Fair Game: A Football Romance (61 page)

“What? Vivaldi?”

“Yes. I want to hear you scream my name at the climax of this piece.” As if his words weren’t enough to force a bright red blush up my neck, his sensual, deep, gravelly tone is. Dear God, he does things to me, things that perplex and fascinate me, mystifying things my young mind can’t begin to untangle.

“I love seeing you blush. I’ll try to behave, though.” His words are genuine, but his smile is full of mischief. He isn’t going to behave, and I love it. I squirm in my seat with a vision of King and me in his bed, sweaty and panting, with Antonio Vivaldi’s
Concerto No. 4
climaxing loudly in the background.

Between Savannah saving me with her text message and King causing electrical storms between my legs, I haven’t paid attention to where we’re going, so I’m surprised when we pull into an underground parking garage in the parking lot of Ecstasy. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light in the garage, but when they do, I glance over at King.

“I’m still going to feed you—don’t worry. Your surprise is inside, though, so we have to stop here, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” I say, but I haven’t convinced myself that any of this is okay yet. What kind of surprise would be in the club anyway? His apartment . . . of course. How could I forget? Butterflies take flight in my tummy when I think of being alone in the room with King where I lost my virginity less than twenty-four hours ago.

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?” King asks, guiding the Range Rover into a parking space between two other very fancy cars.

I don’t know if everything is okay. I don’t know how to identify the feelings I have when I’m with King.

“You’re overwhelming. In a good way, though,” I say, rushing the ‘in a good way, though’ part when his face clouds over with concern. He cuts the engine and reaches over to gently take my hand in his.

“In a good way? I don’t want to push you away, Holland. I . . . I just don’t know up from down right now.” He pauses and frowns as he lowers his eyes to our joined hands. I can see the wheels turning in his mind. When his eyes find mine again, he blinks lazily, his long, dark lashes brush against his cheeks, and he lifts one of my hands to his mouth, where his warm lips slowly press against my palm and then the pad of each of my fingertips, one by one, seductively, until I’m nearly convulsing from the shivers zinging up and down my spine. I’m lightheaded. It’s happening again. He’s overwhelming me.

“Sorry.” He’s smirking. I don’t think he’s really sorry, and that’s okay.

“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman the rest of the night. Come on, I have to get out of this confined space so I can keep that promise.” He carefully places my hands back into my lap and I watch him exit the Rover and round the front to my side. When he helps me down I notice, to my utter disappointment, that his hands don’t linger on my hips this time. He leads me by the hand to an elevator that lifts us up two floors before it opens right into the front entrance of the club. It’s a totally different vibe without all of the people and thumping music.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he says as he pushes through the double doors that separate the entrance from the club. Standing alone where a bouncer checked my ID last night, I notice that the glowing pink lights from the first floor of Ecstasy are now teal blue, my favorite color. The quivering lights give off the peaceful, quiet feeling of being underwater.

When King returns, he’s holding something behind his back. One corner of his mouth is turned up in a smile, and I can absolutely feel the excitement and positive energy flowing off of him—like a kid in a candy store, except I’m the candy.

“This was all on short notice, but I wanted to spoil you a little.”

“What’s behind your back?” I ask, trying to peek around him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teases, and I try again, but he quickly dodges to the left, keeping his surprise behind his back. Maybe another tactic would work better. I’ll ask nicely.

“Yes, I would. Please.”

“Well . . . since you asked nicely, I guess I’ll show you.”

I love surprises; it’s the kid in me I guess.

He doesn’t disappoint. The surprise is the most gorgeous bouquet of teal blue and white orchids I’ve ever seen.

I gasp and clasp my hands together in front of my chest. “They’re gorgeous, but how did you . . . what . . . wait, how did you do that? I just told you my favorite color a few minutes ago.”

“I have connections,” he says, raising one of his eyebrows in a high arch. He hands me the flowers, and I hold them close and breathe in their light vanilla scent.

“They’re beautiful, King. Thank you so much,” I say and step closer to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. He doesn’t reach for me, but he also doesn’t pull away. I meant for it to be a quick thank you kiss, but sparks ignite the moment our lips connect, and I find myself pressed against his chest with my arms wrapped around his neck, flowers dangling haphazardly, panting within seconds. A moan vibrates through his chest, making me brave, and I slide my hand over his chest and down to the rock hard erection straining against his jeans.

“You’re making it impossible to be a perfect gentleman, Holland,” he murmurs against my lips.

“What if I don’t want a perfect gentleman?” I whisper.

“If you don’t want a perfect gentleman, then I guess I’m free to do this.” I inhale sharply when he slides his hands around to cup my ass. He pulls me flush against him.

“And this,” he says, grinding his hard length into my belly. He deepens the kiss with his perfect mouth, expertly searching every part of mine, tasting and nipping at my full bottom lip. One of his hands slides over my backside, learning every curve, while the other holds me securely in place at the nape of my neck, under my hair.

“But a promise is a promise, and I always keep my promises, Ms. Bennett,” he says, stepping back and literally leaving me hanging. I stumble forward a step, but as always, he steadies me.

King is a drug, and he’s made me high.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” His warm fingers take my hand to lead me on wobbly legs into the club.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. I feel King’s eyes on me, watching, waiting for my reaction. All of my attention is focused on the transformation that has taken place on the pink level of Ecstasy. All around the circular room, the walls are bathed in teal blue instead of hot pink, just like the ones in the entrance. The glass blocks that make up the bases of each bar are illuminated with the same color blue, and the small cube tables scattered throughout the bar are also lit blue from within. The most breathtaking area is a table in the center of the dance floor though. Formally set for two, it’s a small, intimate table made grandiose by a stunning chandelier that seems to be suspended in midair above it. The screen that surrounds the dance floor twinkles with a million bright stars like a night sky, instead of the honey dripping images and optical illusions from last night. The floor is covered with orchid petals that exactly match the ones in my bouquet. I inhale the light floral scent penetrating the air before I cover my mouth with my hand.

I’m trying to comprehend all of the attention to detail that has gone into making this magical night time fairytale come together so quickly, but I’m simply awestruck.

“King . . . I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“You like it then?” he asks, sounding a little unsure. How can he possibly be unsure? It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and by far the most elaborate thing anyone’s ever done for me. I doubt any man has ever swept a woman off of her feet more thoroughly.

I turn to face him, and sure enough, insecurity is written all over his face until he sees the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. Relief spreads across his ruggedly handsome face, and the corners of his mouth turn up in the smile I am quickly starting to love.

“Like I said, it was short notice.” He shrugs now, as if he weren’t full of doubt just a second ago.

“If this is short notice, I can’t imagine what a date with a few days of preparation would be like,” I say, scanning the room again.

“Well, if all goes as planned tonight, maybe you will give me the opportunity to show you the full arsenal of my date planning capabilities.” He winks at me, and I experience swooning for the first time in my life. My body actually sways under the heavy weight of his adoration.

“Whoa there . . .” He grabs my elbow to support me, causing a sudden pulse of energy to spread across my skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right.” But I’m not.

“Maybe we should sit down,” he suggests, guiding me to the table with one hand on the small of my back and the other cradling my elbow.

As we walk across the dance floor, the orchid petals tickle my feet through the open toes of my borrowed sandals. Savannah’s never going to believe this. Hell, I don’t believe this. Who does something so romantic for a person they just met the day before? This kind of date should be reserved for a man proposing to his girlfriend or celebrating an anniversary, not a first date after a reckless drunken encounter. He’s setting the bar pretty high with all of this.

King pulls out a chair for me and guides me down onto the soft seat while handing me a glass of water.

“Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated. You haven’t had anything to drink all afternoon.” I drink the entire glass in one long swallow, looking up at him over the rim of the glass. He’s probably right. I’m still hung over from my first drinking experience, and I’ve been playing my fingers to the bone for hours. Not to mention the energy expended during our tryst in the rehearsal room. Who am I? How can one man influence me so significantly?

“Thanks,” I say and hand the glass back to him with a weak smile. “I think you’re right. I was thirsty.”

He places the glass on the table behind him, never taking his eyes off of me, and he reaches out with one finger to feather a trail from my cheekbone to my chin until it rests on my lips. His gaze is thoughtful as he cradles my face in his hand.

“You make things different,” he says, focusing on my mouth. I want to ask what he means by that, but if I do, he will most likely remove his hand from my face, and I don’t want that. I turn my cheek into his hand and close my eyes, breathing in the faint smell of cigar smoke and soap. His hand tenses around my jaw, tilting my lips to meet his in the most tender of kisses. King moans. Pulling away, he gives my jaw a quick, frustrated squeeze before he releases it.

“I’m going to have to keep my distance if we’re ever going to eat.”

I watch as he pulls his white upholstered chair around so he is situated at my side instead of across from me.

“That’s not keeping your distance.” I don’t know why I said that. The closer he is to me, the more content I seem to be.

“I’m still working on mastering the art of self-control, Holland. You’ll have to give me time.” He’s being playful, but I sense a bit of seriousness in his voice, and his eyes are full of desire.

“Sir?” A voice comes from the edge of the dance floor.

“Yes, Sebastián, now is fine.” King responds without looking in the direction of the disembodied voice. A waiter and a waitress dressed in black pants and stiff white shirts appear on either side of us, seemingly from out of nowhere. The waiter gracefully slides two plates onto the table in front of us while the waitress pops the cork from a bottle of champagne and pours it into tall flutes. Before I can say thank you, they vanish as suddenly as they arrived. I examine the food on my plate and lay my hand over my tummy when it growls impatiently. I don’t recognize some of the food, so I look to King, who is watching me.

“Hungry?”

“Very.”

“Do you need me to tell you what we’re eating?” I shake my head yes, and he points at the main dish. “Jumbo deep sea scallops encrusted in pumpkin seed,” he says, checking my expression before he proceeds to the next item. “Chayote with calabacitas with chipotle peppercorn sauce. It’s not ‘American’ food. I’m sorry. I wanted to share some of my favorites. I assumed you would like Mexican food. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

I do love Mexican. I mean, growing up in Texas, it’s pretty much mandatory, but these aren’t your average Mexican tacos or burritos.

“No, no, I love Mexican food. I just haven’t had these particular things before. It looks great, and honestly, I would eat just about anything right now.”

Relief spreads across his face again, and I wonder why he’s trying so hard. Why does he care so much if the food is to my liking or if the mood is set perfectly? We hardly know each other.

“You’re sure? I can have something else prepared in seconds if you’d like.”

“No. Please, King, this is perfect, all of this,” I say, looking around the room and back to him. “The table, the room, the music, the food . . . but most of all, you, King,” I say, reaching out to cover his hand with mine on the armrest of his chair.

The same jolt I felt earlier passes between us, flooding my body with that strange combination of electricity and contentment. I’m reminded of the comment he made earlier, and I decide to ask what he meant by it.

“What did you mean when you said ‘You make things different’?” I ask and watch as he seems to search for the right words to explain.

“I’m not exactly sure. You just make me feel . . . different somehow.” His eyes narrow and his brow furrows softly as he regards me carefully for a heartbeat. “Now eat before you pass out on the floor and suffocate in a sea of orchid petals,” he says, removing my hand from his and placing it over my fork. Something about that answer stirs suspicion as well as guilt. It’s as if he wanted to elaborate but he stopped himself; that’s the suspicion. The guilt I feel stems from the secret I’m keeping. I hadn’t considered telling him how old I was before, but the further the day goes on, the more important it seems.