Game For Love: Love Games (Kindle Worlds) (7 page)

At least, he was attracted to her last night. Maybe his lust was on time release and only lasted as long as his prey was within visual contact? Or maybe whoever had called him had assuaged that lust?

That was the crux of the matter. Who was it who called last night, and why did he feel the need to run to her? Her? It could just as easily have been a him. Marlee quickly replayed what she’d heard of Declan’s conversation. No, he hadn’t used any gender-specific terms. Marlee hadn’t heard all of Declan’s side, though, as he had turned away from her and his voice had gotten low and soft. Because he didn’t want Marlee to hear, or because his listener was someone with whom Declan always used soft, low tones?

She couldn’t stand the thought of Declan lumping her in with the many groupies he must encounter. He knew that she wasn’t impressed by his athletic status; in fact, he must have realized that his prowess was a turn-off to Marlee. Yet she was still willing to go to bed with him hours after meeting him, and for only the possibility of one night. Where would that place her in Declan’s lexicon of women? At groupie level? Slightly above? Surely not below. And if she only wanted one or two nights with him, why should it matter to Marlee what Declan thought of her?

But it did matter to her.
 

She was a respected professional, a conservative woman by nature. She was no prude or virgin, but she’d never entered into what would certainly be a few-nights stand. There may have been a time, when she was younger, where she would have been more receptive to the “when I’m in town” relationship with an academic from another university, but to enter into that kind of arrangement now would only sidetrack her ultimate goal of marriage and children.

A knock on the locked door roused Marlee from her thoughts. She looked at her watch. Ten on the dot. She opened the door, and the sight of Declan once again took her breath away. Surely God must be a woman to create a man as gorgeous as Declan Tate. Or maybe the devil was involved, because the way he looked in well-worn blue jeans, a maroon henley, and a leather bomber jacket was downright sinful. A bright yellow knitted scarf that looked suspiciously homemade adorned his neck and hung forward onto his muscled chest. The scarf should look out of place on his
GQ
body, but it added a personal touch.

“Hi,” was all the usually articulate Marlee could get out.

“Hi yourself.”

He stepped into the studio, shut the door, made sure it was locked, and took Marlee in his arms. His cheek was cold against the top of her head. He smelled of snow and winter and leather jacket and something else Marlee couldn’t name. Declan. He smelled of Declan.
 

He pulled back and held on to her upper arms, looking into her dazed eyes. She was still trying to decipher the glorious smell of him, and running through possible names of what she’d call it if she could bottle it. Stud? Quarterback? Winter Man? Nothing sounded quite right.

“Do you know what thought went through my head all last night?” he asked. As Marlee shook her head, Declan lightly touched her cheek. “I thought…my God, I never even got to kiss her. Over and over, like a mantra: ‘I didn’t get to kiss her, I didn’t get to kiss her.’ So, before some other emergency calls either one of us away, I’m going to make sure to put that one to rest.”
 

Marlee’s mind was still whirling from just the succulent sight of Declan, and it took her a moment to catch up with what he was saying. Before she could, Declan lowered his mouth to hers.

She’d been up most of the night as well, and like Declan, she’d thought of what hadn’t happened. Unlike Declan, she had allowed her regret to surpass that of just a kiss. She had imagined them doing all sorts of steamy and wicked things, so that when Declan’s soft mouth touched hers, she realized that she hadn’t spent much time at all thinking about what kissing Declan would be like.
 

If she had thought his kiss would be strong, masculine, and aggressive—like Declan himself—she couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh, it was strong, all right. But the strength was in its softness, its quiet determination. His lips at first just brushed hers. They were soft and warm, despite his having come in from a bitter Boston January morning. His scent once again filled her.

He angled his head a little to his right and went in for another brush. This time his delectable lips lingered on her mouth. He slowly opened his mouth and darted his tongue across her parted hers
.
Another soft, barely there caress and then he settled in to feast on her mouth.

She needed no guidance from him, and met his burning kiss head on. Their tongues tangled, gently at first, and then with a probing intensity. Marlee took Declan’s tongue into her mouth and gently sucked on it. The taste of him was better than his scent. His tongue was rough, both salty and sweet.

Declan let out a harsh groan and tightened his hold on Marlee as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him. Her hands came into contact with the yellow scarf, and the thought that she had never felt anything so soft in her life fleetingly went through her fogged brain. Declan shifted his weight, nudging her thighs apart and pressing himself into her. She’d never felt anything so hard in her life, as well.
 

Just as the need to rub herself against Declan’s increasing erection was too much to bear, Declan pulled away from Marlee and gasped for breath. She was breathing hard as well and took a step back to compose herself.
 

She’d felt passion before, but had never gotten this worked up during a kiss, and a first kiss at that. She could feel the moistness in her panties, and her breasts felt heavy and unsatisfied. What this man did to her senses was alarming. But, Marlee argued with herself, if she was going to engage in a week-long fling with this him, didn’t she want it to be mind-numbing? What was the sense of entering into an affair with someone who was totally wrong for her for just
meh
sex?
 

“God, Marlee, we’ve got to stop or we’ll never get any work done. Come on.” Declan took her hand and led her deeper into the studio, checking it out as he went. “The sooner we get done with our work, the sooner we can play.”
 

He wiggled his brows suggestively at her and squeezed her hand. Marlee laughed in return. She hadn’t expected a sly sense of humor from Declan, but he’d made her laugh several times throughout dinner last night. Marlee was slowly realizing that Declan Tate most certainly did not fit the mold that she had, admittedly unfairly, put him in.

Declan looked around the room. It was a studio about the size of a large living room. In the front of the room were three small sets placed side by side. Each set was on a carpeted platform that was a foot or so off the ground.

The first area was just a podium with a heavy maroon curtain hanging behind it as its only backdrop. Declan assumed this was the one Marlee used when she was working on her own stuff, as it mirrored the scene of almost every lecture he had attended.

The next area was a desk with two chairs behind it and a blank screen behind the chairs. It was reminiscent of a local news broadcast with chairs for two anchors. Similar to
SportsCenter
. That was where he should probably practice.
 

The final set was two oversized upholstered chairs with a coffee table between them and a potted silk fern behind each chair. Talk-show set. Neither of them would be spending much of their practice time there, although the chairs looked comfy. Declan thought about easing Marlee’s warm body down into one of those chairs and kneeling in front of her…

He mentally shook himself to get with the program and turned to survey the rest of the studio.
 

Directly facing the three sets was a video camera set up on a swiveling tripod. The configuration allowed for the camera to face any of the three sets in their entirety. To the side of the camera was a large television, a laptop, and numerous cables, which Declan assumed allowed simultaneous playback of the recorded image and availability for viewing later, via downloading the file to the laptop. There was a table nearby with a bunch of extra USB cables and some unopened thumb drives.

Two metal folding chairs were near the wall by the door. Against the other wall were a few long, banquet-style tables that held a microwave, a coffeepot, some packaged condiments and creamers, Styrofoam coffee cups, and Marlee’s leather satchel, her notebook and a pen lying beside it.
 

Pretty sparse, but then you didn’t want a lot of distractions when you were going to be rehearsing and recording. Declan figured being in the same small room with Marlee was distraction enough.

He took off his jacket and threw it on one of the folding chairs. Marlee had hung her long camel hair coat on a coat rack in a corner, and Declan saw dripping boots placed on the floor underneath. Alongside the boots were mittens with melting snow and a knit wool hat. Declan turned to look at Marlee and saw her sensible—but designer—pumps that now adorned her slender feet. She was on the newscasters’ set, leaning against the desk, hands clasped at hip level, her eyes following Declan.

“Did you walk here? In this cold?” Declan asked.

“Yes, and yes, it was very cold—I didn’t realize how cold, or I probably would have driven.”

“Do you walk to campus every day?”

“No, sometimes in the fall and spring, but never in the winter.”

“Then why today?” Declan thought he knew the answer even though he was sure that Marlee wouldn’t admit it. He had felt the same pent-up sexual energy coursing through his body this morning. He’d gotten only a few hours’ sleep, but the zing of knowing he’d see Marlee again had him humming.
 

He knew his body well—it was his instrument for doing his job, and he would normally enjoy an extensive workout to expend this sexual hunger. But he didn’t need to work out anymore, he remembered, and the pang that he’d felt when he first woke up this morning returned once again.
 

He didn’t have to work out again, or monitor his protein levels during the week so he’d peak on Sundays, or watch hours of videotape in the tiny viewing room at the Pumas’ Complex that was known as Tate’s Mansion because of all the time he spent there, or any of that bullshit.
 

Trouble was, he had a suspicion that he’d miss that bullshit more than he was willing to admit. It was really all he’d known, all he had ever done, from Pop Warner football in fifth grade to yesterday afternoon.
 

He wasn’t sure he was capable of gracefully handling what the future would bring. Damn, but he didn’t want to be one of those guys who retired, opened a restaurant, and sat around entertaining the diners while explaining the delicacies of evading Cole Taylor in the Super Bowl.
 

This broadcasting thing was his shot. A way to stay involved with football, the game he lived and breathed, while still maintaining his dignity. He had to get this gig, and that meant getting comfortable in front of a camera.

“I felt like the exercise this morning,” Marlee said. She hesitated, then, as if deciding to lay her cards on the table, she raised her chin, looked him in the eye, and continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night, and woke up feeling, um…unsatisfied…so I decided to walk here and clear out the cobwebs, both mentally and physically.”

Boy, she didn’t play games, did she? He liked that about her. It was his style as well. Most of the women Declan came in contact with played all sorts of games—first to get his attention, then to get him into bed, then to keep him in their lives. Declan went along with some, but declined to play most of the women’s games.

“
You
were unsatisfied? Darlin’, I could tell you a thing or two about waking up unsatisfied,” he said.
 

 
“I wasn’t the one who ended the evening.
Darlin’
.”

“There’s no way I would have left last night if I didn’t have to.”

“Was it some type of emergency? Is everything okay? Should you even be here this morning?”

Answering her questions in the same rapid-fire delivery, he said, “Yes. Sort of; at least it’s under control. And the entire Denver Broncos defensive line couldn’t have kept me from seeing you this morning.” Declan moved to the set, stepped onto the platform, and leaned against the desk as well. He shifted his weight to one hip and turned to face Marlee as she did the same. “The call last night was from my agent, who was still at the party. There was a fire at my house last night.”

“Declan, oh my God, why didn’t you say something sooner? Was anyone hurt? Is it burned to the ground? God, I feel like such a shrew trying to make you feel guilty for leaving last night.” She placed her hand on his arm, and her whole body turned into him.

He placed his hand over hers and began to stroke her long fingers. “You weren’t a shrew, you were disappointed. So was I. The fire was small, thank God, and nobody was hurt. Someone in the kitchen put a dishtowel too near one of those Bunsen burner things that the caterers used. The kitchen is a wreck, and there’s some smoke damage throughout the downstairs, but nothing on the second floor. The party had mostly cleared out by then. Apparently some of the guys were on a mission to find me and had left to go in search of all my usual haunts. The catering staff, my agent, a couple of players, and some, um, women were all that were left. By the time I got there, everything was under control. All I could do was call the insurance company, get some stuff for the next few days, and go to a hotel.”