Knowing the Score (20 page)

Going down on a woman had never particularly turned him on. Not that he minded doing it. Just that he tended to think of it as returning the favor. But with Caitlyn, every time they’d been together he’d felt the overwhelming need for this intimacy. It became a treat for them both, ratcheting up his need like almost nothing else.

She chanted his name—“Spence, Spence, Spence”—swallowing the end with her gasps. When she came, she let out a long, low moan, one hand leaving his hair to drag through her own. He wouldn’t accidentally join her this time, but he was too fucking close to hold back now.

He wrenched open the nightstand drawer and fumbled inside. Desperate, so desperate he ended up yanking the drawer out and tipping it over when his hand failed to find condoms. Disbelief punched the breath out of him as he stared down at the mess of receipts, gum wrappers and other crap emptied from his pockets at night. He swore, almost as long and hard as Caitlyn’s cry of pleasure.

His was pure agony.

“What’s wrong?” His sleepy, sated girl stroked his triceps as he leaned over the side of the bed.

“No condoms.” How the
fuck
did he manage not to notice the one he’d used the other night with Caitlyn was the last of his supply?

“None?” Oddly, she didn’t seem too concerned. Maybe because she’d already got hers tonight.

Unable to trust his voice, he jerked his head.

“I’m on the pill.”

Shock ripped through him. He’d known that, remembered her saying it on the phone in the car after their aborted weekend of camping sinfulness. But he hadn’t imagined she’d want to have sex without a condom, given that pregnancy wasn’t the only thing they protected against.

She hesitated, nearly killing him. “I’ve obviously never had sex without a condom before. Have you?”

With a shaking hand, he pushed her damp hair away from her cheeks. “Yes. But not since I was a teenager. Sweetheart, I’m tested regularly—for just about everything you can imagine and a lot of things you can’t—and I’m clean. I wasn’t always a good boy when it comes to safety, but it’s been about a decade since I had sex without a condom.” He swallowed hard. “It’s your decision.”

“Okay.”

He stretched out on top of her, letting his needy body slot perfectly into the cradle of hers. He held himself back from joining with her, enjoying the slick heat that half held him as her leg curled around his. “Are you sure?”

Jesus, what was he doing? Trying to talk her out of it? But for some reason, the thought of her calmly accepting the word of a nameless, faceless future lover hit him wrong. “You need to be sure.”

Sure you trust me.
Sure you know I’d never lie to you
,
or do anything to knowingly hurt you.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, the soft pads of her fingertips soothing the roots she’d nearly destroyed earlier. “I’m sure.”

And then she kissed him, and he lost every shred of rationality he’d clung to. Her kiss was open and seeking, her tongue stroking his in a way that fuelled the flames licking his body. He wrapped his arms around her, flexing when he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t consume her or melt into her. Her hips worked at him, rubbing her soft bits against him in a pumping rhythm that had them gasping into each other’s mouths. Unable to take any more of the torture, Spencer reared back and pushed into her. She was so hot and tight he nearly came then and there, but after how quickly he’d lost himself the first two times they’d been intimate he knew he had to hang on.

Her wet heat urged him deeper. Damn but he’d forgotten what this felt like, the full, ecstatic embrace of a woman’s body. And it had never been like this before—not with anyone. Somehow all of the mixed-up emotions this woman set alight in him combusted, leaving him hugging her hard as he watched his body thrust into hers. Her back arched again, her breasts moving in the way that drove him mental, and her orgasmic shout was tinged with laughter—not the kind that shrivels a man, but the kind that lets him know he’s brought her complete joy. A thousand tiny muscles milked him and he finally let go, coming inside her with a cry of his own.

Triumph.

* * *

Sleeping in Spencer’s warm embrace turned out to be more healing than years of therapy. Caitlyn dozed off and on, waking up occasionally as they shifted together. His body pillowed hers, their legs entwined, and his wandering hands stroked over her hair, her arms, her hips.

At one point, when they were both half asleep, he murmured, “I knew you’d feel good.”

“Hmm?” Too sleepy and sated for even the most basic of words.

He yawned, his breath teasing her hair. “When I first saw you. At the hospital. I remember thinking you’d feel amazing to cuddle with.”

She grunted in amusement. “Cuddle, huh?”

She heard his smile in his words as he squeezed her closer. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t thinking about cuddling. But I was right. Holding you is brilliant.”

Holding you is brilliant.
His sweet words, the way he’d frantically made love to her earlier—as if he couldn’t get close enough—acted as salve to the wounds Seth had inflicted, healing the sores festering in her memory. She felt them close up and vanish until they were nothing more than something horrible she’d experienced in the distant past. Seth’s mocking voice faded away, replaced by the satisfaction she heard in Spencer’s.

They both woke up ravenous long after the sun set over the Thames. Spencer cooked them a simple chicken and rice dinner, then they snuggled under a blanket on his couch to watch a movie. He opened the bag he’d brought from her place and pulled out a few DVDs. “I thought you might want to watch something while I was gone this afternoon, if you were up for it. I don’t have much in the way of chick flicks here.”

She cocked a brow at him. “What makes you think I like chick flicks?”

Sweeping his arm over the collection of DVDs in front of her, he said, “Uh, this?”

Pride
&
Prejudice
,
Four Weddings and a Funeral
,
Sliding Doors
—all films she loved but none of which she’d bought. “Those are Emma’s, not mine. I move too often to buy DVDs.”

His mouth twitched, his lips pressing to the side like something displeased him.

“We can watch one if you want,” she said.

He looked surprised. “Personally, I’m more a
Rugby’s Greatest Moments
fan.” His shoulders slumped, elbows braced on his knees, and he stared at the cases on the table as if they depressed him. “I keep forgetting you’re leaving in December.”

She did too, though she couldn’t ignore reality for long. Her visa expired soon, and her manager had already made it clear they wouldn’t be able to extend it, no matter how much they wanted to. Her next challenge would be finding a job. Maybe IDEA would send her back to Afghanistan, let her work on the inevitable long-term recovery program there.

The thought whisked away all the pleasure from the past few hours with Spencer, and she sat next to him silently. After a few moments, she nudged his shoulder with hers. “Hey. We still have two months. Unless—”

He perked up, turning toward her. “Unless what?”

“Unless you want to go back to our original plan and end everything now. I know you have a lot at stake this season. I don’t want to be a distraction.”

His body wilted on a frustrated sigh. “No, Caitlyn. I don’t want to end this now. We’re just getting to the good stuff.”

Some of the tension seeped from her, and she curled against his side.

“Besides,” he said, “you’re less of a distraction when we’re together than when we’re apart. The weeks I’ve been away from you, I haven’t been able to concentrate for shit.”

“So having sex with me is sorta good for your career?”

She thought the comment would make him laugh, but he faced her with one of the most serious expressions she’d ever seen on his face. “This isn’t just sex, Caitlyn. I’ve had plenty of ‘just sex’ before, and this isn’t it. That’s why I say we’re getting to the good stuff.”

She couldn’t control the idiotic smile that swept across her face. Nor could she keep herself from planting a happy kiss against his lips. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close, teasing her mouth until she clasped his cheeks and held him still for a full-frontal assault. He chuckled and let her take control of the kiss, a move that turned her on so bad that she ended up climbing atop him and straddling his lap.

When she pulled back, she panted, “Who knew kissing could be so fun?”

He grinned. “Not me. Never happened before.”

A twinge of something elusive swept through her. Giddiness? Regret that it had to end? Confused, Caitlyn shook her head as if it would make the strange emotions disappear. Spencer slid his hands into the knotted hair at her temples—hair she should’ve combed when it was still wet, if she hadn’t been so engrossed in Spencer at the time. And if he’d known to pack her hair pick. Now that it was dry, she’d probably have to shave it all off and start growing it over again to get rid of the knots.

Spencer’s fingertips stroked the sensitive skin and he pressed a sweet kiss against the tip of her nose. “Two months, Yank. Let’s make the most of them.”

He tipped her onto her back on the couch and stretched out on top of her. “Does that mean no movies?” she murmured against his throat.

“Mmm...
definitely
no time for chick flicks. Maybe later we can watch my
Legends of Rugby
DVD.” He kissed her until she nearly lost the conversational thread. “I’m in it.”

“In what?” Brain. Mush.

“The DVD. They caught some of my best moves.” He winked down at her. “But not all of them. I’ve been saving some for you.”

She laughed and slapped his butt. “Cocky.”

“You can feel that, huh?” His mouth worked its way down her neck to her chest. “Not sure two months is long enough to show you just how
cocky
I can be, but I’m up for the challenge.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Don’t grip it so tight.”

Spencer put his hands on Caitlyn’s and shifted their position on his ball, quickly discerning the problem. “It’ll be more difficult for you because your hands are tiny, but you want to spin it and propel it backwards.” With quick jerks he showed her the motion, all the while keeping his arms around her.

It was a chilly autumnal evening, with crisp air cooling the puffs of their breath. Hermitage Memorial Gardens—the Thames park over the shelter where Spencer’s granny had spent her nights during the Blitz—was nearly deserted. Spencer had suggested he teach Caitlyn a few rugby rules and maneuvers before she watched him play for the first time this Saturday, but it was really an opportunity to get his hands on her after days apart.

He took several steps back, standing behind her and to the right, holding his arms out to catch. “Try it.”

She held the rugby ball in front of her waist, and raised and lowered it slightly as if testing its weight and shape. Then, with an awkward twitch, she spun it and let go.

It bounced on the grass in front of her thick boots.

“You need to throw it backwards, Yank. Not drop it.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would you want to throw it backward?”

“Because your team’s penalized if you throw it forwards.”

“But that’s just stupid.” She bent to pick up the ball and presented him with her back again. “How am I supposed to hold it here—” here being in front of her waist, “—spin it one way and throw it backward all at the same time? And you want me to eventually do all that while
running?
Running
forward?
It’s not possible.”

He chuckled. “I assure you it is. It might not be easy, but that’s why it’s a far superior sport to your American football.”

“At least football makes sense. The end zone’s in front of you, so you run forward and throw forward. But
this
—” she tried, and failed, once more to spin the rugby ball with both hands while hefting it back toward him, “—this is just physically wrong. At what point in our evolution would this have become a useful skill for us to develop?”

“I’ve always said rugby was a sport for highly evolved men. I’m glad you agree with me.” He reached down to pick up the ball with one large hand and stepped a few paces behind her. Time to show off. “I’m going to run past you and throw the ball, so get ready to catch it, all right?”

“All right,” she sighed, and crouched a bit with her hands in front of her.

He jogged past and, with the slightest flick of his wrists, tossed the ball back from the side of his body straight into her waiting arms.

Instead of being impressed, she looked confused. “So you twist your body toward me when you pass it?”

“Of course. Looking at the person I’m throwing to helps my aim.” Pointing at an invisible man in the distance, he explained, “Plus, there’s a big bastard hauling arse towards me. If my body’s facing him when he hits, he could nail me in the bollocks. If I twist toward the person I’m throwing to, my leg might snap in the tackle but at least my nuts’ll be safe.”

She shook her head in what looked like mock exasperation. “Such a boy. Okay, show me again.”

He went one better; he wrapped his arms around her from behind, clasped her hands on the ball and jogged with her in front of him. “Ready?”

Her laughter answered him and his heart soared with the ball as he spun it out of her hands.

After twenty minutes of giggles, teasing touches and failed attempts to throw the ball more than an inch, she finally managed to launch a perfect spin pass straight into his hands.

While running.

Slowly.

She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around to face him. “I did it?” He grinned like an idiot. “I did it!” She bolted forward and threw herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses. “I did it! I’m like an athlete!”

His laughter burst from his chest as he held her soft body against him. “Very much like an athlete, love. Well done. I knew you were highly evolved—for an American.” He bent to capture her wandering lips with his. Holding the ball in one hand, he pressed it to the tops of her hamstrings, just below her bumcakes, and pulled her tighter against him.

One month. One month of the hottest sex of his life—almost constant sex, whenever they could get it—because with both of their schedules they never seemed to spend enough time together. One month of him gripping the sheets as she explored and learned about his body. Four weeks of teaching her about hers. But more than that, four weeks of laughing together, talking for hours on the phone when he was traveling, and spending time quietly enjoying each other’s company.

And only another month left until his government kicked her out of the country.

The thought scared him shitless.

“Caitlyn?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Hmm?”

Don’t tell her
,
mate.
She gazed up at him with such trust. Trying to put his feelings into words would destroy that. She’d admitted that she’d been abused by two men she’d loved—her father, who’d broken her nose, and that boil on society’s arse, Seth. The first thing he’d figured out was that she had to set the pace or she’d panic. And even then, look at how she’d reacted after they’d had sex the first time.

What could he say, anyway?
I
understand why you’re scared of relationships
,
but I want you to stay here with me.
Oh
,
and by the way
,
there was this little incident in my past where I slept with a stranger and ended up charged with statutory rape.
But don’t let that put you off.

No, give her more time and she’d surely trust him enough to understand when he delivered that piece of news. He’d promised her they could simply enjoy the time they had left, and he needed to stick by that. Plus, during the past month he’d played some of the best rugby of his life. With the England team being announced soon for the autumn internationals, he couldn’t afford to rock the fragile balance he’d found.

So he took the safe road. “How about some tackling practice?”

She raised a brow. “You think I’m ready for such advanced skills?”

“Absolutely. We’ll take it slow, work our way up to the harder stuff. Ready?”

* * *

Caitlyn spent Saturday morning spinning a rugby ball between her hands. She’d been practicing the past few days, wanting to impress Spencer with her improved skills. After a couple of away games and a weekend off, Spencer had a home game today and he’d given her a ticket. On previous weekends, she’d figured out his game-day schedule. He never called or texted until a match was over. He’d explained that he spent the day of a match focusing all his attention on what he needed to do. She thought he might call her this morning, but her phone stayed silent. On the bus en route to the stadium, she flipped through her phone’s screens as if she might find a message she’d overlooked. As she flicked between apps, she discovered a huge oversight, but it wasn’t a message from Spencer.

Her blood chilled as she read the
Appointment overdue
note flashing in her calendar. Her not-so-subtle method of tracking her period—sending herself an appointment with the subject
P
on the due date—blinked up at her. Painful shivers racked her body. Finger moving like lead, she moved the screen back and a vague memory poked at her. Her last period had been in Afghanistan. When this appointment had first popped up two weeks ago, she’d dismissed it. Her head had been too full of Spencer, sex, work, sex and Spencer.

Mother of God.
She groaned and dropped her forehead against the seat in front of her. No one even glanced in her direction, but for once she was grateful for Londoners’ rigid sense of personal space. If anyone asked if she was all right, she’d shatter.

Her period regularly surprised her, sometimes dropping in a few days early or a few days late. She sent herself reminders so she could stock up on products and make sure she had spare tampons in all her bags, but she’d never been this late before. She’d also never had to draw conclusions between a late period and the end of life as she knew it.

Counting back the weeks in her calendar, she reached the weekend she’d spent throwing up everything in her stomach. That pukey feeling returned as she realized her pills would’ve been included—if she’d even remembered to take her pills at the right time, considering she’d been delusional and not planning on having sex again, ever.

She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. What the hell was she going to do?

Twenty minutes later, she stood shivering outside London Legends Stadium in Stratford, East London, waiting for Amanthi. Spencer’s team was playing Bath today, and Amanthi had come to watch John play and keep Caitlyn company. Spencer had set them up on a girl date. Wishing desperately that she had Amanthi’s number so she could cancel, Caitlyn shoved her trembling hands into her coat pockets and stared blindly at the buoyant crowd around her.

She tried to convince herself to put on a game face. All she could think about, though, was that she needed a drugstore and ten minutes alone.

“Hiya!”

Amanthi’s perky voice trilled behind her and Caitlyn turned around. “Hey.” She exchanged cheek kisses before they walked into the stadium. Amanthi chattered about the journey, the traffic and the weather in a way that thankfully left little room for Caitlyn to interject but gave her lots of space to collect her turbulent emotions into a ball and shove them into the pit of her stomach.

Just above where her and Spencer’s child might be forming at this very minute.

Shit.

As they found their seats, Amanthi asked, “How much has Spencer explained about the game?”

“All the most important things. The ball has to go backward and forward at the same time,” Caitlyn started, ticking off items on her fingers. “They don’t like it when you refer to their short shorts as hot pants. They don’t wear pads, helmets or cups because they’re not pussies. Oh, and one of the littler guys is a hooker. Poor man.”

Amanthi laughed. “Yup, that about sums it up. Get ready for eighty minutes of extreme homoeroticism. The first time I came to a match, I—oh my God, I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

Amanthi raised her brows and tilted her head toward the stairway. “Look who’s walking this way.”

Caitlyn followed her eyes and saw Megan, dressed to the nines in butt-tight jeans and a fluffy pink sweater. “Is that
angora?
” Caitlyn whispered, stunned. “My God, a vegan who wears calfskin and rabbit fur. What’s she doing here? I thought she dumped Liam.”

“She did. She’s with one of John’s teammates now.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “I’ll never understand this. How can you go from one man to the next, like they’re all the same just because they play the same sport?” Too late, she remembered exactly who Amanthi’s ex was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right.” Amanthi looked at her with nothing but relief in her eyes. “I’ve been wondering if you might feel awkward around me because Spencer and I used to be together. I’m glad to know you’ve put it out of your mind.”

“It’s not just that I’ve put it out of my mind. I can’t picture you together at all.”

Amanthi smiled. “I have a hard time picturing it anymore, myself. We were teenagers and he dumped me to play the field during the World Cup, if you know what I mean. I was heartbroken, but what I had with Spencer paled in comparison to John. It was in a whole other league, can’t even compete.” She rolled her eyes. “Listen to me using sporting metaphors. I need more girlfriends. Oh, hi, Megan.”

“Hello there.” Megan sat in an empty seat in front of Caitlyn and Amanthi and turned calculating eyes toward Caitlyn. “You look familiar. Ah, yes, Spencer’s party. Karen, right?”

“Mmm. Nice to see you again, Morgan.” Caitlyn knew she should be ashamed of stooping, but it felt great.

Megan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t know you were a rugby fan.”

“I’m a Spencer fan, actually.” What was the point in denying it? Soon her body might start showing proof of how big a fan she was.

“Really?” Megan laughed. “Does he know that? You must be over thirty, at least double the age of his usual
fans.
”

Before Caitlyn could respond to Megan’s—hopefully deliberate—overestimation of her age, Amanthi jumped in. “Megan, stop being a bitch.”

Megan shrugged her furry Thumper shoulders. “What? I’m only saying he usually likes them younger. It’s a well-documented fact. Everyone knows.”

Caitlyn caught the flash of embarrassment on Amanthi’s face before she shifted her gaze away. Focusing her eyes on the men running onto the field, Caitlyn replayed the whole scene in her head. So Spencer liked younger women. That was hardly surprising. Thirty was double the age of his usual fans? Maybe Megan had emphasized the word
fans
to be rude, to make Caitlyn jealous. She must have been exaggerating anyway; there was no way Spencer would have dated fifteen-year-olds. He was thirty, for God’s sake. He might be lusty, but he wasn’t a pervert.

She pushed Megan’s nonsense from her mind and scanned the field for Spencer. He drew her gaze immediately, like a pigeon to a homing device. There might as well have been a spotlight shining on him.

A spotlight wouldn’t have helped her keep track of him once the game started, though. He seemed to be everywhere at once, moving with a speed and agility that surprised her given his size. The first time an opponent tackled him, Caitlyn surged to her feet ready to storm the field.

“It’s all right.” Amanthi laughed as she tugged the sleeve of Caitlyn’s jacket. Before Caitlyn had sat down again, Spencer was up and running, catching the ball from a guy in front of him—maybe Liam—and shifting it quickly back to someone else. It seemed like mere seconds before he was clotheslined by one of the Bath players.

“Ooh, high tackle, and late too,” Amanthi moaned. Caitlyn barely heard her. All her attention was on the big screen showing a replay of a giant’s arm swinging out and catching Spencer across the jaw, dropping him like a sack of rice. Caitlyn’s fingers flew to her mouth, staying there until Spencer pushed himself off the ground. The action continued all around him, and hundreds of supporters surrounding Caitlyn screamed their doubts about the ref’s eyesight.