Playing Hard (17 page)

When the doors slid open, they stepped out onto a seemingly deserted floor.

“Where are we?” she asked again.

“Saints’ headquarters,” he said. “Which is currently deserted because everyone is either downstairs with the team or up in the box or doing their jobs around the stadium. Which means we can have a couple of minutes in private.”

He opened a door in the hallway and tugged her through again. Into some sort of office. One that didn’t look like anyone was currently using it. The desk was bare apart from a computer monitor that wasn’t plugged in.

Oliver limped over, turned, and rested his weight on the desk, slipping off the glasses and cap. His hair, freed from the hat, curled around his face and he pushed it back impatiently as he hit her with a smile that made her knees weaken. “Why don’t you come over here and say hello, Amelia?” He slipped his right hand out of the sling while he beckoned her with his left.

That was definitely an invitation she couldn’t refuse. No matter who might be waiting for her upstairs. She went to him, let him pull her close.

For a moment they just looked at each other. She could see her reflection in his pupils, a tiny version of herself, her cheeks pink, her chest rising and falling. “Hello,” she managed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “But if you’re freaking out about the key, can we ignore that fact for a minute or two so I can kiss you?”

Her mouth curved upward. “I think I’m on board with that plan.”

“Good,” he said fervently and leaned in to kiss her.

She thought she’d be prepared for it this time. For the blinding rush of having his mouth on hers. But once again it took her by surprise.

The way the feel of his lips on hers made her breathless in seconds, made her clutch his shoulders and open her mouth to him. Made her step closer, wanting to be as near to him as she could be, given where they were and the chance they could still be interrupted. Oliver’s mouth opened and she met the demands of his kiss without hesitating. He tasted like all the good things she’d never known she wanted.

A taste she wasn’t sure she could get enough of.

His good hand slid down her back, cupped her butt, and pulled her closer still so that they were chest-to-chest. She wanted more of his touch. The weight of his hand burned into her through her skirt, but it wasn’t enough. Her nipples were aching and she pressed closer to him, rubbing herself against him.

Oliver groaned against her mouth. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Kill you, no,” she said. “Lead you astray, maybe.”

That made him laugh and he pulled his head back. Then he leaned forward so they were resting forehead-to-forehead. Both of them were breathing too fast.

“As much as I would love to let you have your wicked way with me, and as much as I can’t believe I’m saying this again, I think we need to stop. Again.”

He was right. She knew he was right.

She
hated
that he was right.

“I thought baseball players were all meant to be easy,” she muttered, stepping away from him. If they had to stop, then she couldn’t be touching him anymore. Because touching him and not going a hell of a lot further than kisses would kill her. She straightened.

“Believe me, this is purely a timing issue. Not a lack-of-enthusiasm issue.” His head tilted as he put his hand back in the sling, still breathing deeply. “You do believe me, don’t you?” He stood. She could see he was hard even through the denim.

She grinned and nodded at his groin. “There is evidence in your favor.”

He looked down ruefully. “Trust me, right now, this doesn’t feel like it’s working in my favor.”

“Hmmm.” She tried not to laugh. Her lady parts were all protesting the abrupt stop to all that good kissing pretty loudly. It was nice to know she wasn’t suffering alone. “I think perhaps how that particular part of your anatomy feels isn’t the safest topic of conversation right now.” She let her gaze travel down again, let her grin widen.

He groaned again. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But I didn’t want to wait any longer to see you.”

“No, it was a good idea. I’m in favor of your ideas. But like you said, our timing sucks. So, I’d better go. The Castros are going to think I’ve been kidnapped by rabid Red Sox fans or something.”

“And the key?”

She froze. Damn. She’d forgotten about the key. “You said I shouldn’t freak out about the key.” It was safe in the inner pocket of her purse, where she’d been sure she could feel it glowing at her all day, like a little miniature radioactive puzzle to be solved. Or about to blow her life up.

He nodded. “No freaking out. I just thought, with this”—he held up his hand—“that it might be just as easy for you to be able to let yourself in.”

It made sense. But it still her made her nervous. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“How many other girls have you given a key to?”

“None,” he said.

And now the nerves were back. With reinforcements. “You’ve never lived with someone?”

He shook his head.

That she hadn’t expected. “Never had a serious enough relationship to want someone to have a key?” She’d never lived with anybody, but Oliver was older than her. Not to mention hot, rich, and kind of sweet. How was it he hadn’t ever gotten that serious with any one?

“There have been a couple of girls over the years. But somehow we never quite go to that point. I’m on the road so much, it always seemed easier to turn up on their doorsteps when I was home. Or get them to come see me wherever I was.” He was watching her, expression wary. “How about you?”

“Me?” She shook her head. “No. There was a guy for a few years in college. But no, I’ve never lived with anyone.”

“If it freaks you out, you can give it back,” he said.

“Do you want me to give it back?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you want to. Like I said, it’s practical. My hand is going to be out of action for a while.”

“Does this mean you want me to come over often?”

“I think we just established I want you whenever I can have you, Amelia,” he said.

“Wanting me for now and keys are two different things. Keys imply … longevity.”

“All I know is that I have no intention of letting you out of my bed anytime soon, should you choose to climb into it.” His eyes looked very dark suddenly. “Unless you’re not planning to?”

She hadn’t planned any of this. Everything seemed to be moving at a million miles an hour, and she wanted to find a way to stand still and catch her breath. But the weird thing was, when she pictured herself doing just that, she was picturing Oliver standing beside her. She took a breath, tried to reach for that stillness. But found only the need for him. So, no, she wasn’t going to lie and pretend she didn’t want him. She shook her head. “I think we can safely say it’s been on my mind. So I’ll keep the key.”

His smile made her heart turn over.

“And you’ll use it tonight?”

“Yes.”

One little word shouldn’t feel so big but it did. Huge. But, looking at Oliver, huge wasn’t scary.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s go watch the ball game.”

*   *   *

Six hours later, her heart was beating almost as fast as the elevator was shooting upward toward Oliver’s floor. Which was dumb. Dumb to be nervous.

Just Oliver. Who kissed like a god. Who looked like a god. Who wanted her.

These were all good things. So what was there to be nervous about?

It sounded stupid even in her head.

For the hundredth time that day she slipped her hand into the side pocket of her purse and felt for the key. Still there.

Just a key.

The key to Oliver’s apartment.

Just a key. One any injured friend might have given her so she could let herself in. After all, she had one to Finn’s apartment.

No biggie.

Except if she used this one then she was stepping over the threshold to more than just his apartment. No denying that. One small step for woman, one giant step into what could only be classified as a suicidal impulse in terms of romantic choices.

Ollie was an athlete. Gorgeous. Focused. Obsessed with his sport. Just like all those guys she’d watched play their hearts out tonight. And sure, right now he’d turned that focus onto her. But what happened when he could play again? Where did she fit then?

Would she move down his priority list? Or off it all together?

He was an athlete. His game was his life.

And he was perfectly able—and likely—to smash her heart into approximately a billion pieces.

A smart woman would have returned the key and sent one last gummy bear care package before running for the hills.

But apparently she wasn’t being smart these days. Not since he’d kissed her. Not since he’d asked her to come here tonight.

The elevator came to a smooth halt and the doors slid open with a whispered whoosh. The key bit into her palm as she approached the apartment door.

She made herself relax her grip—and the key slipped through her fingers and hit one of the black tiles with a metallic clink that seemed very loud in the silence.

For a moment she stared down at it, tempted to take it as a bad omen, an excuse to turn tail and head straight back into the elevator and flee.

A smart woman would do just that.

She bent, picked up the key, straightened, and then unlocked the door.

The apartment was quiet. No music or sounds of TV gave her any hint where Oliver might be.

Maybe he wasn’t back from Staten Island yet. The Saints had been celebrating their second win. They’d brought the series back to two all. So it would all be decided in the final game. Apparently that meant a little celebrating even if they did have another game to play. Oliver had vanished from the owners’ box after the game ended. She’d assumed he’d gone down to the locker room to be with his friends. But by the time she and the Castros had found Finn in the throng of players, supporters, families, and press, Oliver wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

But there’d been a single text on her phone saying
Don’t forget. Use the key.
So she’d come. Let herself in. All she needed now was the man himself.

She hesitated, looked past the entryway. She could try the living room or the kitchen. She wasn’t going to try his bedroom.

No way, no how.

She slipped off her coat and hung it on the coatrack where Ollie’s leather Saints jacket hung, looking vaguely neglected. She smoothed a hand over the sleeve and caught a drift of his aftershave.

Which made her heart beat fast all over again.

So. Choose one and stop standing in the hall like a dweeb. It was just Oliver. Hardly bearding a monster in his den. Just a partly wounded baseball player.

Or perhaps a very wounded one, she amended as she pushed open the door to the living room and saw Oliver lying on the long leather sofa, staring up at the ceiling, his bandaged hand resting on his chest. His face, unguarded for a moment, looked almost … grief-stricken.

He looked up as she closed the door behind her, the sadness vanishing in an instant. “You’re late.”

“I didn’t think we’d set a time,” she said. “The traffic back was awful and I had to take the Castros to their hotel.” Her tone was crankier than she intended. Maybe it had been the wrong decision. If he was upset about not playing this might not be the ideal moment.

“I’m not mad,” he said as he sat up. “Just … impatient.”

“Impatient is good,” she said. Impatient for her, she could live with. If that was all there was behind it. She wasn’t so sure it was.

“Are you happy about the win?” she asked.

He scrubbed his good hand over his face. “I’m happy for them. I’m less happy for me.” Dark eyes studied her. “Is that want you want to hear?”

“Just seeing where we are.”

“Where we are right now involves me wishing there could be less talking and more getting naked with you.” One dark eyebrow arched at her. “I want you, Amelia. That’s all that matters right now.”

She bent down, eased her shoes off, trying to pretend her pulse wasn’t pounding. “How much is this you wanting me versus you wanting a distraction?”

“You want a percentage?”

She shrugged. “Humor me.”

“I met you before I needed a distraction, remember? If that night at the party had gone differently, then this moment would have arrived a lot faster.”

“It’s been one whole week. I think that’s pretty fast. So … percentage?” She knew it was kind of dumb to ask. She doubted she was going to leave no matter what he said. At this stage, she wanted to know what sex with him would be like. To give herself that moment even if turned out to be a dumb decision. To let the beautiful man take her clothes off and make her come her brains out.

She might pay in the morning. She was willing to pay.

But it might be easier to know what the chances of paying were from the outset.

The silence stretched. She held her breath.

Then “Eighty twenty,” he said. “Happy?”

“It’s honest. So, yes. I can live with that.”

“Honest is good. Come here, Amelia.”

She walked slowly. There was something about her having him at her mercy that suddenly caught at her imagination. After all, it wasn’t as though he could run away. He couldn’t even run after her if she ran away. And she doubted he could sweep off her feet right now.

That was okay. She looked forward to the day the pirate side of him was let loose, but right now she was the one who got to do the plundering. She’d pulled her hair up roughly for the drive back from Staten Island but now she tugged at it and let it fall down.

“So how do you see this working?” she said. She waved at the sofa. “There isn’t really that much room on your sofa.”

She stopped moving when her knees touched his knees.

“We did okay the other night,” he said.

“Yes, but that was just playing around.”

“I’m good with playing around for a little while.” His good hand reached out, caught her wrist, pulled her closer. She let herself be coaxed, hitching up her skirt so she could settle on his lap.

“So you like playing games?” she asked.

“That depends what you had in mind. I’m not in the mood for Words with Friends.”