Field of Pleasure (14 page)

His muscles relaxed as the tension flowed out of him. It was amazing what five minutes of clear thinking could do for the body and mind.

Shoving his cell phone into the pocket of his baggy sweats, Jared headed back for the media room. On the way there, he spotted Chyna in the kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator eating a peach.

“I thought you didn't need anything but me?” Jared said, sauntering over to her and gliding his palms over her hips.

“Well, you were taking too long. Besides, I don't think you have anything that can top this peach. It is divine,” she said, biting into the fruit's ripe flesh. A droplet of juice clung to her lip, like an engraved invitation for his tongue.

“Hmm…” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in direct contact with his hardening body. He lowered his head. “Let's see if I can prove you wrong.”

 

Chyna brushed her fingers across the soft fabric of Jared's tuxedo as they walked arm in arm to their box seats at the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center. She was having a hard time controlling her emotions. She'd been to the famed opera house only one time, back when she was a little girl and Liani's father had surprised them both with tickets to a performance of
The Nutcracker
.
The sheer opulence was overwhelming enough, but when she thought of all the great performers who had graced this stage…it was enough to make any girl who'd ever had dreams of the doing the same a little emotional.

“Right this way,” the usher instructed, his hand gesturing to the closed door of one of the Grand Tier private boxes. How Jared had managed to get these seats was beyond her.

Jared motioned for her to go in ahead of him. Chyna stepped forward and let out a short gasp. There was a small round table with a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver wine bucket. On a platter next to it lay an array of cheeses and fruit, along with a single red rose.

Chyna turned to Jared and grabbed his face between her hands, pulling him to her and crushing her lips to his.

“Thank you,” she said. “This is the best present I've ever received.”

They took their seats and Jared poured them both glasses of champagne. Chyna's eyes roamed the opera house, trying to see as much as possible before the lights were dimmed at the start of the performance. As she peeked around the privacy partition that partially shielded their box, she noticed something.

“The other boxes on this level have at least six people. How did we get a box for two?” she asked. Jared flashed her a quick, almost guilty look, and comprehension settled in. “You bought out the entire box?” she asked.

Chyna didn't want to even imagine how much one ticket in the nosebleed section cost for a sold-out, one-night-only performance of the Kirov Ballet. An entire box on the Grand Tier level had to have cost a small fortune.

“You better not mention money,” Jared said in a
warning tone. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Whatever the cost, it was worth it to have you all to myself.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now, I want you to sit down and enjoy the performance.”

He turned her around and removed the black shawl from her shoulders. Chyna heard his swift intake of breath and smiled. She'd known exactly what his reaction would be when she'd chosen this particular dress. Jared didn't disappoint.

“You are killing me, woman,” he said.

The silky black dress looked perfectly innocent from the front, clinging delicately to her curves and stopping just above her knees. The back told a different story. It dipped incredibly low, leaving her completely bare down to the small of her back.

“I take it you like the dress?”

“Not as much as I'm going to like taking it off you tonight,” he answered. “How long is this damn ballet supposed to last?”

“Don't you dare rush this.” Chyna laughed. “I want to enjoy every minute of it.”

The lights in the opera house blinked several times, indicating that patrons were to take their seats for the start of the performance.

Jared gestured for her to sit as the lights in the opera house dimmed and those facing the stage brightened. He pulled his chair so close that their thighs touched.

He leaned over, and with his warm breath fanning her neck, whispered softly, “I hope this turns out to be the best night of your life.”

Chyna looked him in the eyes and said, “It already is.”

 

Jared could think of a million things he'd rather do than sit through a ballet, but he wouldn't trade this night
for anything. Watching Chyna as she looked on in complete rapture was worth every penny he'd spent—and damn, had he spent a lot of those to score this box—and every minute he had to endure stuffed in this uncomfortable tuxedo.

She had been captivated from the moment the performers first flitted across the stage, emitting tiny gasps with every twirl of the ballerinas. Jared had no doubt in his mind that her passion for dance rivaled what he felt for football. It was in her blood, in her very soul. He knew the feeling. He was starting to feel it for something else. Chyna.

The realization caused instant panic to grip his chest, but Jared quelled it. He wouldn't allow his fear of being hurt again get in the way of loving another woman, especially one as special at Chyna.

The gold curtains descended as intermission began, and Chyna finally turned her attention away from the stage. The pure joy on her face was inspiring. She looked as if he'd given her the world by bringing her here.

Her chest rose with a deep, contented sigh. “Isn't it just marvelous?”

“The best.” Jared nodded as if he'd paid attention to anything happening on the stage. His entire focus had centered on Chyna, relishing her enjoyment.

Chyna proceeded to spend the next ten minutes telling him the story behind the ballet. Jared couldn't care less about Prince Ivan or the magical bird he captured, but Chyna's enthusiasm was infectious.

“I've always loved the story of the Firebird, but never got the chance to see an actual performance of it.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you so much for this, Jared. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

The excitement she exuded gave him a pretty good
idea. Jared used it to his advantage. Pulling her onto his lap, he settled her bare back to his chest and pressed a kiss onto the fragrant, smooth skin between her shoulder blades.

“You can show me how grateful you are later,” he said.

She rubbed her backside against him, snuggling more firmly onto his lap. “That's a promise,” she said.

Jared sucked in a swift breath as need raced through him. This ballet couldn't end fast enough.

Mercifully, the lights dimmed. Music poured from the orchestra as the performers returned, and Chyna was once again enraptured. Jared barely registered the dancer floating across the stage. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than the woman in his arms.

His body was a slave to the sensations overwhelming him as Chyna remained in his lap, her firm, round backside nestled against his rapidly hardening shaft. Jared ran his palms along her thighs, sliding his hands underneath the hem of her silky dress.

“Jared,” Chyna whispered. “What are you doing?”

He would show her better than he could tell her. Moving quickly to the whisper of lace covering her delectable mound, he hooked a finger around the thin strip of fabric and pushed it to the side. Lifting her slightly with one hand, Jared used the other to free himself from the confines of his tuxedo pants. With one deft, swift move, he shifted her a few inches to the right and entered, impaling her with his rock-hard erection.

“Oh, God,” Chyna gasped, her narrow, wet passage clutching around him. For several seconds Jared held her there, letting their bodies get acquainted with their position. Then with even, unhurried strokes, he guided her down his stiff arousal, concentrating on every nuance
of her tight, slick body cloaking him as she rose up and down the length of his cock.

He was aware of the people in boxes on either side of them. The thought of being overheard caused a slight thrill to race down his spine. He'd never made love in public before, where there was a chance of getting caught. It made the pleasure even more intense.

With her hands on the brass railing, Chyna pumped up and down, riding him in a deliberate rhythm. Jared pressed his mouth to the small of her back, gliding his tongue up her spine. She grabbed one of his hands and shoved it inside her dress, clamping it onto her breast.

He plucked at her distended nipple, rubbing the hardened point between his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand he snaked around her waist and delved into the soaking wet curls between her legs, finding the rigid nub and giving it the same treatment as her nipple.

Chyna arched her back and swallowed a scream, her body convulsing, shuddering around him as she came apart in his arms. Jared caught her at her waist before she could tip over, peppering her sweat-slicked spine with light kisses.

Her body went limp as she fell back against his chest.

Jared splayed one palm over her stomach while running the other up and down her damp thigh.

“Why haven't I come to the ballet sooner?” he whispered into her ear. “I had no idea what I was missing.”

C
hyna stared at the tiny hourglass figure on her computer screen as the huge file continued to download. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do with it once the download was complete, but her focus was on everything
but
work today. She should have taken the day off. It was her birthday, after all. No one would fault her for using a vacation day.

But her wanting time away from the office had nothing to do with celebrating her twenty-seventh birthday. She needed time just to digest all that was happening in her world.

Her advisor had emailed to say he would have word on her independent study project some time this afternoon. Chyna was checking her personal email at a rate of three times per minute, willing an email to pop up.

After six long years, the thought of finally finishing her degree should have had her teetering on the edge of
nirvana, but it was the call she'd received an hour ago from the Saberrettes executive director that had caused Chyna's heart to skip several beats before she gained control of it again.

The executive director had praised the work Chyna had done over the past several weeks. Then she'd hit her with the most unexpected, and most incredible news ever. She'd offered her a full-time job as the Saberrettes' permanent choreographer.

Even now Chyna's entire being nearly erupted with excited, nervous energy. To dance for a living had been her dream since the age of six. There was nothing she'd ever wanted more, and she had finally been offered the chance to do just that.

The first person she wanted to tell was Jared, and wasn't that just the most unbelievable thing in all of this?

It was pure madness, the way this man had burrowed himself into every facet of her life. Thoughts of him were constant. It didn't matter if she was in a departmental meeting, helping her mother with her extra laundry work or walking Summer around the block. Thoughts of what Jared was doing, what he was thinking, what sensual games he was planning for their next night together, continued to imbue her brain.

Chyna pulled in a shuddering breath.

She didn't want to admit to it—would ferociously deny it if anyone had the audacity to accuse her. But in her heart she knew she had fallen hopelessly, desperately in love with him. She'd told herself she didn't have time for a man, but Chyna couldn't refute the fact that these past few months with Jared had been some of the most carefree days and pleasure-filled nights of her life.

“Chyna, can I have a word with you in my office?”

She looked up from the computer screen to find her
immediate supervisor, Darla Nash, standing just over her cubicle wall.

“Of course,” Chyna answered, pushing away from her desk and following the woman into her sparsely furnished office. Darla motioned for her to take a seat as she walked to the other side of her frosted glass-topped desk and sat behind it. “Richard will be here in a moment. Oh, there he is,” she said, as the head of the Risk Assessment division walked in and closed the door behind him.

“Sorry about that,” he said, taking the seat opposite Chyna. “The meeting ran a little long. So, did you all discuss the position yet?”

Darla shook her head. “Not yet. My conference call ran over, so we're just getting started.”

“Perfect,” Richard said with a huge smile.

Chyna looked back and forth between the two, her heart racing like a wild stallion in her chest. “Well, Chyna.” Richard Boswell twisted in his chair and clamped his hands together. “As you know, we've been looking for someone to fill one of the junior management positions in the Risk Assessment division. Several members of the team got together last night and decided that you are the best fit for the job.”

Chyna had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming.

Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.
The litany ran through her mind like a scratched vinyl album stuck on the same verse. She covertly pulled in a calming breath and channeled her inner professional businesswoman.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you both for having such confidence in me.”

“I've no doubt you'll be great,” Richard said. “You're going to have your degree in the next few weeks, correct?”

Chyna nodded.

“Excellent,” Richard said. “You should know that there will be some changes in the way our junior management team functions here at Marlowe and Brown, and we're going to start instituting them as we transition you into the position.”

A measure of unease crept up the back of her neck. “Okay,” Chyna said. “Can I ask what kind of changes?”

Darla sat forward in her chair. “We want the junior managers to be cross-functional, so that when they are ready to move into upper management positions, they will have a more well-rounded view of the way the entire organization operates. When you move into your new job, you will be working in both Risk Assessment and Planning. It will seem like a lot in the beginning, but if you focus and perform, you're going to move up the ladder much quicker than people have in the past.

“I've watched you grow over these last few years, Chyna,” Darla continued. “I know you're going to excel in this position. If you accept it, of course.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Chyna said. She did her best to ignore the apprehension that caused her skin to itch. She shook hands with the division head and then with her immediate supervisor. “You'll understand if I want to take some time to think it over?”

“Absolutely,” Darla said. “If you have any questions, you know I'm always here.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Richard joked.

“One of the hazards of the job,” Darla returned with a tired smile.

The lines of fatigue that could not be covered with Darla's makeup sent those ripples of unease skittering across Chyna's skin once again.

As she made her way back to her cubicle, she did
everything within her power to convince herself that she was thrilled at this news. She'd just gotten what she wanted, a stable, well-paying position that would provide financial security. This is what she'd worked for, the end goal of countless nights of studying and days of working her fingers to the bone.

So why did her stomach feel like lead?

It didn't take a lot of soul searching for Chyna to uncover the source of the turmoil roiling through her. For years, she'd had conflicting goals warring with each other. One side wanted nothing more than to prove that her lifelong pursuit of making a living at dancing wasn't just a foolish dream, while another—the sensible, prudent side that could never completely shut out her father's constant proclamation that dreams were worthless—believed she needed a “real” job to succeed in life.

Chyna didn't know what to do. Should she step out on faith and try to make a living from dance or settle for the stability of a normal nine-to-five?

It was an impossible decision. She'd worked hard for both, but there was no way she could feasibly do both. She had to make a choice.

The question was, which was she willing to give up?

 

Jared tightened the athletic tape around his wrist and tore the piece off with his teeth. Even though the X-ray showed no fracture, the sprained joint still hurt like a bitch. He moved his hand up and down, then rotated it a few times, trying to loosen it up.

A wrist injury was never good for any football player, but for a cornerback it was ten times worse. He used his hands to defend the ball. With only one functioning at full capacity, it made his job that much tougher. Now he had the precarious task of trying to impress the coaches
while also making sure he didn't injure himself further before the start of the regular season.

“You ready to roll?” Randall asked, fitting a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands.

Jared nodded, rising from the chair in front of his locker.

“You better put on your best smile. Kendall said there are about a dozen camera crews out there today.”

Jared let out a frustrated curse. “Why do they let the press into OTAs? It's not as if this is training camp. Some of the guys are just getting back from vacation today. Now all you're going to hear about is how rusty everyone looked during the organized team activities.”

“They won't be able to say that about the two of us,” Randall said. “Maybe more of the guys will spend their off season in the gym instead of scoping out the buffet on a cruise boat.”

“After the way Cedric came back smiling, I may take a cruise around the Caribbean myself,” Jared said. “Though I think it has more to do with who he brought with him instead of the location.”

“I would be smiling if I had a woman like Payton Mosely on my arm, too,” Randall agreed.

Jared didn't have to covet Cedric's woman. He had his own, and she was every bit as fine as any woman he'd ever seen.

A grin flashed across his lips at the thought of the birthday dinner he had planned for Chyna tonight. He'd made reservations at Masa, one of the hottest and most exclusive Japanese restaurants in Manhattan. His real estate agent had delivered the deed to the dance school this morning, just before he'd headed to the Sabers compound. His housekeeper, Maggie, was having the deed gift-wrapped.

In the field house, the bulk of the Sabers' defense was congregating around the forty-five-yard line on the practice field. The team was still in noncontact mode, so players wouldn't be required to dress in full pads for another couple of weeks, but some of the guys still opted for their practice jerseys instead of T-shirts as they walked through the plays. Jared understood the psychology behind it. He always felt more in work mode when wearing a jersey.

As he and Randall approached, a couple of the guys who were huddled around each other broke apart and cast cautious looks toward them.

“What?” Jared asked, his tone brooking no tolerance for bull. If they had heard something regarding his position, he wanted to know now.

Starting tight end Kendall Fisher lifted his iPhone. “You don't happen to keep tabs on some of the guys on Twitter, do you?” he asked.

“I don't do Twitter,” Jared said.

“Yeah, well…Carlos Garcia just posted that he and Samantha are engaged,” Kendall said.

Shock siphoned the thoughts from Jared's brain. He didn't know what to think, was unsure of how he should even feel. A part of him didn't want to care. He was done with Samantha, had finally expunged her from his heart. It shouldn't matter to him what she did.

Yet an even bigger part was mad as hell. He'd dropped hints about marriage more than once while they were together, but she had never been ready. In his last attempt he'd shelled out over thirty thousand dollars for an engagement ring and had been ready to promise her a lifetime of happiness as his wife. And now, just months after they start dating, she was marrying Carlos Garcia?

Cold rage settled into Jared's bones, turning his blood to ice.

For ten years Samantha had done nothing but take. And he'd been all too happy to give. As usual.

He'd spent his entire life taking care of other people, whether it was silently holding his mother's hand while she cried herself to sleep when his father left to be with his other women or providing capital when one of his friends needed extra money to help fund his dream. It was what he did. He didn't know how else to be.

The one thing he had never regretted was asking the shy, beautiful college sophomore out to dinner. And then, when he'd found out that she'd grown up stricken by poverty, he'd jumped at the chance to give her everything her heart desired.

Jared regretted it now. He wished he had walked right past Samantha Miller that day he'd spotted her sitting on a bench outside Hepner Hall back on campus at San Diego State.

Randall nudged his shoulder. “Hey, man, don't even sweat it. You're better off without her.”

“You're damned right about that,” Jared said through clenched teeth.

But as he went through the first set of drills with the rest of the Sabers' defensive secondary unit, Jared couldn't get his mind off Samantha and how blind he had been to her lying, treacherous ways. He missed two easy interceptions, and got beat by the wide receiver more times than he could count.

“Dawson,” Lyle Cross, the Sabers' defensive coordinator, barked. “I cut you some slack on the interceptions because of the wrist, but you give me one good damn reason why I shouldn't light into your ass for missing that
tackle? This team is not getting shut out of the playoffs because you can't get past the guy blocking you.”

“I'm sorry,” Jared said. “I've just… I've got a lot on my mind.”

“I don't give a damn about what's on your mind,” Cross bellowed, his hot breath blasting Jared in the face. “The only thing that should be on your mind right now is sticking to that wide receiver's ass and making sure he doesn't catch the damn ball. You got that?”

“Yes,” Jared answered.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to remain on that field, when all he wanted to do was go in the shower and let the hot spray beat down on him. The rest of the secondary core was quiet as everyone calmly got back into position and ran through the play again.

They rotated positions, changing out the first string for the second. To Jared's infinite disgust, the newly drafted rookie, Delonte Cannon, defended the ball like a seasoned veteran. Jared stood on the sideline, hands on his hips, looking on in frustration.

“What's up with you, man?” Randall demanded. “You need to get your head in the game. In case you hadn't noticed, that rookie is gunning for your job. And the way you're playing right now, it looks as if you're trying to give it to him.”

Jared stared at the players on the field without really seeing them. His mind was still reeling from the news about Samantha. He had a hard time concentrating on anything else.