Game for Marriage (7 page)

Yanking on her hand, he hauled her in close, so close she sprawled across his chest, her free hand braced against his shoulder, her face in his. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

He cupped the back of her head. “This,” he murmured just before he settled his mouth on hers.

…

Oh, God. The moment Jared kissed her she wanted to melt. Just melt into him until she completely disappeared, and then their plan would go up in smoke.

Where’s your new wife?
the reporters would ask.

I melted her with my lips!
Jared would cheerily reply.

Yes, she was that much of a goner. But the man could kiss, his warm, smooth mouth moving over hers, sucking her lower lip between his. One big hand tangled in her hair, his grip possessive as he held her to him.

He didn’t give her a chance to talk, let alone breathe for more than two seconds. Breaking the kiss, he changed the angle of his head, catching her mid-shuddering exhale, her lips still parted. His tongue sneaking in…

And, oh God help her, that made her melt even more. His tongue searched her mouth, his muscular arm coming around her, holding her in place. He was hard everywhere. Big muscles, wide chest, he was built like a…

Football player.

If that didn’t make her belly quiver with arousal, then she was made of stone. Which she so wasn’t. Because yes, indeed, her belly was quivering, her pulse was pounding, and her breasts ached for him to touch them.

All because of a single wild, hot, delicious kiss.

Good lord, if they carried on much longer…

The car came to a stop and he released her, his arms going wide, his breathing uneven. She backed away from him, her butt landing on the leather seat with a
thump
. Her gaze meeting his, she realized she couldn’t speak, her heart pounded so heavily in her throat. She swallowed past it, rubbed her lips together and discovered they tingled.

Her entire body tingled.

“There ya go,” he murmured, his gorgeous blue eyes glowing with unmistakable approval. “That’s the look you need.”

“What look?” Composing herself as best she could, she grabbed her tiny purse and snapped it open, pulling her compact from within. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, shock and horror coursing through her. She looked crazed. All those hours of preparation ruined by one hot kiss. “Oh my God, my hair’s a mess.”

“Hmm, like your man just ran his fingers through it?”

She ignored him, that deep, satisfied tone sending a fresh wave of arousal washing over her as she dug into her tiny purse for her lip gloss. “You kissed all the lip gloss off.”

“Yeah, I think I’m still wearing some.”

Glancing up, she saw the telltale signs of pinkish-gold glittery gloss lingering on his full bottom lip. Now that she studied him, she realized he had a bit of a frazzled look to him, too. His hair was sticking up in odd places and his eyes were a little glazed. As if he enjoyed that kiss just as much as she did…

Pleasure rippled through her, that she could affect him as much as he affected her. The turbulence in his gaze countered his outward calm. That she’d done that to him made her smile.

The driver put the limo in park and she yanked out the lip gloss, glancing toward the door she knew would open in mere moments. “Let me touch up my lips first.”

“No.” He slipped his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from doing anything his grip was so strong. Yet gentle. His tone firm, his gaze like ice when it lit upon her, she slowly dropped the lip gloss back into her bag. “You need to look just like that.”

“Just like what?” she whispered.

He smiled grimly. “Like I tried to fuck you in the back of a limo.”

Her jaw dropped open. Did he have to be so crude?

And since when did she find crude so…arousing?

The door opened, a man’s friendly face suddenly appearing. “Are you ready Mr. Quinn? Mrs. Quinn?”

Oh, God. Her stomach dropped to her toes at hearing her referenced as his wife. She could hardly believe this was happening to her. Like she’d fallen into some sort of alternate universe where a regular woman like her somehow snagged a sexy, gorgeous man like Jared.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Leaning in, he laced his fingers with hers and kissed her. Again. Slipped her some tongue. Again.

He pulled away from her with such a smug smile on his face she wanted to smack him. Or kiss him.

Okay, kiss him.

“Let’s go, baby.” Grinning, he released his hold on her and climbed out of the car, the crowd waiting at the entrance of the restaurant erupting in a roar like she’d never heard before in her life. He turned to her, offering her his hand and she took it, surprised at the reassuring squeeze. “They’re going to love you.”

When he said it like that, she half believed him.

…

There was a red carpet area set up directly in front of the restaurant. A spot roped off to hold back the swarm of photographers that jostled against one another. All of them eager to capture the moment, the first time Jared Quinn made a public appearance with his new wife.

Wife.
The word still boggled his mind. As did the woman he now called Mrs. Quinn. She clutched his hand tightly as they walked the short red carpet, wincing as they shouted her name and his.

He gave her hand a squeeze, releasing it as they stopped to pose for the photographers. Slipping his arm around her slender waist, he pulled her in close, his hand resting on her hip. She tentatively placed her arm around him as well, her curvy body snug against his. Barely reaching his shoulder, even with her sexy gold stilettos, he realized yet again just how tiny she was.

“Jared! Give your new wife a kiss!” one of the photographers shouted, resulting in practically every one of them urging him to lay one on Sheridan.

Pressing his lips to her forehead sent off a frenzy of furious snapping. Her scent wrapped around him, sweetly exotic, the juxtaposition arousing him. She exhaled shakily, he felt the tremble move through her body and he dipped his head, put his lips close to her ear.

“Relax,” he whispered, letting his hand slide down over the sweet curve of her ass. She jumped beneath his touch and he left his hand there, feeling possessive. God damn, she felt good beneath his palm.

Forgetting everything, he kissed her. Soft and sweet, his mouth lingered on hers, his tongue darting out for a quick lick. He felt her lips stretch into a smile when all the paparazzi went ape shit over the photo op they’d just been gifted.

It wasn’t a hardship, kissing the woman. That kiss in the limo had been all sorts of amazing. Their chemistry was off the charts and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Let’s go,” he murmured when he broke the kiss, offering a nod to the still snapping and yelling photographers. “We’re out.” Every one of them tripped over themselves to scream a litany of questions, all wanting to know the same thing. How did they meet, why did they marry so quickly, what about the Wallace scandal?

He ignored all of them. Tugging on Sheridan’s hand, he led her into the crowded restaurant, where they were both greeted warmly by Charlie and his wife, Margaret. All the while he was ultra aware of the woman standing next to him, her tiny hand in his, the scent of her intoxicating him.

If he survived the night without attempting to jump her bones, he’d deserve a medal.

Chapter Seven

“Ah, our newest member of the team.” Charlie Monroe enveloped Sheridan in his arms, giving her a quick squeeze before he released her. The scent of very expensive cologne clung to her, overpowering her senses, and she tried her best to smile fondly as he beamed at her as if she were the second coming. “Sheridan Quinn, it is a delight to finally meet you.”

Sheridan Quinn.
Would she ever become used to that? She had just a year to do so. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Monroe.”

He waved a hand, the diamond pinkie ring he wore flashing in the light. “Call me Charlie. We’re practically family, my dear. And this is Margaret.”

Sheridan went through the motions, making pleasantries with Charlie’s wife, who was a lovely woman, reeking of wealth and entitlement but not in a rude way. More matter-of-fact, as if she were used to this sort of treatment and lifestyle—which she was.

And Sheridan so wasn’t. Completely out of her element, she tried her best not to gape at the blatant display of beautiful women and gorgeous, gigantic, football-playing men and their opulent displays of wealth. The restaurant was small, intimate, warmly decorated and headed by an acclaimed chef. There wasn’t a table to be had, every single one occupied, the place filled to overflowing, but somehow she found herself at a table that had been reserved specifically for her, Jared, and a handful of others.

She could get used to that sort of treatment, though she shouldn’t. It was temporary. To become accustomed to this lifestyle would only leave her filled with disappointment when it was over.

“Want something to drink?” her sexy, attentive husband asked moments after they sat down. His chair was so close to hers he sat sideways, his legs spread wide, her chair nestled between them. They looked every inch the intimate, newly wedded couple.

“Just water,” she answered, almost afraid to meet his gaze. Her mind was still blown by that kiss and the things he’d said to her afterward. Like how he wanted her to look like he tried to fuck her in the limo. She was achingly aware of his proximity, the scent of him, his warmth. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle up close and beg him to kiss her again.

“Nothing stronger, huh?” He flashed her one of those mind-blowing grins, reaching out to push a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Might do you some good to loosen up.”

“Last time I did that, we ended up in a motel room,” she replied, pressing her lips together when he traced the curve of her cheek with his index finger, her skin tingling everywhere he touched. Glancing around quickly, she lowered her voice. “What are you doing?”

“Touching my pretty new wife.” That cocky smile remained, the heat in his gaze intriguing. He looked like he really wanted her, which couldn’t be true. Shouldn’t be true, since he knew the terms just like she did. “Have a cocktail, Sheridan. I think it’ll do you some good.”

She sighed. “Fine. You’d better not take advantage of me.”

The devilish grin grew. “I can’t. There’s a clause.”

Right. Because of her. “Shh. What if someone heard that?”

“Heard what?”

Sheridan glanced up to find Willow standing beside their table, a shrewd look in her eyes. Swallowing hard, Sheridan parted her lips, ready to defend her remark when Jared cut in.

“I was trying to convince her to leave early so we could have some honeymoon fun.” He stood, holding out his hand to Willow. “It’s good to see you again, Willow.”

“Good to see you too.” She shook his hand somewhat reluctantly, her gaze locked on Sheridan. “Congratulations on stealing away my best friend and marrying her.”

The charming mask never slipped as he released Willow’s hand, though the quick glance he shot in Sheridan’s direction spoke volumes. “You don’t approve?”

“Not when a marriage happens so fast it makes my head spin,” Willow said sweetly.

He had no answer for that and Sheridan almost felt sorry for him. “I’ll go get our drinks,” he said to her before chancing a look at Willow. “Want me to get you something?”

“No thanks.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said warily, squeezing Sheridan’s bare shoulder before he walked away.

Willow watched him go, as if waiting until he was out of earshot before she pounced. “He’s gorgeous.”

“I know.” Sheridan couldn’t stifle the giggle that escaped.

“And I like the way he looks at you.”

Sheridan leaned back. “How does he look at me?”

“Like he wants to eat you up.” Willow smiled wickedly. “Slowly.”

A flush crept into her cheeks. Hell, she wished. How delicious it had been, having Jared’s attention focused completely on her in the motel room. One night wasn’t enough. But it would have to be. “You’re being wildly inappropriate.”

“I’m always wildly inappropriate. It’s part of my charm,” Willow said breezily. “I hope you’re happy with him.”

“I will be. I just know it,” Sheridan lied, clearing her throat. “Did you come with anyone tonight?”

“Just my dad.” Willow shrugged. “He was asking about you, how you’re doing with Jared. I told him I’d find out the scoop.”

Concern flooded her. The very last thing Sheridan wanted was her lawyer talking with his daughter—her best friend—about her fake marriage. It made her head hurt just thinking about it.

“There’s no scoop. Just tell your dad I’m…very happy.” There. That was neutral enough. “Maybe I should go say hi.”

“Stay where you’re at. The minute you vacate your spot, someone will snag it.” Willow stood. “Maybe I’ll find my own sexy football player. I hope he’s here tonight.”

“Who?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Nick Hamilton. Tight end, Jared’s right hand man. They’re a total team within the team.”

“Oh, right.” Jared had talked about Nick that night at the bar. But since then she and Jared had rarely talked beyond contract agreements, wedding ceremonies, and where to put her stuff when she moved in. Theirs was a marriage not based on much, if anything.

Willow made a face. “He’s sort of an ass though, so maybe I’ll give him the cold shoulder tonight. That usually sends men into a frenzy. He’ll probably end up chasing me. See ya later.”

Sheridan watched her friend leave, wondering at her mood. She seemed sort of dark tonight. Angry. A little frustrated. It was like the Hawks team had breezed in and swept the both of them under their spell.

“Excuse me, are you Sheridan Quinn?”

Glancing up, she found a woman towering over her, impressive in her tight black cocktail dress and extremely high black heels. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek ponytail and her makeup was utter perfection. “I’m Sheridan.”

“Hmm.” The woman folded her arms in front of her, the look of disgust on her face blatantly evident. “Interesting how quickly he married you when we went on a date not even a month ago.”

Sheridan’s mouth dropped open. The audacity of the woman. “And you are?”

“Hope. Make sure you let him know I said hi and that I miss those quick hands of his.” The woman smiled, her expression smug. “Good luck keeping him interested, honey. I hope when you get a divorce, you take him to the cleaners.”

Sheridan shook her head, unable to say a word when the woman sauntered away, her dress so short if she made one wrong move, she’d show off everything she had. What a bitch—and Jared had slept with a woman like that? Was she his usual preference? Overly made-up, big-mouthed floozies?

The evening was only getting started and already it had proven far too drama-filled for her blood.

…

Jared wove his way through the crowd, a fruity, sweet cocktail clutched in one hand for Sheridan, a beer in his other. He stopped and talked with an endless array of people. Jim Walsh, the head coach. Nick Hamilton, his best friend. Freaking Flynn Foley, who gave him a hug and told him how excited he was to see him play on Sunday.

That had put Jared in a sour mood. The goody-goody second stringer made him want to choke someone. And not because the kid was a pain in his ass, but because he was just so damn nice.

Then he spotted her, his golden ray of sunshine sitting at the table alone, a perturbed expression on her face. He’d taken forever, so she probably wasn’t thrilled she’d sat there alone for who knew how long. Her friend Willow made him damn uncomfortable and he’d been relieved to make his escape from her. She saw and knew everything, and her dad was freaking Walter Cavanaugh. If anyone figured out their situation, it would be her.

“Sorry I took so long.” He sat next to Sheridan, handing her the drink. She took it gratefully, sipping from the glass, those pretty lips pursed around the edge driving him momentarily wild with lust.

The no-sex clause was making him insane, and they were hardly a week into the marriage. This was what he’d turned into: a quivering mass of flesh aroused by a woman’s lips pressed against a glass.

“It’s okay,” she said coolly. “Hope said hello.”

Jared frowned. “Who?”

Sheridan rolled her eyes. “Hope? Some woman you were going out with not even a month ago, direct quote from the whore’s—pardon me, I mean the
horse’s
mouth?”

Ah, there it was again. Little Miss Sassy. “She make you mad or what?”

Sheridan shrugged, drawing his attention to her shoulders. Smooth, glittery skin, all that soft hair shifting and brushing against her flesh, the elegant arch of her neck, the exposed collarbone; all of it was enough to send his body into full tilt alert, his cock twitching with awareness. “She said she missed your quick hands.”

“I never went out with a woman named Hope.” Unable to resist, he traced her right shoulder with his index finger, pleased when he saw the subtle shiver move through her. “Be prepared, wife. All the psycho girls I never went out with will come out of the woodwork and claim I fucked them all.”

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “Do you always have to be so crude,
husband
?”

He chuckled. Fine, he’d called her wife, she’d call him husband. “Didn’t realize you don’t approve of my language.”

“It’s rather…colorful.” She arched a brow, sexy as hell—per her usual mode in his eyes. Maybe it was the beer. It was his second one, and he was indulging before he went cold turkey come the season game opener. He tried his hardest to remain sober during the season. Booze fucked with his head and made him tired.

“You don’t use…colorful language?” he teased.

She sipped from her drink, her eyes dancing mischievously. “Never.”

“Ah, I doubt that.” Leaning in, he decided to toy with her. Just a little. “So if I were to whisper in your ear how much I want to take you out of here and fuck you all night, you’d be offended?”

She parted her lips, her eyes widening, but no sound came out for a long, downright tense moment. “You—you don’t mean it.”

He shrugged. He
so
meant it. “Can’t do anything about it anyway.” Damn that no-fucking clause. He silently cursed her lawyer for adding that in. Hell, the man had insisted on it and Harvey had readily agreed without consulting him. He was a sadistic asshole who didn’t care about anyone, so why not torture him for a year?

“True.” She licked her lips and he stifled a groan at first sight of her pink tongue. “Do you usually talk to all of your…women that way?”

Jared wanted to laugh. They were in the middle of a crowded restaurant where anyone could hear them and they were having the most bizarre conversation. “I have never minced words, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sheridan ran her fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, which made him want to do the same. “And they normally like it?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never engaged in dirty talk? Besides the night when we…” His voice trailed off. Hell, why was he taking this conversation there? They’d gone from zero to aroused in ten seconds flat and it was a mistake. It would result in absolutely nothing happening, and he’d be in a tortured state of erection for the rest of the evening.

But there was something about the look in her eyes, the safety of the crowd, the intimacy of their conversation…

She slowly shook her head, grabbing ahold of her drink and polishing it off. “There wasn’t a lot of dirty talk the night we were together, was there?”

“Are you saying you don’t remember?” Damn, way to cut a man’s ego in half.

A smile teased the corner of her lips. “Of course I remember. I just don’t remember my saying anything particularly dirty.”

“You didn’t.” He touched her silky hair. “It was all me. But you liked it.”

She met his gaze. “You’re trying to rattle me.”

“Never.” Hell, yes, he was.

Sheridan made a face. “Just because I’m not very adventurous doesn’t mean you should tease me about it.”

Oh, don’t go there, baby. Don’t, don’t, don’t go there.
Because he would absolutely show her adventurous by having her naked, flat on her back and him buried inside her, just like that.

And then the agreement would be rendered null and void. She’d have grounds to bail and he’d be left with his dick in his hands looking like a complete asshole.

Yet there he was, playing with fire, and he was gladly looking forward to getting burned.

“You were pretty damn adventurous if I remember correctly. You’re the one who suggested the motel room,” he murmured, touching her again. Because he could, because he had every right to, since she was his wife and they were supposed to be madly in love. Giving in to temptation, he grabbed the seat of her wooden chair and pulled her in closer, her bare legs brushing against his, her little gasp of surprise going straight to his dick. “Or did you forget?”

She sent him a skeptical look. “Like I could forget.”

Satisfaction rippled through him. She tried so damn hard to act like he didn’t affect her. Nice to have some confirmation that he actually made an impression. “Feeling adventurous now?” He tilted his head, her hair brushing against his face, the fragrance of it sweet, heady. “I bet I could make a few choice suggestions and have you aroused by the time the night is finished.”

She shook her head, her hair hitting his face again, though he didn’t mind. Her scent was an aphrodisiac, intoxicating him. “Been there, done that. And besides, we can’t.”