Playing Hard (27 page)

Maggie laughed. “Good answer. I think you’re good for him. Particularly right now.”

“I asked him about that, too,” Amelia admitted. “About whether or not I was just a distraction because he’d injured his hand.”

“Well, he was pretty cranky the night of the party at Raina’s after you went home,” Maggie said. “I didn’t know why at the time but now I’m making a guess that not catching you first try might have something to do with that. That was before the accident. So he was already smitten before he got hurt. So, tell you what. You focus on Oliver. I think he might just surprise you.” She smiled and shook her head before stretching out her legs and wriggling her toes. “Okay. I am going to go back out there and find some people to deal with Finn. Do you want me to send Oliver here or do you want to come back with me?”

Amelia hesitated.

“It’s okay. I’m going to send Finn home before he does anything else stupid. You don’t have to deal with him.”

“Is it all right if I sit here a bit longer?”

“Sure,” Maggie said. She bent and picked up one of her shoes. It was a wicked-looking black stiletto with heels that had to be four inches high. “Someday I’m going to learn that pretty doesn’t equal comfortable when it comes to shoes.” She flashed Amelia a grin as she pulled on the shoe, then its mate. “But hey, sometimes pretty is worth a little trouble, right?”

“Right,” Amelia agreed, thinking of Oliver. He was definitely pretty. And definitely worth it.

Chapter Fifteen

“Ollie,” Maggie said, appearing at his elbow.

He broke off his conversation with Hector Moreno, the Saints catcher. “Maggie J,” he said. “Something I can do for you?” He half expected to see Amelia at her side. She’d been gone a long time. He’d just been about to make his excuses to Hector and go see if she was okay, Finn or no Finn.

“Seen Amelia lately?” Maggie said.

Something in her voice told him it wasn’t a casual question. His instinct went on alert, gut tightening. “No. Is something wrong?” He let her tug him away from Hector.

When they had a little bit of space, Maggie said, “She and Finn had an argument. She’s a bit shaken up.”

“Fucking Castro.” The words escaped him before he realized what he was saying. He lifted his head, searched the room. Maggie’s fingers dug into his arm.

“No. You are not going to find Finn and punch him. I’ve already got Mal dealing with him. He’ll be taken home.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t kill anyone in the process,” Oliver snarled.

“He won’t. But you need to forget about Finn and go look after Amelia. She’s in my office.”

“Thanks.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re good people, Maggie J.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t try to charm me. Go charm Amelia. She’s good people, too. Don’t screw this one up, Ollie.”

“Doing my best not to,” he said and left.

He found Amelia, as Maggie had said, curled up on one of the velvet chairs in Maggie’s office. She was licking melted chocolate off her fingers. Which made heat curl through his gut, pushing aside some of the urge to find Finn and pound him until he apologized. But only some. He and Castro were going to have a come-to-Jesus moment about how Finn would be treating Amelia in the future.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up, the surprise in her eyes melting into pleasure when she realized who it was. He’d do a lot of things to make sure she always looked at him like that. He went to the chair. Went to his knees beside her. “You okay?” he asked. “Maggie told me Finn did a number on you.”

The pleasure in her eyes faded. “Yeah. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” She put a hand on his cheek. Leaned in and kissed him softly.

Chocolate and the taste of Amelia filled his mouth. Filled all of his senses. He let himself ride the sweetness of the sensation for a minute, letting her take the lead with the kiss. Whatever she needed.

Whatever comfort he could offer. Whatever strength he could lend.

He wanted to give it.

Awareness tumbled through him like a shower of sparks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this about a woman. Or if he’d ever felt like this about anyone. Not even Maggie.

This sense of rightness. Of home.

Amelia pulled back. “Thanks,” she said. “I needed that. Now can we go back to the party?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. Then leaned in and kissed him again. “All good now you’re here.”

He couldn’t help the goofy grin that filled his face. “Whatever you want,” he said and let her lead him back to the party.

There was no sign of Finn, and after Ollie found Maggie’s face in the crowd and she shot him a discreet thumbs-up, he relaxed and tried to shake off his lingering anger. Finn was not going to be an issue for the rest of the night, so he was going to forget about him and have fun with Amelia.

Who apparently had suddenly decided that she was in a party mood.

She demanded a margarita, which he procured for her. She downed it in a few gulps, asked for another.

He shrugged and went back to the bar.

She didn’t drink the second one so fast. Instead, she sipped it, arm slipped through his, leaning into him, as Sara came over to them and started chatting. The music, which had been fairly soft until now, suddenly kicked up a few volume notches, the beat changing to something fast and sexy.

He didn’t have to look to know that Raina would be clearing a space to form an impromptu dance floor. Or probably not so impromptu. Raina and Maggie and Sara ran Saints parties with military-style planning. Apparently they’d decided that what the party needed right now were some serious dance moves.

Raina led Mal into the space she’d cleared as a female voice started singing about needing to party. Mal was laughing down at Raina, shaking his head as usual before he gave in to her pleas and pulled her close to start a bump-and-grind rhythm that had everyone clapping. Watching Mal and Raina dance probably needed to come with a parental advisory. The heat between them was so clear, it was surprising their clothes didn’t catch fire. Other people started dancing around them, and Oliver realized Amelia was tapping her foot beside him.

“You wanna dance?” he asked.

She looked up at him, startled. “What about your ankle?”

“It’ll survive a dance or two,” he said, hoping it was true. Amelia smiled at him, clearly delighted at the idea. She knocked back her drink and held out a hand, tugging him toward the mass of dancers when he took it.

Hampered by his ankle, he couldn’t really dance terribly well, but she didn’t seem to mind as he put his hand on the curve of her back and pulled her close so that they were chest-to-chest and groin-to-groin while they moved to the music.

The scent of her, that unique Amelia smell he would probably recognize if he was half dead, filled his nose with every breath he took, and the heat of her skin under his hand made his palm itch to be touching more than the lacy fabric of her dress.

He’d gone hard the instant she’d pressed her hips to his. He pulled her closer, wanting more of the sensation, felt her suck in a breath then look up at him, devilry dancing in her eyes. She changed her movements then. Just a little. Just enough that she was grinding a little more forcefully against him. Her pupils flared, nearly drowning out the blue in her eyes as she pulled his head down for a kiss. One that went wild before he knew what was happening, her tongue tangling with his. He pulled her tighter against him instinctively, forgetting where they were.

“Get a room, Shields,” someone yelled good-naturedly, and Amelia giggled against his mouth before she pushed him away. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the color a stark contrast with the creamy shade of her skin. No hiding her emotions from the world for Amelia. Anyone who looked at her could probably tell she had naughty thoughts dancing in her head.

The thought woke something primal and possessive deep in his gut. No one was going to help Amelia with her naughty thoughts but him.

No one got to see what she looked like when she gave herself over completely to those thoughts. Only him.

God.

He desperately wanted to drag her off into one of Maggie and Alex’s million spare rooms and pull up her dress and bury himself in her. But he didn’t think she was likely to play along with that idea.

So he was going to have to come up with Plan B.

Which wasn’t that hard. All he had to do was pretend to stumble and let a completely fake wince cross his face.

Amelia’s eyes flashed with concern, and he let her drag him from the dance floor.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Then he bent down so his mouth was next to her ear. Blew softly so that she shivered. “I want to fuck you, Amelia,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

Her breath rushed out in a whoosh. And the breath she took after that was shaky. But she nodded.

He straightened. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a hell, yes.”

*   *   *

He’d never cursed the distance between Manhattan and Staten Island quite so thoroughly as he did on the long drive home. The town car was hardly a limo, where he might have been able to close the privacy screen and pull Amelia onto his lap to have his way with her. So they had to sit and behave all the way back to his apartment. He’d put his hand on her thigh and she’d let her legs fall apart a little so that he could curl his fingers into the bare flesh above the stockings she wore but he limited himself to just stroking her skin. Even though her breathing became increasingly labored with every mile.

He knew how she felt. He was so hard, he ached. His cock screamed to be inside her.

They were both half blind with lust by the time they stumbled through the door of his apartment. He pushed her up against the wall and started to kiss her, shoving his hand into her underwear. Into heat and sliding wetness.

“God,” he groaned. He needed her. Under normal circumstances, he would have probably just picked her up and had her against the wall. But that wasn’t a move to pull off with one hand.

Instead he removed his hand, which made her curse him, and kissed her again. Hard. Fast. Deploying every dirty move he knew to make her want. Make her writhe. Make her beg. Then he steered her into the living room till the back of her thighs hit the back of the sofa.

“Turn around, Amelia,” he growled.

Her eyes went round with shock, then her pupils widened, turning her eyes midnight dark. He’d thought she’d looked turned on before. Now she looked like pure sex. Like every fantasy he ever had.

She turned around, bent over for him, moved her legs wide. With a groan and a curse, he flipped up her skirt, pulled her underwear down. The sight of her, wet and waiting for him, sent him into near madness.

He was barely aware of what he was doing or where they were when he jerked down his zipper, pulled out his cock, and thrust into her with one sure motion.

Amelia moaned, head falling forward. “God, yes,” she said.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He let go then, gave in to the need to be as close to her as possible. Each thrust into her, each slide of her flesh against his got wilder. Harder. Faster. And she urged him on. Met him with as much eagerness as his.

Until he felt her clench around him and start to come, her voice hoarse and dazed as she called his name. He couldn’t have stopped the answered orgasm that roared through him like a tornado if someone had offered him all his wildest dreams to hold it back.

It felt so good, he thought he might just black out. And when his senses returned, he was bent over her, arms holding her close to his chest, their gasping breaths moving in sync. He backed off carefully, helping her straighten.

She moved slowly and he wondered if he’d gone too far. If he’d hurt her. But then he saw the smile on her face as she turned to face him.

God. That look. It undid him.

He wanted to see it every day.

She put her hands on his cheeks. Lurched up on tiptoe to kiss him.

“Thank you,” she said. “I needed that.”

Then she burst into tears.

It felt like she’d punched him. “Fuck. Amelia. What? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head but kept sobbing.

He pulled her close to him. “What is it?”

She shook her head, sobbed harder.

Damn it. The sound of her crying was like being stabbed. He wanted her to stop. But what he wanted didn’t matter. What mattered was what she needed. Heedless of his hand, he scooped her up, carried her through to his bedroom. Undressed her while she cried. Then coaxed her into bed before stripping down and climbing in with her. He pulled her close and just held her, whispering stupid meaningless words into her hair as she cried and cried.

Just him and her in the darkness. That was all that mattered. That he could make her feel okay. Make her feel safe. Make her feel loved.

Eventually her sobs quieted, slowed. Then stopped. He reached for the box of Kleenex on his nightstand. She wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. Hiccuped. Her makeup was smudged and her eyes were red.

She looked beautiful.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Another head shake.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop asking questions and you can just tell me what you need?”

Her mouth curled up at that. “You,” she said simply. “I just need you.” She hooked a leg over his hip, moved closer, pressed her mouth to his. She tasted of salt and sex and herself.

This time, when they moved together, it was gentle. Slow. There was all the time in the world as he eased into her, as he worshipped her skin with his mouth, as he tried to take all her hurt away with his kisses. And this time, when she gasped and shuddered around him, he followed her down, letting the tide of pleasure pull him under and break him apart. Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard her say, “I love you, Ollie,” before everything vanished into sensation.

*   *   *

On Monday, Amelia made a point of getting to work early. She and Oliver had spent Sunday playing hooky from the world, spending most of the day curled up in his big bed, napping, watching silly movies, making love, talking, and generally pretending the world outside his apartment didn’t exist. After the stormy then sexy end to their Saturday, she had needed a day to regroup.