Backfield in Motion (16 page)

“Yeah, one of me is enough. Even I admit
that.”

“I don’t think you’re nearly as bad as you
pretend to be.”

“Now don’t go giving me a conscience. That’s
never been part of the deal.”

“You volunteered to chat up Trudy.”

“Yeah, well, momentary lapse from my selfish
reality. Plus, if it helps get me in your pants, then game on.”

“You don’t fool me, Bruce Mackey. Under that
pretty-boy exterior is a real person and a genuinely nice guy.”

“You’ll never hear that from me.” Bruiser’s
jaw tightened, making that cleft in his chin even more pronounced.
He stared straight ahead, his gaze distant and his expression
closed. She’d hit a sore spot, but damned if she knew what.

In a matter of seconds, the pretty boy was
back in character. “If being a nice guy gets you horizontal, I can
manage that.” He grinned at her, but Mac wasn’t fooled. She’d seen
something deeper, more than just the surface stuff he showed to the
world.

He stopped beside her car, then flattened
her against the driver’s side door and gave her a deep, sexy kiss
full of promise and expectations before he pulled back. “See you in
a few.”

Mac gasped for breath and clutched the door
handle. He’d sucked the oxygen right out of her lungs and left her
gasping for air and longing for dirty sex.

Well, two could play this game, and she had
a small head start.

As soon as she pulled into her driveway, she
raced into the house, ran to her room and locked the door, knowing
he’d be right behind her.

Mac threw on the revealing, little pink
sundress Lavender had given her and adjusted it for maximum
cleavage. She slid off her panties and threw them in a hamper.
Running a brush through her hair, she fluffed it up, took a deep
breath, and entered the living room.

Bruiser stood near her mantle, staring at
the pictures. He turned, holding one in his hand and studying it
intently. “Your brothers?” he asked without looking up.

“Yes, Will’s on the right and Clint is on
the left.”

Bruiser studied the photo for a moment more,
then glanced up and opened his mouth to comment but the words came
out in an unintelligible stutter that sounded something like, “Holy
shit. You look stunning.”

Mac’s face turned fifty shades of red. She
stared everywhere but at him. “Thank you. Lavender gave me this
dress.” Moving next to him, she took the picture from his hand and
put it back on the mantle before he dropped it.

“That dress looks like Lavender.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Girlie and sexy. You do it justice.” His
sexy smile hit her in her most vulnerable places.

“You think I’m sexy?”

“Honey, you are smokin’ hot.”

Mac grinned at him, feeling naughty. “I’m
not wearing underwear.”

Bruiser swallowed and cleared his throat.
“None?” he croaked. His gaze fell to her chest, where her nipples
were showing off for him.

“None.”

That crooked smile of his made another
appearance. “What if I told you I wasn’t either?”

“You aren’t?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll need
to find out for yourself.” He stalked toward her and she slipped
away from him just as he reached for her. With a half scream, half
laugh, she skirted around the couch away from him.

“Awww, so this is how it’s going to be.” He
sprinted for her, careening around the couch like a man used to
running and dodging for a living.

Mac faked one way then leapt the other, but
Bruiser wasn’t fooled in the least. He grabbed her around the waist
with one arm and tossed her onto the couch, shocking her with his
brute strength. She shouldn’t have been surprised, not the way he
ripped through defensive lines as if they were a peewee football
team.

He straddled her and grabbed her hands in
one of his big hands, holding them over her head. “Don’t mess with
the master, darlin’, you don’t stand a chance.”

“Maybe I don’t want to stand a chance. Maybe
I—”

“Too much talking.” He bent down and covered
her mouth with his mouth while his stubble scraped across her chin
and cheeks. She didn’t care one damn bit. Instead, she wriggled
under him, pressing her hips against his, rubbing up and down,
needing to know she could make him as crazy as he made her, and
judging by his reaction, she did.

Payback was a bitch, and Bruiser’s mouth
laid waste to every shred of rational thought as his lips journeyed
down her neck. He nibbled on her collarbone with little bites all
along the sensitive skin. With his free hand, he yanked down the
stretchy bodice of her dress, freeing her breasts.

Mac froze, worried she might be too small
for his taste, but his sharp intake of breath and a slow shudder
dispelled those doubts. His eyes drank her in like an alcoholic
during last call in a bar on Saturday night. “You’re beautiful,” he
said with such reverence, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so
admired.

He bent his head and took a nipple in his
mouth, laving it with his tongue, while he plucked the other nipple
with his fingers. Mac whimpered as Bruiser sucked, sucked harder,
released, sucked again.

Their eyes met and he smiled, not one of his
practiced seductive smiles, but a warm, genuine smile that said he
was enjoying himself and her. He sucked on her nipples until they
were sensitive and sore, a good sore.

Bruiser sat back, released her hands, and
unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside. It was Mac’s turn to gasp.
She’d seen him shirtless before plenty of times, but not up close
and personal, not within touching distance. And touch him she did,
running her fingers across the ridges of his hard, well-defined
abs, up to his firm pecs, and around his broad, muscular shoulders.
God, he felt good, like an oasis in the middle of the Sahara.

He sucked in a breath as she stroked his
muscles, giving her confidence that he needed her touch as much as
she needed his. Then he lifted himself off her and shucked his
pants in one practiced motion—he was commando—like he’d done this a
million times, most likely with countless women.

Mac pushed those thoughts away and
concentrated on Bruiser with his incredible body. Bruiser with the
laughing blue eyes and devil-may-care attitude. Bruiser, the guy
who lived life to its fullest yet carried a painful secret. Despite
the women he’d been with in the past, tonight he was hers and hers
alone. She may never get this opportunity again, and she’d damn
well take advantage of it.

Judging by the campfire blazing in Bruiser’s
eyes, he felt the same. “I fucking want you. Bad. I’ve been
thinking about this since I picked you up that evening for the
barbecue.” He fished a condom out of his pants pocket, ripped it
open with his teeth, and sheathed his magnificent cock faster than
it took Tyler Harris to throw a ball downfield.

The barbecue?
As much as she tried to
convince herself that Bruiser was attracted to the real her, the
reality stung. He’d never paid one bit of attention to her until
she’d worn a slinky dress, revealed some leg and boobs, and
all-in-all made him see her as a woman. She wanted to be a woman
for him, but she also wanted to be more than someone he took at
face value.

Bruiser plunked his fine naked ass on the
couch next to her, and Mac threw her self-pity out the window.
Tonight was about the physical, nothing else—the pure physical
pleasure of two bodies doing what nature designed, and nature had
definitely designed Bruiser’s body for sex.

Mac pulled her skirt up to her waist,
rewarded by Bruiser’s slow grin. The couch cushion dipped as he
turned his body toward her, threw a leg over her thighs, and
straddled her again, his usually laughing eyes deadly serious and
intense, the sexiest thing in the world to see. His impressive
erection rubbed against her stomach. She ran her hands up his
forearms and clutched his hard biceps.

He closed his eyes for a moment and
swallowed. The veins stood out on his neck, and his magnificent
body shuddered. “I can’t last through much foreplay.”

“Just watching you all night was
foreplay.”

“Are you telling me you’re primed and ready
for action?”

“Like a well-tuned machine.”

“Honey, you’re no machine. You’re one
hundred percent American woman in every sense of the word. Tough.
Sensitive. Driven. And passionate.” His eyes rolled back in his
head, as she gripped his dick and squeezed, guiding him toward that
spot that longed for him with an ache that wouldn’t die. Mac stared
at him, large and erect, waiting to enter her most intimate spot
and give her the ride of her life.

She wanted him to mount up and gallop into
the sunset. At least for tonight.

“Fuck me, Bruce,” she whispered. Judging by
his strangled moan, she got her point across. He braced his arms on
either side of her and began to push into her slick, tight
opening.

He hesitated, a puzzled expression partially
replaced his lust. “Are you okay? You’re so damn tight.”

“I thought men liked tight women.”

“Oh, fucking hell, yeah.” Bruiser’s strained
smile attested to that fact.

“I’m not exactly the type that sleeps around
much. Especially the past three years.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mac groaned in frustration. “The only way
you can hurt me is by treating me like a fragile little princess. I
am neither fragile, nor a princess.”

He nodded and managed a strained chuckle as
his cock pressed against her folds, and he pushed the tip inside.
Bruiser took his time, pushing forward, withdrawing slightly, then
pushing deeper with each gentle thrust, as if she were a delicate
orchid he didn’t want to damage. He tortured her with his slow
methodical thrusts, until she swore she’d go mad if he didn’t just
nail her deep and hard.

“Fuck me,” she demanded in a throaty voice
that didn’t sound one bit like her but said everything about the
way she felt. Mac wrapped greedy legs around his waist and with
quick hands she pulled his face down to hers, her mouth hungry and
demanding.

Bruiser shuddered, a sure sign his control
had finally snapped. With one hard, deep thrust, he buried his
penis inside her. He held himself there for what felt like a
lifetime that would never be long enough. Then his thrusts came
harder, each one so deep he touched her womb and her soul.

Together they established a rhythm. Bruiser
drove deep and high inside her, stripping off her protective layers
until only her core essence remained. Mac’s hips rose to meet each
thrust. His eyes held hers captive, and she became his willing
slave. She buried her fingers in his silky gold hair. He traced
kisses along her neck, pausing at times to suck hard. He didn’t
just mark her once, he was branding her neck, her collarbones, and
her breasts—breasts that still tingled from his mouth and lips.

Bruiser’s thrusts came faster, his mouth
rougher. His body quivered as he buried himself deep one final
time. Sweat beaded his forehead and glistened on his tanned skin.
He threw his head back and called out her name as he found his
release. Mac went with him and they soared through time and space.
They existed together, as if their separate souls had melded into
one where nothing was hidden from the other.

Mac wanted to stay in this place, clutching
him, listening to his raspy breathing laboring in her ear, feeling
his sweaty body sliding against hers while his soul intertwined
with hers.

She had brought him to this and she reveled
in the knowledge of a dream come true.

But dreams never lasted forever.

Slowly they floated back to earth to land
lightly on terra firma, arms around each other, holding on as if
their next heartbeat depended on the other.

Maybe it did. At least in this moment.

* * * * *

Fucking hell
. What just happened?

Bruiser woke up on Mac’s bed, their legs
entwined, her head on his chest, his arms tight around her.

He breathed in the scent of her hair. She
smelled like the flowers that bloomed outside Jacks’ HQ every
spring, the very flowers Mac so lovingly took care of. She sure as
hell had taken care of him. Holy shit on a firecracker, he’d been
blown to pieces and put back together, only it felt like some of
the old pieces had been discarded, replaced by new ones. He wasn’t
altogether comfortable with the result.

What the fuck had he just done to himself?
And to her? Could they go back to being friends after being lovers?
What about his one-week rule? They’d had one night together, and
Bruiser didn’t think it would be enough. He wasn’t even sure a week
would do it.

A little voice he usually kept silenced
whispered that rules were made to be broken. Yet Mac didn’t fit his
plans. She didn’t further his goals, not like a Hollywood starlet
or a rock diva would. Mac would never get him face time with the
press. Hell, she’d avoid it. But Bruiser needed that face time.
Brice, his bold, daredevil twin, would’ve expected nothing less
from his one-time quieter twin. After all, Bruiser was living for
both of them now.

Even worse, he’d fallen asleep with her in
his arms. Bruiser didn’t cuddle. He got the deed done, once or
several times, depending if his dick was up to it, then he got the
hell out of there.

He rarely took women home or stayed over at
their place —too personal, plus it gave them a foot in the door to
demand more than he could give.

He tried to extricate himself, but Mac held
on tighter, muttering something in her sleep that sounded like,
“No, don’t go.”

Well, crap. He was torn between his normal
M.O. and a desire for more. Plus, his dick wanted a vote in this
election, and it wanted Mac.

Bruiser rolled onto his back, and Mac
cuddled in the crook of his arm. Morning sun peeked through the
blinds and cast a golden light across the bed, like sleeping with
an angel. He didn’t deserve an angel.