Playing By Her Rules (Sydney Smoke Rugby Series) (5 page)

Somebody called @slickstonesmistress had tweeted

Looks like #style columnist @MatildaK #holysmoke #betternotbelove #handsoffmyman

Tanner grinned as he scrolled through his feed. Tilly was just going to love being dragged into that. He contemplated joining in the fun, dropping some teasing hints, but he knew too well by now not to encourage the crazy that frequented his Twitter stream.

Then he remembered Tilly’s quip about her lack of underwear from last night and stopped grinning. He didn’t actually think she
had
gone commando, but that hadn’t stopped his imagination working overtime last night.

Or this morning in the shower.

In fact, it worked overtime all day. Not even the hard grind of practice managed to erase it, much to the chagrin of Griff, who was less than impressed with Tanner’s sudden inability to hold onto the ball.

“What the fuck?” he demanded as Tanner dropped the ball for the fifth time. “Are you all right there? You need to go and have a bit of a lie down? A massage? Rub some more pretty lotion into those hands of yours? How about a one-way ticket to the goddamn bench?”

“Sorry, Griff.” Tanner grimaced, aware of the other guys watching the byplay. “Distracted.”

Griff just looked more pissed off at the admission. “Since when do
you
get distracted?”

Tanner’s focus was legendary. He didn’t
do
distraction. Especially where women were concerned. When he got on that field, his concentration was always absolute. There hadn’t been a woman yet who’d messed with that.

“Hot date with that journo last night, coach,” Linc explained helpfully.

Tanner hadn’t told any of them about going out with Tilly, so Linc had to have found out via Twitter.

“Oh, Jesus.” Griff shook his head. “Please tell me you
did not
sleep with the Standard journo? You’re supposed to be making things better, not
fucking
things up.”

Tanner shoved his hands on his hips, affronted at the suggestion. “I did
not
sleep with her. Just because Linc is a walking hard-on, doesn’t mean we all are.”

“That’s Mr. Walking-Hard-On to you.” Linc grinned.

“Fuck off, Linc,” Griff growled before he turned his attention back to Tanner. “Get your head in the game. I swear to God, captain or no captain, I’ll bench your ass.”

Tanner believed him. Griff would defend his players from outside attack with his last breath, but that didn’t mean he thought they all farted rose petals. He was old school. Tough love was his motto.

Tanner was still thinking about Tilly’s
bare
ass when he opened the Standard on Friday morning. By the time he was done reading the article, he didn’t know whether to laugh or put that ass over his knee and spank it.

He hadn’t known what to expect but it hadn’t been this. It wasn’t an open attack on him. It was a skilfully written piece chronicling his early years and the birth of his generous celebrity. The suits in the offices would be most satisfied. But he still felt the subtle bite of it—the hint that beyond the facade was a flashy egotist.

Tanner Stone’s celebrity is burning bright, his ego burning even brighter. Let’s hope his almost childish delight in throwing his sizeable reputation around isn’t compensation for a lack of size in other departments.

She’d seen right through his attempts to dazzle her with his fame. To impress her. The posh restaurant, the autographs, the posing for pictures, the lobster, the tickets he’d given to the maître d for his string pulling.

And
she’d implied he had a small dick
.

He’d laughed about that. If there was anyone on the face of this planet who knew what he was packing, it was Matilda frickin’ Kent.

He hadn’t meant to come across as an ego-tripping celebrity. He’d just wanted to show her how far he’d come. That he wasn’t just the boofhead footballer he’d been in high school. That he was more refined now. Worthy of a Stanford graduate.

Worthy of her.

Posh restaurants. Exquisite food. A private balcony. Deferential treatment. Women were supposed to love that shit, right?

But that had been his mistake. He should have known better than to lump her in with everyone else. Tilly wasn’t like other women.

She never had been.

She’d never cared much for money or status. She’d cared about the intangibles. Heart and soul. Gut. Kindness. Integrity. Strength—of character, not of body.

Fine. Challenge accepted.

Tanner shut the paper with renewed determination. Tilly’s article might have put a lesser man off, but not him. He resolved to try again. Try harder. He wanted another shot with her—in fact, it was fast becoming an obsession, and he was willing to do whatever it took.

He just needed to show her a different side.

He grabbed his phone and dialled the work number printed on her card. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello. Matilda Kent speaking.”

“‘Perhaps his almost childish delight in throwing his sizeable reputation around,’” Tanner quoted, “‘is compensation for a lack of size in other departments…’ You might have warned me you were going to be mean.”

He deliberately kept his voice smooth and low. He might have been obtuse about some things on Tuesday night, but he hadn’t been oblivious to her physical response—the way her eyes had drifted closed when he’d touched her face, the ragged hitch to her breath.

There was a slight pause. “Can’t handle the truth?”

He laughed. “I tackle guys three times your size for a living. I can handle
whatever
you throw at me.”

“So you’re up for another meet?”

Tanner grinned. “I was born up, baby.”

“Really, Tanner? Are you going to turn
everything
into a sexual innuendo?”

“Hey, you started it by questioning the size of my junk.”

He could almost hear her eyes rolling. “That’s going to get
really
tedious.”

“Are you saying I’m boring? Because according to Twitter, it might be love.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s where I go to for
all
my relationship advice.”

Her sarcasm dripped through the phone. “Hey, rugbybunny1 is rarely wrong.”

“And what about slickstonesmistress?”

Tanner suppressed the urge to gloat. She’d been following the Twitter conversation. “What about her?”

“
Is
she?”

Tanner frowned. “My mistress?” He laughed. “I’ve never met the woman. She could be an eighty-year-old granny in outer Kazakhstan for all I know.”

“But you like it, right?”

If she was digging for more dirt on his ego, Tanner wasn’t playing. “Well, I prefer her Twitter handle to slicksucksdicks.”

She laughed. It huffed out as if it had taken her by surprise, like someone had snuck up behind her and squeezed her hard.

“Thought you’d like that one.”

“Hellz yeah, I’m following that one for sure.”

Tanner smiled. Her genuine delight was a massive turn-on. “So, where should we go on our next date?”

“
Interview,
Tanner. Interview
.
”

“Right.” Tanner hadn’t even realised he’d said date. But that’s what it was as far as he was concerned.

She could call it whatever she damn well wanted.

But where did you take a woman who ordered risotto—hot soggy rice as far as he was concerned—when there was lobster?

“I can do better, Tilly, but I’m racking my brains, here. You’re a hard woman to impress. I’d forgotten that about you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard.”

Tanner knew a piece of good advice when it was wrapped up in a bow. “Okay. Fine. What would make your heart beat a little faster?”

“If you’re thinking skydiving, forget it. I don’t see the point in jumping out of a perfectly decent plane.”

Of course. Tilly was completely down-to-earth. She’d been raised by a grandmother who believed in keeping both feet firmly on the ground…and doing good works.

Aha! That was the way to Tilly’s heart.

“I’m thinking Monday night. Seven o’clock. The Chapel in Kings Cross. There’s a soup kitchen there. There’s always a mound of washing up to do and plenty of time to chat.”

Silence greeted him. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting that. “Yes. Okay.” More awkward silence. “But don’t forget to call the paparazzi. I’d hate for you to miss a photo op.”

Tanner grinned as the phone went dead in his ear. Tilly had claws.

He couldn’t wait to feel them down his back.

Chapter Five

Matilda was running a little late for her interview with Tanner. The crosstown traffic, always awful at this hour, had been compounded by an afternoon storm that had brought down trees and messed with traffic lights. Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much to relieve the stifling humidity. Remnants of the storm rumbled and sizzled in the heavy clouds overhead as Matilda stepped around a puddle in her low-heeled sling-backs.

She hoped it wasn’t some kind of portent. The electricity between her and Tanner the other night had been more than enough to contend with.

Welcoming lamps outside the old chapel ahead gave the weathered stone a warm glow, and Matilda picked up her pace, aware of the damp cling of her shirt and the limp plaster of her hair to her forehead. She felt as if she was wading through a wet sponge.

She hadn’t expected Tanner to choose a soup kitchen, and she was still puzzling over it. The fact that she wasn’t able to get his measure was a huge puzzle. She’d always been able to tell where he was at.

But her article—written deliberately to annoy him—seemed to have just rolled off his back. She didn’t understand. Most of the men she knew would be furious to be publically called on their shit. But not Tanner. He’d just laughed down the phone and told her he’d do better.

And then asked her what would make her heart beat faster.

If only he knew how fast her heart had been beating in that lift the other night, and in those seconds she’d thought he was going to kiss her, he wouldn’t have asked at all.

She needed to keep that shit to herself. She was on a mission here to reveal to the world their rugby darling was a giant ass. She wasn’t going to let his confusing flirting—or
Twitter
—derail her objectives.

Matilda reached the gate and hurried down the potholed path, dodging more puddles as she headed for the stairs to the left, which led to the basement soup kitchen. The Chapel had been running a meals for the homeless programme, staffed entirely by volunteers, for the better part of three decades.

It was a Kings Cross icon.

She slapped a hand against the warped and peeling white door and pushed it open. Several long tables were filled with people eating, from ancient-looking men and women right through to hollow-faced street kids and bewildered families.

The low murmur of voices instantly cut out at her arrival and Tanner, who was sitting with a bunch of old guys at a table toward the back looked up from his conversation. She guessed she stuck out like a pimple on a pumpkin in her pencil skirt, silky red blouse and heels. Not to mention the impractical sheer black, thigh-high, lace-topped stockings she was test-driving for her column on the latest in fashion tights.

Her choice of clothing had been fine for the fridge-like conditions of a city office block, or maybe even a hot date, but not the kind that involved crippling humidity and some heavy duty washing up.

Her plan had been to nip home and change after work, but the storm had put the kybosh on that.

“Aha,” Tanner exclaimed into the silence, rising to his feet.

He was in dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt with the Sydney Smoke logo over one firm pec, leaving a good few inches of his half sleeve of tats visible. Matilda swore every female gaze in the room swung and fixed on him. Even a little girl with dark ringlets and a raggedy-ass doll glanced up from her food and smiled at him.

“Didn’t I tell you she was cute as a button, gentlemen?”

There were several enthusiastic nods and grins, and one, “I wouldn’t kick her out of my cardboard box,” followed by laughter.

Matilda blinked at the sooty-faced man who grinned a gappy smile in her direction.

“Ignore him,” said a woman with steely grey hair and a warm Irish brogue. She was wearing a religious collar with her plain grey civilian blouse, and a dainty gold cross around her neck. She smiled at Matilda as she approached. “Homeless humour.”

“Gotta laugh at something when you refuse to serve booze,” the same man grouched.

“We’re not a bar, Eric,” she chided with a sparkle in her eyes.

“More’s the pity,” he muttered.

“Hiya,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Sister Kathleen. I’m running the show tonight. You must be Tilly? Thanks so much for your help.”

Matilda’s smile faltered a little as she shook the other woman’s hand and glared at Tanner bringing up the rear. “Matilda,” she corrected politely.

Conversation started up again as Tanner reached them. “I’ll show her the ropes, Kathleen.”

The nun nodded and smiled the most serene smile Matilda had ever seen. She looked like nothing would ever bother her. The same could not be said for Matilda as Tanner slid a hand under her elbow.

She was officially pretty damn bothered as his warm, sweet aniseed scent invaded her nostrils and intoxicated her senses. He smelled good enough to eat, like he’d been sprinkled with ouzo and dusted with sugar.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted a shot glass or some kind of straw for snorting.

“The dishes await,” he said cheerfully, ushering her toward the kitchen.

Her heart skipped a beat as the heat from his body and the sizzle from his touch combined for a particularly potent double whammy. Matilda plastered a smile on her face as she pulled out of his grasp. “Lead on,” she murmured.

He didn’t argue, and she followed him through a set of swinging doors behind the serving area into the stiflingly hot kitchen. With the door and windows shut, the sub-street level room still held the heat from several large industrial ovens.

“You wanna wash or dry?” Tanner asked as he strode over and opened the door that led out to a stairwell accessing the alley above. He reached up and flipped several levers connected to the bank of high louvers that opened directly onto street level.

The air stirred marginally. But it was better than nothing.

Matilda glanced at what seemed to be a hundred pots, pans, and roasting dishes crusted in hard black globules of food that looked incinerated in place.

“Jesus. Do they use a flamethrower to cook them?”

“I think the ovens are old and temperamental.”

“Or ex crematorium stock.”

He laughed. “I’ll wash. Looks like brute strength is required.”

Matilda wasn’t about to argue. Might as well put those ridiculous muscles to good use. “I doubt I could write them into submission somehow.”

“No,” Tanner agreed, heading to the sink and flicking on the taps, intent on filling the industrial-size sink, and agitating the water as he squirted in some detergent. “You
could,
however, write about how I heroically and uncomplainingly scrubbed pots for hours while being witty and charming all at the service of some of the city’s less fortunate.”

“You want me to add how woodland animals came in from the alley to befriend you?”

He grinned. “As long as there are serenading bluebirds.”

Matilda tried very hard not to respond to his easy teasing. The man obviously remembered her weakness for old-school Disney animations.
That
sure as hell made her heart
beat a little faster
.

“Is that why we’re here?” she asked, picking up a clean tea towel from the pile near the sink, trying not to stand too close. She used to find their height disparity funny and kooky, and they’d often laughed about it. Now it was plain disturbing.

In all the
good
ways.

“So, I can see the man who eats lobster also has a social conscience?”

She glanced at him in time to see the tightening in the angle of his jaw. “You seem to know me so well,” he said lightly, obviously keeping his temper in check as he dumped the first lot of dishes into the water. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Matilda shook her head, pulling back on her hostility. She didn’t even know where it came from. After eight years, she should have been over all this crap. But scratch the surface, and there it was.

Simmering away.

“Not any more I don’t. I used to always know what you were thinking.”

She mentally kicked herself as soon as the words were out. It sounded wistful and kind of sad, and she didn’t want him thinking she sat around all day yearning for yesterday.

Those days were long gone.
Dead
and gone.

Thankfully he laughed, throwing his head back, clearly finding something very funny. “Well, that wouldn’t have been hard,” he said. “Rugby and boobs were pretty much it.”

Boobs. Something she’d lacked. Which Jessica Duffy hadn’t.

She looked down at her A cups.
Still
lacked. They were doing their best to look present in one of those magic push-up bras, but they were never going to win a wet T-shirt contest.

She glanced up to find him staring at them, too. Her nipples ruched into hard points at his blatant interest, and Matilda cursed the humidity that plastered the usually loose fabric of her blouse to said nipples.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Eyes front, Tanner.”

“Sorry.” He held his hands up in fake surrender, not looking remotely sorry at all. “You shouldn’t mention boobs if you don’t want me to look at them.”

“
I
didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Habit.”

“
Bad
habit.”

“Aren’t those the best kinds?” He grinned.

Matilda rolled her eyes as Tanner returned his attention to the sudsy water and what his hands were doing, not what her nipples were up to.

Time to change the subject. “How are your family?”

“Good,” he said. “Mum and Dad are still up north. Dad’s retired. Mum’s still really involved in the school even though none of us are there anymore, and the rugby club. I want them to come to Sydney but they love it too much up there.”

Tanner came from a small town in a whole other state, a few thousand kilometres north of Sydney. He’d been identified early as having talent and had been given a scholarship to attend the prestigious rugby academy that Matilda’s inner Sydney school was known for.

“And your sisters?”

“Kel’s backpacking around Europe. Meggsie’s working on a fishing trawler in the gulf, and Rails is studying criminology in Townsville.”

“Wow,” Matilda said, impressed. “Go them.” Eight years ago, they’d all been in primary school.

“What about your grandmother?” he asked. “Still attending protest meetings?”

Matilda smiled. “Hell yes. The day she doesn’t want to paint a sign for a march or write a letter to the local politician for some cause or other is the day she’ll lie down and die.”

As a kid growing up, the nice people in the neighbourhood had called her grandmother eccentric. Others had called her plain old crazy. But Hannah Kent was neither. She was someone who believed in justice and a fair go for everyone, and couldn’t bear it when some missed out.

Matilda knew people thought her gran was odd, but it had never occurred to Matilda to be embarrassed by her. It was her grandmother who’d stepped into the void after her mother had died when Matilda had been two weeks old. And a year after that, when her son, Matilda’s father, had taken his own life.

She owed her grandmother everything. Her loyalty most of all.

“Do you think she’d like tickets to see the Smoke play?”

Matilda laughed. “Unless you want a lecture on the evils of corrupt sporting officials, and how much third world hunger could be wiped out if big money sport fell off the side of the planet, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

He grinned. “Thanks for the tip.”

He pulled a large pot out of the water and gave it a quick squirt with a retractable rinsing hose that was fitted with a trigger nozzle. It had gone in looking like something from Chernobyl and had come out pretty clean. He placed it on the drainer. “I liked your gran.”

“Yeah,” Matilda said, picking it up. “She knew.”

She’d liked Tanner, too. Gran had always asserted that a man with sisters was a good catch. But damned if Matilda was telling him that when they were standing side by side, their arms occasionally brushing.

Tanner laughed. “Was I that transparent?”

The question clawed at her. Hadn’t they both been transparent? Young and in love like nothing could ever tear them apart?

“Enough of that now,” she said, determined to drag the conversation in a safer direction. “I’m supposed to be interviewing you.” She pulled her Dictaphone out of her bag, pressed record and sat it on the low ledge formed by the splashback, a reasonable distance from the water.

“Fire away,” he said, his biceps flexing as he scrubbed at the bottom of a baking dish. “Ask me anything.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why the fuck he’d cheated her on that night. Had it been just the kiss, or had it gone further after Matilda had run from the party?

It sure as hell looked like that’s where it had been heading.

That question had haunted Matilda for a long time. After all, it was no secret that Jessica had wanted Tanner, and why would he resist her perky DDs when he’d already dealt his relationship with Matilda a fatal blow?

But they were hardly questions pertinent to her feature article. And she really had to stop letting it matter. Wouldn’t Jessica
mean-girl
Duffy just love to know she was still screwing with Matilda eight years down the track?

She had to stop giving her nemesis that kind of power.

“You wanna pick up where we left off?” she asked.

He glanced at her, a smile turning his mouth wicked, mischief dancing in his impossibly blue eyes. “You mean last week, right?”

“Yes
,
Tanner.
Last week
.”

He chuckled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She shot him a don’t-mess-with-me look. “Don’t bet on it.”

He didn’t appear remotely chastised as he turned his attention back to the dishes and picked his life story up again. He talked pretty much non-stop over the next hour as they tackled the mountain of washing up that just seemed to grow as diners came and went.

Kathleen bustled in and out, bringing in plates and crockery as they were used, along with the large metallic dishes where food was kept warm as it was served. Tanner, who appeared to know Kathleen quite well, teased and flirted outrageously with the older woman, who indulged him far too much for Matilda’s liking.