The second thing was the fact that although she looked absolutely sensational in her outfit--a minidress that had shown off her trim waist, shapely legs, and rounded hips--when she leaned down to pick up one of her kitties, he had seen... panty lines. That had been another turnoff. Trask shook his head. A lot of women wore lacy lingerie under their clothes. In the past, one of the things that used to heat his blood was the idea of something black, silky, and soft underneath a woman’s clothing. Now it was the thought of a woman wearing nothing at all underneath her clothes that not only heated his blood but had his pulses leaping with fire. That thought, coupled with the vision of a pair of unrestricted, unconfined, firm, and up tilted breasts, really pushed him over the deep end and got him all hot and bothered, only one name readily came to his mind. Felicia Laverne Madaris.
“But why?” he asked himself as he went into the kitchen to get a cold can of beer out of the refrigerator. Why did the thought of Felicia do that to him? If he didn’t know better, he would swear the woman had cast some sort of spell on him. After taking a huge swallow from the ice-cold can, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand before flopping down in a chair at the table. He thought it was completely hilarious that he could have constant thoughts about a woman he didn’t particularly get along with.
He sighed as he remembered what had happened Sunday when he had shown up at Clayton’s house to watch the game. That had been the day his troubles had begun--right after Felicia’s son’s letter to Santa.
After the game he’d gone out on the patio to discover Felicia had decided not to stick around after all. She left after helping Syneda put the ribs on the grill. It was just as well that she had. The Steelers had lost to the Cowboys, and his mood hadn’t been the best. And knowing Felicia, she would have deliberately worsened it.
His next streak of bad luck occurred when his brother Alex had shown up late Monday morning to take him to the airport. Alex, who normally was as timely as any clock, had overslept. Alex’s lateness made Trask miss his flight and he had to spend an additional two hours stuck at the Houston airport. He arrived in San Diego on a flight that had been more rugged than any game he’d ever played in.
And things had only gone downhill from there.
Some irate fan who hadn’t liked one of the calls against his favorite team by a referee had forced his way into the sports room to give his opinion on national television. The network had immediately gone to a commercial break, but not before well over a million television viewers had gotten a blistering earful of just what the discontented fan thought of the referee and the referee’s mother.
Returning to Houston yesterday, Trask looked forward to his date with Cherie. All day the thought of naked bodies and silken sheets kept him on the edge of anticipation. Sitting home alone and sipping a can of beer before ten o’clock was a sorrowful anticlimax.
Suddenly feeling hot, he loosened a button on his shirt when his thoughts again drifted to Felicia. He had to admit that she had a problem on her hands. He of all people understood her son’s needs. His own father had walked out on his mother not long after Alex had been born. Trask was ten years old at the time. His mother, who had worked long and hard hours as a nurse to make ends meet, could not fill the void created by not having a father in his life. All of his friends had fathers who were always there at their games, and he’d had no one. He tried not to let that matter get to him.
Trask took a sip of his beer when he thought of one particular time when it had mattered.
When he was fourteen, and in junior high school, he played a number of sports. Someone had come up with the idea of having a father-son banquet to end the season. Unfortunately for Trask, he had been the only member of the team who didn’t have a father. At first he thought about not attending and had even mentioned such to Felicia and Clayton. Clayton, who’d also been scheduled to attend, had convinced him to go and had even volunteered to share his own dad for the occasion.
That night, Trask had learned the true meaning of caring. During the ceremony, when the person presiding had asked him and his father to stand, Trask thought he would be standing alone--until he looked around and saw six other men stand with him. The six Madaris brothers had come to stand in his father’s place. Although he was sure they had come because Felicia had asked them to, the thought that they had taken the time to be there with him had touched him deeply.
He’d had Felicia to thank for the night, and now her own son was going through a similar turmoil in his life.
Trask shook his head. The thought of being a holiday dad for Felicia’s son was ludicrous. First of all, he didn’t know the first thing about being a father. His brother Alex was still single, so he didn’t have any nieces or nephews. The closest he had ever gotten to small children was whenever he came into contact with some of his former teammates’ families.
Besides, he thought, it wasn’t as if he had a lot of free time on his hands. He traveled three days a week. And it was nearing the end of the football season, which meant playoffs. He loved football, and although he didn’t play the game professionally any longer, he still enjoyed watching it. His idea of having a good time was sitting in front of the television watching football. It didn’t matter who was playing: high schools, colleges, or the pros. To him words like offense, defense, and Bud Light were sweet music to his ears. What in the world could he do with a four-year-old who was probably too young to know the difference between a football and a basketball?
Trask swore softly. He blamed Clayton for even showing him the letter in the first place. He blamed Felicia for having married two rich, but irresponsible men. And he blamed himself for even caring.
His thoughts shifted back to Felicia’s ex-husbands. What real man would turn his back on his own son and not be there for him? According to what Clayton had told him, even before his death, Steven Gardner had not once come to see his child. And although her second husband had not been Austin’s natural father, his marriage to Felicia had made him the little boy’s stepfather. Didn’t that relationship count for something?
Trask crushed his empty beer can in his hand, thinking about his own sorry excuse for a father. After not seeing him since the age of ten, the man had had the nerve to show up at the hotel the night before Trask’s first Super Bowl game, requesting free tickets for him, his new wife, and his pimple-faced stepdaughter.
Trask stood and went over to the counter to grab a bag of chips. His thoughts again returned to Felicia and her son. Who’d ever heard of a dad for the holidays anyway? In the letter Austin had written to Santa, the kid claimed he would return his holiday dad on New Year’s Day. What if the kid changed his mind and became attached? How far would he go to have his way?
Trask had once been a witness to a kid in the shopping mall having a temper tantrum. That scene had reminded him of a rabid animal being shot. The little boy had all but foamed at the mouth. Evidently the intended performance worked since the kid’s mother had practically bought out the entire toy department to shut him up and to get him from rolling all over the floor.
Trask frowned. And knowing Felicia, her child was probably a spoiled brat just as she had been. He tried to recall how the kid had acted at Clayton’s wedding. Since everything had gone smoothly, he guessed the little boy had been on his best behavior that day.
He shook his head in disbelief that he was even having these thoughts. He must be crazy to think twice about doing anything to help Felicia out. The two of them would argue constantly, which wouldn’t make a good impression on the kid. But then, maybe, just maybe, Clayton was right. Maybe it was about time for him and Felicia to begin acting their ages. And he had to admit that acting their ages did have some merit. Especially if it would relieve this constant, nagging ache in the lower part of his body.
He had blown it with Cherie tonight, which meant he was still hard up, literally, for female companionship. Trask again thought of Felicia and gave a thoughtful purse of his lips as he considered the depth of just what he might be getting himself into. The idea that what he might be getting himself into was Felicia’s curvaceous body made his blood sizzle. The thought of his body moving deep inside hers made an outpouring of sweat form on his forehead. Desire, the likes of which he’d never experienced before tore through him. He was shocked how fast his heart was thundering in his chest.
Standing and moving quickly, he headed for the bathroom. He needed a cold shower—and fast. Then later, he would think some more about how he could make Felicia’s little boy a happy kid for the holidays--and make himself a satisfied, satiated man.
He smiled. As for how he would handle Felicia, he had every intention of doing something about that smart mouth of hers--like kissing it till it ached, while moans of ecstasy slipped though her ripened lips.
Maybe it was about time he put Felicia in her place. And at the moment, he couldn’t think of a better place than his bed.
***
A week later
The infuriating woman had the nerve to open the door with her face completely covered with night cream. And if that didn’t beat all, Trask thought, Felicia’s head was fully covered with some ugly looking scarf. But her perfume, an alluring and enticing scent, was her redeeming asset. The fragrance stirred to life the heat within him.
He had been reluctant to drop by unexpectedly on the off chance she was entertaining male company. He now felt safe in dismissing the possibility since she definitely didn’t resemble a woman trying to impress anyone with her looks tonight.
The eyes that stared at Trask through all the mud on her face narrowed, first in surprise, then in annoyance. “What are you doing here?” Felicia asked testily.
Trask couldn’t help but smile. He had to hand it to her. She could make the most unwelcome person feel...most unwelcome. “May I come in, Felicia?”
“Why would you want to come in? Besides, it’s late.”
Trask frowned. He didn’t need her to tell him it was late. He had been driving around town for the past couple of hours, trying to talk himself out of the decision he had made that afternoon. Two weeks had passed and he hadn’t been able to get her son’s letter to Santa out of his mind. Nor had he been able to get her out of his mind. He had finally come up with a plan on how to kill two birds with one stone.
“I know it’s late, but we need to talk so let me in--unless you’re afraid.” One thing Trask knew about Felicia, in addition to having a razor-sharp tongue, she was competitive by nature and enjoyed challenges. And he had deliberately just thrown her one.
“What do you mean we have to talk? And what do you mean unless I’m afraid? Just who or what am I supposed to be afraid of, Trask Maxwell? Definitely not you.”
“I believe otherwise.”
Evidently she thought something was funny, Trask thought, watching her throw her head back and burst into a fit of laughter.
“You’re cute, Trask, real cute,” she said when her laughter had subsided. “And this conversation is utterly ridiculous. I refuse to participate in it any longer.”
“Even if it means making your son happy for the holidays?”
As he knew it would, that statement got her attention. It also made him the recipient of a look that suddenly went from slightly amused to dangerously chilling.
“What are you talking about, Trask?”
“Clayton let me read your son’s letter to Santa.”
“So you read it,” she snapped. “Big deal.” Inwardly, Felicia suddenly considered it a big deal. She didn’t like the idea of Clayton sharing that letter with Trask. He would seize any opportunity to ridicule her.
“I’m offering my help.”
Felicia raised a brow. “Your help? And just how do you think you can help?”
Trask doubted she would want him to go into the details on her doorstep at eleven o’clock at night. “I think we need to discuss this inside.”
Trask knew he had aroused her curiosity, which was another weakness of hers. Curiosity had gotten her into trouble a number of times while they were growing up. He remembered how her curiosity about kissing had driven her to want to experiment with him. She had expected him to sit still, like a statue, while she discovered what kissing was all about. At the age of sixteen, on a rainy afternoon, when they should have been in her bedroom studying, they had called a truce long enough to explore the art of kissing.
“Trask, I’m talking to you.”
Trask realized that, while his thoughts had been in the past, she had been talking to him. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Felicia frowned at him. “I said come in.” She stepped aside to let him enter. After closing the door, she led him into a huge, nicely furnished living room.
“Stay,” she ordered before turning and leaving him alone.
Trask’s gaze traveled the full length of her long, lithe body which was clad in a slinky, silk robe, until she disappeared from sight. It was only then he remembered the order she had snapped at him.
Stay?
Did she think she was giving orders to some mutt by the name of Rover or Rin-Tin-Tin? He had no intentions of following her orders and staying put. Defiantly, he left the living room and decided to conduct a personal tour of Felicia’s home.
Although the house was large and tastefully decorated and in a very nice area of town, he had expected a lot more for a woman who’d made a career out of marrying for money. There were no maids or butlers scurrying about. Evidently husbands one and two had shoved prenuptial agreements down her throat. He immediately dismissed the idea. Knowing Felicia, she would have shoved them right back and would have told them just where they could put those agreements. That meant there must be another reason why she wasn’t living off her ex-husbands’ wealth. According to Clayton, she had opened some sort of dress store last year. He wondered if that was her primary source of income right now.