Playing For Keeps (7 page)

Jimmy pulled back, pressing his thumb to where his mouth had been. “You taste so good,” he said.

I pushed myself forward and reached for his pants, unbuttoning them and taking his hard erection in my hand.

“Fuck me,” I said.

Jimmy lifted me off the counter and bent me over the wooden kitchen table behind us. I grabbed the sides of the table as he gripped my hips and thrusted into me, pounding me with desperate need.

“God damn, you are gorgeous.” He leaned forward, forcing his hands between the table and my breasts, cupping them as he filled me deeply. His cock rubbed against my g-spot and I dropped one hand to finger my clit, at the same time. I felt dizzy with need and desire, my orgasm building steadily. My hips bucked back against Jimmy, urging him to go faster. He obeyed. The kitchen table groaned under our weight. It inched across the floor, wood screeching against tile.

“Jimmy…Jimmy,” I said. Finally, I reached my climax, luxuriating in the waves of pleasure rolling over me. Behind me, Jimmy gave one last push, gasping. We paused, catching our breath. When we both stood up fully and took a look around the kitchen—the table halfway across the room, drawers and cupboards hanging open, containers and utensils all over the floor, we caught each other’s eye and laughed.

5.

We puttered around the kitchen, naked, until we found a bottle opener for the wine. I snuck glances at Jimmy, blushing slightly when he caught me looking at him. We sat on the floor, sipping straight out of the bottle, and talked about our musical influences. Jimmy told me how and when he learned to play the piano. How he loved learning new instruments. I asked how many he could play.

“About a dozen. More or less.”

“Impressive.”

“It’s about time I impressed you.”

I pushed his shoulder, playfully. “You impressed me on the counter. And over the table…”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and heat filled my cheeks, again. “I want to keep impressing you.”

We headed up to his bedroom, but he only tucked me in. “Because you need sleep to keep that brilliant brain in top working condition.”

I watched him for a long time, after he’d climbed in next to me and turned out the light, the moon glow through the window just bright enough for me to make out his outline. Jimmy was surprising me. In a good way. Maybe in a dangerous way. Neither of which I minded.

I nestled into his soft sheets and down covers and let my well-worked body relax into dreams.

It was almost afternoon when we finally woke. Kevin’s sheets were the perfect blend of cool and warm, and soft on my bare legs. The sun streamed in gently through his window and the weight of his arm over my waist felt perfect. I let go of a contented breath and snuggled closer to him, pressing my back into his chest. He poked back, against my ass, and I knew he was happy I was in his bed this morning, too.

“You’re gorgeous in the morning,” he mumbled against my hair.

I smiled and reveled in the sound of his still-sleepy voice. “You can’t even see my face.”

“I don’t have to. I just know.” He rubbed his hand over my stomach in slow circles.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” I said.

Kevin put his hand on my shoulder and rolled me to face him. “Me, too. We should do it again. Lots of agains.”

I caught a breath, searched his eyes, his softened mouth. “I suppose…” I didn’t know how to tell him that I figured we were just playing around, here. It sounded so harsh. But he was the kind of man who could hurt me a lot—and in more ways than one—if I let myself trust him too much. I had to protect myself.

“You suppose…because you don’t want to invest that much of yourself in me?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“What if I want you to?” he asked.

I didn’t know how to answer him. Was he saying that he saw potential in our relationship? That he wanted a level of trust reserved for people who were more…serious? As much as I liked Kevin, as much as I trusted him to treat my body well, I wasn’t sure I could give him more than that. Everything was getting so complicated.

“Can I ask you something?” I said. “Who’s your favorite person in World Wonder?”

“Myself.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he flashed me a self-deprecating grin. “Nah, I’d have to say Payton. I’m close with all the guys, you know, but he’s like a brother to me.”

“That’s nice that you have that. Closeness. That’s like me and the Delta Gamma ladies.”

“I don’t have to ask who your favorite person World Wonder is.”

“You’re so sure I would pick you?” I walked my fingers up his ribs and grinned when his body shivered. Ticklish.

“No, I know you wouldn’t pick any of us. You can’t stand World Wonder.”

I laughed and tickled him more, testing his stomach, every inch of his sides, his legs. He was sensitive all over. His laughter made me happy; it was bright and effusive. Rolling like waves. He grabbed my wrists and wrestled me back, his face looming over mine as he held me against the pillows.

“More cooking in the kitchen?” I teased.

“Definitely. Except right now…we should get something to eat, for real.”

“Right now?” My foot inched up his leg, teasingly. His arm around me tightened.

“Definitely not right now. Later. Much later. Brunch. No, it’s too late for that. Dinner.” His lips began playing a pattern over my shoulders. I wanted to sink into his kisses, but the word “dinner” made my eyes fly open.

“Shit,” I said, throwing Kevin’s blankets off me and leaping from bed. My clothes were in a heap. I knew they’d be wrinkled, and I knew I’d get looks from my DG sisters as I did my walk of shame, but I didn’t have time to worry about that, now. I threw them on. “I can’t do dinner. I can’t…do anything. I have an exam tomorrow that I really need to study for. I
cannot
fall behind in this class.”

I sat back on the bed to put my shoes on and let my eyes linger on his naked body. He looked so appealing. Really, his slim, muscled body looked good all the time. I was tempted to peel my shoes and clothes right back off and snuggle under the covers again. But doing well in my classes was important, too. Especially now. This was the last term grad schools would be looking at, grades-wise, and they had to be stellar.

“You can’t study on an empty stomach. Let’s get a bite.”

I reached over and pressed a kiss to Kevin’s nose, then lips. I did not want to leave him. I wanted to stay holed up here for days on end. I just couldn’t. Maybe, though, he was right about needing to eat.

“Okay,” I said against his mouth. “Something quick.”

*

Kevin made a phone call while I applied a sweep of lip gloss and tried to tame my hair. “Do you like Lalique?” he asked me.

I’d heard of the exclusive restaurant, but never been inside. He should have known that. I popped my lips at the woman staring back at me in the mirror, reminded that he’s a star and I’m a nothing.

A nothing who claimed a whole night of his.

“It’s fine,” I said.

He drove us there in his Mustang, pulling in for valet parking. The hallway to the reception desk was long and lined with mirrors, shimmering gold finishes and crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. My shoes made zero noise on the plush carpets and even in the main room, once I’d reached it, there was a soft hush of sound as diners set silverware on their plates and servers bent down to check on everyone’s needs. It felt intimate, even though it was cavernous.

We stopped in front of the host’s podium. The woman behind it wore a fitted, black silk tuxedo and her hair was slicked back into a tight, low bun. Her red lips pressed together slightly when she took in my rumpled outfit, but a professional smile battled through.

Her glance switched to Kevin and her smile took on a bit of realness. I thought bac to last night. To feeling sorry for the mega-star who didn’t even know his way around his own hoe, then contrasted that with this. With his ability to get reservations anywhere at the last second. To being able to afford restaurants like this, at all. To people falling all over themselves to serve him, make him happy. His was a life full of strange juxtapositions.

“Good morning, Mr. Keats. Your table is right this way.”

She led us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. The brocade-covered sides were high. Privacy, taken seriously.

I sat across from Kevin, wondering briefly if he’d made the reservation as Jimmy, or as Kevin, before forcing myself to stop thinking about it. I wanted to know how special I was to him too much, and that was a problem. We were just having fun.

While Kevin organized his flatware, making sure each piece was in a perfectly straight line, a server came with a cappuccino topped with thick milk foam, a mug of hot water with a little box of assorted teas, a Bloody Mary and a Mimosa on a tray. I bit back a laugh as the server lined up each beverage in front of me. Then, I looked up to catch Kevin’s eyes. He watched me, not the drinks, his dark eyes guarded, but sharply interested in my decision.

“I don’t know what you like to drink in the morning, so I ordered one of each.”

Normally, I would reach for the mimosa, preferring the tickling, lifting bubbles for brunch. But my stomach still felt like fireflies were flitting through it, so I passed on the champagne in favor of the tea packet marked “Calming Blend.”

Kevin’s forehead wrinkled at my choice, but he didn’t comment on it. He hadn’t said anything at all since we got here, beyond justifying his ordering methods. His silence was intense, captivating, disruptive of my nerves.

“I’ve never been here,” I admitted, searching for something to say. I didn’t want to ask all the questions swarming in my head for fear of looking needy, unsophisticated, uncertain.

“I don’t come here too often,” he said.

“Right.” My voice came out a little stiffer than I’d wanted it to. Or maybe I did want that tinge of sharpness. Maybe I wanted to let Kevin know I wasn’t just his plaything, even if he was this year’s Sexiest Man Alive. Even if he had people groveling at his feet to do his bidding. Even if he held my musical future in the palm of his hand.

And had done other things with the palms of his hands.

And, for some reason, my tone worked on him. He raised his arm to rest on the table and laughed. A slow, chesty sound. I liked it. I relaxed enough under his smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is…unusual for me. I don’t mix business and pleasure. I don’t know how to.”

I blinked at him and sipped my tea. Set the mug back on the table and traced the line of the handle with my fingertip. I asked, cautiously, “How much of a mix is it?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. He brought his hands together and rested his elbows on the table in an inverted V. “My family’s from northern Louisiana.”

“Yes…it’s nice to have that in common.”

“I think we’ll discover more things as time goes on.” He leaned back against the booth. “I bring my home state up because I want you to understand something. The music you play? It speaks to me. My mother owned a café. Smokey Sal’s. Named for my grandmother. She played the blues and every Saturday morning I’d get up at the crack of dawn to help Mama fry sausage for her famous gravy and cut potatoes for her home fries. But what I remembered best was that every Saturday morning she’d put on these old vinyl records of Grammy playing her music. She was never big-time, Grammy, but the locals knew her songs. She toured with other southern musicians. She even had a romance with one. I didn’t learn about that until I was older. It wasn’t my grandpappy, it was someone else and apparently it ended in a grand, passionate fashion.” Kevin laughed. “But those Saturday mornings…we’d sing. Mama danced while she folded biscuits. When I heard you play, not at the meeting, but at the club, I went back to those Saturday mornings. You have a sound. A certain sound.”

I fingered the linen napkin on the table. “Local Jackson taught me well.”

“I liked what you told me about Local Jackson at the meeting with your band. I like that we both come from that place.”

I knew he didn’t mean Louisiana. Not specifically. More that we both came from the old school, that we both loved and respected the people who’d made music before us and honored that by merging it into the music we made now. At least, I did. I felt a river of boldness flow through me.

“So why make the music you make? The thin, poppy stuff?”

He looked away for a second as the server—no, three servers—brought trays loaded with plates. Conversation between us lulled as the plates were packed onto our table. My eyes widened.

“Hungry?” I asked Kevin.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered one of everything.”

To my surprise, I discovered that I was famished. We’d worked hard last night and, dinner seemed so long ago. All the food looked so good. Thick slices of custardy French toast covered with fruit, cream and caramelized nuts; eggs benedict with smoked salmon, crab, avocado and a hollandaise sauce so fresh I could smell the bright lemon; briny shrimp over a bowl of buttery blue cheese grits; rustic breads with warm goat cheese, roasted vegetables and fresh herbs; slow roasted short ribs in a rich wine sauce. Salads and steaks and preserved duck and flavored foams and crystalline bits of food I didn’t have a name for. I hardly knew where to begin.

“What’s your favorite?” I asked, debating between the eggs benedict and a seared ahi tuna and caviar tower thing with vegetables that looked a little like asparagus.

“I like sweet for breakfast,” Kevin answered, angling a plate with a napoleon-like pastry on it, all layers of flaky dough, crème patisserie and tropical fruits. I nodded absently, then met his eyes. The depth of them startled me and as they swept over my face, down my neck, and then over my chest, a knowing glint in them, I realized the sweetness he was talking about wasn’t the food.

I looked away quickly and cleared my throat. What was it about Kevin that knocked me off-kilter? He wasn’t much older than me, if at all, and his gestures were subtle enough to not feel heavy and clumsy. Actually, he was more real than I ever thought he would be. I wasn’t the kind of woman who usually let a man get to her like this. I liked to flirt, to take charge. I took pride in my strength, my ability to be unflappable. And then this silly pop singer goes and cracks my glass with a look. What was I so scared of? Somewhere, deep down, there was worry that he was playing a game. That there was no such thing as “real” Kevin. That it was all an act to get me into bed. But then…why would he need to bother? He could have any woman under the sun.