Night Games (4 page)

 

 

 

 

Ally would still be sleeping. If he were with her now, he could slide his hand under whatever useless piece of cloth she wore and cover her breasts, feel her warmth seep through him, her softness excite him. He'd tease each nipple until it was hard and aching, until she arched her back, even in sleep begging for his lips. He'd move his hand over her stomach, between her legs, stroking her until she opened her legs wide—wet and ready for him. And as she slowly awoke, he'd whisper all the things he'd do to her.

He inhaled deeply. Talk about not being able to leave the job behind. Problem. On the job he didn't get hard until game time, but he was hard now after just a few mental pictures. The reason? She didn't want him, and he was a competitive kind of guy. He didn't really want
her
. He'd react
this way to any woman who challenged him.

He didn't need this distraction though. Ally O'Neill was a dangerous woman to his relaxed sex-free vacation. She had to go, and he knew exactly how to hurry her on her way.

Brian continued to sit on the rock wall in the dawn's light, enjoying the fresh sea breeze, the sound of the waves, muted now, and the quiet peacefulness of the old keep outlined against the morning sky. He felt a sense of coming home.

He watched as Ally's horse nudged open the narrow wooden gate and wandered out of the field. He saw it amble over the nearest hill. He did nothing. Time enough later to help Ally find her horse.

Brian glanced back at the wagon. An honest-to-goodness gypsy wagon. He'd seen one in a virtual reenactment of primitive-culture lifestyles. Why would anyone travel in that when motorized transportation was available?

Ally's outraged shout from inside the wagon distracted him from further thoughts of transportation.

“A cat! There's a cat sleeping in my bed. How did it get in? This wouldn't happen at a Holiday Inn.”

A short time later, Ally's great-aunt stuck her head from the wagon, glanced at the empty field, then ducked inside again.

He waited.

Ally didn't disappoint. Within minutes, she climbed from the wagon, halter in hand. Her
long blond hair was tousled, and her expression didn't bode well for the world. Brian smiled.

“I can't believe the motor to this gypsy's revenge just walked away. A car engine wouldn't do this. That's why we should've rented a—” She saw him. Her gaze narrowed. “Did you let the horse out?”

“Nope.” He stood and stretched, watching her glance slide down the length of him then return to his face, feeling the path of her gaze as a sizzle of forgotten sensation. Brian frowned. Women's glances had long ago ceased to trigger any kind of response. How could she do that to him? “He didn't need my help. He just pushed open the gate and wandered away. Probably didn't go far.”

Exasperation carried her to where he stood. “Why didn't you stop him?”

Brian shrugged and offered her a smile he hoped would annoy. “I'm a vampire, remember? I don't do the cowboy thing.”

“A vampire. Right.” She cast him a mocking glance. “Then I guess you didn't have to worry about the heat thing last night.”

“Heat's easy, babe.” He slid her a glance meant to demonstrate exactly how easy it was.

“Hmm.”

She pursed her lips, then walked toward the gate. He noted the pursing with detachment. Okay, maybe not so detached. She had great lips, a sensual woman's lips. Someone should sue her for false advertising.

He followed her to the gate, then watched as
she picked up the lead line from where it was draped over the wall. “Strange. I tied the gate shut last night with this line. No way the horse could have untied it.” She narrowed her gaze. “Are you sure that you—”

“I don't do petty stuff just to annoy people.” He grinned. “When I do something, you'll know why. I'm a goal-oriented kind of guy.”

“Well, someone did. The horse didn't lay the lead line over the wall when he finished untying it.”

He watched her as she strode through the open gate, his gaze automatically dropping to the sway of her hips in those old . . . jeans. Brian frowned. It was tough trying to keep the names of things straight. The Language Assimilation Program did a great job of preparing time travelers, but even the best program had gaps.

His grin returned as she quickened her pace. She had enough swing and sway to tempt any man, but he knew if any man grasped those hips and pulled her tight between his legs, it'd be like riding a block of ice. But he wasn't “any man.” He was the best because he could read a woman before he even touched her. And that sway said—

“There he is.” She pointed down the hill to where the old bay horse grazed near the main road, oblivious to the trouble he'd caused. As they made their way toward the horse, Ally turned her attention back to Brian Byrne. “So what do you do for a living when you're not searching out your roots?”

“Have sex with thousands of women.” He slanted her a grin that would've knocked her off her feet if she wasn't already laid out flat by his comment. “Professionally, of course.”

“Well, that makes it okay then.” A porn star? Her instinct said no. But her instinct had also thought Dave was a great guy when she first met him. How wrong was that? Hmm. What else could Brian be? How about crazy? Sounded logical to her. She was alone with a crazy man. A sexy crazy man, but crazy was still crazy. “Umm, I can do this by myself if you have something else to do.”
Please have something else to do.

“You see, in my time—” he leaned close for an aside—“I'm talking 2502 here—” he leaned away, and she allowed her breath to escape in a relieved whoosh—“there aren't many males with much sex drive. I'm talking zero want.”

“Got it. Want is important.” If she ran like hell, would he catch her? She remembered last night. He'd catch her.

“So sex has become a spectator sport. Sort of like your football.” His satisfied expression indicated everything should be perfectly clear to her now.

She couldn't run, and in hand-to-hand combat she'd be toast, so she had to keep him talking until she could figure out how to get rid of him. No way would she lead him back to the wagon. Katy would probably ply him with a glass of milk and cookies, then make him tell her the rest of his sexual fantasy.

Think.
This was 2002 AD. Translation: After Dave. She was a new woman, a strong and resourceful woman, a woman who could cope. This man might be delusionary, but so far he didn't seem violent. She'd just keep him occupied with a meaningful question while she figured out what to do. “Fine. I get the broad picture. How about filling in some details?”

“Sure.” He offered her a grin that suggested he could fill in details she didn't know existed.

She paused for a moment of regret.
So beautiful. So flawed.

They'd reached the horse, and she fumbled with the halter, knowing that he was watching and angry with herself for letting his gaze affect her.

“The game's pretty simple. The teams play every Monday night. Eleven men on each side. Two hours plus a halftime rest. The team that brings the most women to orgasm wins.”

She sensed him moving closer, and her fumbling grew worse. “And you do this in front of an audience?”

He shrugged. “About seventy thousand in the stadium plus a few billion in the home audience.”

“Billion?” She didn't think she could be shocked by a fantasy, but he was doing it.

“The galaxy's a big place.”

“Right. I forgot the galaxy.” She continued to fumble with the halter as the horse stood patiently chewing a mouthful of grass.

“You know, controlling large animals with low-level caren waves would be a lot simpler, but I guess you won't have that option for a few years yet.”

Caren waves? Time for another meaningful question. “And you perform . . . naked?” Not as meaningful as she'd hoped.

“You have a real problem with naked, don't you?” His soft laugh slid across the back of her neck leaving a trail of goose bumps.

Keep him talking. Don't think about naked.
“Uh, how do you know someone isn't cheating, faking a climax?” This was all about being strong and resourceful, and a few deep breaths would slow her heart rate just fine.

“Monitors are attached to the women. Referees can check readouts of blood pressure, pulse, spasms—”

“Okay, heard enough. Don't need to hear any more.” She made one more effort to buckle the cursed halter. “Your game seems so . . . cold.”

“You're kidding, right?” He reached around her to pull the halter up and buckle it on the horse's head. “Nothing hotter in the universe. Believe it.”

His heat surrounded her as her body kicked into automatic anticipation mode. You'd think after one brief contact last night her body would have forgotten his touch. No luck. She dropped her hands from the horse and clenched them at her side. Tried to ignore the press of his chest against her back, the flow of muscle and flesh
she could feel all the way to her pounding heart. But no amount of concentration could make her ignore the spread of his thighs hard against her hips, the pressure of his growing erection against . . . Uh-oh, time for another thought-provoking question.

Finished buckling the halter, he stepped back. She turned in time to catch his assessing stare.

“Don't know how you do that, babe. You're lethal.”

Ally squashed a twinge of triumph. She wouldn't be drawn into his weird fantasy. “That should be a pretty normal reaction for a man who's had thousands of women.”

“Doesn't work that way.
I
decide when to get hard for a woman. Self-discipline. It's important in the game. You have to pace yourself.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That's why I was MVP of the Sex Super Bowl.” He grabbed the horse's lead line and started walking back up the hill toward the wagon.

She knew it was coming. She knew it was a mistake. She said it anyway. “MVP? Most Valuable Penis?”

He stopped and turned to stare at her. Oh lordy, had she gone too far? She hadn't gotten any danger vibes this morning, but too late she remembered her fear from last night.

Then he laughed, and she
understood.
If Brian Byrne wanted sex with a thousand women, he could have it and still have women lined up. It wasn't about being tall and muscular. It wasn't
about long dark hair that lay heavy on his shoulders in the morning mist. It wasn't even about a face with knife-edged cheekbones and a sensual mouth. It was his eyes. There was somebody home in those green eyes. Somebody vital and sexy. The male animal in its most concentrated form. Somebody a woman would want to know and understand, but probably never would.

If she ever figured out the truth about men, maybe she'd write a book,
The Essential Male Animal
. But right now, she was too busy being strong, resourceful, and oh God—she hadn't asked a meaningful question in almost a minute.

He looked away and continued walking, but not before she saw the laughter still in his eyes. “So I guess you'll be eager to get away from here. Hey, a haunted castle and crazy owner can't make for much fun.”

She didn't miss the hopeful note in his voice. “That's what this whole story was about, wasn't it?” They'd reached the wagon, and she watched him tie the horse. “Tell me about your life in the future and see me run away.”

He shrugged as he caught sight of Ally's great-aunt leaning from the wagon. “It's whatever you want it to be.”

“Good to see you didn't freeze to death last night, Brian.” Katy Gallagher cast her grandniece an accusing glare. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. Take a look at our wagon.”

Brian watched Ally do more lip pursing and eye narrowing. She didn't want him inside her
wagon. He smiled. “Coffee sounds great.” He'd never tasted coffee, but he'd give anything a try, especially if it irritated Ally O'Neill. There was something about an angry woman. . . . He hadn't met many angry women in his life.

He climbed into the wagon ahead of Ally. Tried to ignore the touch of her gaze on his back, his buttocks, his legs. His awareness of her continued to surprise him.

Brian was a sexual animal, a male who could give and receive sexual pleasure, and as such was valued in his time, where sexual stimulus was at a premium. For most of the population, watching him perform was a vicarious thrill, the closest they'd ever get to the real thing.

He accepted what he was, took pride in what he did so well, but he'd done it so many times that it took more than a woman's glance to arouse him. When he'd first started his career, he'd believed there could never be enough women. Now? He wasn't sure. Lately, arousal had taken a conscious effort on his part, and that was why he needed these three weeks.

So why his response to Ally? He hadn't a clue.

“Cat won't leave the wagon.” Katy peered into a mirror as she busily flattened her hair into submission. “Tried to chase him off your bed, but he hissed and swatted at me. Decided to let you deal with him.”

“Thanks.” Ally moved around Brian to stare at the large calico cat sprawled across the lower half of her bed. “Why
my
bed?”

“Because he knows you don't want him there. Cats are perverse that way.” With that bit of folk wisdom, Katy turned her attention to Brian. “Ally likes to think things to death when she'd be better off going with her gut feelings. Like this book she's writing,
Coping with Single Life.
Makes single life sound like a chore. She should be writing a book called
Having a Kick-ass Good Time.
I'm looking to find some Irish fairies—to talk to them, share a few jokes. If Ally ever runs into something she can't explain, she'll analyze every last blessed drop of joy out of it.”