Romancing the Running Back (14 page)

“The party . . . yes, I know. Fuck the party.”

He grinned and pressed a kiss between her furrowed brows. “You’ve got the idea.”

“We can’t stay here forever. We have to—Josiah. We—mmm.” Her words melded into a moan when he sucked softly on the skin below her ear. “You need to quit doing that . . . in a year or two.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No, that’s not right. Stop.” She sighed and pressed against him more firmly this time, and he took the cue to step away. But he stayed within arm’s reach in case she was unsteady. Those heels were killer, maybe literally if she toppled over on the balcony area. She smoothed her hair back, grimacing when she snagged her fingers in a snarl. “Damn.”

“Can’t tell, just smooth it back. Or do one of those . . .” He made a circling motion at the top of his head. “Messy bunny things.”

“Messy bun, not bunny,” she corrected automatically. “I will, when we get back inside. Now go,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “You go. My bag’s in the bedroom with my brush and hair stuff. I need to fix myself up.”

“You look good enough to eat to me,” he argued, but she wasn’t having it. She pushed and prodded him until he was in the hallway and she’d shut the bedroom door.

That, he thought to himself as he walked back to the party, had gone a hell of a lot better than he ever could have planned. Now the next challenge would be making sure she didn’t explain it away and change the script on him.

Fuck that.

*   *   *

“You’re sure you don’t want to make use of the rooms?” Anya asked as Cassie shrugged into her lightweight jacket. The veil and attached tiara dangled from her fingertips, and at some point she’d decided to wear a flashing ring after all, on her right hand. Her best friend’s smile was a bit glassy, but she wasn’t wasted. Anya knew exactly what that looked like. The bride was merely in a very happy place.

“Yup. Trey and I wanna go have bachelor-and-bachelorette sex in our own bed, thank you very much.”

Trey winced. He was definitely more sober than his fiancée. “Come on, sweetheart. Off we go. Anya,” he added, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re worth a million. Thank you for the party.”

“Thank you for having awesome friends,” she countered, cupping his cheek and giving him a smile. “And good taste in women.”

“Hear! Hear!” Cassie said, looping her arm around his neck. “Great taste. Fantastic taste. Perfect taste.”

Anya grinned and walked them to the private elevator that would take them to the private entrance where the town car Trey had rented would be waiting for them. Their guests had all managed to either stay sober enough to make it home—Josiah had made the call on those, handing keys back after a quick sobriety check—or had found rides back home.

“How did we end up with no overnight guests?” she wondered out loud. “Not what I expected.”

“People were having a lot of fun. They didn’t need drinks to enhance the mood. You threw a damn good party.” Josiah walked back toward her from the kitchen, where he’d been stuffing decorations into the trash can. “Kitchen trash is full. We can have housekeeping run up a few garbage bags to handle the rest.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking at the drooping streamers. “You’re not the kind of guy who would just walk away and let the staff handle it, would you?”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He waited a beat, hands in his pockets, then approached. “Is this the part where you tell me the kiss was a mistake and we should forget all about it?”

“Do you want to forget about it?” she asked.

“No.”

“Neither do I.” She’d been alone for so long, waiting, hoping the divorce would be finalized and she could move on with her life. With all of it. This relocation to Santa Fe was the first real step she’d taken in moving on with her life. Starting the nonprofit was the second.

Maybe Josiah was the third step.

“You know,” she said, stepping closer to him, “I don’t think you’re as snobby and elitist as you initially seemed.”

“Because I corrected you on how to wash lettuce?”

“Because you corrected me,” she agreed. “And a few other reasons. I think you were nervous.”

He said nothing, but his jaw twitched.

“Did I make you nervous?”

“Anxious,” he conceded. “Not nervous. Different.”

“Different. Of course.”

“You’re not really shallow, are you?”

“I can be. Making things pretty is fun.”

He shook his head. A wayward strand of chestnut hair fell over his forehead, covering half of one eyebrow. “You don’t just like to make things pretty. That’s not enough. You enhance. That’s different, too.”

That stopped her in her slow trek toward him. “How is that different?”

“Making things pretty serves no purpose but to be pretty. Enhancing means . . .” He looked out toward the large bay windows. “Means giving the thing, or the person, a new purpose. A new consideration. Like this hotel room. It was nice before. Probably decorated by some professional designer or whatever. But you knew that wouldn’t work for the party, so you enhanced.”

“I threw up some streamers and handed out shot glasses with boobs on them,” she said wryly.

“It enhanced. You knew how far to take it, when to pull back, and it added to the party. It wasn’t just about making it pretty, because I think we both know it’s, uh . . . not.” His gaze caught on one streamer as the tape gave way and it fluttered to the floor. “So it enhanced instead.”

“I think,” she said slowly, “that was a compliment.”

“A big one.”

She slid one hand up his stomach—feeling those tight muscles ripple as they tightened in reaction to her touch—to his
chest, where his heart beat fast. “Do you have a heart condition?”

“No,” he breathed.

“So this”—she patted her hand over his racing heart—“is all because of us.”

Not a question, but he nodded anyway.

“Would it be really crass of me to say I want to stay the night? It’s already paid for, after all. And I’d rather not bring back a guy to the pool house, even if Coach doesn’t snoop.”

“It’s only wrong if you tell me you want to stay here alone,” he growled.

She could barely shake her head before he cupped her face and kissed her again.

He was so damn good at that. She wound her arms around his neck, loving the brush of hair against the insides of her wrists. The shaggy look worked for him, though she doubted he did it intentionally. Just the same effortlessness that led him to being so sexy in the first place in his jeans and all-cotton T-shirts and running shoes. Normal Josiah.

Sexy Josiah.

Going to rock my world in bed Josiah.

She gave everything in the kiss. He’d noticed it the first time, and couldn’t escape it this time, either. With every stroke of his tongue, she responded. Every nip of his teeth, she mirrored. There was no passive enjoyment. She put her everything into it.

His blood fired to realize she’d be the same in bed, giving as much as taking, insisting on being an equal.

But there was one way in which he’d have the upper hand, every time. He wrapped his arms around her lower back and lifted. When her toes left the floor she squealed in surprise, clinging to him. But he walked her back toward the biggest bedroom, and she didn’t argue. Didn’t insist on walking herself or being put down. She let him—yeah, let him—show off just a little, because they both wanted it.

When he set her down on the floor beside the bed, he realized she looked like a gift. The coloring was simple; yellow with a gray ribbon. To match the wedding colors, he knew. She’d be the kind of person to think of something like that. The bottom of the dress poofed out sort of like a bubble, then tapered up to frame her skinny waist with a bow around the back. The top was modest enough, he supposed, with thick straps over the shoulders and a scoop neckline that didn’t give a peep of cleavage. But it was the way she wore it that got to him. No necklace to break up that lovely skin between her throat and the top of the dress. Just skin, creamy and inviting. Ready for his mouth to taste, his fingers to explore.

He pulled the bow loose first, because it was the logical first step when opening a gift. When it didn’t fall to the floor the way he’d expected, he grumbled.

“It’s attached,” she said with a little laugh. “More for show, and to tighten the waistline a little. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not disappointed. Momentarily confused. That’s cleared up now, and it only makes the next part that much more satisfying.” He reached around and unzipped the dress by feel, enjoying watching as the material gapped in the front. She instinctively cupped the dress to her breasts. He let his fingertips roam over the skin of her back, left exposed by the wide open zipper. She wore a bra, but not much of one from what he could feel. And she shivered as he touched and teased, kissing her shoulder. His touch left goosebumps in its wake.

“Cold?” he asked, smiling. She poked his stomach.

“You know I’m not.”

“I’m just going to play for a bit, that’s all. Then we’ll get you nice and warm under the covers.” His body had ached for this for weeks now. The reality would be sweet, he knew. He hoped. He prayed. But getting there slowly would be the challenge. Her body, her response to him, made him want to rush. Made him want to taste what he thought wouldn’t come for the longest time.

One of Anya’s hands worked the buttons of his shirt, which was all but impossible to do without assistance. “This isn’t fair. You can undo my clothes with one hand, but I can’t undo yours.”

“So drop the dress.” When she hesitated, he added, “If you think I won’t see you—all of you—before the night is over,
you’re mistaken.”

“Bossy,” she grumbled. “Can’t imagine why I thought you were elitist in the first place.”

“Can’t imagine,” he echoed dryly. “Lose the dress, hummingbird.”

She looked up at him then, surprise and pleasure shining in her eyes. “‘Hummingbird’?”

“I figure you were going on a little heavy with the notebook to annoy me.” Her gaze darted away for a half second, confirming his suspicion. “But I also figure you really like them.”

“I do. They’re pretty but efficient little things. Reminds me things can be beautiful and serve a purpose at the same time.”

Her mission in life, it seemed. It wasn’t a mission he shared, but he understood now, and he respected it.

“Like I said. Hummingbird.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then gently pried her hands from the dress. “Off we go.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then she conceded and let the dress drop. It pooled around her sparkly silver heels that arched her legs so nicely.

Kind of like the lingerie, or what he could see of it. It was yellow, too, and mostly lace. He traced one fingertip over the edge of the strapless cup. Surprisingly, the bottoms weren’t something slinky and sexy, like a thong, but a pair of spandex one might see on a girl at the gym. Gray, like the ribbon.

“Those are unexpected.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t anticipating getting naked with the best man,” she said irritably, looking a little embarrassed now. “I forgot I was wearing them. I put them on instead of the matching panties because of the dress, and not knowing what we were doing, and I’m the hostess. I was going to be bending and standing and sitting and it just seemed—”

“You don’t have to explain.” That she’d combined a gorgeous dress with a practical set of underwear made him smile. “I like it. You’ve got the sexy on top,” he said, tracing the cup of the strapless yellow bra, “and the practical down on the bottom. It works.”

“Only you would be seduced by practical underwear,” she grumbled. She popped one foot up behind her and reached for her heel, but he stayed her hand.

“I’m going to be the shallow one for a second and ask you to keep them on.”

That lit her eyes up. “Why, Josiah . . . do you have a heel fetish?”

“I’ve got an Anya fetish right now, and Anya looks damn good in those heels.”

That turned her gaze a little gooey. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He let her, tossing it aside while she stepped out of the dress and picked it up. Instead of tossing it aside, she smoothed it out over the chair in the corner. “I like it,” she explained. “I want to keep it nice.”

Her back was still turned when he grabbed her from behind, swung her up and tossed her on the bed. Her shriek of surprise and laughter did something to him inside, loosening some knot he didn’t know had been there. He multitasked, kicking his shoes off while unclasping her bra. When it sprang free, his hands were on her, cupping and teasing the nipples,
pulling until they stood in little peaks.

Anya’s face remained a serene lake, almost as if she were asleep. But the sounds she made told another story. Throaty moans, little gasps, excited puffs of breath . . . she was as connected to the moment as he was.

“These are probably the sexiest things I’ve ever seen on a woman,” he said, dipping one finger below the waistband of the spandex running shorts.

“You’re so weird,” she whispered, grinning at him.

“Probably. But you seem to like my kinda weird.”

“I must be weird, too.” She kissed him, then arched her hips so he could pull the bottoms off. She was bare underneath, and she seemed to suddenly realize she was all the way naked.

“Take your jeans off,” she said quickly, turning to her side and bringing one knee up to shield herself from his eyes. “Now.”

“What?” He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her hair, still in its bun, was working its way free and starting to frame her head on the pillow.

“I can’t be naked while you’re not. Just do it.”

He smirked, but stood and removed his jeans and socks, grabbing his wallet and setting it on the nightstand before coming back. She shook her head and pointed to his boxers. “All or nothing, bubba.”

Bubba.
He shucked the boxers, had a moment’s pleasure at watching her eyes zero in hungrily on his erection, then rolled back into bed with her. She let go of her modesty then, as if once again they were on equal ground and she could relax.

Relaxing wasn’t in the plans. He hooked an elbow below one knee, kissed his way quickly down her torso and set himself between her thighs.

“Jesus!” she shrieked, her hands coming to the top of his head. “Warn a girl.”

He just hummed, feasting on her while her fingers played with his hair. The simple feel of her touch against his scalp was almost as erotic as the taste of her, the feel of her slippery flesh against his tongue. While he circled and sucked, he reveled in each sound she made.

“So . . . good. So . . . Josiah, stop. Stop. Stop!” She pulled at a hank of his hair until he raised his head, narrowing his eyes up at her. “I’m close.”

“Then I’m doing my job,” he reminded her, starting to go back down.

“No. I want the first . . .” She bit her lip, suddenly looking shy. She covered her face with her hands and muttered, “I want the first to be with you.”

He paused, a little surprised by the statement. No, a lot. A lot surprised. He’d never had a woman who cared one way or another which order the orgasms came in, as long as she got one or two for the road. Was it the being equals thing again? Or was it more?

Not wanting to waste time finding out, he flipped open his wallet, grabbed the condom he kept in there and rolled it on.
Before she could uncover her eyes, he slid inside her.

“Oh!”

“I know, warn a girl.” He nudged her hands aside. “Hey Anya, I’m inside you.”

She rolled her eyes, then closed them on a sigh when he thrust into her again. She tried to put her feet on the bed, but he could tell she was struggling with the heels.

Which meant her pleasure was directly in his hands. Just as he wanted it. He rolled his hips, experimenting with circles, shallow thrusts, harder pulses until he found the combination that seemed to work the most. And there was no question about it. She was vocal, telling him exactly when he hit on a spot she liked.

“There,” she panted, “there, right there. Don’t, don’t, don’t stop . . . oh, God. Josiah.” His name was almost nothing but breath as she clenched around him and came.

With that sound in his head, he gave in to his body’s demands and climaxed.

*   *   *

Anya loved the way Josiah touched and cuddled and insisted on contact. He didn’t roll over and play dead, didn’t insist on having some space, or complain that she was too hot. If anything, he silently corrected her if she inched away, even by accident, pulling her back closer.

It started immediately after they’d both caught their breath post-sex. He’d left to dispose of the condom, and she’d been too exhausted to move. If he wanted to leave, he’d have to leave alone. She wasn’t budging from the bed.

But he’d only come back and crawled into bed, naked, beside her. She’d waited a moment, then rolled toward him. And he’d opened his arms to accept her head on his shoulder. Then pulled her tighter to him. Then adjusted her leg so it draped over his thigh.

He was a snuggler. And a petter.

“Are we gong to have one of those
where does this leave us?
talks now?” he asked, his voice a little gravely.

She snuggled closer to him, nuzzling against his neck. His hair tickled her nose and she rubbed it along the underside of his chin to ward off the itch. “I’d rather not talk at all, if that’s okay with you.”

“No
let’s vomit out our emotions
moments? None of that
feelings chats
stuff?”

“Nmm-mmm.” She was warm, sexually sated, and more than a little tired after the full day she’d put in. Talking was not gonna happen.

“Huh.” He sounded confused. Poor, simple man.

“Shh.” She hugged closer to him. “Just . . . shh.”

Just before she drifted off, she felt his lips press to the crown of her head, and his sigh.

*   *   *

She awoke to a brand-new experience . . . a man’s face between her legs. Josiah ate at her leisurely, as if he didn’t want the moment to end, only stopping after a whimpering orgasm and her hands in his hair pulled him from his place.

“That was quite a way to wake up.” She kissed him, tasting a little of her own saltiness on his lips. Intellectually, she thought it might have grossed her out. In reality, it was sort of hot.

“No condom. I’d have preferred another method,” he added, pressing his hard cock against her thigh, “but I’ll just have to wait.”

“Maybe I could . . . what was that?” Anya nearly collided foreheads with Josiah as she shot up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “Oh my God, is someone here?”

“No.” He rubbed at his head. “Just housekeeping at the door. I called to have them bring up some extra trash bags before I, uh, woke you up. I thought they’d take a little longer.” He kissed her fast. “Stay in here. I’ll be back in a second.”

It was then Anya realized he was already dressed in the same jeans he’d worn the night before. He slipped his wrinkled shirt on, still working the buttons as he walked out of the bedroom and to the door.

She lay back down for a moment, absorbing what last night meant. It had been amazing. Stupendous, really. And she wouldn’t say no to an encore performance. But it couldn’t just be that easy, could it? Maybe he’d gotten his fill, and he’d be ready to move on. He’d be ready to—

“Not sure what’s going on in that head of yours,” Josiah said from the doorway, startling her, “but if it’s the cause for that frown, put it away.”

Donning a bright smile, she slid from bed and padded over to the overnight bag she’d brought with her, in case any guests crashed and she had to stay, too. “I’m not a morning person. Frowning before noon is sort of my default.”

“Coulda fooled me, with all those errands we’d run before lunch.” He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You ready to clean up?”

“Yes, after a cup of coffee.” She slid on a pair of underwear—not the spandex version, thank goodness—and then her most comfortable jeans. She put on the same bra from the night before, then a sleeveless navy blouse with anchors on it. Her hair she did a quick braid on. She could feel the tangles and snarls, and she winced, thinking of how much cream rinse it would take to get those out.

Sin in darkness, repent with a wide-tooth comb in the morning.

Sliding her feet into flip-flops, she turned and pulled up short, surprised to still find Josiah watching her. “What?”

“It’s interesting, that’s all. Watching a woman get dressed. I never really considered it sexy before.”

She laughed nervously, looking around for her booty shorts she’d worn under her dress the night before and her heels. Those, she stuffed in her duffle. “I doubt that. It’s covering up all the good stuff, right?”

“Yes and no. Your body’s covered, obviously, but I’d hardly call that
all
the good stuff.”