Red Card (6 page)

Pulling up in front of her building, an old stone doozy with an alleyway leading to the entrance, I unbuckled and moved to get out.

"You don't have to get out. I'm completely fine. Thanks for the ride." Leah hops out, forgetting about her sore ankle and broken shoe, and yelped when they both hit the ground.

I was around the car in two-seconds flat, pushing her to sit back down while I inspected her ankle under the streetlamp.

She gasped when I slid her pant leg up, caressing the smooth, rosy flesh of her calf and ankle. I felt it under my fingertips, like the softest cashmere, as I made my way down to her swollen foot. And was it ever swollen.

"You'll need to rest and ice this. I don't think anything is broken, but you have to look after it." Being an athlete, I'd had loads of injuries. This one wasn't serious, but in the little time I'd known Leah, it didn't seem like she'd follow orders. "Why do I feel like you won't obey my directions?"

She tilted her head, the blonde strands floating around her exquisite cheekbones. "Maybe because I've been following everyone else’s directions for way too long.”

I didn’t push her further. She needed to get inside and rest her foot.

“Come on.” I shouldered her weight, stopping at the door so she could fit her key into the lock. Once inside, I half-carried her over to the lift.

“Shit. I forgot it’s broken.” She bit that lip again, a worried look consuming her features as her green eyes moved over to the stairs.

“Climb on.” I patted my shoulder with my free hand.

“No…” She responded half-heartedly.

“What are you going to do, Leah? Crawl up the stairs? What do you live, five floors up?”

“Seven. Fine.” Her slim arms loop around my neck and I reached behind me for her thighs as she lifts them up to sit on my back in a piggyback hold.

She’s got to be about 110 pounds soaking wet, her thin, long frame surrounding my entire body, all of my senses. I smell and feel her everywhere. I wish I could lay her on the stairs as I clear the first floor, taste the curve of her neck and the supple skin between her thighs.

By the time we make it to the third flight, we are both breathing heavy. But it has nothing to do with me carrying her weight or the pain in her ankle. My pulse spikes every time she shifts on my back, feeling her hands, hot and small on my shirt right over my collarbone. I want her to run them down further, scratching my abs and branding me.

My dick strains in my pants, and I swear each time I hike her up to better hold her, her thighs squeeze around my hips not only to not slide down further, but in an attempt to alleviate the mounting pressure between those beautiful legs. I’m almost sure I’m about to maul her when I set her down outside her door on the seventh floor.

My nose is inches from her as she leans back against the door, my arms pushed into the wall on either side of her head. I can smell the sweet, faint breath blowing against my own lips. I stare into her eyes, our heated connection something heady and unusual for me after all of these years. It’s like I’m stuck in this vortex with a woman I barely know, a vacuum where the world stops existing and it’s only she and I.

Leaning forward, I don’t give either of us time to think when I press my lips firmly into hers.

Heat. Sweetness. Perfection. Want. Desire. I think all of these things as I move my lips over hers. Not even in a kiss, but more of a taste. A swipe of her lips, as if I was licking sweet cream off the corners of her mouth, savoring each delicious moment.

She sighs, sinking into the slow unhurried tastes and exploration. I wrap my hands around her slim arms, brushing the backs of her biceps with my fingers until I feel her flesh pebble. Leah never touches me, but her mouth moves against mine, her tongue flicking out at times to lap at my lips. I open my eyes at times to stare at our lips moving. I spot her beauty mark above the curve in her luscious top lip and feel my balls draw up tight. I want to spend hours circling that sexy feature with my tongue.

And along the way, as I suck and nip at the seam of her mouth, I think one more word. Complete.

Something sounds from inside the apartment and our vortex is destroyed, bringing us back to reality in her dim apartment hallway that smelled oddly of samosas.

Leah’s expression again gave away nothing as she pushed me off of her, reaching behind her body and unlocking the door. And then she was gone, slipping into the mysterious space without so much as a word.

W
hat I was learning
about London, in the three days I'd been here, was that it was a city that slept.

In the wee hours of the morning, everything would go dark and silent, save for the lone police or ambulance sirens. You could almost hear the electricity going through the streetlights and the random taxis whisking pubgoers back to the safe havens.

And then, as the early light filtered through the window, everything would come back online. Not slowly, not a few businessmen flaunting down the sidewalk or the odd school children skipping to the bus. No, the noise and the people flooded back within seconds, creating a dull roar of commotion and energy and vibrancy that invaded my own system, propelling me from my bed.

Not that I'd slept much last night. Again. This was starting to become a problem, but for some reason, my stupid brain would not shut off.

Maybe it was because my ankle was so sore that I'd had to get up three times last night to get a new ice pack. Maybe I was worried about that paparazzi onslaught I'd suffered, and what they would find out about me if those pictures got released anywhere. Not that I was a huge deal back home, but people would start talking, people from my past. I’d been in a relationship with a man who was probably going to go number one in this year’s draft. If my picture popped up with another world class athlete, there would be stories on it.

Maybe I was so anxious over breaking my brand new roommate’s expensive shoe. How the hell I was going to replace Emma's heels, I had no clue.

Or maybe it was because I couldn't get the taste of Killian off my lips. Maybe because every time I thought of him leaning in, pressing his mouth to my own and exploring each inch of it, I felt dizzy. Like I was floating away on a cloud even though I was firmly laying beneath the covers in my temporary bed.

That kiss had been. Holy hell. I felt the sweat trickle down my breasts from just the mere thought of the heat of it, even though the winter in London had arrived with a vengeance, leaving the poorly insulated flat around 60 degrees or so.

I was still getting tingles of lust, hot and jolting, between my legs. I'd squirmed all night, uncomfortable and needy. It had been months since anyone had touched me, and probably a year since Taylor had touched me like that. And if I was being truthful, years since I'd gotten so worked up over a man's hands on me, much less over a tiny kiss. As much as I had always been satisfied with Taylor, one kiss from Killian and I understood what he meant when he said I had never been with a man. He hadn't even used his tongue and I'd been practically unraveling on the grimy hallway carpet.

Yes, Killian Ramsey had barely brushed his lips against mine and even then he'd set a giant spark to my powder keg. I felt the wick flashing, throwing off embers to every crevice of my body, burning me up from the inside out. He was a man who knew how to use his hands, mouth, teeth and tongue on a woman. I didn't need him to go any further than a light peck to know that.

"No fucking way!" I heard an excited squeal from the kitchen, and this one even woke Heidi up. When I'd gotten home last night, there had been a handsome blonde exiting our room. I hobbled in to see Heidi, nude for the world to see like it was the most natural thing on earth. Not that I blamed her. If I looked like that I'd probably never wear clothes again.

"What in the bloody hell is going on?" she grumbled, sitting up and looking like the picture of a magazine cover advertising pajamas. I almost hated her.

"Don't know..." I swung my legs to the floor, careful to test my healing ankle before putting pressure on it. Still a bit swollen, but definitely better than last night.

Heidi followed, and when we entered the kitchen, Bridget and Emma were on the stools next to each other, examining several packages and the newspaper.

"You tarts interrupted my 12 hours of sleep." Heidi yawned, her long black t-shirt inching up to reveal the pink lacy boy shorts she wore. She shook out her brown mane as she moved to the pantry.

"Sorry, Queen Bee. But you'll never fucking guess what the American has been up to." Bridget was dressed in school clothes, ready for class. Dark grey jeans, an olive sweater and tons of thin, gold chains around her neck. With her red hair blown out and perfectly curling at the ends, she looked like she belonged in the Irish version of a Land's End catalog. Emma sported a crop top and skater skirt made out of the same pattern of sweatshirt material with tiny motorcycles all over it. Her blonde hair was wrapped into two ballet buns, and she looked cute yet so fashionable.

My mouth dropped open when I looked at what was on the counter. Two perfectly wrapped Burberry boxes, complete with beige and red plaid bows. One had a tag on it that read Ms. Watson, the other, Her Fashionable Roommate.

"What the..." I scurried to the counter, carefully picking up the box that had my name.

"Pretty sure you're the fashionable roommate." Bridget pointed her spoon at Emma. Emma greedily picked it up, digging into the packaging.

I did the same in a more composed, calmer manner. Etiquette had been drilled into me from a young age, especially in a social situation. But you know what? Fuck that. This trip and this life I was living was now about me.

I took Emma's cue, tearing into the paper and ribbons and damn did it feel good. We popped the lids off the boxes at almost the same time, gasping as we looked at what lay within.

Identical pairs of black suede Burberry heels, much like the ones I'd broken last night.

"Who sent these?" Emma looked down in awe at her sparkly, shiny new fashion toys. I saw the addiction in her eyes, this stuff was like pure cocaine to her. She got off on the look and smell alone.

"Oh, I have an idea..." Bridget trailed off, and I could hear the snarky smile in her voice as she slid that morning's paper across the breakfast bar to Heidi.

"You went out with Killian last night?!" Heidi drawled, rolling her eyes even though I could see the jealousy laced in with the chocolate brown.

I was too busy studying the shoes and her expression to glance down at the paper. Until her words registered in my ears.

Casting my view down, there we were. Killian and I, embracing for all the paparazzi to see on the front page of The Sun.

"Oh no..." My stomach filled with dread as I flipped frantically through the paper to the article about us. More pictures, so many pictures. Of Killian touching my face, staring deeply into my eyes. His arms around my waist. Us leaving the restaurant in his car together. My organs felt like lead, like someone had tied my body to a weight and pitched it overboard into the ocean. I was gaining water quickly, drowning in fear, misery and regret.

"Looks like you did a mighty fine job last night to earn a present that nice." Heidi quipped, and I heard Bridget snicker.

Tears filled my eyes at her assumption, that I was just another one of these girls Killian Ramsey used and abused.

"Here," shoving the shoes in her direction, "You can have them."

And with that I turned back around, hobbling on my hurt foot to my room and trying to hold back the tears until I was safely under the covers.

T
he funny thing was
, I had always been ready for a life in front of the cameras.

It had taken me a few years to adjust, perfecting the right things to say, the best expressions to wear in certain scenarios.

Taylor's people had always told me I needed to work on my wardrobe, and I was getting there.

And then the world that I had been so diligently preparing for promptly stomped on my heart and dumped me.

I'd been with Taylor Mason for five years. Our junior year of high school, all the way up until two months ago.

He'd been my first guy friend, and then my first boyfriend. The first boy to ask me to a school dance, and then the one that took me to prom. The first boy who stuck his hand up my shirt, the one who had taken my virginity. The boy who I watched grow into a man, garnering attention from football analysts and scouts all over the country. The one I followed to college, helping as his football career took off.

The first boy I'd ever fallen in love with, and the boy who I thought would be my last.

I'd practically planned our wedding. I thought it would be inevitable as to where we'd end up. We'd talked about what would happen when he was drafted, and I'd been prepared for it all. Ready to move, make us a home and a life in whichever city wanted him. I'd scouted venues in our hometown for the following spring, a nice wedding nestled in between the seasons. I'd forgotten about my dreams, sacrificing everything for the greater good that was Taylor.

I never looked back, and then suddenly, there was no looking forward.

Exploring other options. God, but wasn't that just the most cliché breakup speech you'd ever heard? It was so unoriginal and typically male. I'd given him five years, was prepared to give him many more, and he couldn't come up with a better reason than he wanted to fuck the perks that came along with being an NFL star?

I squeezed my eyes shut under the white duvet, weeping silently as my broken heart cleaved even more in two, splintering and cracking my chest wide open. I wasn't even crying for lost love, because if I was honest with myself, the boy I'd fallen in love with didn't exist anymore. I'd watched as Taylor had developed an ego, a hard exterior cockiness about him that I barely recognized as he rose through college football's ranks. And yet I stood by him.

No, I was crying for all of the time I'd lost. The girl inside of me who had vanished, taking all of my hopes that had been buried under the dreams of someone else with her. I sobbed for the life I'd never have, the one I had carefully laid out, planned for, and was now smashed to bits, trodden on by cleats that couldn't give a damn about my feelings. I cried for the life he’d promised me, the one he’d mapped out for us as he whispered to me in the various beds and rooms we had shared over the years. And then I shed tears for the new knife sticking out of my chest, the one that hemorrhaged fear and anxiety from me like I was bleeding out. Pain and hope did an emotional dance in my chest. Hurt for the life I would never live, and anxiety for the new one I was trying to create.

I had come here in search of my true self. To figure out who Leah Watson was without Taylor Mason. Without the cameras, the bullshit promises, the expectations and the carefully planned out future. I wasn't even a week in and already the new life I was trying to lead had been destroyed, due to an inconvenient assignment and a devilish soccer player. The media here didn't know who I was, only identifying me as "an unknown blonde." And no, I hadn't been reading article after article under my covers for two hours.

Pretty soon, someone from back home would happen across the story and send in a tip, or a comment on social media. I'd be lauded as the next athlete chasing jersey slut. I'd seen it happen to so many girls before me, those who truly deserved the title and those who didn't.

And then what? The job, the school and everything I was trying to put in place for me and only me here would crumble. I shoved my head into my pillow as big salty drops welled up in my lower lids.

My phone began to ring, again a London number I hadn't given my own cell to. What was with this?

"Hello?"

A gruff voice came through. "Yeah, hi love. It’s Jimmy. Listen, I need you to get over to Killian's ASAP. He's having some sort of crisis, I don't know..." Jimmy cut in and out as he talked, making it almost impossible to hear him. "I'm....in..Scotland. Text you...address. Gotta...go."

And then the line went dead. Jeez, for all the times for Killian's manager to be out of the country, it had to be now. I couldn't go over there. Not only could I not risk being seen by the press anywhere near him, but there was still the matter that he'd kissed me silly and then sent me extremely expensive shoes.

And the matter that I knew he was a man I should stay far away from. I could see it in his eyes. He was danger, fiery, hot, scalding danger.

But this was my job, the future and the identity that I was fighting so hard for. Was I really going to throw it all away as soon as it got tough? He’d been right when he’d schooled me on what I would have been doing at 73Bulbs. The experience I could get while working as his personal publicist would be priceless. Look, there was already a crisis I needed to handle.

The old Leah was beaten down, she would have gone to hide in a corner. And I was waving her goodbye, right god damn now.

Pulling myself out of the bed, I slipped into the nicest pair of pants I'd brought and a simple maroon sweater. And because I was still stubborn, and didn't want him to see my feet in them, I forewent his gift and slid on simple black flats.

The flat was quiet, thankfully, as I made my way out. It took about half an hour in the cab and midday London traffic to get over to Killian's apartment, which sat in a big building near the river. I hadn't yet ventured to this side of the city, actually I hadn't ventured anywhere, and found it wholly consuming. The architecture, the different style of clothing people wore. The classiness and old-world vibe that London gave off was something that this Midwest girl was definitely getting used to.

Nervously, I walked to the front desk, not quite knowing what to do.

"Yes, I'm here to see Kill...uh, Mr. Ramsey?"

"Ms. Watson?" The concierge regarded me, not quite friendly but not unpleasant.

"Yes..."

"Mr. Finch called ahead and told us you'd be coming. You can go right up, we'll buzz Mr. Ramsey that you're on your way as you go."

I nodded, walking to the chic wall of mirrored lifts across the marble lobby. This building's entryway was more expensive than any place I'd ever been in my life.

My stomach filled with butterflies and a sinking nervousness as the mechanical box rose, bringing me one level to Killian every time it passed a floor. And then we were at the penthouse and I rolled my eyes, because where the hell would I have thought Killian lived in this building? Of course, the penthouse.