Playing for Hearts (93 page)

She moved forward to slip into her room to escape the uncomfortable situation, and Bruce stepped into her path. Standing inches away from him, she smelled the soap from his shower. She quivered because it was the most intoxicating scent she'd encountered coming off his warm body.

“I—I thought you were—”

He hooked her neck, dragging her forward, and kissed her hard. Shocked and unprepared, she could only let him. The taste of him penetrated her numbed thoughts, and she opened her mouth. Bruce took that as an invitation. She moaned at the swipe of his tongue across hers. The warmth, the heady taste of toothpaste and heat, and the urgency coming from him had her kissing him back.

Held captive by this touch, she placed her hands on his sides. The hardness radiating off his body broke through all her inhibitions. She explored his ribs, his sides, his hips, marveling at the tone, the heat, the sculpted body. Somewhere deep inside of her pulsed, and she closed her eyes, willing the feelings to stay. She forgot whom she was kissing and what he was doing to her.

All she wanted was more.

And she wanted that something now.

Bruce tilted her head to the side and deepened the kiss. Her legs wobbled and she practically lay in the crook of his arm. His other hand came up and cupped the curve of her breast. She shifted, giving him access, and when his thumb swept over her sensitive nipple, the most wonderful burst of pleasure flooded her sex.

His hardness pressed against her. She clung to him, afraid she'd collapse in a heap at his feet if he let go or stopped. His tongue tangled with hers, licking, sucking, nibbling. She pressed her breasts into his palm and he squeezed.

Lightheaded and consumed with needing him, she stumbled back a step when he removed his hands. She panted, out of breath, confused over what had happened to make him kiss her, for her to kiss him back, and not want him to stop.

“Why did you—”

He ran his hands over his bare chest, gathering his own lost breath. “Doorbell.”

“What?” She shivered, lost without his heat.

He gazed at her and she saw reality come crashing down on him. She turned away, crossing her arms. Her nakedness no longer felt good. Her throat closed in fear that what had happened between them would forever change their relationship.

The doorbell rang. She flinched.

“I'll get it. You can go get dressed.” He stepped around her, avoiding touching her.

She swallowed her regrets and walked into the bedroom. Behind the closed door, she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the throw blanket over her shoulders and bending at the waist until she cradled her head in her hands. What had she done?

She'd kissed Bruce. Granted, he'd made the first move and kissed her first, but he was her best friend. She closed her eyes and groaned. This was not good.

The gulls flew overhead as the surf washed up on shore, promising the birds a treat. Bruce stared out at the waves. The hypnotic movements usually put him at peace, but today they only made time go slower.

He'd left the apartment at sunrise to run along the beach, trying to keep busy while Crista slept. She'd skipped out of the apartment yesterday while Janelle—who'd shut him down the moment he stepped out of the elevator and into her apartment, waving him off as if he wasn't the guy who never struck out with women—had interrupted his kiss with Crista and tried to convince him to go back to her apartment with him. The fact that the woman had approached him when he was getting it on with Crista had nothing to do with his anger. He hated the way she had no respect for his best friend. To skank in front of a man's woman—even if it was a ruse and he and Crista were not really together—was low in his book.

Besides, Janelle had her chance when he walked into her apartment and sent Crista home alone. Why had Janelle changed her mind the moment she closed the door? There was no reason to come looking for him, and he didn't believe her excuse that she'd had a headache earlier but now wanted to pick things up by inviting him back to her apartment.

Despite her great body, Janelle's personality killed any desire to have sex with her. She was materialistic, high maintenance, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone who talked about Crista the way she had yesterday.

Before he could right the situation, Crista left the apartment without so much as looking at him or Janelle. He'd tried to stop her, but Janelle blocked him from going out the door. Then when he'd called her cell to have her come back, the damn phone rang in her room. He heard her come back in at ten o'clock that night, carrying her bike into the apartment and putting it on the patio. He'd lain awake, thinking she'd come in and talk with him before she retired to her own room the way she always did, but her door shut and the lock clicked into place.

Not once had Crista locked her door on him.

He picked up his shoes and headed back to the apartment. Hopefully, Crista would be fully awake, and he could explain what had happened between them yesterday. Hell, he wasn't sure what happened when he kissed her.

The passion he'd felt wasn't planned. He equated the kiss with getting slapped upside the head by a low-lying branch when fishing the shoreline. Shocked and knocked loopy, all he could do was embrace the best thing he'd ever experienced. He'd tell her the truth. He hadn't been thinking. He had no plans beyond that kiss, and he'd apologize. Apologizing was good. Women loved to know he was wrong and they were right. Crista would laugh over his lapse in judgment, and they'd go back to being friends. Hell, maybe it'd be better if he called his vacation short and flew out to the cabin for a few days. The way his track record was going, solitude would do wonders for him.

His biorhythm or some other kind of shit Crista was always talking about must be off kilter. He'd never had so much trouble with women before.

Or, he could take Janelle up on her offer and prove that the kiss he'd shared with Crista was nothing more than a weak moment in his life. Everything would go back to being normal, and he'd have his best friend back. Then they could both stop wigging out about their shared kiss. He kicked at the sand. Shit.

He no longer wanted Janelle. He couldn't even come up with one reason why he'd wanted her in the first place. What was he supposed to do?

He walked up the stairs out of the sand, across the boardwalk, and keyed in the entrance code to the building. At the door to the apartment, he blew out his breath. He hoped Crista was in a good mood and would forgive him.

He walked inside, and Crista whirled around with a smile on her face. He set down his shoes, glad to see they were back on friendly terms.

“Hey,” he said.

Her smile faded and she looked away, busying herself folding clothes on the couch. “Hey. Grayson called, they're about five minutes away. I thought you were him.”

He ran his hands through his hair, surprised it was already dry from using one of the outdoor showers on the beach after his run. He must've stayed out longer than he thought.

“I washed your dirty laundry and folded the clothes.” She shoved a stack of shirts at him. “There's a bran muffin on the counter and some oatmeal in a bowl on the top shelf in the refrigerator. All you have to do is put it in the microwave for ninety seconds. There's milk and honey, too.”

“Thanks, but I'm good.” He set the clothes down on the coffee table and grabbed her wrist. “Hey, can you talk with me for a second … ”

She flinched and her body went stiff. “Grayson and Shauna will be here any minute. I need to put things away and make sure everything is out of Trevor's reach .”

“I need to talk to you.” He let her go. “About yesterday.”

She waved him off. “No big deal. It was nothing.”

“I wouldn't exactly say it was nothing,” he muttered. “We kissed.”

She wrinkled her nose at the same time the doorbell rang. “They're here. Hurry, put your clothes away, and don't say a word about … you know. Nobody needs to know what happened, especially Shauna. She'll blow it all out of proportion, and we both know it was nothing.”

Nothing?

It was a hell of a lot more than nothing. Nothing was kissing her with a closed mouth on her birthday. Nothing wasn't even part of the equation when he had his tongue shoved in her mouth and a hand cupped over her breast. His gaze followed Crista across the room. She wasn't wearing a sports bra today. How come he hadn't noticed how plump her breasts were before now?

She had a slim, tight body, muscled and contoured. Yet, there was nothing about her breasts that hinted at muscle. Those beautiful globes were soft, free moving, and right there for him to enjoy.

“Get the door, Bruce.” Crista slipped into the hallway, disappearing from view.

He glanced down at the front of his sweats, adjusted himself, and went over and let his friends in.

“Coldwell.” Grayson removed his arm from around Shauna's shoulders and shook Bruce's hand. “How's the vacation going?”

Grayson, past Wimbledon tennis champion, current owner of Schyler's Tennis Center, and one of his good friends had remained a constant in his life ever since they met years ago at a celebrity dinner. He'd married Shauna, who'd grown up stalking the athlete, and lived a good life in Cottage Grove, California.

“Decent.” He grinned at Grayson before leaning over and kissing Shauna's cheek. “Hey, gorgeous. How's mommyhood treating you?”

Shauna smiled and the absolute contentment was contagious. “Trevor slept all night, and I've realized eight hours of sleep is better than any vacation.”

Two-year-old Trevor used that moment to launch himself in Bruce's direction. Shauna laughed. “I think he remembers you.” She thrust the kid at him. “Here you go, baby, time for some male bonding with your Uncle Bruce.”

Bruce scrambled to keep from dropping Trevor. He gazed down at Grayson and Shauna's son. The blond hair, blue eyes, and outgoing spirit captured the best of both his parents. The town of Cottage Grove better be ready when this kid grew up.

“You made it,” Crista said. “Welcome to southern Cali. Only a hop and skip from northern Cali.”

“I know.” Shauna inhaled deeply. “We don't get down this way often enough, but we're here.”

Crista hugged everyone but Bruce and then stood beside him, holding Trevor's hand and making cooing noises at the boy. Bruce checked her out while she was distracted. She'd changed clothes while in the bedroom and brushed her hair.

The white tank showed off her tan, and the mini-mini-mini skirt hugged her body. He leaned over, dipping Trevor in a playful game of
whee, I'm going to drop you, aren't you a lucky kid
and used the movement to ogle Crista's legs.

“More, more.” Trevor giggled.

Bruce straightened, coming up and having three sets of eyes on him with matched expressions of confusion—except Grayson who slowly grinned. Guilt flashed through him at getting caught looking at Crista's legs. He glanced at Crista and Shauna, who stared back at him as if he'd made a social blunder. “What?”

“Girl time.” Shauna tugged a shocked Crista into the living room.

Grayson stepped over into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “So … ?”

Hooked and tossed up on the sand like an undersized fish, Bruce did the only thing he could. He changed the subject. “How's the tennis center doing?”

“Good.” Grayson rubbed his hand across his jawline. “What's up with you and Crista?”

“I've been staying with her before I have to head out next week.” Bruce put Trevor on the floor, looked around for something to give the kid, and found the muffin Crista left him for breakfast. He held it up for Grayson's okay, and with his approval, he gave the boy the food.

Trevor held the muffin in the air and ran off into the living room. Bruce sagged in relief.

“I doubt if Crista wants him eating all over her apartment,” Grayson said. “He hasn't learned how to contain the messes he makes yet.”

Bruce blew out his cheeks. He couldn't do anything right. The kiss with Crista was a huge mistake. Looking at his best friend in front of his other friends was a mistake. Even feeding an innocent kid a healthy snack was a mistake. Until he could straighten out his problems with Crista, he was on a capsized boat and going under.

“Since you're ignoring my question, let's make this simple.” Grayson crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have the hots for Crista?”

“You mean as a man and a woman have the hots for each other?” Bruce shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“Did something happen between you two?” Grayson continued.

“No … yes.” He tapped his fist on the counter. “It was nothing.”

Nothing? He was an ass. Crista told him as much earlier, but it wasn't true. It was the best damn kiss he'd ever had. The longer Crista kept believing it was a mistake, the more pissed off he was getting.

“I fucked up,” he whispered. “Last night, I kissed her. I'm not talking any old kiss, we were having sex.”

“With Crista?” Grayson whistled softly. “Sex with Crista … ”

“No, not sex. Her mouth was that damn good it might as well have been sex,” he said.

Grayson chuckled. “A little advice, bro to bro. Don't fuck with her, man. I've been there, you've been there, and it's not worth it. Tell her the truth about how you're feeling and what she means to you. If you're serious about Crista, being upfront right from the beginning will save you a lifetime of hell.”

That's what he'd do when Crista decided to finally speak to him about what happened yesterday. He nodded. “I'm serious … more serious than I've ever been. I'm trying to do the right thing, but she keeps changing the subject, and then you guys showed up. I haven't had time to straighten things out between us.”

“Sorry.” Grayson chuckled, not a bit apologetic. “After the girls talk, we're planning on heading up to San Jose to see Dominic for dinner. It's a quick trip this time around because I have a crew coming into the center for an interview.”