Sweat Equity (17 page)

"I really
want
you to come home with me Jack. What part of that didn't you get?"

He grinned, and brushed her lips with his, then leaned into her ear, taking a deep breath of her scent. "The part where you still have the dashing hero, Mr. Robinson, in your life." He walked away, hands in his pocket, heart in his throat before she could say anything else.

Sara watched him go, her entire body thrumming with residual energy and quickly fading happiness. As the reality stole over her–that he'd told her essentially to let go of Craig, to choose one of them or the other–sunk in, and irritation replaced the pleasant glow of the time they'd just spent together.

Asshole
.

She grabbed her phone and dashed off a text, telling Val to meet her at Café Luis downtown for a martini then headed in the opposite direction from her condo, diving back into the teeming hoards of football fans exiting Michigan Stadium.

Fuck him and his pompous ultimatum. She'd do this thing on her own terms, not at his command.

Chapter Fourteen

"C'mon honey, let's find you a cab."

"But, I want…" Sara signaled the cute waiter who'd slipped his number to her on a napkin.

"Nope, no more. Let's go." She focused briefly on her friend. The room spun then stopped as she attempted to look more sober than she actually was. Val stuck her in the backseat of a taxi, then crouched down by the open door as Sara tried not to gag at the old cigarette and cheap leather odors. "Sara, you have got to get this thing sorted out."

She nodded, felt a tear slip down her cheek but didn't wipe it away.

Val patted her leg. "I'll call you tomorrow. Do you want me to let Jack know...?"

"No!" Sara glared at her, tried to focus on her friend's face. "I'm fine. I don't need babysitters. I mean, sorry, I don't mean to be such a bitch. Don't tell him anything. I'll be fine." Val shut the door and Sara closed her eyes, opening them when the car stopped in front of her condo.

After paying and making her wobbly way up the sidewalk, she nearly stumbled over someone on the steps. She glared at the masculine hand on her arm, keeping her upright. "What the hell?"

Craig's face became , sending a bright shaft of annoyance through her brain. She yanked her arm out his grip. "What do you want? I told you I need some space."

He took her keys and unlocked the door without a word. She took off her jacket and scarf, and then kicked off her shoes before stomping into the kitchen for water. The light nearly blinded her, but she sucked down two glasses before turning to acknowledge the man's silent presence behind her.

"Why are you here?"

"Just wanted to make sure," she cut him off, as the extreme emotion of the day and the grip of two stiff martinis washed over her, drowning out reason.

"Christ, Craig. Why don't you get a grip? Stop being so fucking….nice all the time." She moved past him, but gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, his lips hovering over hers.

"Okay." He said, simply. Then slanted his mouth over hers, shutting out all sensation but for his hands and lips.

Craig had spent the last weeks in a wash of frustration and anger. The fact that Sara had been ignoring him did not help his mood. As the youngest of five boys he'd learned to be quiet, to watch, listen and learn and not let his emotions lead him. But something had built in him since first encountering Sara, something that felt wild, uncontrollable, possessive and competitive all at once. Not a healthy way to feel about a woman he knew. The longer he went without actually talking to her the worse it got. It made him antsy, quick tempered, and pretty much miserable and he'd wanted to skip the whole fucking tailgate party altogether.

So, when drunken Heather had broken the news that Sara and Jack had been talking every night, he'd practically been frozen with fury. The exchange he'd had with her after that had simply not been enough. They needed….something. Closure. So he'd headed to her place, waited, and now in the face of whatever shit she was slinging, he lost it. Completely and utterly lost it.

He fisted hands in her hair and swept into her mouth with his tongue, pressing his body into hers. A brilliant beam of need, anger, frustration and something a little scary lit the edges of his vision. The small sound of pleasure that she made in her throat egged him on, driving to say things, do things he never believed himself capable of. Her shirt ripped under his hands and he watched it drop to the floor as if seeing it with someone else's eyes. He felt her fumble with his zipper, free his rock hard shaft, sensed her hand on his flesh as he tugged her away from the sink and pressed her up against the kitchen wall.

"Nice, huh?" He yanked her jeans and panties down, growling into her neck, biting, sucking. "I'll show you fucking nice." She groaned as he plunged his fingers into her pussy, reaching high, stroking her clit at the same time. Her nipple contracted in his mouth, and she lifted her hands over her head, letting him finger fuck her, bite her, which somehow made him even madder. His cock ached, and his head roared, deafening him as her lusty scent enveloped them. Her pussy clenched once, twice and she came, hard, crying out his name and threading his fingers in his hair. He pulled his fingers out and stood, staring at her, fisting his own cock, trying to sort through the nauseating swirl of emotion in his gut. "Turn around," he growled. "I need to fuck you."

She opened her eyes and stared at him, meeting his anger with her own and then dropped to her knees. She swallowed his cock, and cupping his balls in one hand while drawing her other one down his chest. "Oh Jesus," He groaned, and tilted his hips bracing his hands on the wall behind her. He shoved his cock down further, fucked her mouth until the orgasm hovered just out of reach. "Stand up god damn it."

She wiped her lips and covered his mouth with hers, giving him a taste of himself, before she turned and presented that luscious ass to him. "Do it then." She whispered. "I want it."

He stopped, ran both hands from her shoulders, to her waist, and clutched her hips. Settling his cock into the cleft of her ass he sighed, realizing he'd become something he didn't like but couldn't stop now. It felt too god damned good. Without warning, preamble or another word he shifted, and slid into her depths with one long stroke. Keeping one hand on her ass, he reached up and fisted her hair, tugging her head back as he pounded into her. The amazing clutch of her pussy and the sounds of her moans brought him back to the edge, made him come up on his tiptoes and grunt with the exertion of not coming.

"What are you waiting for? Harder!" She pressed back, meeting his thrusts. He saw her reach down with one hand and tease her own clit. That did it. He gripped her hair hard, knowing it had to hurt but unable to stop and fucked her so hard he saw stars as the climax roared up from his spine and enclosed him in a dark space before exploding behind his eyes. "God! Yes!" His hips kept moving, as his cock released and released and she pressed back, her pussy spasming and pulsing along with him, pulling him ever deeper, towards what he had no idea.

Finally, when he thought he could speak coherently again, he pulled out and released her hair. The anger still made him feel brittle, unwilling to talk. She glared at him and walked out, presumably towards her room without a word, leaving him standing there, clock still hard, glistening, head still pounding. Good Christ, what a mess. He tugged his jeans back up and sat, trying to regain his equilibrium.

The whole thing–the push and pull, this or that, will she or won't she he'd been through made him ill. He had to stop it now before it killed him. He put his head in his hands, then stood and followed her into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of her, naked and lying face down on the bed. If Jack could see her now….he grimaced at himself, then eased her under the covers before climbing in himself, as far from her as he could get and still be in the same bed.

****

Sara woke with a start, confused, head aching and mouth dry as a bone. After ascertaining she was naked and there was someone snoring next to her, she panicked and crept into the bathroom, the familiar ache between her legs one of the only clue she had about what had happened. Flashes of drunken memory–her kitchen, Craig, his lips, cock, rough, harsh words. Tears pressed against her eyes. What had she done? What had she said to him?

She cleaned up, brushed her teeth and tried not to puke up the water she gulped down in a no-doubt too-late attempt at hydration. After determining the liquid would stay in place, she tiptoed back to the bed. "Sara?" She nearly jumped out of her skin but quelled the urge to tell him to get the hell out of her house and merely got back under her covers. She jerked her shoulder away when he touched her, embarrassed, unable to remember completely what had happened. God that hadn't happened to her in years. Tears dropped onto her pillow as Craig eased up behind her, pulled her body against his and brushed his lips along the back of her neck.

"Stop it." She muttered. The unmistakable feel his erection made her want to scream with frustration at herself. A hand cupped her breast; fingers pinched her nipple, making moisture slicken the tops of her thighs.

"No," he growled in her ear and reached down to touch her clit, then slipped a finger inside her, making her jump and moan. "I'm not gonna stop. I am gonna fuck you again. And I think you want it, don't you?" She sighed, arched her back and let her body take over, let the once gentle, tender man take her again, rough, demanding and exhilarating, shutting out the clamor in her head. The voice that haunted her days and nights. The one that spoke one man's name.

Sara groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, trying to force the exquisite hangover agony to cease. It didn't help. She rolled onto her side into a ball. Maybe if she got really, really, small, it would mistake her for someone else and spare her. No luck. The sickening pounding in her ears matched her heart and the sunlight sliced like a knife between her eyes.

She dragged herself to seated, put a shaking hand over her face before having to lie back from dizziness. Bad idea. Nausea rushed up, forcing her from the bed and into the bathroom. After about ten minutes of losing everything in her stomach, and likely in the stomachs of all her former lives, she sat huddled on the floor, wishing for death. She groaned and pictured her calendar, realized she had exactly two weeks to go until her period.

Yeah.

Great.

She rose, ducked under the shower and scrubbed off, rationalizing away the distinct possibility that she could be pregnant. By a man she was very likely using to forget another. She dried off and dressed, smiling when she heard Craig's laughter, the lilt of his drawl, and realized his must be talking to someone back home. He always went full Southern when talking with people who had accents.

His words stopped her dead in her tracks, the brush frozen over her wet hair.

"Yeah, yeah, I beat the bastard at his own game this time."

She frowned, hoping she didn't hear that or at least had misinterpreted it.

"No, fair and square. The best man won, in a big way." She dropped the brush with a clatter.
What the fuck?
She leaned out, knowing she shouldn't eavesdrop; it would only make it worse.

"Of course it's a contest." Craig moved around her kitchen. She heard coffee pouring, the sizzle of more bacon hitting the pan. "Everything is with him. But, I held fast, had my plan, implemented it and viola. Here I am!" He laughed again. "Of course I had a plan. You have to when dealing with a guy like that."

Sara's knees wobbled, she slid down her bedroom wall, hand over her eyes.
A contest? With a winner? And a prize.Yes, indeed. A prize.

Holy shit. She'd been played?

No, no, calm down. He's just…what? Gloating about winning her?

Rage rose in her chest so fast she couldn't breathe. Gulping and sputtering, she got to her feet and marched across the living room into the kitchen. The bastard stood there, towel around his waist, back to her, too-long hair damp from a shower.

"Oh, we'll see I guess. But, rest assured, he'll be hearing from me. It's not a worthwhile win unless there's….huh?" He spun around when she tapped his shoulder. His smile seemed so natural, unreal for a guy who'd just been caught bragging about beating Jack at the "win Sara" game she didn't even know they'd been playing. She could barely hear as the roaring in her ears drowned everything out but the sound of her own voice.

"Leave. Now." She crossed her arms.

"Hang on a sec." he frowned at her. "Why? I don't have to be there until…"

She grabbed his phone. "He'll call you back." She said, ending the call for him. "I heard you. Congrats on winning me. Now get the fuck out of my house." He gaped at her, and then nodded, smiling.

"Oh, honey, I wasn't…" She sidestepped him. Men and their infernal excuses. She had no more time for any of it.

"I'm not kidding Craig. Get out. I don't ever," she gulped, as the tears let loose. "I don't ever want to see you again."

He stood back, hands on hips. "You don't know what you heard Sara. Don't be so stubborn. Let me explain at least."

She held up a hand. "Don't even try." Using every ounce of resolve, she left him standing there, slamming the door of her bedroom for good measure before flopping down on the bed and letting the sobs rip through her.