Playing Hard (18 page)

“Word games weren’t what I had in mind.”

She bent and kissed him, cradling his face in her hands. Sheer pleasure washed over her from the simple act of putting her mouth to his.

“Something simpler?” he said when she pulled back.

She nodded, words escaping her.

He laughed, and the sound was a low rumble of wicked in the darkness. “How about you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“I can do that.” She peeled off her jacket and discarded it. Then studied him. He had a shirt on. Tricky to remove with one hand. So she should be helpful. She leaned closer again, started undoing the buttons, pushing back the cotton as she went, baring skin to her gaze. Very nice skin. Dusted with dark hair. Smooth. Hot.

“I see you know how to play this game,” he said.

She tugged the shirt away from his jeans. “I’m getting the hang of it.”

“You might have to play both sides.” He held up his bandaged hand. “I’m not sure I can return the favor tonight.”

“Oliver Shields, are you telling me you haven’t mastered the art of undressing a woman one-handed?”

She leaned back, ran a finger down the line of buttons that held her shirt together. Flicked the top one open with her left hand. “See, easy.” She arched her back a little, hoping he enjoyed the view. “You try.”

Long fingers splayed across the vee of skin she’d already bared. She wondered if he could feel how fast her heart was beating.

His hand slid over the curve of her breast, thumb dragging over the peak of her nipple before his fingers grasped the next button and undid it with a quick twist of his fingers.

She laughed. “I think you’ve done that before.”

“Maybe I’m just a fast learner.” He undid another button, then another. Soon enough her shirt was open like his.

She’d worn her sexiest bra, a bit of deep-red silk-and-lace nothingness she’d bought in a fit of whimsy. Apparently whimsy was paying off. The look on Oliver’s face as he took in the bra was heated.

She decided to take care of the buttons on the cuffs herself so she could get rid of her shirt altogether.

He made a noise of approval. And cupped her breast again. Which meant it was her turn to make incoherent noises as his fingers set to work. Maybe it was just as well the man didn’t have two good hands right now. She might not have survived double the rush of sensation.

“Good?” he asked and she nodded, wordless again.

“Let’s go for better than good,” he said and this time it was his mouth on her, tongue dampening the lace so the fabric dragged over sensitive skin, the texture enough to make her squirm in his lap. She put her hands on his shoulders and braced herself so he could do what he wanted. Apparently he still felt impatient because in the next second he proved that he definitely knew how to take off a bra one-handed.

His mouth on bare flesh felt even better.

He played with her for a long time. Until she was breathless, pushing herself against him to try and ease the need.

“I think it might be time to relocate,” he said.

It took a few seconds to get her brain to function. “Does relocation involve a bed?”

“A big one.”

“Good plan.” She wriggled off him. Then held out her hand. His fingers gripped hers and he stood.

“Do you need the stick?”

“I can manage. It’s only about twenty feet down the hallway.”

Twenty feet took longer than she thought. Because he kept stopping to kiss her. Long, drugging kisses. She would have been happy to stop where they were and let him take her on the floor, but the kisses were too good to interrupt him with suggestions. Eventually he pushed open a door and pulled her through into his bedroom.

Big room. Big bed. Huge. And high. Well, he was a tall guy. And a big bed just left more scope for … experimenting. She pushed him toward the bed. “Sit down. I want to unwrap you.”

“Your wish is my command.” He sat. Then stuck out his foot. “Better start with the boot if you want to get into my pants.”

“You don’t have to keep it on?”

“It’s just a sprain. I might not be up to the more exotic parts of the Kama Sutra tonight, but we can lose the boot.”

“I don’t need the Kama Sutra.” She undid straps and eased the boot off his foot. Then dispensed with his other shoe. She slid her hands up strong denim-clad thighs. Gripped his waistband.

“I don’t need the Kama Sutra, either,” Ollie said. “Just you. Come back here, Amelia.”

That was an invitation she wasn’t about to refuse. She stood. Shed her skirt and stockings. Time enough for more exotic games later. When Oliver was better. But now all she wanted was him. The touch and feel of him. Wanted it so badly, she had to clench her hands not to just throw herself on the bed next to him.

Oliver had lost his jeans and the shirt. The sight of him wearing only black boxer briefs and a smile was enough to make any woman lose her mind.

God. She’d forgotten this. Forgotten the glory of a supremely honed male body. Wall Street guys worked out and ran and did all the right things, but she’d never slept with a guy with a body like this.

Oliver was all long, powerful muscles. He looked lean in his clothes but she was realizing that was deceptive. Somehow his height had disguised the power in those thighs and arms. The strength under his skin. The fact that his body had been honed to perfection with sweat and work and skill.

All lying there waiting for her.

“I thought you were coming over here?” he said.

“I lost my train of thought,” she said. “You shouldn’t just spring that”—she waved her hand at him—“on a girl.”

He laughed. “I could say the same about the underwear you’re wearing. Come over here and let me appreciate it some more.”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“No? You changing your mind here, Amelia?”

God no. “Oliver, wild horses aren’t going to drag me from this bedroom. But I thought if I did this, it might make things easier.” She shucked off her bra, then her underwear. Her fingers trembled as she pushed the silk down her legs. Unlike Oliver, her body wasn’t perfect. She had curves. Wobbly bits.

But as she straightened, the look on his face made her worries disappear.

“God, your skin,” he said. “I vote for you to always be naked in the moonlight.”

The low thrum in his voice made it hard to breathe. “Might make it hard to get much done,” she managed.

“Getting stuff done is overrated. Now please come here and let me touch you.”

“What was it you said? Your wish is my command?” She moved back to the bed. Oliver lifted his hips and pulled off his boxers. Then she was speechless all over again. He’d been impressive before. Fully naked he was kind of astonishing.

She crawled onto the bed as he moved backward and somehow they were kissing again and his hand skimmed over her hip, dipped between her legs. God. Yes.

She hooked her leg over his hip, pressing closer.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. Kissed him again. Good hands. The man had very good hands. Or hand. God. She couldn’t think. It was all about the feel of his fingers sliding over her, teasing her. Making her mindless. Making her want.

“You feel good, Amelia,” he said. “So good.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She gasped as his fingers slid inside again, hitting just the right spot. “God. Do that again.”

“What? This?” He repeated the motion and she moaned. “If you keep making that noise I’ll do whatever you want.”

“What I want is you,” she said with an effort. His hand slid free.

“Whatever you want.” He rolled away, came back with a condom. Held it out to her. “Not sure I can do this one-handed.”

“I got it. Lie back.” Now that she thought about it, there might be benefits to his injury. Like him letting her take the lead. She slid her hand over his cock, and he shuddered. So she did it again.

God. She loved the feel of him. Hot smooth skin over all that hardness. All that waiting for her. She dealt with the condom, and then swung her leg over his hips to straddle him.

His eyes locked onto hers. “Whatever you want,” he repeated.

She bent so they could kiss again. She was never going to get tired of kissing him. But the feel of his hardness between her legs was irresistible and she straightened again. Lifted her hips and fitted herself over him. His hand gripped her hip fiercely and she froze, worried for a moment, but then he pushed into her, pulling her down at the same time, and any thought but the feel of him fled from her head.

She put her hands on his chest and moved with him. Rising and falling. So good. He was strong and hard and sure beneath her, his hand holding her hips, keeping her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be. She’d thought it might be slow and sweet with him, that he might be cautious given his injuries, but he drove them faster and harder, no letting up, not letting her lose the building wave of pleasure rolling through her, not letting her move her eyes from his, falling into those dark eyes as she melted around his body and finally came, shouting his name.

Chapter Ten

She nestled against him, breathing in the smell of sex and fresh salt-sweat and Oliver. A tantalizing combination. Even now, boneless and sated, it made her want more.

“I think I just found my incentive to do all my hand therapy,” he said, half laughing. “Because I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel.”

“Trust me, I feel pretty damned good.” She felt the aftershocks of him in her body, satisfaction singing through her. There was maybe a little hunger still building there beneath the immediate post-orgasm glow, but she had no doubt they’d take care of that.

“Trust me, I’ll make you feel even better with two hands.”

“Promises, promises,” she said. The shiver that ran through her may have made her teasing tone less believable.

“Satisfaction one hundred percent guaranteed.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she said. Her fingers traced circles on his chest, started to drift lower.

Oliver made a low noise. “Hold that thought just a few more minutes.” His arm tightened around her as he shifted on the bed.

She stopped her circling. “Do you feel all right? That didn’t hurt your ankle or anything?”

“I’m fine. Just need a few minutes for recovery.”

He had just had surgery a week ago. He was doing pretty damned well as far as she was concerned, and she was prepared to wait for her next fix.

“Okay then,” she said. “So. Awkward post-sex small talk?”

“Why awkward?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?’

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through his chest. Then kissed the top of her head. “I don’t feel awkward. Do you?”

She shook her head. “Weirdly, no.”

“What’s weird about it?”

“Well, we’re kind of doing this backward,” she said. “We haven’t actually spent that much time together. We’ve probably spent more time playing Words with Friends than we have face-to-face.”

“You want to do the getting-to-know-you thing? Now? Isn’t that a little late?”

“Did you have something else planned?” she said. “You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?’

“Not a chance,” he said. “All right. Getting to know you it is. So, Ms. Graham what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough,” she said promptly. “You?”

“Actually, lemon gelato.”

“Gelato isn’t the same thing.”

“Okay. Then pistachio.”

“Green, huh? I’ve never been convinced ice cream should be green.”

“I’m quite fond of green,” he said. “After all, it looks good on redheads.” He laughed. “Now I kind of want to smear some on you.”

She was definitely in favor of that plan. But not right this second. “Technically I’m a strawberry blonde,” she said. “Indecisive hair.”

“Gorgeous, not indecisive,” he corrected. “Okay. Next question. Favorite movie.”

“
Bull Durham
,” she said without thinking.

His sudden shout of laughter almost deafened her. “Why, Amelia, don’t tell me you’re a secret baseball groupie.”

“It’s the Kevin Costner factor. And that speech he makes.”

“The one about long slow wet kisses?”

“Yeah.” She went silent for a moment, thinking of Oliver’s kisses.

“I don’t mind that one myself. But I’m not accepting your Costner explanation.”

“You are entitled to your own delusions,” she said. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“
Almost Famous
.”

She giggled. “By your theory that makes you a wannabe groupie.”

“No, I think it’s the rock-star thing.”

“Like being the center of attention, do you?”

“Depends whose attention it is. Next question.”

“Favorite food.”

“New York cheesecake. Junior’s.”

“Hey, mine too.”

“I take that as a good sign. Hmmm. Okay, how about, What would you do if money was no object?”

“That’s easy. Travel. Jump on a plane and see the world.”

“Really?”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to travel. Ever since I was little. I always used to get library books about other places. And drove my mom up the wall making her watch all the National Geographic specials.”

“Have you been to some of those places already?”

“No. We never had money for big holidays. And I was too busy keeping my scholarships at college.”

“But you work on Wall Street. You haven’t treated yourself to some exotic location vacations?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I wanted to help my mom buy an apartment so she could retire. She finally bought one at the start of the year.”

His arm tightened around her. “You’re good people, Amelia.”

“How about you? Have you gotten to go anywhere exciting?”

“Most of the fifty states. Canada. I did once go to Paris for a week.”

“Paris.” She sighed enviously. “Sounds wonderful.”

“I liked the city,” he said. “But it wasn’t the greatest week of my life.”

“Why not?”

“Turns out the girl I took with me was more interested in the clothes my credit card could buy her in all the designer stores than in the joys of Paris. Or me, I guess.”