of us at the yacht club.” What the boys affectionately called the Sail Inn.

Padraig wanted to tell him to shove it up his arse and it wasn’t any of his business, especially where Gillian was concerned, but he liked Del for the most part, as much as he knew of him. “I went for something to eat, then walked home.”

Which wasn’t an out and out lie. He did get something to eat in the way of Gillian, and he did walk home, from the corner at least. He couldn’t pull off a full fib if he tried, as he wasn’t practiced in the art. Had rarely been dishonest in his life. That’s partly what had gotten him into this mess. When he was younger, his mum wouldn’t smack him with the spoon when she caught him out, but the look of disappointment she’d give him was far worse that the sting of the wood on the back of his leg.

“Yeah, I s’pose after what happened Thursday in the locker room, you weren’t too keen on having a drink with the rest of us.”

Padraig sat at the table and grabbed the box of Weetabix. “I’m not too bothered.”

“You should be.”

“Why’s that?”

“What I said before. We are visitors to this country and paid employees of the club. At least show some respect, mate.” He paused until Padraig met his eye. “Or I’ll personally ask that your arse, as you put it, is booted back to Ireland.”

That wouldn’t do. Not until he had secured another place to play. And Gillian complicated things. He didn’t want to get her involved with his mess. He conceded. “All right, I’ll make amends.”

“Awesome.” Del stepped away from the sink and clapped Padraig on the back. “There’s the proud Irish I’ve heard about. Now, check this out.” He turned his laptop on the table so Padraig could see the page. There were pictures of three men with their biographies to their right.

“Yeah, so?”

“Those are three of the scouts who travel for the Eagles looking for players for the Cup.”

“How the hell did you find that?”

Del winked. This morning he was chewing a piece of gum, so his face seemed to spasm with delight in himself. “I’m a master when it comes to finding information.”

“Have you shown anyone else?”

“Nope, maybe Coach knows, but he hasn’t said. Probably doesn’t want the lads to know what they look like. Might make them nervous if they saw one of them watching a game. You know what I mean?”

Padraig nodded, then shoveled in the rest of his cereal.

“Not interested?”

Padraig shrugged. “Not really.”

Del rolled his eyes to the ceiling, thumping his hand hard on the table. “You can’t even see what you got right in front of you. An American passport, man, and a chance to make the Eagles.”

“You’re a New Zealander. Would you play against your country?”

“Irrelevant, I don’t have a US passport, so it’s not even a question.”

“But if you did, would you?”

“I don’t know.” Del pushed away from the table and chucked his gum in the rubbish bin. “Maybe.”

“I doubt it.”

“Fuck, mate, I’m starting to like it here. Maybe I’ll find a nice American woman to settle down with and stay.”

Padraig jerked out of his chair and threw his bowl and spoon into the sink. “I’m out of here.”

When he entered the club that afternoon, Gillian had Dick’s leg up in her lap as she taped his ankle. Feck. Anyone but him. Padraig glared at them both until Dick noticed him there and flipped him off.

He turned away toward his locker, trying to ignore the envy that burned in his chest. He never wanted to be, but jealousy ran strong in his blood. Before, he had controlled his urges by joking around. But the drama over the last year had stiffened everything that Padraig was about. Loose had become rigid and light-hearted had become stone.

It wasn’t like she was his type. It wasn’t like they were dating. It wasn’t like he planned to stay.

A minute later he smelled her soft lavender scent and knew she leaned against the lockers on the other side of the door. He closed it gently, then stretched an arm over the top of her. “Do you have to do that? Dick’s such a dick. And Del wants me to patch things up with the wanker.”

She laughed, a chuckle and a smile that made her eyes go squinty. “It’s my job, Irish.”

He nodded. Fair enough. “So…” He couldn’t help himself and tugged on a braid she wore over her right shoulder. “You want to do something again tonight?”

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, but I have other stuff to do tonight.”

“What other
stuff
that’s so important?”

Pinching her eyebrows together, she made a small movement away from him. Not noticeable to the human eye, but discernible to a sensitive heart.

“Well first, I have plenty of other important
stuffs
in my life, O’Neale.” Ouch, on last name basis again.

She softened and laid a hand on his forearm, but then removed it quickly, darting a look around for any notice of her gesture. “Second, I have physio appointments tonight.”

“At night?”

“Any time I can fit them around the Blues schedule.”

“Wow, one of those overachiever types, eh?”

“No, just realistic. I have bills to pay, including my student loan for my degree and rent for my office and apartment.”

Padraig reckoned she should add a new car to that list. “So why bother volunteering for the Blues?”

She rolled her eyes, then puffed out a sigh. “For so many reasons. But mostly”—she held up her finger, then pressed it down on her opposite hand so that it created a cross—“they let me practice and get experience with alternative physical therapies, and”—she pressed down a second finger—“I can help.”

“I admire your philanthropy, but is it worth it?”

She cocked her head in consideration, but dipped her head when she spoke. “So far, I think it is.”

He didn’t want her to leave. “So, any suggestions on how to clear the air with Dick?”

She gave him a look like he was daft. “Umm…maybe apologize?”

“Not for him pinching your ass!”

Gillian grabbed his pinkie finger and tugged, a subtle gesture that no one would see. “No, definitely not that, but maybe going a bit overboard when he found your pills.”

“Found them, my arse. He took them.”

“Okay, well then for practically strangling him to death.”

“He started it.”

Gillian choked on a laugh. “Perhaps, but you sound like a kid now.”

Padraig rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll buy him a drink at some point.”

“It’s good for team bonding, no?” She nodded in a sarcastic way, her eyebrows raised.

Padraig laughed. He tapped the locker lightly with his knuckles. “But ya see, I’m not sure I want to be
in
.” He raised his fingers in double quotes at the last word.

“Why not?” she asked.

He shrugged, then picked up his tape roll, tossing it into the top of his locker. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not sure this club is the right fit for me.” There. He’d said it. But it didn’t feel as good as he’d thought it would to be more open about his intentions. The dynamic had changed, and that was because of the woman standing in front of him.

“I know you have your hesitations, but it could be great for you. I also know it’s not on the level you were playing previously. I could tell that straight away from your resume. But it’s all what you make it. Maybe there’s a reason you are here.”

There was a call from Coach that echoed in the room. “All right lads, on the pitch.”

A scramble of footsteps sounded as the boys made it out the door. Gillian, her ass on display today in black leggings, disappeared around the bend. “Have fun.”

What was she thinking? “So tomorrow night, then?”

She popped her head back around the corner and motioned
shhh
to her lips, but smiled so Padraig grinned back.

He dreaded going onto the pitch. All he wanted was to get her alone again, stay tucked away in her apartment. For days. Weeks. Months even. But then reality hit as Rory paused at the end of the locker row. “You comin’, Irish?”

As he took his first step outside the door, the music started. Today it was similar but more melodic than last week. Didn’t sound so much waves and sea mammals as it did harp and Enya. Or a good Enya impersonator. Feck, if the lads wouldn’t have totally taken the piss back home about this. It reminded him that he needed to call. Everyone. His mum, his agent, his old coach to let him know how he was getting on. Not that his old coach cared, although he said he did. He had promised Padraig a spot on the Munster team again if he could kick the pain meds completely and get into top physical shape.

It was furnace-hot and humid;
close
they would call it in Ireland. Padraig walked onto the pitch, but it was like stepping into a sauna. He raised his eyes to the gray mass of clouds overhead and then to the west, like at home, to see what weather was on its way. Hopefully rain would come and break the humidity. The sticky heat fouled his mood further. And today’s training was about new plays. Brilliant.

Some of the boys were practicing their kicks at the far end of the pitch, but most had gathered around Del in the center. There was some commotion going on as Del’s head popped up and down in the midst of the circle. What the hell was he doing? The haka? Some were warming up, but they were all engrossed, and when Padraig stepped up to peer over the tops of their heads, sure enough, Del was just finishing the last of the war dance, his tongue stuck out long down his chin, a thumb slicing across his throat. The manic look on his face would have intimidated anyone.

The boys clapped, some cheered, and then they dispersed, only a few hanging around to chat with him. Padraig approached, a crooked smile on his face. “Looked good, Del. As good as I’ve seen.”

Del grabbed Padraig’s arm and turned him away from the others, walking him to the center line. “Thanks, mate. It’s the first time I’ve shown them. Some of ’em have seen it on telly, but none of them have witnessed the pure strength and energy live and in person.”

“You plan on rallying this bunch of wallies with the haka?”

“Might do, mate.” He blew a big breath out puffed cheeks. “We need something.”

The whistle blew, and Coach divided the lads into two teams. Coach assigned Del captain for one side, Padraig for the other. With Dick on Padraig’s team. Things had just gotten interesting.

The lads were keen. Padraig had to give them that. It was difficult for him to remember those days, it was so long ago. But he had believed in everything then—he would go all the way with rugby. And to every player, that meant the World Cup. He had been certain he would be with the Irish squad next year.