Playing By Her Rules (Sydney Smoke Rugby Series) (7 page)

“I’m sorry about the floor,” Tilly said, her cheeks pink. “I’ll mop it up.”

“I’ll do it,” Tanner said testily, annoyed that Tilly couldn’t even look at him.

Tilly didn’t argue. But she still didn’t glance his way, either. “Thanks,” she mumbled before thanking Kathleen, too, and declaring she had to run. She’d scooped up her belongings and disappeared out the back door in record time.

“You’re losing your touch there, Slick,” Kathleen said, as she stared after Matilda.

“What makes you say that?”

“I may be a woman of God, but even I know the Good Lord invented much more interesting ways of getting a woman wet.”

Tanner had given up being shocked by Kathleen. The nun had worked the rough streets of Sydney half of her life. She could talk smack with the best of them. His best option was to ignore her, which he did as he headed for where the mop was stored.

Unfortunately, Kathleen wasn’t done yet. “I like her.” Tanner clanked around in the store cupboard. “She’s the one.”

Tanner rolled his eyes. “I suppose the
Good Lord
”—Tanner pronounced it with an Irish brogue—“told you that, did He?”

“Hell no,” Kathleen grinned. “You just did.” She inspected him for a moment then gave a firm nod. “It’ll do you good to chase after someone who’s running for a change. Women come far too easily for the likes of you.”

And on that divine announcement, she swept out of the kitchen, leaving Tanner to mopping and wistful thoughts of easy women.

…

Matilda went home, every cell of her body seething with the taste and smell and
audacity
of Tanner Stone.

How
dare
he take advantage of her temporary insanity like that? How dare he wet her and wrestle her and wrap himself around her and slide her skirt up and kiss her neck and make her so damn crazy she could barely think?

Since when had she become some kind of amnesiac nympho around him?

It was the charm that did it. That had lulled her into a false sense of security. The way he was with Kathleen and the men from the shelter. And how he’d talked about his parents and his sisters and
her grandmother
. The stories he’d told about his early days in rugby and the anecdotes about his teammates.

Yep, Tanner Stone oozed charm from every pore. It had lowered her defences around him. And it couldn’t happen again.

She had a goal here—revenge. And she couldn’t lose sight of it.

Still hyped up from the kiss, Matilda sat down at her laptop and wrote her feature article in under an hour, steaming along, getting it all out before the outrage died down and she had to face the facts about her own part in that kiss tonight. About the lie she’d told.

It wasn’t even very good
.

It was a wonder she hadn’t been struck down dead considering she’d been standing in a freaking chapel in the midst of a massive electrical storm with a
nun
nearby.

But Tanner had seen right through her.

You tell yourself whatever gets you through the night, Tilly.

And he’d been right. She’d had to tell herself
something
because the kiss had shaken her to the core. And not just physically, although if the door hadn’t slammed shut, Matilda was pretty sure they’d have gone for it right there in the Chapel’s soup kitchen.

Something which probably would have earned her a one-way ticket to hell.

Right
. Like she hadn’t already been on a fast track to purgatory since the day of the locker room and Tanner’s low-slung towel. She’d been having some seriously vivid flashbacks about what was behind that towel, memories that had been confirmed today as the hard ridge of his erection had ground between her legs. Her skirt, rucked up to her freaking armpits, had been no protection.

But it hadn’t just been how his body had made her body feel. She could do something about that—physical relief was easy, after all. She had Thor and Zeus—her toyfriends—to see to that, and for damn sure one of them would be coming out tonight.

It was the unfurling of something inside her that was more than physical—a memory long since shrunken and closed in on itself after Tanner’s betrayal. But it was blossoming now, reminding her of their connection, of the intimacy of their shared history. Of how he used to make her feel. How he’d touched her.

On an emotional level.

And that was dangerous. Because she wasn’t about to throw herself in front of the Tanner Stone train again.
Never
again. The definition of stupid was doing something over and over and expecting a different result.

Matilda Kent had won a scholarship to Stanford University. She didn’t do stupid.

So she applied her big brain to the article instead. Ostensibly, she continued Tanner’s rugby journey, careful not to openly criticise, choosing instead to damn him with faint praise all while exposing him as the charming
player
he was.

For anyone with two X chromosomes, Tanner Stone and his extraordinary superpower should come with a warning label. What is this power you ask? Charm. Yes, charm. Nuns, toddlers, homeless people, and little old grannies alike fall under his spell. Be sure to stock up on your kryptonite panties if you’re heading to a game.

Chapter Seven

Tanner laughed out loud on Friday morning reading Tilly’s column.
Kryptonite panties?
He was
never
going to live that one down.

He checked his Twitter stream, which seemed even more amused by Tilly’s kryptonite quip than he was.

rugbybunny1—Methinks @MatildaK wants @slickstone to get into her #kryptonitepanties #sydneysmoke #holysmoke #mightbelove

slickstonesmistress—@slickstone can get into my #kryptonitepanties whenever he wants #SuperSlick #holysmoke #mightbelove

madforrugby—I’d drop my #kryptonitepanties for
@slickstone #SuperSlick #holysmoke #mightbelove

nottherealtannerstone—Calling all designers: #kryptonitepanties stat for my fans please #holysmoke #mightbelove

And from someone called superheroesaremyweakness

Word from Kryptonian elders. Disapprove of #kryptonitepanties #lethalweapon #holysmoke #mightbelove

This time Tanner didn’t resist the urge to play along.

.
@MatildaK
 was obviously wearing
#kryptonitepanties
 when she did a runner Mon nite. Help me out tweeps. Put in a good word 4 me?
#mightbelove

He hesitated over the “mightbelove” hashtag before sending the tweet out into the ether. But he liked its flirtiness, and he knew his Twitter base would go crazy over his adoption of it.

And hell, as far as he was concerned, it might very well be love.

Predictably, there was an avalanche of tweets extolling his virtues directed at Tilly, from the cute to the downright filthy. Tanner laughed as he read them on his way to the stadium for practise. He pictured Tilly getting madder and madder as they hijacked her Twitter stream—her brow furrowed, her cheeks pink, her lips pursed. Just like she’d been Monday night when she’d pulled away from him, her mouth still wet from his, uttering that dirty word.

Fuck,
Tanner.

She was obviously not goaded sufficiently this morning, though, to join in the Twitter conversation.

Most of the guys were in the locker room when Tanner entered. “Oh, look,” a bare-assed Dex observed in that slow, measured way of his. “It’s a bird.”

“No.” Bodie shook his head. “It’s a plane.”

“Nah,” Linc grinned, “it’s Superman.”

“Hope we all brought our kryptonite panties, fellas.” Donovan added.

Tanner had been right about never hearing the end of it. “Bite me,” he said as he headed for his locker, ignoring the good-natured jeers.

He laughed when he reached his destination to find a Superman shield with its big red
S
had been cut out and stuck with electrical tape to the front of his locker. He pulled it off with a grin, crumpling it in his hand.

“That’s me,” he confirmed. “Ten foot tall and bulletproof. Now—” He hauled his T-shirt off over his head. “Let’s go kick training ass.”

…

By the time Tanner returned to their locker room three hours later, it was fair to say that training had kicked his ass. And, judging by the far less jovial mood around him, he wasn’t alone. Griff had run them ragged, wanting them all primed for their match tomorrow night. It was only early in the season, but Griff hated to lose.

And Tanner had let him down again. Sure, he hadn’t fumbled any balls this time, but his head still wasn’t one hundred percent in the game. Maybe Griff hadn’t noticed, but Tanner sure as hell had. His attention had wandered far too often to a pair of pebbled nipples and a strip of silky skin above a black lacy edge.

He reached for his phone and checked Twitter. The hundreds of notifications were just what he needed to put a smile back on his face. Twitter was on his side, and Tilly still hadn’t bitten.

He tapped out another quick tweet.

Coach not too happy about my ruined concentration during training session. I blame you @MatildaK #mightbelove

By the time he’d stripped off his sweaty clothes and kicked out of his footy boots, the tweets and retweets were coming thick and fast.

Hey @MatildaK put @slickstone out of his misery #mightbelove.

Go on @MatildaK you know you want to #mightbelove

If #sydneysmoke loses tomorrow night we blame you @MatildaK #mightbelove

Tanner grinned as he hit the shower. His work here was done.

…

Matilda was over anything to do with Tanner Stone by their Sunday lunch date. Her Twitter stream had lit up since the article and Tanner’s provocative tweet. If she had to read about one more of his virtues, she was shutting her account down for good.

She’d told herself to ignore them, but her colleagues at the office had taken great delight in stopping by to read them. Aloud.

Most were witty in the way only one hundred and forty characters and no requirement for punctuation engendered. A lot were eagerly whipping up speculation with the new hashtag #TannMat. Even the mightbelove hashtag had been mentioned by Callie Williams, a notorious gossip columnist at a rival paper.

Most were encouraging, clearly enjoying the whiff of a fresh celebrity romance. Some were not so nice—creepy, twisted, bordering on offensive. Matilda hadn’t blocked or unfollowed so many trolls in a long time.

At least the Smoke had won yesterday. Matilda wasn’t sure the mood on Twitter would have been so convivial if the team had lost. Thanks to Tanner, she’d have probably been booed off the social media platform.

But at least she felt on solid ground today as she drove to their third date.

Interview
. Fuck.
Interview
.

Damn Tanner and his continual insistence on calling them dates.

He’d texted last night to ask if they could meet at her grandmother’s so he could catch up with her, and Matilda had agreed with alacrity, inviting him for lunch the next day.

A Sunday roast at gran’s was part of Matilda’s routine, and having Tanner on
her
turf was a welcome change. He wouldn’t dare try anything there. Hannah Kent would flay him alive with the sharpness of her tongue alone if he so much as put a toe out of line.

She may have had a soft spot for Matilda’s high school boyfriend, but Hannah had always insisted that Matilda and Tanner respect her rules and not fool around in the house. He’d been banned from her bedroom and not allowed in the house if Hannah hadn’t been there.

And Tanner had followed her rules to the letter, earning a great deal of Hannah’s respect. Although there was that one time out back behind the shed when things had gotten a little carried away… They’d been sent out to pick some tomatoes and peas from the garden for tea, but somehow Matilda had ended up with her hand down his pants, urging him to forget Hannah’s rules, so desperate to feel him inside her that a quick fuck against the shed wall had been all she’d been able to think about.

Luckily, he’d pulled them back from the brink. But it had been a close call. And after Matilda had gone in he’d had to hang around for a while outside waiting for his giant erection to subside.

He’d phoned her later that night complaining about his bicycle ride home with blue balls, and she’d taken pity on him and told him exactly what she’d wanted to do to him behind the shed as he’d masturbated, coming in a long, loud growl that had made her feel like the most powerful seventeen-year-old on earth.

Matilda smiled, thinking about it now as she pulled up in front of the home her grandmother had lived in ever since she’d married over sixty years ago. The smile died as a car pulled in behind her. It was some kind of dual cab, four-wheel drive thingy. It didn’t look particularly new or flashy, but it was still a long way from his second-hand bike.

She’d bet blue balls weren’t a problem in it.

Hell, she doubted blue balls were a problem for him at all these days.

Matilda’s face heated up, and she shook her head as she watched him in her rear view mirror getting out of his car.
Idiot.
Do
not
think about his balls. Be they blue, black, or bright orange with polka dots.

The last thing she wanted was pink cheeks when she greeted him. It was going to be embarrassing enough to face him given what had happened the last time they’d been together.

But they were on her turf now.
Her
turf. And Gran would be there for her.

He knocked on her window, and Matilda startled, her pulse accelerating, although she wasn’t entirely sure it had anything to do with the knock. She glanced at him, noticing the bright bunch of flowers in his hands for the first time. “Are we going in?” he asked.

“Yep.” She nodded, making a great show of unbuckling her seat belt and gathering her handbag, hoping the activity gave her pulse a chance to settle and the warmth some time to dissipate from her face.

He stood back as she opened the door and climbed out.

“You look lovely,” he said, taking in her cool maxi halter dress that crisscrossed at her nonexistent cleavage and fell to her ankles.

He leaned down to kiss her again like he had that first time, briefly on each cheek. The light aroma of roses, the heavy scent of lilies, and the faint whiff of liquorice intoxicated her, and she swayed toward him briefly, her eyes closing before he pulled back and her lashes fluttered open again.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him through the gate.

Matilda’s legs were decidedly unsteady as she navigated the front path and the three cement stairs to the door. It was locked, as usual, but she used her key, calling out as she pushed it open.

“Gran?”

“Through here, girlie.”

Her grandmother’s affectionate name for her always made Matilda smile, and they followed the still strong voice and the mouth-watering smell of cooking meat into the kitchen to discover her almost eighty-year-old grandmother perched precariously up a foot ladder, trying to reach the smoke detector.

“
Gran!
”

“Mrs. Kent,” Tanner said, dumping the flowers on the dining table as he strode over to the ladder, anchoring his foot and hands on it immediately. “I don’t think it’s very safe to be doing that.”

Hannah Kent smiled down at Tanner. “Hello, my dear boy. So nice to see you again. How long’s it been?”

He chuckled. “Too long. Now how about you let me do that?”

Hannah got one of those recalcitrant looks Matilda knew too well. The kind that always shocked police officers at demonstrations, who mistook her stooped frame and grey hair for a sign of gentility. “Do I look like an invalid to you?”

“Absolutely not, Mrs. K. But you wouldn’t want to see me emasculated in front of Matilda, would you?”

Hannah laughed her great big hooting laugh, running her gaze over Tanner’s broad shoulders. “Tanner Stone, you could dress up in drag and still not be emasculated.”

Matilda blinked.
Dress up in drag?

“Fine, have at it,” she said, climbing down from the ladder, handing him a battery. “Sick of the damn thing chirping at me. Although I’m not sure if it’s this one or any of the others.”

Tanner took the battery. “I can change them all if you like. It’s no bother.”

“That’d be fabulous,” Hannah beamed at him.

Matilda grabbed her grandmother’s hand as she took the last step down. Hannah gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek but was distracted by Tanner heading up the ladder. Frankly, so was Matilda, and they both looked their fill. The tail of his checked, collared shirt hid that spectacular ass from view, and a pair of chinos that ended just above his knee concealed his powerful thighs, but the hard knots of his smooth calf muscles were on open display and, fortunately for them, now at eye level.

There was no leg hair, and Matilda realised belatedly that he must wax. It wasn’t unusual—a lot of athletes at the elite level did—she was just surprised to find it so damn sexy.

Her grandmother leaned in and brought her lips close to Matilda’s ear. “Please tell me you’re tapping that,” she whispered.

Matilda swivelled her head to stare at her grandmother.
Tapping that?
What the fuck?

Her grandmother hooted at Matilda’s consternation. “What?” she whispered, clearly unperturbed. “I keep up with the lingo.”

Matilda didn’t even know where to start. Should she explain that it would be Tanner who was doing the tapping if tapping was what was happening, which it
definitely was not
.

Nor would it be, either.

“Where’s the next one?” Tanner asked, climbing down, apparently blissfully ignorant of the conversation.

“The hallway and in my bedroom,” Hannah smiled at him and handed him another two batteries off the table. He smiled back and picked up the stepladder, heading for the hallway.

“I take it that’s a no?” her grandmother asked as Tanner disappeared from sight.

Heat flushed Matilda’s cheeks. She’d never told her grandmother what had happened with her and Tanner. Just that it had been a mutual decision, given she was going to Stanford and he was going to buttfuck nowhere. Hannah had thought it very wise and sensible.

Matilda wondered if her grandmother would be so gung-ho with the
tapping
if she knew about Jessica Duffy.

“I’m
interviewing
him,” Matilda said, keeping her voice low.

Hannah snorted. “You’re a journalist, girlie, not a doctor. You haven’t taken the Hippocratic oath.”

“It’s one of those unwritten laws. Professional ethics. Integrity.” Matilda folded her arms. “You know, that thing you drummed into me.”

“So I did.” She shook her head and tsked. “That was silly of me. Integrity hasn’t given me any great-grandbabies yet, has it? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“I thought you wanted me to be a career woman?”

“I do. A career woman with babies. And you two would make very nice babies. Did you see those calves?”

Her grandmother bustled over to the oven to check the meat just as Tanner entered the kitchen. Matilda, still gaping over the whole baby thing, hoped like hell he hadn’t heard it.

“That smells great, Mrs. K,” he said.

“It’s roast pork. You’re favourite, I seem to remember.”

Matilda rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Tanner liked everything you made.”