She frowned, shaking her head. “Yeah, but—”
He cut her off with another, swift kiss. “No buts, Frankie. I’m not that kid off a council estate anymore. I’m an international-level player. They pay me a lot. More than I’ll ever need. More than enough to treat my lady to a posh ride in a limo.”
He stopped when he realized what he’d said. He’d claimed her as his. Right there out loud rather than the fantasy he’d been running in his head since Damon had told him that Frankie needed a date. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject quickly, hoping she hadn’t picked up on his mistake.
“Did you catch any of the matches last year?”
He shifted position in the seat, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side. He knew she hadn’t been to any of the matches in person, either a Wolves game or any of the international matches he and Damon had played. The teams made a big thing of any of the players’ families attending matches. It increased player morale and that was good for business. Better morale meant more challenges for the ball, slicker play, and ultimately, more tries.
As he waited for her answer, he realized he
wanted
her to have seen a game. Not to know she liked the game. Not to support her local team, or because she was patriotic. No, he wanted her to have watched a game for one reason. To watch him play and see him at his best.
He knew the score. He was tall, yes, with the sort of ripped, muscled body most men dreamed of owning thanks to the intense amount of training each player had to put in to chase the dream. To get that way he exercised until he was drunk with it, until his muscles ached and his mind was wiped, capable of nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. The sort of brutal training regime that most wouldn’t dream of following.
But he wasn’t good-looking. His nose had been busted twice and probably would be again before long. He had scars aplenty and his left ear had to be syringed to remove the swelling on a regular basis or it began to resemble a cauliflower. He wasn’t good with the words like some of the guys, and he couldn’t sing. In fact, he sang like a duck with a cold, even making himself wince when he forgot and decided to belt out a tune in the shower.
But rugby, that was something he could do. On the pitch just before a match, gum shield in hand and fingers taped together because he had a tendency to break them, he felt invincible. Like he could take on an army and win. He felt like a god, and he wanted her to see him that way.
She shook her head and disappointment crashed through him. She hadn’t seen him in all his glory, doing what he loved.
“What, never?” Disbelief colored his voice as the limo turned a corner. “You’re telling me that your brother is an international star and you’ve never seen him play?”
Her cheeks were scarlet as she looked away. “I had other commitments that I couldn’t get out of.”
He knew the reason. Her ex. The wanker who’d taken all the glory and got her fired. Self-centered bastard like that wouldn’t give a moment’s thought to someone else. Or their family.
“Yeah, well. You should. He’s a damn good player, one of the best I’ve ever seen. Coach says he’ll go a long way if he can keep off the injury bench.”
“You know Damon. Like a bull in a china shop most of the time,” she said, turning to look at him quizzically. “So the coach said that
just
Damon will go a long way. What about you? From what I hear you’re quite the rising star yourself.”
Pleasure surged through him at her words, but he hid it under a nonchalant shrug. He was good, he knew that, but he didn’t like to be arrogant about it. There were way too many players totally up their own asses as it was. The game didn’t need another one.
“If I play my cards right. Work hard. Nothing worth having comes easily.”
“Typical Leighton. Always so serious. You know, I never thought you’d crack a smile as a kid. You need to cut loose sometimes, and have a little fun.” She reached out to wind a strand of his hair, loose since his conversation with Damon in the men’s toilets, around her finger. “I love your hair, always have.”
“Is that right? You think I need to cut loose. Why, do you think I’m boring?” Within a heartbeat the mood in the taxi changed from light and teasing to dark and dangerous. The air was heavy, throbbing with awareness and sensual tension to the beat of the blood surging through the thick hard-on in his trousers. Temptation teased and taunted him until he couldn’t stand it. He was serious, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to have fun. Or want to have a little fun, of the horizontal kind, with her. “I’ll show you how boring I am.”
Twisting, he pulled her half under him on the seat suddenly, her chestnut hair fanning out over the cream leather like a dark halo. She gasped, surprised by his sudden move, but then he was leaning over her, hand planted on the seat next to her head to brace himself as he fought for self-control. All he wanted to do was push her knee-length skirt up to her waist, tear off whatever scraps of fabric she’d chosen as lingerie, and bury himself balls deep inside her.
The descent of his lips to hers was slow, his gaze on hers all the way as he let her see the heat and need warring for dominance inside him.
This time when his lips claimed hers there was no gentle exploration; his desire for her was too great. Instead he took her lips with raw power and need; feral and sensual like an alpha male claiming his woman.
She melted under him, her body pliant under his hands as he gave in and ran one up the slender length of her thigh. Pushing the skirt up, he lifted her leg, pulling it over his hip. His fingers brushed against the lace top of a stocking and he was lost. Just the thought of her in her underwear before him, like a gift ready for him to unwrap and taste, nearly unmanned him then and there.
There was no way he was taking her in a limo. That was just too sordid for words. An act worthy of Double-D and his never-ending quest to be the most laid player on the team. A shiver rolled through his body as he stilled his hand, fingertips brushing back and forward over the lace as he made love to her mouth. Thrusting his tongue past her lips to stroke and slide along hers. Claiming her essence and branding her with his.
She moaned, the soft, sexy little sound lost under his lips, her small hands clinging to him as she tried to get closer. Her body pressed against his, writhing and moving against him in a sensual dance that send his blood pressure rocketing. Her moan was one of surrender as she kissed him back. Silently giving herself up to him, to this, to whatever he wanted.
Triumph surged through him. Need, want, and desire hard on its heels as he pulled her upright, easily lifting her to settle her in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. They both groaned as he pressed her down, grinding her groin against the rigid length of his cock constrained by his dress trousers.
Hands rough, he cupped her nape to hold her still and blazed a trail of kisses over the silky skin of her shoulder. He’d never been more grateful for tinted windows and the privacy a limo afforded as his other hand cupped her breast, the generous mound easily contained. Moans slipped from her lips to fill the small compartment as she arched her back, offering more of herself to him. Her hips moved, grinding the heat of her pussy against his cock.
He stopped, leaning his forehead against her shoulder as he fought for control again. All that separated him from being where they both wanted him to be were the thin layers of their clothing. All he had to do was unzip his trousers, push her underwear aside and…
She shifted, putting his thoughts into action as she reached down between them to fumble with his zipper. For a split second he was tempted. If she initiated it, it wasn’t so bad, right? With a sigh, he put his hand over hers, stopping her.
“No sweetheart, not in here,” he whispered against her lips before he kissed her again. When he pulled away, the quickly covered pain and rejection lanced him to the core. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to upset her.
“I want to.
God,
do I want to.” He leaned his forehead against hers, his words soft. “But I want more than a one-night stand, and I want our first time to be special and in a bed.”
“You’re a closet romantic, did anyone ever tell you that?” She laughed in response, the sound shaky but pleased as she twisted her hand, lacing her fingers with his and lifting to press a soft kiss to his scarred knuckles. She looked up and the expression in her eyes, sultry and hot, had the air punching out of his lungs. “Okay, I won’t corrupt you in the limo. But as soon as we get home, you’re mine.”
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence. With his girl tucked in happily beside him, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her protectively, Gray felt on top of the world.
“We’re here,” he said softly, as the vehicle pulled to a stop outside an apartment building. She lifted her head, stifling a yawn as he helped her climb from the limo. A fond smile curved his lips as she leaned into him while he thanked Fred, then they made their way inside.
The building was modern, with sleek, clean lines and a muted, classy color scheme in the public places. Her apartment was two floors up, one of the smaller units in the corner. She deserved the penthouse, he decided, remembering that she’d always loved the garden. In the city a garden was out, but a penthouse with a large balcony could accommodate plants and flowers. His did.
Not that he had a clue what half of them actually were. A plant was a plant to him. As long as he didn’t have to look after it, then they were all good since he could kill anything green. His mum had once asked him to tend her cactus while she was away. It hadn’t needed watering but somehow he’d managed to kill it anyway.
He waited as Frankie dug in her bag for her door keys. Even though it was only a small bag, he knew women liked to drag along everything but the kitchen sink, so it came as no surprise that she couldn’t put her hand on her keys immediately. Finally, she made a small sound of triumph, pulling them from her bag. And promptly dropped them with a metallic clatter.
“Fuck it,” she muttered, bending to scoop them up. Immediately his gaze latched on to the tempting curve of her backside. If she wasn’t so distracted, he’d think she’d dropped them on purpose just to tease him.
The desire that had been running rampant through his body all evening warred with the sudden need to protect her. She’d been flirting with him, on and off, all evening. One moment she was confident and assured as she fired off a quick reply to something he’d said, the next she wore a blush across her cheeks as she seemed to struggle for something to say. Add to that the fact he’d caught her looking at him in fascination when she didn’t think he was looking. It didn’t take a genius to work out she was having trouble reconciling the man he was now with the boy he had been.
He was more than happy to provide proof of that.
“Here, let me.”
Recovering the keys from the floor, he deftly fitted them in the lock and pushed the door open to let her enter before him. His body hummed with awareness as she walked past him, every curve and hollow revealed by her fitted dress calling out for his touch.
Gritting his teeth, he followed her, getting a brief glimpse of the darkened apartment as she led him through to the small kitchen. The impression of clean lines and minimalist but comfortable furniture didn’t surprise him. She’d always been tidying up after him and her brother.
“Do you want coffee? Tea?” she started, and stopped as scarlet hit her cheeks again in bright banners of color.
Coffee, tea, or me?
The silly phrase hung in the air between them until she turned and opened a cupboard, rooting around inside it. Cups clinked against each other but she didn’t appear to find what she was looking for. Since he was sure she kept her cups lined up in size order with the handles all facing the same way, she was obviously doing it to retain some composure.
He curled a big hand around her wrist, pulling her gently away from the cupboard, and closed the door.
“Just some music?” he suggested, smoothing the loose strands of her hair back from her face.
Even in the somewhat harsh overhead lights of the kitchen, she was beautiful. How had he gotten so lucky? He’d lusted after her for years; now he had her in his arms as she looked at him like a woman would a man. Would finally have her in the carnal sense of the word, make her his so completely that she’d always measure any other man by him. He’d barely finished the thought before jealousy bit at its heels. He didn’t want to think of her with any other man. She was his. End of story.
“What kind?”
“Huh?”
She smiled, leaning into his palm as she looked up at him. The same sexy little look through her lashes that drove him wild. “What kind of music?”
“Oh, something soft…romantic?”
He let her go, trailing her heels like an overlarge puppy as she headed into the living room. The thought amused him. It was apt. He’d even roll over and let her rub his tummy, as long as he got to rub something in return.
“Hmm. How about this?” she asked as she straightened, the strains of soft piano music filling the room. He hadn’t a clue what it was, and really didn’t care. If she wanted to discuss intelligent stuff like pianists and music, she needed someone other than a rugby player. Particularly
this
rugby player.
“Perfect.” He moved quickly as she stepped back and turned, catching her in his arms. “You know, I didn’t get to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room earlier.”
She scoffed, but a smile flirted with the curves of her lips. “Yeah, Zette was kind of busy,” she said, naming the celebrity rock star everyone had flocked to the charity event to see. “But I don’t think her husband let anyone dance with her.”
“He didn’t.” Gray chuckled as he urged her into movement. They danced slowly, swaying gently to the music as the moonlight poured in through the windows to highlight the room. “But I wasn’t talking about her. She’s pretty, but you’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure your mum dropped you on your head when you were a baby.”