Playing It Close (32 page)

The elastic band around her ribs loosened, and Tess held her breath as Liam drew the straps off her shoulders. Her chest barely moved, but already her nipples tightened painfully in anticipation. Their sensitivity usually embarrassed her. She could’ve got away with just wearing a tank top or camisole under her shirts, except for her damn hair-trigger nipples. Yet another reason for the padding.

She pulled her arms through the straps, and Liam flung the bra to the other side of the lift. His tongue came out to wet his lips. “Beautiful.”

Only one word, but uttered with such reverence Tess couldn’t doubt its sincerity. He thought she was beautiful? How? Why? She looked down at herself, but all she saw were the same breasts she’d had forever, the breasts other men thought it their right to comment on—no matter whether they were lovers or colleagues.

Given her warning that they could be discovered at any time, she thought he would dive right in, palming and pawing and suckling like an overeager bear going at a beehive until she was nothing but sore and covered in angry red marks. Yet again, Liam did the opposite of what she expected. He trailed two fingertips up and down the bone between her breasts, an area she had no idea until now was so sensitive. She sucked in a shaky breath and arched, unconsciously trying to get closer. The area he caressed was flat as flat could be, but still it seemed to have a direct connection to nerve endings between her legs. She grew wet just from this simple touch and the look of extreme concentration on his face, as though nothing in the world fascinated him more than her upper body.

“Tess, see how you react when I’m not even touching your breasts? Your nipples are so hard they look painful.”

“They are a little painful.”

He gave her a curious glance. “Really?”

“They’re...achy.”

His lips turned upward in a smile that made her inner muscles clench. “The good kind of painful, then.”

“Yeah. Are you going to touch me?”

“In a minute. First I want to tell you what I see.”

Oh God, enough of this talking. They’d talked for
ages.
Tess wanted action.

But Liam clearly wouldn’t be rushed. “I see these incredibly tight, long nipples that I already know will fit between my lips perfectly. When I put my mouth on you, I’ll really be able to feel you. I’ll be able to suck your nipples deep enough that the tips will tickle the roof of my mouth, so my whole mouth can please you.”

Oh. My. God. She grabbed his thighs and dug her nails in, his words turning her on so badly she could hardly keep her balance on his lap.

“And as for your breasts,” he said, his voice as unsteady as she was, “they’re perky and firm and so cute they make me want to play for hours.”

“Do it. Please.” She was so, so ready.

He stroked the faint lines her bra had left in her skin, first following the line beneath her breasts left by the completely unnecessary underwire and then the much fainter indentation from the tops of the cups. His fingers swirled around her nipples, not touching them but teasing just the same. Tess had never known the skin of her breasts could be so sensitive. She’d stroked herself here, getting herself in the mood whether she was with a partner or not, but the men she’d been with tended to approach her breasts far more aggressively, as though they could make them grow by squeezing and plucking them.

Liam took his precious time, and his simple touches made her heart pound. He could probably feel it thudding against her ribs. It might even be responsible for the way her breasts trembled beneath his fingertips.

He shifted her again on his lap, and she wriggled for him, wanting him to feel the same exquisite agony she did. He moaned and crunched his abs so he could bury his face in her breasts, latching on to one while he kept his swirling touch light around the other. His tongue flicked against the sensitive tip of her nipple while his lips suckled gently. Her pelvic floor seized, searching for something to grab onto, and she tilted her hips to try to put pressure on her clit. But Liam’s free hand held her still, and he murmured against her breast, “No. Just your breasts. That was the deal.”

She groaned and arched her back over his knees, giving him greater access if this was all the contact she would get. But damn if she wouldn’t torture him a little for denying her the relief she craved. She wriggled her bum as much as she could against his erection, making him groan.

Her skin grew damp from his hot breath and tongue, and her clit tightened even though she could find nothing to rub against but the seam of her damp pants. Whimpers of need clutched her throat, and Liam increased the pressure of his mouth and fingertips, tugging harder, pinching until her pleasure bordered on pain.

“Come for me, nymph. Come for both of us.”

The words, whispered with desperation against her nipple, made her body shatter with spasms. She sucked in air as if she’d just finished a sprint, one of her hands digging into Liam’s rock-solid thigh while the other tugged at his hair, holding him close to her breast so he couldn’t leave.

His mouth and fingers gentled as she came back down to herself. Her body trembled, and he pressed soft kisses against the flesh surrounding her nipples. His hands made big, sweeping motions down her arms and up her rib cage, avoiding the pleasure areas he’d just tortured into such exquisite pleasure.

Gradually she became aware that she was sprawled half-naked across his lap with her spine arched over his knees and her head thrown back at an awkward angle. He seemed to realize it was uncomfortable, because he cupped his big hands under her shoulders and drew her forward until she collapsed in a sticky, sated heap against his chest. His naked chest. Her naked flesh pressed against his, and she shivered and cuddled closer as he stroked her back.

“Liam—” What the hell could she say? This one part of her body had been a source of insecurity ever since her mum announced that Gwen needed her first bra and it became painfully obvious that Tess was still a long way off needing one, despite being three years older.

Liam stayed silent, seemingly content to snuggle even though the erection prodding her through their trousers told her he hadn’t found any relief. After a few minutes, Tess pulled slowly back and grabbed the strap of her cycling pack, dragging it across the floor. She unzipped one of the pockets and pulled out her phone, tapping it until the email from Andre opened, showing the two of them wrapped in a passionate embrace, both wearing skimpy swimsuits. Turning it so Liam could see the screen, she said, “That’s what I could look like.”

His brows rose almost imperceptibly. Andre had turned her bra and underpants into a retro pink-polka-dotted bikini but, even better, he’d given her breasts that filled the bikini and spilled over the top like plump muffins.

She looked feminine. Buxom. Classic. So freaking hot she would’ve had sex with herself.

Liam took the phone and stared at it for a minute before meeting her gaze. “But why would you want to look like that when you could look like
you.
” He slipped her phone back into her bag and skimmed her breasts with both palms, setting loose a series of delicious afterglow shivers. “Tess, you’re beautiful. There isn’t a single part of your body that disappoints me. Any man who tells you differently is a dick.”

Anger pricked her eyes and she bit down hard on her back teeth. “That’s not true. Men like women with curves, not women who can shop in the boys’ section. It’s nice of you to say these things, but you’re already in my pants and I won’t be kicking you out of them anytime soon, so it’s really not necessary.”

His sigh was ragged and punctuated by a
thud
as his head thwacked against the lift wall. “I swear to God, I’ll never understand. Half the women I know starve themselves or get the fat sucked out of every curve, and the other half slice themselves open to insert bags of silicone. Why can’t any of you just be happy?” He crunched forward, bringing his face level with hers. “Tess, you’re fit. You have the legs of a cyclist, the abs of a yogi, and your arse is a thing of wonder. I worry about the god-awful state of your arteries, and mentally you’re a bit fucked up, but on the outside you’re lovely. If you want to worry about changing something, how about eating a piece of fresh fruit every now and then? One that doesn’t come in a powder that you pollute your water with.”

She opened her mouth to argue but clamped it shut again before any sound escaped. He was right. Sweet baby Jesus, he was right. Okay, so she would never describe her arse as being a thing of wonder, but she did like her legs and belly. A lot of women—her sister Gwen included—had told her how lucky she was to be so toned. Luck had little to do with it, since she literally cycled her arse off every day. But genes had to play a part too—probably the same genes responsible for her lack of a rack.

She’d wasted years listening to men who’d used her lack of curves to denigrate her. A stronger woman would’ve ignored them, would’ve owned her body instead of being wounded by the barbed insults. Damn it, why wasn’t she a stronger woman?

“You’re right,” she murmured.

“About the fruit?”

“No. Well, that too. But no, about being happy. I’ve always found something to be miserable about—whether it’s my boobs or my idiot former colleagues or my old job. And I obsess over them until I do something drastic that just seems to land me in a worse state than I started in. What’s wrong with me?”

“Like I said, you’re a little fucked up in the head. But that’s all right. It’s probably why you’re sleeping with me, so I’m not going to complain too much.”

Was
that why she was sleeping with him? Obviously it wasn’t the
whole
reason. The multiple toe-curling orgasms were right up there, as was the fact that she loved being around him.

But their relationship couldn’t go anywhere. After the catastrophic way her last workplace fling ended, she couldn’t risk being publicly involved with someone she worked with—especially not someone with such a high profile. Now that the inquiry was nearly wrapped up, the last thing she wanted was to swing the public’s attention back to her love life.

And Liam was twenty-eight, a professional athlete and one of the world’s sexiest men. He was with her now because their attraction was fresh and new, but how long would that last? How long until he went on tour and she was smacked in the face with newspaper photos of him cavorting with strippers in Cape Town or hooking up with a model in Sydney?

Pangs of distress seized her. She’d fallen for a man when they could only offer each other a few secret weeks. And she’d fallen hard. Who else would’ve taken the time to notice her most sensitive places or bothered to race after her today because he feared something was wrong?

How fucked up was it to decide—even knowing that it had to end eventually—that she would give him everything she could for as long as they had together?

She skimmed her fingertips down his stubble-roughened cheeks. He hadn’t even taken time to shave before rushing after her. Leaning forward, she pressed her bare chest to his, her heart to his, letting her lips trace the wake of her fingers from the apple of his cheek to the corner of his mouth, down to caress his strong jaw until she reached his earlobe. Wrapping her arms around his neck when his closed around her, she settled into his warm embrace and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” His voice vibrated against the hollow between her shoulder and collarbone.

“For being kind to me.”

He froze, and the wrongness of her statement stole her breath. She squeezed her eyes closed. Jesus, when had her expectations dropped so low? With Michael, she’d been shocked by his casual cruelty, but she hadn’t expected much consideration in the first place. He hadn’t been the first one to teach her that she didn’t deserve common courtesy. He hadn’t been the first to abandon her with a dog bowl full of Cheerios and expect her to make do.

“Tess—”

Bang!
A knock on the lift’s doors echoed off the walls, making them both jerk in surprise. “Anyone in there?”

“Shit!” Tess dove for her bra, fumbling as she tried to untwist the straps and hook it around her ribs.

“Tess—”

“Hello?” the voice from outside called, followed by more banging.

“Yeah, we’re in here!” Liam yelled before lowering his voice again. “Tess...”

“Can you get us out of here?” she yelled.

“Engineer’s here. Give us two minutes!”

She yanked her Legends shirt over her head and stood, avoiding looking at him still sitting on the floor with his hand stretched out toward her. “I really have to get going. The match must’ve already started. My dad’ll be panicking.” Checking her phone, she cursed. “No phone signal.”

But Liam wouldn’t be deterred. “Tess, talk to me.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “About what? We’ve talked a lot today.”

God, was there anything she
hadn’t
told him? He knew about how her birth mother had abandoned her, that she’d been in a relationship that’d ended her previous career, and that she was humiliatingly self-conscious about her breasts to the point of thinking that she deserved something less than kindness from men she was intimate with.

How awful.

The lift doors opened and several concerned faces stared at them. Their gazes slid past her to land on Liam, still sitting on the floor. With a look of horror, one man said, “Mr. Callaghan! Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Liam brushed his hands over the seat of his trousers, his voice tight and short.

“You certainly took your precious time,” Tess snapped. The man who’d asked the question blinked and pulled his head back. A hot wave of shame flooded her at the tightening of Liam’s lips. Swallowing her apology, she lowered her chin to her chest and rushed away, Liam’s gaze burning a hole in the back of her head and his unspoken word echoing in her ears.

Coward.

Chapter Twenty

Tess took the morning of the inquiry’s closing statements off work. She dressed in her most sedate gray suit but, at the last minute, grabbed the long string of shells Liam had bought her during their magical last day in Venezuela. She looped them twice around her neck and considered herself in the mirror with a small smile. Putting on a suit had always made her feel stronger, more professional and confident. The shells were hardly professional, but they filled her with a sense of invincibility. The memory of stopping by the roadside stand and browsing through the selection of handmade tourist tat brought her smile out even more. Liam had been the first to spot these. He’d put them over her head and told her that every nymph needed shells.