Game For Love: Devil of the Gridiron (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

For the next thirty minutes, they worked side-by-side, putting together the food the boys would need to chop. First thing she had made him do, though, was wash his hands. Because Adam was really starting to love the way she blushed, he made sure to whisper in her ear, “But I want to taste you on everything.”

She stammered and murmured something about sanitary kitchens. But she blushed. Mission accomplished.

His dick begged him to break rule number two, and it was a reasonable plea given what had just happened. So he tried to think up loopholes as they worked. She wasn't a groupie. She wasn't looking for a one-night stand. He doubted very seriously she'd send him naked pictures and sext him—what had gotten him in hot water in the first place. If she never sent them, those things would never go public. Sweet, nice Charlotte didn't have “sex scandal waiting to happen” written all over her.

Wasn't that the catch-22, though? In his line of work, he didn't attract women like her. Which was probably for the best since he wasn't the kind of man Charlotte needed—solid, patient, stable—a good man.

Maybe if his fate had twisted in a different direction when he was in college, he could have been. He wouldn't walk around feeling like a fraud—as though he'd stolen someone's spot who deserved the money, the fame. Over the past few months, during this epic dry spell, that feeling had only become worse.

The doubt of even being here with her continued to whisper well after they'd finished prepping. Charlotte stood at the door, fixed her hair, and exhaled like that could stymie her emotions. When she dared to meet his eyes, he could see their interlude had rattled her—aroused her, too.

And Adam? He felt like an old hat at public sex. Had it been her first time? Was he once again stealing space from a better man who deserved to be the first to ravish her in public? Someone who wouldn't need her to keep their affair quiet?

Adam couldn't answer—couldn't walk away, either, now that he'd tasted her. But the real question was: should he?

He rubbed at the knot in his gut. By the time she'd opened the door, he had himself convinced an affair was temporary, he wasn't stealing anything, and being with Charlotte wasn't really breaking rule two, either. No “
women”
was not the same as no
Charlotte
.

That thought squeezed his insides. What was so special about her that he'd even entertain the thought of risking his career?

She turned to him, a bright smile on her face. “Are you sure you're ready? They are going to ask you questions until your ears bleed.”

Well, her smile, for one, did something to him. He felt both warm and shell-shocked. Every time she had beamed at him like that, her blue irises lit with happiness. He wanted to lift her face up to his so he could have front row seats to the experience.

“Yeah,” he said. “You sit and give directions. I'll follow along like them.”

She pointed to the counter in front of the room. “My table is prepped. I tend to walk around the room to make sure everyone is on the same page.” She bit her lip and looked at him, uncertainty wrinkling her nose. “I'm talking about this because I don't know what to say. I've never…”

He opened his mouth to answer when a knock on the doorframe waylaid him.

“Can we come in, Ms. West?”

Adam turned to face the kid. Eli again. The eagerness on the teenager's face hit him right in his soft spot. He’d been that kid not too long ago and, some days, still felt like him.

“Come on in,” he said. “We're ready, right?” He directed the question to Charlotte, who was worrying her bottom lip.

“As we'll ever be.”

Eli stepped out of the doorway and then yelled down the hall. It was a stampede for the next five minutes. Charlotte greeted each teen by name and introduced him like they didn't know by now. Polite and nice came to her naturally, but she was a taskmaster. She didn't let them linger for long. Soon, they were all standing in front of their counters, knives at the ready to chop vegetables.

Her warmth was at his side.
Adam Carpenter Feels Up Troubled Teen Volunteer In A Room Filled With Minors
was probably a headline he wanted to avoid. But…it was Charlotte. All someone had to do was talk to her to understand why his head wasn't screwed on straight at the moment.

She shifted closer to him, making one of her breast brush along his arm, and then checked his progress. He picked up the onion next. Charlotte called out to the room. “When you guys get to the onions, remember the trick I taught you.”

“What trick?” Adam asked.

“Cut it under running water, and you should have no tears.”

“Smart,” he said out loud, but in a low tone as he passed her to get to the sink, “And I meant that. After this class is over, I'm taking you home with me.”

“Adam,” she whispered back, her voice filled with condemnation. She tilted her head toward the watchful eyes and likely sonic hearing.

He cut the onions, and on his way back to the station, he murmured again, “You should probably walk around the room. I'm tempted to misbehave despite them.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Charlotte walked up and down the aisles, helping the students. The attention shifted as everyone browned their meat and all they had to do was wait.

Those eager gazes went to him. He smiled. “You guys can ask me anything. I can see you're dying to.”

The room erupted with a cacophony of voices. He laughed, putting up his hands. “One at a time.”

He picked the youngest in the front. If he remembered right, the boy's name was Steven Hernandez. The kid pushed his glasses up his nose before saying, “Was all that stuff during your draft true?”

Charlotte stopped her cleanup in the back to throw a worried glance at him. He shook his head to reassure her the question—and probably, the answer—would be fine.

“About how I grew up?”

Steven nodded. “They played this sad music and, man, it seemed a bit over-the-top.”

He liked this kid. “I felt pretty much the same. I grew up in a tough and poor neighborhood. My mother, every year until high school, fundraised her a—butt off so I could go to football camp. She was a single mom, definitely couldn't afford the expense and put food on the table. We did live in a trailer park for a while.”

Adam refused to look at Charlotte, though out of the corner of his eye, he could see her moving toward him. “Do I think that made me a better or worse draft pick? Maybe. I was driven to make it to the NFL.”

After his first team had cut him a fat check, Adam had done what every boy would do for his mom if he could—he'd bought her a house and a car. He'd stashed money away so she'd never have to worry about another meal. Too many nights, she'd gone without so he could have everything he could ever need for a better life.

Kent's mother had done the same, but there hadn't been a house or a car.

Adam rolled his shoulders to shake off the ghost. He was well off now. If he didn't love the game so damn much, he'd have walked away the moment his accountant had told him he wouldn't die poor. Even if he didn't love it, he remembered those dark days and how much a foolish mistake had cost his college friend. He'd find the will to keep going.

He flicked his gaze to Charlotte. Her expression had softened during his confession.
Would she still want me if she knew all my dirty, ugly secrets?

Adam looked away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Even though everything they said was true, all the PR spots during the draft made me feel like one of those dog adoption commercials.”

One of the kids in the back started to sing that Sarah McLachlan song, and he joined everyone in that laugh.

“Exactly,” Adam said, feeling the weight of guilt shift from his shoulders.

They kept peppering him with questions, and he answered to kill the time until Charlotte told everyone to test their chili. There were only a few mishaps, but by the end of the class, everyone had something to take home, along with cornbread she'd made for the entire class.

Some stayed to eat there, and he ate with them, trading stories for big, belly laughs that pushed the guilt further down. Eventually, even the last stragglers left. Charlotte and Adam were alone again. Her nervous energy buzzed in the air. An urge to tug her into his lap and soothe her crept up his stomach and gripped his heart.

So he leaned against the counter and waited until she found the courage to come to him. With every counter and pan clean—the boys and Adam had done the bulk of that work—she had nothing left but to cross the room and stand in front of him, her eyes downcast.

He hated that. She had nothing to be shy about, definitely not with him. “Look at me,” he demanded then softened his tone. “I love your eyes.”

That brought her gaze up. “Adam…”

Her voice trembled, likely from nerves, and that made him want to reach out to her, but now was not the time for comfort—she needed to know what she was getting into. Yes, he wanted her, badly, but he wouldn't lie or even omit the truth to get her in his bed.

“Charlotte, I should be clear. I like you.” That was an understatement. He loved how expressive her eyes were, her scent, the little morsels of sarcasm she threw his way…and he craved her touch. “I also want to throw you on my bed and do things that probably shouldn't be repeated in impolite company.”

Her tongue skated across her bottom lip. “Oh.”

He gripped the counter to keep from following the same trail her tongue had. “Yeah, but this affair will have to stay between us.”

Those words hit, and she narrowed her gaze. “Why?”

Mettle. God, that was becoming his thing with her—the one thing a woman did that could make his dick go from zero to sixty. She looked soft, but he knew she was a bleeding heart. Yet that didn't mean Charlotte West was a pushover. “Because I was involved in a sex scandal about a year ago.”

She stepped back, taking her warmth and scent with her. “You were?”

He winced at the not-so-subtle judgment in her tone. Not wanting to lie didn't mean the truth never cut on its way out. “Some personal texts and pictures sent to me went public, and it's a condition of my contract that I…behave.”

Another step back. “How long?”

He balled his hands to keep from grabbing her skirt so she couldn't move anymore. “A year and I'm six months in.”

She pursed her lips, stilling. Something like interest lit in her gaze. “You've gone six months without sex?”

Cut. Stab. Poke. “Yes.”

Any warmth vanished. “Oh,” she said as though something made complete sense to her now.

“Oh?” he asked.

Her cheeks flushed and she bit out in a disgusted tone, “So I'm just…”

Then he got the reason why. He pushed off the counter and pulled her into him. “You are not just someone I want to fuck.” He lifted her chin with a finger to make sure she saw he meant every word. “Over the past week, I've done nothing but think about you. Not anyone in my past or women who have tried to throw themselves at me just this week. It was Charlotte From Last Night keeping me up.”

The truth of that made his pulse skitter with fear. Some of his teammates had fallen hard for women they'd barely known. He thought they were crazy. How? They couldn't possibly know enough about a woman to love her, but Charlotte was kind to her core. When given the opportunity to ask him for anything in return, she had chosen to help someone else.

What he felt for her wasn't love, but it damn sure wasn't just lust. “So come home with me. Be
my
Charlotte tonight.”

He knew the answer before she gave it. She hadn't torn her open gaze from his. “Yes,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX

Charlotte stepped inside Adam's home and had to stop to take it in. After his confession, she'd expected a lair—whatever that looked like. Except his home faced the bay and somehow fit that picturesque view. Outside of the TV and stereo system, he had a well decorated home decked out in various warm colors. The couches look like the best places to relax. He even had a book shelf lining one wall and filled to the brim with novels.

Adam pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Surprised?”

She laughed, having been caught. “Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

She swept her gaze over the room. Though his place didn't match his earlier confession of a sex scandal or his reputation off the field, it fit the man she'd gotten to know so far. Now that she carried the knowledge he’d grown up like her—poor, with a single mother, and had to claw his way up to a better life—she liked him so much more. Dangerously so.

“Yes, I really like your home.”

Adam's smile held as he walked ahead with her overnight bag clutched in his hand. Nerves replaced the warmth of the exchange. Was she supposed to follow him to his room? Once there, did she strip down to her undies or let him undress her? She was so out of her depth. Charlotte didn't have affairs. She dated men, and if things progressed into a long-term relationship, they had sex. What was she doing in his home?

Maybe he sensed the oncoming storm because his step slowed halfway through the living room. He sighed then faced her. After a moment of a leveled stare, his gaze narrowed on her. “You're getting that look.”

“What look?” Hell, her voice sounded squeaky.

“Like you're going to start talking to me in two-word sentences.”

She wanted to laugh, wanted to close the space between them and put her head to his chest until the world stopped spinning. So, yeah. The best she could come up with was, “Oh.”

He dropped her bag on the couch and made his way back to her. “You're a caterer, a cook at heart. Let's look at my kitchen.” There was a placating tone in his voice now.

Confused, she frowned at him. “What?”

He grasped her hand. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. Her palm was damp. He must have noticed, but he only tugged her along with him.

Adam said, “Showing you is better than telling you.”

Since he was human female catnip, her feet went along with him before Charlotte could decide if she should. By the time curiosity sank in, she could see what he meant. The kitchen nook was set off to the left, and nothing but tinted glass surrounded the room. During the day, the domed top would let in the sun's rays. The top-to-bottom blinds were down at this late hour.

And the kitchen. She dropped his hand to step forward without prompting. The island, the countertops, the stove… “Oh my God.”

He chuckled behind her. “My mother loves to come here for Thanksgiving and cook everything that isn't nailed down. She's remarried. My stepdad has a ton of grandkids. So I needed the space.”

At random, she opened the cupboards to find the pots and pans hung from hooks that rolled out. “I would date you for your kitchen,” she said without thinking how that would sound.

“I feel so used.” Adam dropped a kiss on her forehead before opening the fridge.

He blocked her view with his body. In that split second, she could see the space inside was clean, and every shelf had food. She was here for sex, yes, but who said foreplay couldn't involve cooking first? Charlotte did her best to hang back and not seem too eager to get a better peek, but that was before Adam threw a smile over his shoulder and shifted so not even the light spilled out from the open door.

She laughed, catching on to the game he was playing. “I know what you're doing.”

“Not doing a thing.” She could practically see the grin on his face even with is back to her. “Looking for the wine I put in here yesterday to chill. Forgot about it.”

Charlotte bit her bottom lip then gave in. She stepped forward, rested her hands on the sides of his stomach, and leaned to see inside his fridge. The muscles bunched beneath her hands. He relaxed after a few seconds. For only a fraction of that time did she want to run her hands up over his pecs and then down, just to see what he'd do. Teasing Adam probably wasn't something she should do if not prepared for his kind of retaliation. Those thoughts floated away after she got a good look into his fridge.

“You have portobello mushrooms and fresh parsley and feta.” Charlotte hoped she was the only one who could hear how breathless she sounded. “You're evil.”

His shoulders flexed, rippling the taut muscles beneath the T-shirt. Just that quickly  she forgot about the food. She wanted to splay her hands on his bare skin and let her palms ride that ripple of muscle. She had no doubt her DNA would feel it. 

Okay. Personal truth: What she didn't want to touch on his body was probably a shorter list. So his muscles, anything on his person was something she wanted to damn near feel in her DNA.

Adam glanced at her, exhaled a harsh breath as though he could read that want on her face, and then he grabbed the wine bottle. “I made a quick call after class.”

She huffed, the hot spurt of need for him cooling off. “You wanted me to cook for you?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “Did you see the way I demolished that cornbread? I'd be stupid and a liar to say the hope didn't cross my mind. Also, I have a rare weekend off. My kitchen only had crumbs.”

Once again, he cupped her face with his free hand. The innocent contact never felt calming, not when she struggled to breathe instead of moan. The action wasn't thoughtless. Every time, a flash of something she couldn't pinpoint would darken his gaze as though he had needed some part of them to connect.

“So…” Her voice sounded high, thready. She couldn't help it. “You don't like to waste opportunities. I think that's something about you that I really like. Though, it's…intimidating.”

His thumb moved back and forth across her cheek then trailed down to her neck, right on her pulse. Her heart pounded, and her skin felt like it was on fire from the simple caress. It was maddening and unfair that he came equipped with the power to render her into a trembling, aching mess with a touch.

So when Adam asked, his deep timbre another caress along her senses, “Spend the weekend with me, and maybe you'll like it for sure,” she had to swallow the urge to scream yes and then tackle him to the floor.

Think
. He'd given her his warning speech in the classroom, but she still needed to know the parameters—needed reassurance, really.

“Not just the night?” she asked.

“I told you,” he said, letting his long stride eat the space between them, “it was never just for tonight. Tonight is just the start.”

Her scalp tingled at the proximity of him. “Oh.”

“That's all you have to say?” The intensity in the simple words seemed to waft off him.

Her stomach flipped under the pull of his need. She didn't encourage that kind of emotion. Never, ever. Adam probably met, and likely turned down, a much more skilled seductress on a daily basis for the last six months. So what woman did he see when he looked at her? What kind of woman could he not turn away? Charlotte wanted to meet her, to be that woman all the time, because that kind of woman could make the world kneel at her feet.

What did it say about Charlotte that even a small part of her craved to be that kind of woman?

He kissed her quickly, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, and that simple expression dissolved her every thought.

“I love how chatty you are,” he teased. He also pushed her back, step after step until he had guided her into the kitchen nook.

He dropped his hand from her stomach then offered her the wine bottle. “I'll be right back with the glasses.”

She leaned against the cherry wood table, her grip tight on the chilled bottle, watching the way he simply moved. Each stride was sure, but there was almost a cocky bounce to each step. But he was doing his best to put her at ease. So when he came back with the glasses and a cork, she forced her shoulders to lower and her limbs followed the quiet demand to relax.

“You have a view of the Golden Gate bridge,” she said, using way more than two words. “Why don't you keep your windows open?”

“I guess you can say I've become jaded with my view.” He notched his head to a panel on the wall. “You can lift the blinds if you want.”

She wanted. Indecision filled her for another second as she stood at the panel on the wall, but she cut off the light in the nook since he'd finished pouring. The remaining illumination gave the room a nice glow. She grabbed her glass before settling at the window seat instead of the table. With the onset of nightfall, fog had crept in over the bay, and soon, only the top lights of the bridge would be visible.

She sipped her Chardonnay and soaked in the view, awed at the simple but somehow extravagant pleasure. “Do you ever look back and wonder how you got here? Got all this?” She searched for his gaze.

His jaw clenched at the question, which was a surprising reaction to a simple inquiry. “I have moments,” he finally answered.

Adam pushed off the table, and within two steps, she had to clench her glass. Being near him was like standing next to a power line during a thunderstorm. The air didn't crackle but sizzled with energy.

The hairs on her arms rose to attention right before he slid behind her on the window seat. “There's a warm, kind woman sitting in my house admiring the view. This is a moment. None of this should be mine, even temporarily.”

She tensed. “Why?”

He brushed aside her hair to expose her neck. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to talk about my wayward past when I'm about to use my mouth in the most interesting ways?”

A week ago, before she met him, her answer would have been ten—Charlotte would have wanted to know every detail before she let him touch her. But the interlude in the classroom had only been a teaser to what he could do. She wasn't just thinking about his mouth and hands.

He'd talked to the boys as though they were equals, not charity cases for a PR spin to make him look good on paper. He hadn't told them “if you work hard, one day you'll be like me.” Something she heard much too often, both when growing up and when she had a visitor in her classroom.

Adam showed them he could cook his own meals if he wanted, put down chili just like them, laugh at raunchy jokes, and be a guy that knew his past yet wanted something different for his future. Sure, there were more important details or wounds they could dredge up, but did she need them tonight?

“Three,” she answered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her shoulder that forced her to grip her wine glass.

“I've lost my edge. You should have said negative fifty.”

Laughing probably only encouraged his ridiculousness, but she did it anyway. “Adam.”

The clink of wood meeting glass stopped her laugh. Her pulse skidded when he wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her closer. This position probably did nothing for him, with his hip pressed into her ass, but Adam tugged at her dress's strap, his mouth drawing a trail of heat down her skin. He laved his tongue over her flesh before sucking his way up to the crook of her neck.

When had he balled her hair in his hand? The tight pull tugged at her scalp and only added to the sensations playing over her. He added teeth then yanked down the front of her dress. Her breasts spilled out.

How could she care when every lick and suck made her panties drip with arousal? The scrape of his nails over her sensitive tips was punctuated with the sharp sting of on her neck. Her back arched on its own accord—she needed more. So much more of his lips, his touch.

With another scrape of his nails, her dress pinned down her arms and bared her to the waist. A sharp shatter of glass edged between her deep moans. It took her a second to notice her empty hand. She must have let cup roll from her hand and  onto the floor.

How could he complain about it, though? He was busy decimating her. His knuckles pressed pressed low on her spine as he continued to grip her dress. Adam used that leverage to make her kneel on the window seat. She braced her hands on the sill, lost in what his mouth was doing. His mouth was tracing the line of her spine and back up to the crook of her neck.

If Charlotte's arms weren't pinned so tightly, she would have reached up to squeeze her nipples to let off some of the pressure building in them. They were so damn hard and ignored. As though he could hear that silent plea for release, he closed his hands over her breasts and kneaded the soft flesh.

“My Charlotte,” he murmured into her ear, “is this what you needed?”

She so wanted to be the woman he thought she was. That Charlotte would voice her need for him to pinch her nipples. But how? She’d never needed that before. If he added a tease of pain with the pleasure he was giving, she could come, no penetration needed.

The only word that made sense from the loud pounding in her head spilled from her lips, “Adam.”

He grunted and squeezed the tips hard enough she felt the promise of pain from his nails. Charlotte whimpered, confused and lost in what he was making her need, almost beg for.