Playing It Close (27 page)

Sex with a rugby fan. Who would’ve thought it could make him smile this much?

The match ended up being an upset, with Japan beating Wales. Liam loved an underdog coming out on top—as long as the teams he captained were the underdogs.

As they watched the post-match interviews, Tess stroked his forearm and pulled him tighter around her. For the past forty minutes, she hadn’t spoken other than to shout encouragement at the Japanese team and curse the referee, so she took him by surprise when she asked, “How does a boy with a name like Liam Callaghan end up playing for England?”

He smiled and kissed her bare shoulder. “My dad was Irish and my mum was Welsh, but I grew up in London. I could’ve qualified for Ireland or Wales, but why do that when I’ve always supported England?”

“You supported them because you grew up here?”

“Partly. But also because supporting Ireland or Wales would’ve been like choosing one of my parents over the other. They were both into their rugby, and I guess I didn’t want to upset the balance.”

She shifted a little, turning her head in an effort to look at him. “Were, past tense? Your dad’s gone too?”

He nuzzled the side of her face, trying to come across as affectionate while holding her still. “He died when I was twenty-two. His diet was even worse than yours, if you can believe it. He smoked and had a fatal heart attack when he was only fifty.”

“Wow. So young.”

“Mmm.” His dad’s death had been sudden yet inevitable, considering how he’d treated his body. He’d looked perfectly fit and healthy from the outside, but inside he’d decayed faster than a man his age should’ve.

“And your mum passed away earlier this year?”

He pulled her closer, not wanting to give her space to turn around and see him. “Mmm-hmm. Cancer.”

“Oh, Liam.” She shifted, but he tightened his arm until she seemed to get the message. He could only talk about this if they weren’t facing each other. If she couldn’t see the confusion that would probably never leave him. The shock that would never wear off. She whispered, “I’m so sorry. That must be so hard.”

He didn’t say anything.
Hard
didn’t even begin to cover it, especially considering the way his mum had died and the guilt that had pressed on him heavier than being at the bottom of a pile of a half-dozen players. Talking to Tess on the rock next to their waterfall had released some of it. Opening up again might help more, but he wasn’t ready to trust her that far yet.

Several heartbeats passed before she broke the silence. “You said you didn’t want to choose one of their sides over the other. Did they argue a lot?”

Surprise hit him. “My parents? No. Well, occasionally, but mostly they were disgustingly affectionate with each other.” A memory floated back at him, one he hadn’t thought of in years, and he allowed himself a small grin. “I vaguely remember being really young—maybe five or six?—and hearing them wagering on the outcome of an Ireland-Wales match. It had something to do with what one of them would do in bed, and when I asked what they were talking about they both went all awkward. Mum finally said the loser would have to make their bed, and I got excited and asked if I could play. I had to choose a different team to support, though, so I chose England. Wales ended up winning the tournament, and Mum gloated as Dad and I made our beds. I have no idea what else he had to do, but I do remember him smiling a lot considering his team had lost.”

Tess laughed softly. “It’s too bad you and I support the same team. That could be a lot of fun.”

“You could always bet against me.”

“I know better than that.”

He pushed himself up and put a little pressure on her shoulder until she lay flat under him. Her pelvis cradled his and their legs tangled, but he kept the weight of his upper body off her so he didn’t smother her. Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he said, “I could make it fun for you to lose.”

“Likewise, Cally.” She batted her eyelashes, making him laugh.

“All right, what would it take for you to bet against me?”

“Against you? There’s nothing you could offer me to tempt me to take that bet. Against England? There are several teams that could beat you. I’d have excellent odds if I wagered on almost any of the Southern Hemisphere teams. But I don’t want you to lose, even if it means you’ll cater to my every naughty desire and indulge my most shameful fantasies.”

One of his brows shot up. “Care to tell me about those?”

“Maybe one day.”

“Hmm...” He kissed along her collarbone while one hand stroked the skin over her sternum. He’d discovered how sensitive she was here—all around her breasts, actually. She seemed to enjoy having her chest petted and played with even more than having him go down on her. He kept his touch light and teasing, and she shifted restlessly under him. “I helped you fulfill one fantasy in Venezuela. Tell me about another one and let’s see what I can do about it.”

She stretched her arms over her head, her breasts rising and seeking his attention. He tugged one nipple between his lips just long enough to tease her before letting it pop out again. She groaned. “Please.”

“Nope. Not until I hear about another fantasy.”

Grimacing, she admitted, “My fantasies have always been a little boring. I don’t want to get your hopes up. I’m not talking a threesome or anything. I mean, seriously, skinny-dipping was the most daring one I could come up with at the time.”

“Yeah, I was bored stiff when we were skinny-dipping together,” he drawled and pressed his lips to the smooth skin where her neck met her shoulder. “Stiff as a board.”

She closed her eyes and breathed softly as he kissed and stroked and licked around her nipples without ever touching them. With a shudder of pleasure, she finally moaned, “I want to be tied up.”

He paused. “Tied up?”

Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes squeezed shut and her wrists crossed above her head, as if imagining she was already bound. “Not with a rope or something abrasive like that. I don’t want to do a kidnapping role play or anything. But I want to be tied up...and maybe blindfolded.”

“You want to give up control.” Despite having gone three rounds in as many hours, his cock swelled, aching at the mental image of her at his mercy.

“Yes. Just for a little while, I want to give up control.”

He jumped off the couch and lifted her against his chest, striding to his bedroom.

“What’re you doing?”

“What do you think? You can’t tell me something like that and expect me to just lie there and say, ‘That’s nice, dear. Fancy a cuppa?’”

A strange mix of fear and anticipation crossed her face. “You’re actually going to do it? Now?”

He shifted her in his arms so he didn’t knock her head against the door jamb, cradling her closer against his chest before settling her on his bed. “Tie you up? Oh, yeah. Why? When did you think I’d do it?”

She gulped. “I thought we were talking about making bets on the World Cup, so at the end of the tournament...”

“You think I can wait that long?”

He bent down to kiss her, but she lifted her foot to his belly and held him off. “I think you’re going to have to. You see, I really want England to win, and if you’re this eager to tie me up and have your wicked way with me, then maybe tempting the captain with sexual favors will increase the chances of victory.”

He glared at her. “I’m going to win no matter what.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it because I’ve just decided you only get to tie me up if you do. If any other team wins...” she shrugged, somehow managing to look like a coy yet severe schoolmistress, “...then you will really disappoint me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Liam lowered himself carefully into the ice bath across from Bailey Boy, wincing as the cold seeped into his aching muscles. Every bit of him throbbed, including his brain as he’d crammed it with plays, strategies and the weaknesses of the French team they were due to play that weekend, but Spencer gave him no time to decompress as he broke the silence.

“This is brutal.”

Liam grunted.

“Tell me again why wives can’t stay with us at the hotel?”

Liam simply raised a brow.

“Yeah, I know. Distraction. Team bonding.” Spencer let his head fall back against the edge of the bath. “I miss my wife.”

A pang of longing bounced through Liam’s chest. He missed Tess. But since he couldn’t reveal anything about her to Spencer, he joked, “I miss your wife too.”

“Dick.” Bailey-Boy straightened up. “Wait. That’s great.”

“Huh?”

Leaning forward as if carried there by the momentum of a sudden great idea, Spencer said, “I think she’s going slightly mad. She told me she’s too big to sleep. I’m not around and Granddad’s been hovering over her for the last two weeks. We’ve got tomorrow night off. You need to come over for dinner.”

“No way. Isn’t she due to pop anytime?” The last time he’d seen Spencer’s wife, she’d been massively pregnant...and that had been several weeks ago.

“In two weeks. Come on, mate. She needs a distraction from wondering whether every twinge is the start of labor. She needs a night to relax and enjoy herself with an old friend. You’re coming over. End of.” Spencer gave him a hard look. “Unless you have more important plans than making my pregnant wife happy.”

Fucking hell. What could he say to that, especially when he wasn’t allowed to admit he had another woman he was hell-bent on making happy. “Dinner. Only dinner. I need an early night tomorrow.”

An early night, but not early to sleep.

He texted Tess as soon as he could, telling her he wouldn’t be free for dinner. She replied almost immediately, saying he should let her know when he was on his way home and she would come over. As he slipped his mobile into his pocket, he couldn’t help but feel a little confused. Things with Tess were easy. Too easy. He’d never experienced a relationship that was so lacking in drama. They simply enjoyed being with each other—and only each other. No red carpets, no rugby club fundraisers. Fuck, not even dinner in a restaurant. Was this what relationships away from the spotlight were like? Because he could certainly get used to it.

Spencer and Caitlyn’s flat in Wapping was only a fifteen-minute walk from Liam’s in Limehouse, but he did a bit of shopping before he went. When he arrived carrying a box of specialty chocolates from a boutique in Spitalfields, Caitlyn waddled toward him and gave him a huge hug.

Emphasis on huge. She’d always been curvy, but now she defied the laws of physics. She shouldn’t be able to stand up without toppling forward—but he was too smart to say that out loud. Her bump was so big he had to lean way over to wrap his arms around her and kiss her cheek. “How’s my favorite mum-to-be?”

“Better now that you’re here,” she said, eyeing the box of truffles.

“Me or my chocolates?” he teased.

“I think you mean
my
chocolates. Thanks, Liam.” She took them from him and walked into the living room, ripping the box open before she made it to the couch, which she plopped onto with an
oomph
.

Spencer’s granddad, Philip, stood with the help of a cane, and Liam couldn’t hide his frown. He and Spencer had known each other for a decade and been best mates most of that time. Philip was like a grandfather to him, and seeing his body growing weaker hit a sensitive spot. “When did you get the stick, old man?”

“Oh, a couple of weeks ago. I strained my knee in my tango class, and the doctors want me to be extra cautious when I walk so I don’t fall.” Philip waved it in the air, as if to demonstrate he didn’t really need it. “You know how it is.”

Yeah, he did. He’d been injured enough times to suspect when doctors were being overly careful.

Caitlyn popped a truffle into her mouth and moaned, a sound so provocative Liam chuckled. “Ohmygawd.” She held a hand over her mouth as she closed her eyes and settled back into the couch. “I’ve been trying to avoid chocolate for the baby’s sake, but this is amazing.”

She dug into the box and took another one out before offering it to him and Philip. They both declined, sharing a look of amusement over her ecstasy. “Mmm...”

Spencer popped out of the kitchen holding a small glass of lager and three waters. “You’re not going into labor, are you?”

“Not until I finish this box.” She dove in for a third. “Seriously, though, if anything’s going to stimulate my oxytocin, this’ll do it.”

Liam threw his hands over his ears in mock horror. “Whoa! I don’t know where your oxytocin is, but save the naughty talk about stimulating it for your husband.”

He barely had time to cover his face as a truffle was catapulted at him. It bounced off the back of his hands and tumbled down his chest, but he managed to catch it before it hit his crotch. Holding it out to her, he said, “Want this back?”

She took it with a chagrined look. “Sorry. Blame the hormones.”

Spencer set the glasses on the table, handing the beer to his grandfather before sitting next to his wife. His hand seemed to automatically rest on the small of her back and rub in small circles as she snuggled closer. The simple intimacy of the gesture made the empty space next to Liam grow even more vacant.

Caitlyn reached for another chocolate, and Spencer said, “Do you want me to stop you?”

She whipped a glare at him and he held his hands up in surrender, laughing. “You’ve told me before to stop you from eating too much of the things that aren’t good for the baby. Personally, I think you can eat what you want. None of it will do her any harm. It’s not like you live off kebabs.”

Not like Tess did. Or, like she used to before he’d started getting her to help him in the kitchen. Now she was determined to learn how to cook. For some reason it mattered to him that she didn’t fill her body with junk. He didn’t like to think about all the rubbish she ate shortening her life, like it had his father’s.

Polishing off her fourth truffle, Caitlyn sighed, rested her hand on her belly and smiled at Liam. “So where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s been something of a big tournament going on here. We call it the World Cup. Unlike you Yanks, when we host a world cup, we actually invite the world.”