FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (10 page)

She shook her head. “No,” she said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “This is all my old stuff.”

“You’re an artist?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore, no.”

“You mean you don’t do any painting anymore?”

She shook her head again. “No. Not really. And I’m a renter, too, so I can’t even paint my walls.” She chuckled like this was some kind of joke.

I was incensed. “Candace, these are incredible! I mean, I’m just a dumb-ass jock who doesn’t know anything about art, but this is good. Really good. Why did you stop?”

She looked me right in the eye. “Because my mother is the artist in the family.”

“What?”

She waved her hands, like it should be obvious. “My mother is the artist. I didn’t want to take that away from her.”

I practically exploded. “Are you kidding me? She’s your mother. I’m sure she would have been delighted if you followed in her footsteps.”

Candace looked thoughtful. “Maybe. But I didn’t want to take the chance of hurting her feelings.”

I was dumbstruck. I don’t think I had ever met someone so wholly unselfish, so completely nice and goodhearted before. “Does she know? That you gave up art for her?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Oh no. She thinks I just lost interest. She seemed content when I told her I wanted to get into programming.” Her melancholy wistfulness brightened a bit. “Web design is a lot like art, anyway.”

I was still stuck in one place. The effort my mother had made to get me where I was today—the long hours, the early practices—all of the sacrifices that she had made, and I had just taken for granted that this was what mothers were supposed to do. She gave, I took, and there wasn’t much flow in the other direction.

“But you were really good,” I finished lamely, feeling like I had to justify my own selfishness by encouraging Candace’s.

“And I’m a really good programmer, too,” Candace corrected me. “And my mom’s a fantastic artist. We all have our strengths.” She veiled her eyes under her heavy lashes. “You’re really good hockey player.”

“You are a really good person,” I said, a little too quickly.

She blinked, and didn’t say anything.

“I’m not a good person,” I went on.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” I nodded. I realized I was raking my fingers through my beard as I said this, and consciously put my hand down. “I’m all right with that. Or I
was
,
anyway.” I swallowed, clearing my throat. “Maybe I’m not okay with it anymore.” Something warm slid through my belly, and took hold of me tightly. I wanted to give. I wanted to give something to this incredible woman. I had nothing else to give, but…

“I’m really good at other things,” I said, feeling the tightness in my throat.

She lifted her chin. “Tell me.”

“I’m really good at knowing what you need.”

“What do I need?” she asked, her breath coming more quickly now. I swear I could see her heart beating through the fabric of her dress, the perfect swell of her breasts rising and falling rapidly, like butterfly wings.

She was too perfect. And she was mine. I needed to make sure she knew both of those things, right now. “I could tell you. But it would be more fun for both of us if I just went ahead and showed you.”

She made a small sound as I yanked her skirt up around her belly, catching a fistful in my left hand, while with my right I plunged my fingers down and roughly shoved her panties aside. “Oh shit,” I muttered, burying my face into that sacred space where her shoulder met her neck. “Have you been wet for me all this time?”

Her only response was a soft moan as I slid my finger past the soft folds, just dipping into that sweet, tight space. “You’ve been wet since we came upstairs, haven’t you Candace? You knew why I wanted to see your bedroom, and you wanted it, too. And here I’ve been telling you what a good girl you are.”

“Don’t stop,” she exhaled, arching herself into me.

I pulled my hand away. She moaned petulantly and opened her eyes. While her eyes were fixed on me, I brushed my finger against my mouth, and then licked it clean.
Fuck, she tasted sweet
. “That’s not something good girl with say, ‘don’t stop,’” I chided her. “Your parents are downstairs, your sister is coming any second. What if we get caught? What if they know what we’re doing here?”

A flicker of hesitation danced in her eyes. I smiled and slid a finger back inside of her.

Her eyes went wide. “No, you definitely don’t want me to stop,” I said, starting to move deeper. “You’re even hotter now. You’re practically scalding me. I don’t think my finger can take the heat.”

She made a muffled noise of protest against my shoulder, and I smiled wickedly.

“But my mouth can.”

I knelt down, pressing her against the wall and spreading her thighs so that she was bare to me. The first lick was slow, teasing, tasting…that was all for me.

It was selfish.
I’m not a nice guy, after all
.

I took my time, knowing how much it was driving her crazy. “Yeah. Any moment now, your mother might call up the stairs and ask us to come to dinner,” I growled into her clit. “Or, even better, she might come up here, because she’s wondering what’s taking us so long.”

Candace wiggled urgently against my tongue, simultaneously desperate for relief, and desperate to get away. “Oh God, please,” she moaned, sinking her fingers into my hair.

I let her use me for a second, directing me to where she needed it most, before I snatched her hands away, and pinned them against the wall. “No,” I told her, burying my face into that scalding hot softness. “This is mine.”

She tasted like summer, like sweetness. I couldn’t get enough. Before I even had begun to explore her, she was already crying out, her soft thighs tightening around my face, her whole body arching, stiffening, rising up on the balls of her feet like a beautiful, perverse ballerina. I held her fast, mercilessly drawing her moans and cries out, on and on, while she tried her damnedest to stifle them.

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little foil package.

When I held it out, like an offering, Candace reached for it greedily. “Yes, please,” she begged.

“You need more, don’t you?”

“More,” she insisted, squirming. I gripped myself, ready to take her.

Then she did the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen.

Without warning or permission, she dropped to her knees, yanking my jeans down below my hips, and took me into her mouth.

Holy shit, her mouth.
Her mouth was all I could imagine and more. I braced myself against the wall, holding myself back, trying my hardest not to pump furiously into her face. She was pinned between my body and the wall, and her helpless position combined with her fucking
enthusiasm
nearly caused me to lose it before I had even begun. “Stop,” I commanded.

She pulled back, licking her lips, already swollen pink.

“Turn around,” I told her, roughly

She did as I said, hiking her skirt high. I shoved her panties aside in one motion, while rolling the condom down my length with the other. I took a deep breath, willing myself to hold back, certain that if I drove into her the way I wanted, I would go too deep, and too high. That I would hurt her.

I didn’t want to hurt her.

But I did want her to feel it in the morning.

I hung there, suspended in the moment between wanting to fuck her how I’d been dreaming of doing since I met her, and wanting to make love to her the way she deserved.

That’s when Candace decided for me.

She reached backwards, arching herself towards me, and sliding downward with an audible gasp. I seized her hips, both for her benefit and my own, and slid my hand down to cup the space in between her legs as she took all of me inside of her. “God… God, Ian,” she groaned, wiggling and arching, taking what she wanted from me as she ground herself against my hand and my cock simultaneously. “God, that feels so good.”

“You have no idea,” I growled, laughing and sucking her neck. “You feel just like you taste, Candy. Sweet as sin, baby.”

She was grinding against me in earnest now, clutching me from the inside, and I knew it was time to give her what she needed—what
I
needed. I pulled back, holding her tight, and drove into her, the way I wanted to, all the way up to the hilt, burying myself in that sweet, sweet softness.

Her cry was muffled by the sound of the door opening on the floor below us.

“Shit.” Candace froze.

But I held her tightly against me. “Yes, shit, Candace,” I echoed, pumping harder now. A little yelp escaped her lips. “Your sister’s here, your family will want to find you. You’d better hurry now. Come for me. I’m not letting you go until I feel you come.”

She wiggled, trying for a halfhearted escape, and I moved my hand against her clit, brushing the swollen lips. “You bastard,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Shit,” she panted, arching her back, inviting me deeper. I could already feel the hot coil of my own orgasm snaking, ready to strike, but I wasn’t ready. I needed to feel her, I needed to…

She threw her head back, her whole body tense, and opened her mouth in a soundless scream. I felt her clutching me from the inside and out, as she vibrated with the power of the orgasm that tore through her body. As soon as I felt it, I let go, too, sinking my teeth into the soft spot by her shoulder, and grinding out the most forceful pleasure I have ever felt.

“Candace?” her mother’s voice floated up the stairs.

Candace didn’t move. She was slumped, breathless against the wall, the painted Chicago skyline looking down at us impassively.

I pulled back, and tucked myself into my jeans. Then I brushed a quick kiss across her shoulder. “Shall we head down?” I whispered.

Chapter Fifteen

Candace

I wobbled a little on unsteady legs, the throbbing between them still beating like a drum. Ian offered me his arm, an amused smile playing about his lips.

“I was wondering where you’d gone!” my mother exclaimed as we descended the last three steps to the front hallway.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Hunter,” Ian said smoothly. He took the risk of looking directly at me as he said, “Candace has shown me everything.”

“Oh, wonderful!” my mother said distractedly, completely oblivious to the creeping blush that danced across my cheeks.

“Hey sis!” I heard from the next room.

“Hey!” I called. “There you are!”

I rounded through the living room and walked right into the embrace of my little sister.

Donna and I had been so close growing up that sometimes it startled me to see her as she was now, a lovely young woman, six months out of college, in a serious relationship with the guy she met at freshman orientation.

Donna was tall while I was petite, blonde while I was brunette, and athletically built while I was slim. Growing up, everyone had always thought that she was the older of us two, and she often assumed the role of protector around the neighborhood, fighting any bullies who tried to take advantage of my dreamy nature. I was always both grateful and irritated by this, in equal measure.

“And who’s this?” she asked. Then she blinked. “Ian Carter?” she said, still blinking. “What are you doing here?”

I shot Donna an irritated look, even as Ian chuckled and slid his hand around my waist.

“Hockey players like to eat, too,” he said. “Something smells delicious.”

“It really does, Mom,” I agreed, smiling at Donna. It was a long-standing family joke that my mother actually had no idea what the heck she was doing in the kitchen. Invariably she would need to be rescued by our methodical, careful father. But she refused to acknowledge that she wasn’t an artist inside the kitchen as well as out of it.

“Why thank you so much!” Mom preened, even as my father struggled and sweated the steaming paella to the table.

“Perfect winter food,” Ian pronounced, leaning over and inhaling the saffron-scented steam.

“Ian has a thing for winter,” I explained, with a quick glance in his direction.

We had that in common, now.

The second he sat down, my father started peppering Ian with questions about the Blackhawks’ season, and their chances for the Stanley Cup. I listened, eager to find out more about this man’s life and passion. Donna’s boyfriend, Tim chimed in here and there, but it was Donna herself who asked the most pointed questions.

Eventually, my mother and I both found ourselves completely shut out of the discussion, and had to content ourselves with getting our revenge by drinking most of the wine on the table.

Once everyone’s plates were clean, my father settled back, threw his napkin onto the table, and laced his fingers over the small beer gut he was starting to sport. “Excellent job, Vicki,” he praised my mom.

Donna and I shared a glance.

Tim perked up. “I’m glad Donna shares your talents in the kitchen,” he recited carefully.

Donna gave him a look of such deep significance that everyone subconsciously leaned forward.

“When you find a woman who can cook like this, you need to nail her down,” Tim went on.

Donna smiled, soft and shy, for probably the first time in her life. “Mom, Dad—Tim and I have something we need to tell you.”

My heart sank.

She bit her lip, and then burst out, “We’re getting married!”

She giggled. Donna has never giggled in her life.

But that didn’t stop my mother from jumping to her feet, knocking her chair backwards. “Oh my heavens!” she clapped. “That’s wonderful news!”

My father reached over and pumped Tim’s hand up and down. “Always liked having you as part of the family, son,” he intoned manfully.

Ian and I stared at each other, dumbfounded. This wholesome family scene was unfolding before our eyes, and I could still feel the places he had bruised inside of me.

“
Sorry
,” I mouthed. I had no idea this was going to happen. Part of me, the big sister part, wanted to cheer for Donna, while at the same time I wanted to throttle her.

She couldn’t have given me at least a head’s up?
Maybe, so I wouldn’t be sitting here with the man I had only just started dating?
The one I barely knew anything about, other than that he played hockey and had a completely magical tongue. This was far too personal a moment to be sharing with him, and I could tell he was uncomfortable. His dark eyes were cast down, staring at his long, thick fingers like they had offended him. His whole body was rigid, sitting stiffly. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Quickly, I ran around the table and gave my sister a brief hug. My mother was already peppering her with questions about her “vision” for the wedding, and I knew I would be safe for the moment.

“Can I get you something else to drink, Ian?” I asked. “I’m heading into the kitchen.” I raised my eyebrows significantly.

He got the hint. “I’ll come help you,” he said, standing up smoothly.

Once we were out of earshot, I turned to him. “I am so sorry. I had no idea she was going to pull a stunt like this. This was supposed to be just a normal family dinner.”

“It’s fine, Candace,” he said, stiffly.

Upstairs, he had called me Candy. But now we were back to Candace. He was definitely upset.

“We can get going, if you want. I’m sure it’s just going to be nothing but wedding talk for the rest of the night.” I licked my lips and looked down, momentarily overtaken with sadness.

“Hey,” he said, tilting my chin back up. “You okay?”

I shook my head, angry at how transparent my feelings were. “It’s completely selfish.”

Ian rested his hand against my cheek. “It’s okay to be selfish, Candace. It’s okay to want you want.” A light smile played around his lips, and I knew he was thinking about my behavior in the bedroom, upstairs.

“Yeah, well, that’s hard when it comes to family,” I pointed out.

His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s just, I’m the oldest, you know? There’s an order to these things. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Well, things don’t always go how they’re supposed to,” Ian pointed out.

“Yeah, no shit,” I said irritably. “Like my dates these days.”

Ian stepped back, his face hard. “Well, maybe we’ll cut this one short?”

I looked back into the dining room at my laughing, smiling family, and back to the glowering bad boy in front of me. Ian and I had nothing in common. I knew that.
Why did I keep trying to force the issue? Because we had great sex? Wasn’t I ever going to have my parents had? What Donna now had?

“Yeah,” I said, feigning a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Maybe we should get going. This is their moment, after all.”

For a moment, Ian’s face was terrible. I stepped back, frightened, as rage clouded his eyes and his nostrils flared. I looked down and saw that his balled fists were so tight the knuckles were white. My heart thudded as I looked back up again, wondering what, or who, he wanted to strike.

“Ian?”

He turned his head quickly to the side, then cocked it towards my voice with a sigh. “It’s not you, Candy,” he said, so low I had to strain to hear it.

I didn’t say anything, only held on to the doorframe as I watched him pull himself together again.

He seems to recall himself. The storm clouds that had gathered in his face lifted, and he gave me a rather wan smile. “Hey,” he exhaled.

“Hey,” I repeated, carefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess there’s a few things I should probably tell you about.”

I looked up at him and smiled, softening. I could see whatever it was he had to tell me was costing him quite an effort. “Okay, yeah, I want to get out of here. Let’s talk.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “My place?”

I smiled, skin already tingling at the thought of seeing Ian’s house, Ian’s bedroom—
Ian’s bed…

It was a surprisingly short ride to his place. He opened the door to his apartment, a sprawling space, definitely postindustrial, and nearly bare of furnishings save for a gigantic couch, an oversized TV…

And one incongruously floral rug.

I looked at the rug and raised my eyebrows. He shook his head, “Long story. I didn’t pick it.”

A little shiver went through me. Ian had lived here with someone else. Not just
any
someone. Only a woman would have chosen that rug.

“Who did?” I asked. That shadow that had passed through him before, was it coming back again?

I didn’t have to wonder for long. He chose that moment to cup my chin in his fingers, tilt my face to his, and proceeded to kiss me so hard that any trace of curiosity I had about the woman who chose that rug was washed away.

He began to maneuver us both—our clothes falling in scattered piles over the floral rug—closer and closer to the bedroom.

“Well, hello.”

Ian stiffened, and didn’t look. But I did.

She sat up from the bed, long hair streaming and body tangled in the sheets. Completely and unashamedly naked.

She let the sheet slip downward, exposing the swell of her clearly augmented breasts. “She’s pretty, Ian,” the woman purred. “But I’m not really in the mood to share tonight.”

The rug, the woman, his cruelty when he answered the phone thinking I was someone else, his awkwardness as my sister had announced her engagement.

It all suddenly made sense now.

“You’re married?” I asked him.

His scowl was terrible. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The naked woman stood up. “No, not married.” She extended her left hand and I saw the ring sparkling on her finger. “Not yet, anyway.”

The breath left my body like I had been punched in the gut. I stared at Ian for one, long, betrayed moment.

Then I turned on my heel and walked out.

Chapter Sixteen

Ian

She’d already ruined
our
relationship. Now it seemed clear that Lisette was determined to ruin my new one, as well.

“Get out!” I ordered her.

I was torn between running after Candace, and murdering Lisette with my bare hands, and as the force of both of those emotions grabbed a hold of me in a tug-of-war, I could do nothing but stand motionless and stare at the woman who still had the audacity to wear my ring.

“I tried to call you,” Lisette simpered, shimmying towards me.

Bile rose in my throat. “I told you never to call me.”

“I knew you didn’t mean that. No one knows you better then me, Ian.”

“What the hell are you trying to pull?”

She drew her fingernail down my chest. “What do you see in her, anyway? Little, simpering thing—doesn’t even have the guts to yell at me for threatening to take her man? That’s not what you need. You need danger. You need a woman who knows how to handle a man like you.”

“You know nothing about what I need,” I thundered, protectiveness making me louder then I’d ever heard myself yell before. Lisette actually shrank back, some of the wild confidence draining from her face. “But you should know this, since you say you know me so well.
You. Cheated. On me.
It’s over. Get out.” I opened the door.

“Don’t you even care if I get dressed first?”

“I don’t care if you run out naked, shrieking into the streets of Chicago. If I ever see you in my house again, or anywhere near here, I’m calling the police. And most of them would love for me to deliver an autographed stick as a thank you.”

Lisette’s pale blue eyes watered at the threat. Without a word, she gathered her clothes, and slunk into the hallway.

I slammed the door behind her, and threw each one of the three deadbolts securely into place.

Why hadn’t I thought to get the locks changed?
That should have been the first thing I did. And now it was going to cost me.

Should I send flowers? Candy? What kind of apology gift is appropriate to send when the girl you’re dating meets your naked ex-fiancé?
If I were a nice guy, if these things came naturally to me, I was certain I could come up with the right gift to mark the occasion. But as it was, nothing seemed right.

Another surge of protective anger rushed through me.
How dare Lisette tell me what I needed?

I knew what I needed.

I need a girl like Candace. Someone sweet, funny…nice.

Nice.

To win her back, I needed to do something that she would do. Something thoughtful. Sincere.