Playing Hard (22 page)

Finn spun on his heel and walked away and for a moment Amelia forgot how to breathe. Like he’d slapped her or something. But no. Mari was right. This was not her fault and he could take it out on someone else.

“Maybe I should just go,” she said, not looking at Mari. “It might be better if it’s just the two of you.”

“Ignore him,
mija
,” Eddie said. “But yes, you get going. Don’t miss your flight. Finn will be all right.”

She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wasn’t going to argue. She could try again with Finn when he had calmed down. So time for an exit. She kissed Mari and Eddie and sent one last look at Oliver before heading for the door.

Chapter Twelve

Oliver was quiet all the way back to New York. He answered if she spoke to him. Distractedly. Mind obviously back in Boston. After the first few attempts to draw him out, she decided to leave him alone with his thoughts and just watched the glittering lights and dark patches between towns slip by under their flight path, trying not to think about Finn.

About him snarling and then walking away like that.

Like she was to blame.

Which was ridiculous. He needed to learn how to cope with losing better.

She chewed her lip. Maybe she should have come clean about Oliver. Let Finn be mad straightaway. Instead of adding to his frustrations.

But no. Finn’s moods were his responsibility. Not hers.

Hopefully he’d be fine after a day or so to get the shock of the loss out of his system. He had his parents there. He didn’t need her as well.

She’d call him tomorrow. Maybe. Or wait until Wednesday. Let him calm down. Send him a good-luck text before his photo shoot.

The flight was uneventful and as they stepped out of the heliport and into a waiting town car, she decided she could get used to helicopters. Much less hassle than airports.

To her surprise, Oliver gave the driver her address.

“You don’t want to go to your place?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You have to be at work in the morning. This will get you a bit more sleep. I’ve already stolen half your night.”

That was true. She was tired, both from a long day and the slow coming-down from the adrenaline before the game. But she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. Not until she knew he really was okay. “Will you stay with me?”

That brought a smile to his face. “Nothing I’d like more.”

She wrapped her hand around his, rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat in silence for the rest of the journey. She was halfway to falling asleep when the car came to a stop. Oliver nudged her and she shook herself awake, wondering how they’d gotten through the city so fast. Then realized it was nearly two a.m.

“Bedtime,” Oliver said gently and slid out of the car before helping her. “Which way?” he asked as the car drove away.

Right. He hadn’t actually been to her apartment yet. That woke her up. For one thing, she had vague memories of failing to do anything sensible like make her bed or buy groceries in the last week or so.

Well, screw it. He was going to have to take it or leave it.

When they reached her apartment, she tried to scan the living room discreetly.

“Do you want me to stand here with my eyes shut while you run around and tidy up?” He grinned at her.

Busted. “Are you saying you think my apartment is a mess?” she asked, mock-indignant. Well, mostly mock.

“It looks fine to me. But I did kind of spring this on you. And you girls can be weird about that stuff.”

“Says the guy with a housekeeper.”

“Guilty,” he said. “I hate cleaning. Lila stops me from living in squalor. Or starving.”

She sighed, envious. “I need a Lila.” Then she frowned up at him. “Are you saying you don’t know how to cook?”

He looked around the room. “I can cook. And I can run a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner. It’s easier not to during the season. Saves time. Besides which, I can afford not to. But if this is your idea of a mess then I’m not so sure about you needing a cleaner.”

“Maybe not. But it would be nice. Now, are you hungry? Thirsty? Sleepy?”

He eyed her, and that grin reappeared. “Not sleepy.”

She could feel her brain melting as he watched her. Honestly, the man should come with a health warning. “We could play Words with Friends.”

He shook his head. “Not in the mood for that right now.”

“I don’t think I own any other games,” she said, trying not to grin back at him.

“I had a different sort of activity in mind.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I think you’ll like it,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “It starts with ladies’ choice.”

Her choice? Was it suddenly hot in her apartment? She glanced down at his foot and then at his hand. “Ladies’ choice?” That brought all sorts of idea to mind. “Are you allowed to get that wet?” she asked.

“My hand?”

“Yes?”

He nodded. “The splint is plastic and the bandage comes off. The dressing is waterproof. So if you can rebandage me, then yes, it can handle a little water.”

“In that case, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little grimy after all that travel. Want to scrub my back?”

“That’s a yes,” he said. He glanced around as he started to lift the strap of the sling over his head. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“This way.” She stepped out of her shoes and led the way. The bathroom had its very own radiator, so it wasn’t cold. Not that it was possible for her to feel cold with Oliver looking at her the way he currently was.

She shrugged out of her jacket and turned on the shower. Her apartment wasn’t anywhere as big as Oliver’s but the bathroom was big enough for two people and the shower wasn’t over the bath. It should be easy enough for Oliver to step into.

Fingers moving down her shirt, she opened the buttons and let it join the jacket on the floor.

“Amelia, you’re spoiling all my fun.”

“Oh, you’ll get your fun,” she said, smiling as she shimmied out of her skirt then her stockings. At least she’d worn a decent bra and underwear under her suit. Not her sexiest but lacy and pretty. Judging by Oliver’s expression he approved. But he stayed where he was, half resting against the vanity just watching her. She lit the candles she had in the little niche in the tile at the end of her bath, straightened as the flames flared to life and then flicked off the light switch.

The candles gave just enough light. Enough to stop either of them from killing themselves in the darkness, but not enough to ruin the intimacy wrapping around them.

Oliver sucked in a breath as she turned back to him, and her pulse started to pound.

He was very still. Only the movement of his chest up and down with each breath showed him to be a real live man rather than a figment of her overheated imagination.

She still wasn’t used to the fact that she could do this. Could walk over there and touch him. Take off his clothes. Put her hands on his body. That he wanted her to. It was dizzying and she was glad of the candlelight, hoping it hid the flush on her face. Oliver’s skin had turned a deeper golden shade in the light, almost the color of the palest part of a flame itself.

Tempting her to move to the light.

Tempting her to embrace the heat.

Tempting her to burn.

She was so giving in to temptation.

She moved in, stopping when she was just out of reach. Gave herself another moment to take him in. Then she looked up at him and smiled.

“Amelia?” he said, the sound more breath than voice.

“Sssh. Ladies’ choice, remember? Stand there and let me do what I want.”

“Oh, I’m not moving. Not even if the building catches on fire.”

She moved closer, put her palm flat on his chest. Felt how warm the cotton of his shirt was, heated by his skin underneath. Felt the vibration of his heartbeat beneath her touch. A little too fast. She did that to him.

Her.

Plain old Amelia Graham.

She made Oliver Shields’s heart race.

The knowledge made her own heart race, blood rushing through her like hot wine, making her dizzy. Making her want. She wanted to put her hands on him. More than her hands.

His buttons were faster to open than hers had been. And she knew how his cuff links worked. Sliding the shirt off him had to go a little more slowly because of his right hand, but it still didn’t take long.

Naked from the waist up, he looked even more like a fantasy. Like every ridiculous male-model pose come to life. Only on him it wasn’t ridiculous. On him, it was delicious.

Tantalizing.

Appetizing.

He hadn’t worn a belt and hell, she didn’t need him fully undressed for this part anyway.

She let her hands slide down his chest, down his abdomen, tracing the muscles like the contours of a map. Resting them for a moment on the vee of muscle that arrowed down from each hip like a signpost. She had no idea what that muscle was called, but it had always been one of her favorite parts of male anatomy.

Part of the temptation of the jocks she’d been attracted to but never let herself date.

If that made her shallow, then screw it. Tonight she was going to be shallow. Tonight she would have her way with him. Hopefully he would return the favor.

Her hands drifted to the button at his waistband. His muscles tensed beneath her hand, but apart from that she wasn’t sure he was moving. If he was breathing.

Until she flicked open the button and dragged her fingers down the hard length of cock imprisoned by his straining boxer briefs. That drew a groan from him that made her toes curl.

The sound was need, pure and simple. Male and raw. Hungry. For her.

“So impatient,” she said. And repeated the movement. The second noise torn from his lips made the heat bloom so quickly between her own legs that she forgot about teasing him and just yanked the trousers down off his hips before shoving his briefs down to free him.

His erection sprang free. Hard. Eager.

Well, she was pretty eager, too.

She sank to her knees.

Oliver’s breath was a rasp. She stared up at him, saw the wild black of his eyes burning down at her, then closed her hand around him and bent her head to taste him.

He was hot against her tongue. Hot and male, the first taste of him, only making her want more.

She pressed her thighs together, but that only intensified the ache.

So she focused on him. On the slide of his skin under her tongue. On the subtle curves and hollows of him. On learning the sensitive places that made him shiver when she licked or sucked or blew.

His hand came down in her hair, tangling in it, urging her closer. She didn’t need the urging. She loved doing this. Loved having him in her power.

Loved the sounds and the shudders that ran through him and the way he grew harder and hotter against her lips with each passing second.

It had to almost hurt to be that hard, that ready. The way it almost hurt now that she wasn’t lying with him inside her, easing the ache between her legs. Her nipples were rock-hard, the slight friction from the silk of her bra almost unbearable.

She didn’t know how much longer she could take it, let alone him. But she wanted to make him come this way. Wanted to make him come apart. She added her hands to the game, one hand holding him to take the rest of him into her mouth, the other gripping his butt to make sure he stayed where she wanted. He arched into her, the movement rough now, but she didn’t care.

Just kept going. Took the thrusts as deep as she could and urged him on until finally he shouted her name and she tasted salt as he came hard.

When his grip in her hair eased and he slumped back against the vanity, she rose, reached past him, and filled the glass she used for brushing her teeth with water.

“Amelia, you really need to warn a guy before you do that,” he said.

She tilted her head. “You asking for a time-out?” She took a quick gulp of water.

His eyes narrowed. “No,” he growled. “It’s my turn.” He held out his right hand, and she knew what he was asking. She tried to be careful as she removed the splint and unwound the bandage but her hands were shaking, the longing scorching her skin now that he was focused on her again.

The dressing on his hand crossed the width of his palm but hid the exact extent of his injury from her view.

Still, it was odd seeing both his hands free. She pressed a kiss to his fingertips then bent to loosen the walking boot and his shoe so he could step out of his pants.

“A little water won’t hurt that,” he said as she put her hand to the bandage on his ankle. “And it’s my turn now.”

“I thought anticipation was a good thing?” She slipped off her bra. Stripped out of her underwear. Took a little extra time with it just to see his expression go even more intent.

“Only within reasonable limits. And you blew past my reasonable limits when you put your mouth on me.” He moved to the shower, turned the water on. Waited for it to warm then crooked his finger. “Ladies first.”

“I thought it was ladies’ choice?” But she wasn’t a masochist so she went into the shower willingly, stepped through the cascading water—thankful for the excellent water pressure as always—and turned, moving back until her spine hit the tiles so there was room for him to follow her into the heat and steam.

“Are you sure shower sex is a good idea?” she said. “Slippery. Hard to balance.”

In reply, he just grinned. Then unhooked the handheld shower attachment from its clip. “Oh, I think we can manage,” he said. “I’m inventive.”

She looked at the showerhead, gulped. She had, on occasion, gotten inventive with the showerhead herself. It had made her think fondly of whichever past inhabitant of the apartment had installed the sybaritic device. It made a nice change from fingers or her favorite vibrator. It got the job done but it had never made her knees wobble at the sight of it before. Oliver’s fingers wrapped around the chrome, however, made her lose her breath. She braced a hand against the tile, unsure whether she was going to be able to stay upright. And here she’d thought that he was the one who needed to be cautious. Oliver moved closer then flicked the lever on the shower that changed it from the overhead stream to the handheld one.