Intercepting Daisy (10 page)

The restaurant had a high, exposed beam ceiling and hardwood floors. Lighting was bright, but not annoyingly so. Tables were on one side. A long, winding stainless steel bar with customer seating sat across from them. The décor was modern, casual, and youthful. This wasn't the place one brought Grandma for brunch on Sundays. The scent of food cooking that drifted out of the pass-through window to the kitchen was incredible.

The hostess directed them to a table for two away from the large picture windows that looked out over the street. She stared at Grant for a moment and pursed her lips. “Don't you play for the Sharks?”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Your server will be right with you.” She spun on one heel and walked away.

“I'm still wondering if that was good or bad,” Grant said.

“Maybe she's flirting with you,” Daisy said.

“I'd like to flirt with you,” he said.

Time seemed to stop while she stared into his dark eyes. He reached out for her hand again. She'd lost interest in the food. It smelled delicious, but this had just gone from a casual dinner out to something a lot more exciting, at least for her.

Whenever she'd pictured spending time with Grant before she'd actually had a conversation with him, he wasn't doing a lot of talking. He was pretty much naked. And they were exploring the limits of what they could do to each other and for how long. She still wanted to do all kinds of things with and to him, but she wasn't positive he wanted the same thing.

He was flirting, he was holding her hand, but he'd acted like a perfect gentleman so far. She didn't think it was a lack of interest in getting busy. Maybe he was shy, or maybe he was saving himself for marriage. They'd kissed each other good-bye in a parking garage last time. Maybe this time, they'd pick somewhere a bit more romantic to make out than the front seat of his car or her porch.

Maybe she should concentrate on enjoying the moment more than worrying about what was going to happen (or not) later.

Daisy glanced at the menu. She wasn't really hungry, but she knew she had to order something. She'd already had drinks earlier, so one glass of wine with her dinner would do. She wasn't flying tomorrow, but she really didn't need to wake up with a hangover atop still feeling a little weird from the flu.

“What looks good?” he asked. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

“It all does,” she said. She wasn't necessarily talking about the food.

He laid his menu back down on the table and clasped her hand inside of both of his. She felt a little breathless. Hopefully, this had nothing to do with some kind of flu relapse and more to do with the fact her heart was beating faster at his touch. She'd listened to her friends talk about touching the guy they fell in love with for the first time—the crazy butterflies in their stomachs, their pounding hearts, their sweaty palms, the fact they just knew. She had all of it and more.

She was out on her second date with him. They didn't know a lot about each other yet. Well, he didn't know a lot about her. She knew what she'd read about him, stories most likely concocted by a publicist, the Sharks' PR group, or both. She was the first one to scoff at another woman who insisted she'd met
the one
on a first date. Would she feel the same way about him if he was a plumber or an insurance agent and didn't make his living on a football field in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans?

She didn't want to let go of his hand to eat. She didn't want to let go of it for any reason at all, and he wasn't making a move away from her, either. She was aware the front door was opening, and people were surging into the restaurant for the dinnertime rush, but she was content to sit in a pool of soft light holding Grant's hand as rain pelted the restaurant's windows.

A woman with a sleeve of tattoos materialized at their table and took their order. She stared at Grant the entire time. It would be a miracle if any food arrived at the table at all. Maybe that wasn't so bad.

The server collected the menus and walked away from them.

“I can afford dinner,” Grant teased. Daisy had ordered a salad since she really wasn't hungry. Plus, she knew how the server felt—she wanted to do nothing else but stare at Grant.

“I know. I stuffed myself in the suite earlier,” she said. “It was endless wings and margaritas. I had a great time. How was your afternoon? I guess it was a little more action-packed than the usual Sunday,” she joked.

He took a sip of the iced tea the server had just brought to the table. “It's been one of the best days of my life so far.”

“How come?”

“The game went well. We won. I knew I was going to see you afterward.”

“Are you flirting with me, Grant Parker?”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “You can't imagine what I'm going to say next.”

G
RANT WATCHED
D
AISY
pick at her salad. He made a few attempts to eat, and the food was delicious, but his attention was riveted on her. He noted the sparkle in her eyes, the soft pink flush moving over her cheeks, and the darker pink of her mouth as it twitched into a smile. As she shoved a curtain of blonde hair behind one ear and took a bite of her food, he was entranced.

He'd told himself before their first date he was going to take his time and get to know her before he seduced her. They could wait and see if they liked each other. They didn't need to jump into bed immediately. But the longer he sat at the restaurant table, the more he realized he was full of shit. His resolve was taking a beating tonight. He enjoyed her company. Even more, he wanted her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him too.

Maybe he should make his move and find out.

The server approached their table with the bill. “Is there anything else I can get for you tonight?” She wasn't exactly diplomatic, but her attempts to hurry them out of her section worked well with his plans for the rest of the evening.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed the server a credit card he pried out of it with one hand. “This should take care of it,” he said.

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Didn't we agree I was treating you this time? Plus, you gave us those tickets for the game today.”

“Another time. I got this,” he said. “Where would you like to go next?”

She nodded at his half-full plate of food. “Should we get a take-out box?”

He almost laughed out loud. “It might make a nice midnight snack.”

“I spend a lot of time wandering around the kitchen at my house thinking that pot roast and mashed potatoes might be just the thing in the middle of the night, you know.”

“I'll bet you do.” He signed the redelivered receipt, stuck his credit card and his copy of the receipt into his pocket, and got to his feet. “Let me help you with your coat.”

There were a hundred places they could go in Seattle and its surrounding neighborhoods for a couple of hours tonight. It wasn't late. The rain was increasing, though, and wandering around one of the parks or the Seattle waterfront was out of the question. A nightclub or a movie might be fun, but they wouldn't be able to talk. He walked her to his car. He made sure she was settled inside and slid into the driver's seat.

“What would you like to do now?” he asked. “How about a drink?”

“I have a pint of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer at my house,” she said.

“Let's go.”

G
RANT PULLED INTO
the driveway in front of Daisy's townhouse and shut off his car. The rain kept up a steady pitter-patter on the windshield as he reached out to take her hand in the darkness. He knew he should say something. He couldn't seem to say enough to her at the restaurant, and now he was tongue-tied.

He was nervous. He'd been in this situation so many times before—sitting in a car outside of a woman's place, getting ready to go inside and have sex with her. He hadn't been nervous with them. He hadn't wanted more from the majority of women he'd dated in the past. The vast majority hadn't wanted more from him, either. He was entertainment. They went on to date or marry a man who could give them what he thought they wanted: a home and a family. Someone to rely on. Permanence.

He wasn't sure he was ready for a wife, 2.2 kids, and a house with a white picket fence, but he needed to make some changes. He'd like to be with someone who'd still be there the next morning and who wanted to be with him. From the minute he'd met her, he knew that Daisy was different. He was attracted to how she looked, but even more, he was drawn to her sweet, funny personality. In the short time they'd known each other, he realized she made everything better, and he wanted to do the same for her.

He hadn't thought he could be someone to rely on until he realized he was a bit envious of his college roommate Cam's new family. He envied the guys on the team who'd managed to meet and marry women who made their lives better. He'd caught the surreptitious looks between husbands and wives, the wordless communication of love and a unified front.

He was torn between his enjoyment of his independence and the fact he didn't want to wake up at two
AM
alone and ill on a bathroom floor again. He also realized that he would have to give as much as he took from any woman. It wasn't a one-way street.

He squeezed her hand one more time. He didn't have to decide the rest of his life in the next ten minutes. He'd already decided that he wanted a change. It began tonight. He wouldn't be able to begin or sustain any relationship until he was all in. His coach had imparted an important life lesson for him again.

“Would you like to come inside?” she said.

He hurried around his car in the rain to open the passenger door for Daisy. He reached out his hand for her smaller one. The rain seemed to have doubled in strength in seconds.

She reached up to stroke his cheek.

“There's a raindrop on your eyelashes,” she said.

He wrapped his arms around Daisy. He'd never been much of a rain fan. November in Seattle tended to be wet and cold. All he could think of at the moment, though, was watching the rain slide over her lips. He wanted to taste them. Seconds later, he sealed his mouth over hers.

He wasn't surprised that her mouth was soft and clung to his in response. He tasted water, but kissing Daisy was like nothing he'd experienced before. It had zero to do with the food they'd eaten or anything else she'd had since he'd kissed her last. He felt the rain sliding through and over their faces as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Their sweet, gentle kiss became frantic with need in seconds.

They pulled each other up the walk to her front door. She fumbled for her keys as they continued to kiss. She tore her lips off of his long enough to grab her keychain out of the bottom of her bag.

“I got it—”

“Let me help,” he said. He took one hand off her long enough to reach out for the keys, which fell from her hand and hit the ground with a jingle. She started to bend over as he sank to one knee. “I got this,” he insisted.

He put one big hand in the middle of her abdomen as he snatched the keys off of her porch. He straightened again and peered into her eyes.

“At least we're under cover,” she murmured.

Thirty seconds later, they were inside her house. She pulled him against the (closed and now locked) front door. The front porch light shining through the peephole in the door offered little relief from the darkness. She heard her house keys hit the tile entrance one more time. She could pick them up later. She reached up to slide her fingers into the dampness of his hair.

“Dropped your keys again,” he breathed against her neck. His tongue glided over a particularly sensitive area, and she gasped.

“It can wait,” she whispered.

She didn't care about the keys. Every time she'd fantasized about being alone with Grant Parker, all she cared about was that there was somewhere to lie down. Or sit down. Whichever worked best. Being naked at the time would also help. Speaking of naked, he'd slid one hand under her hoodie and cupped one of her breasts as they continued to exchange hot, hungry kisses that in her experience meant the evening would continue in her bed.

For a guy who was allegedly Mr. Chaste, he sure knew his way around a woman's body. He slid his hand into her bra as he stroked her nipple in a maddeningly slow fashion. She'd always wondered if there was some type of corresponding nerves between her nipples and her lady place. Those same nerves made her knees buckle as well. She felt a gush of moisture between her legs as he attempted to unbutton and unzip her jeans with one hand.

He wasn't messing around. Well, they were, but he made it clear he was going to make her crazy before they managed to get up the stairs to her bedroom. Maybe they should forget about going to her room. She could flip the gas fireplace on in the living room, pull him onto the carpet, and rock his world there. They weren't going to be walked in on, since Catherine had gone to her boyfriend's house. Then again, the fear of getting caught might make things more exciting.

“I can help,” Daisy said. She unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, sliding them over her hips as he slid his other hand into her underwear. He found the little button of flesh between her legs as he rubbed. Slowly. “God,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

His tongue flicked over her collarbone as he continued to stroke her nipple. With one quick movement, he flipped her breast out of her bra, shoved the hoodie up to her neck, and fastened his mouth onto her nipple. She let out a moan, which sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of her house.

He sucked her, he rubbed her, and everything telescoped into sensation and feeling: the throbbing between her legs, the pull of his mouth and teeth on her nipple, the pounding of her heart, and the acceleration of her breath. He dragged his fingertips through the moisture between her legs and redoubled his efforts. She plunged one hand into his waistband and closed it around his erection.

She heard his groan against her breast. He sucked a little harder. She felt the rushing sensations in her head and more moisture between her legs and began tracing her tongue around the shell of his ear as she tugged on him. Up, down. Up, down. Her thumb slid over the bead of moisture on the head.

She felt his teeth scraping her hardened nipple. The suction almost brought her over the edge by itself, but the rubbing made an orgasm a certainty.

“I . . . I . . . don't stop,” she choked out.

He said something, but it was muffled against her nipple. She felt his finger slide inside her as he rubbed with his thumb. He thrust once, twice, and the orgasm hit her in waves.

“I'll fall,” she cried.

“No, you won't,” he said. His voice was strained. He ground his hips against hers and moved against her as she quivered in his arms. Her body convulsed.

His mouth covered hers again. Their kisses were frantic, teeth and tongues and pressure. Cold air over her exposed nipple brought exquisite pleasure and pain. He was continuing to thrust inside her with one finger, and she felt herself clench around him again.

Her hand wrapped around his penis, she was still pulling on it, and she felt the jerking motion that preceded any man's orgasm. He wrapped his hand around her fist. A few more pumps, and she felt warmth spurting over their hands.

“Shit. Fuck. This is amazing,” he groaned. She wrapped one arm around his waist as his head dropped onto her shoulder.

A few minutes passed. He pulled her closer, his warm breath coming out in puffs against the side of her neck.

“Are you okay?” she whispered as he gently bit her earlobe.

“I'm great. How are you?”

“Mmmmm,” was all she could manage. She felt him shake with laughter.

“I think we made a mess,” he said. “All we have to do is get to the bathroom.”

Her jeans were around her ankles, and her underwear was halfway down her thighs. They'd managed to shove his jeans and his underwear off during the pre-orgasmic phase. Using one's hand on a guy while he was fully dressed could be a challenge. They'd been able to make things work, though. He was hard against her once more. She didn't want it to go to waste, even if her fist was somewhat sticky.

She wanted to ask him if he'd ever done this before—wanted anyone else so badly that he barely made it inside her place before they fell on each other like crazed weasels. Well, maybe the crazed weasels would have taken the two minutes or so to undress each other first.

“There's a powder room on the left.”

He didn't take the hint. He reached out, picked her up by the waist, put one foot down on her jeans, and pulled her free. She wrapped her legs around him.

“Let's go.”

Grant managed to make it upstairs to Daisy's room without tripping over anything or dropping her or the clothes he'd scooped up from the floor. His heart was still racing. They tumbled onto her bed, and he landed on top of her. He tried to brace his weight on both hands so he wouldn't squish her. It was always a good thing to be somewhat considerate.

He heard her laugh a little as she pushed the ball of clothing he'd wedged between them onto the floor again. “I don't think we need these right now,” she said.

He normally would have made the usual comments before they got to her room about how this was one night, he wasn't in the market for any type of ongoing relationship, and he was not sticking around. Nothing came out of his mouth besides, “It's nice in here,” which may have been the most stupid comment in the history of second-date sexual encounters.

Her room was dark, so he couldn't see a hell of a lot. Her bed was comfortable, though, and held her scent—flowers and sunshine.

“I'm glad you like it,” she said. He heard the hint of laughter in her voice. Maybe she felt awkward too.

Her fingertips moved over his face; she tucked his hair behind one ear. His man-bun was out. He'd be spending a few minutes searching for the elastic when he left.

He obviously needed help of some sort. He shouldn't give a shit about where he'd left the little elastic thing he used in his hair while he was lying on a mostly naked woman five minutes after she'd helped him have an orgasm so intense he'd almost blacked out. What was wrong with him? Maybe all that passion had affected his brain function somehow.

Maybe he should quit thinking so much and get back in the game.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness while they rested for a bit. He wasn't going to think about the fact he needed a break or what that said about him. He wasn't usually this tired after a game, and he wasn't that old. She stroked his face again. Grant breathed in her scent. Shit, she smelled good.

“Want to snuggle for a while?” Daisy asked.

He couldn't figure out which was worse—post-orgasm snuggling or talking. He'd been with women before who were all about the chatting. He preferred sleeping or leaving, whichever was easier. He loved sex, but he wasn't so into exposing himself emotionally. Right now, though, he felt like he was on his first-ever date. And he realized that if she wanted to snuggle, well, goddamn it, he'd do his best.

Grant didn't know who the hell he was right now.

He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and reached out to wrap one arm around her waist. Raindrops beat a soothing rhythm against her bedroom window.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Maybe we should get under the blankets,” she said. “Do you need some water?”

“I'm fine. Are you thirsty?”

Shit. Maybe they'd start talking about the weather next or how she felt about the tolling lanes on 405. They were talking just fine during dinner. What the hell was wrong with him?

“No,” she said.

They scrambled beneath the blankets, and he reached out for her again. He took a deep breath. Things were still happening below the waist, at least for him, but he didn't want her to think he was an insensitive bastard, either. He'd better work up something to say before he made his move again.

“Uh, Daisy,” he said, clearing his throat. “I feel like a real asshole admitting this to anyone else, but I'm not exactly the king of witty convos after we—well, after I blow my load, so to speak.”

He saw the flash of her smile in the darkness.

“So we're not discussing US foreign policy or climate change?”

“Probably not.” He pulled her a little closer. “Did you want to talk about that?”

“You want me to come up with a subject, then?”

“If you'd like.”

She put both hands onto the middle of his chest and pushed him into the pillows.

“I changed my mind about the snuggling,” she said.

“You did?”

She straddled him and bent to cover his mouth with hers. She surfaced long enough to whisper, “Less talk. More action,” and kissed him again. Her tongue tangled with his. He reached up to grasp her hips as she ground herself against him.

He wanted to flip her onto her back and dive inside, but the condom he had was across the room in his pants pocket.

“Do you have any condoms?”

“Yeah.”

She braced herself on the floor with one leg and pulled herself off of him enough to open the bedside table and grab the box inside. He heard the snick of a cardboard box opening and the crinkle of a foil wrapper and then felt her hand moving over his abdomen in search of his dick. He couldn't remember the last time he'd put a condom on in the dark. He hoped she was better at it than he was.