The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (18 page)

“
Not on their radar!
You’re the greatest football player who’s ever played—”

He gave her a wry smile. “Some would argue that.”

She dismissed his interruption with a wave of her hand. “I’ve read your bio.” She didn’t care that he knew. “You were bound for glory from high school on. Your parents should have been waving pom-poms at every game.”

“My parents thought I came from a cuckoo’s egg that got laid in their nest. I was supposed to like books, not balls. Especially not the kind where a bunch of violent, brainless men just run into each other.”

She heard the buried hurt in his voice, and it wrung her heart. She wanted to give his mother and father a good talking-to. Even superstars needed their parents’ approval. “So let me guess . . . they applaud what Trevor does?”

“They
understand
what Trevor does.”

“Wow.” She shook her head in disbelief. “They have a son whose talent and success are brilliant to the point of genius, and they can’t be bothered to
understand
what he does.” Her voice had gone sharp again, and she made an effort to soften it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak that way about your parents.”

“No, I appreciate the support.” He gave her another wry smile and picked up his fork. “They would disagree with using the word
genius
as applied to sports.”

“Why can’t our families celebrate our successes without judging them?”

“They think our choices are a comment on theirs.”

“Exactly.” Miranda found it hard to believe that he shared her experience. She remembered the scene in Orin’s office. “Does Trevor feel like your parents do?”

“Yeah, plus being envious.” The navy silk of his shirt stretched over the flexing bulge of his shoulder muscles as he shrugged slightly. “I’m not complaining, but everyone sees the trappings. No one sees the things I gave up to get them.”

She thought she understood. “Focus of desire. You have to strip away everything else because you can’t afford to take your eye off the goal. You set the bar so high that it requires total commitment.”

“Funny thing is, I don’t remember setting the bar. It was just there.”

“Because of who you are.” She sighed. “I don’t get why there’s a problem. We’re not hurting anyone else by pursuing our own passions.”

“They compare themselves to us and don’t like what they see.”

“When I see someone doing well, I don’t want to tear them down.” She leaned in. “I want to work harder so I can get there, too.”

“That’s the difference between you and me. I want the defensive line to flatten them.”

She flushed when she realized she’d been talking as though there was some correlation between her career and his. “I didn’t mean to get so earnest.”

“No apology necessary. I just had to be honest about myself.”

She thought about everything she’d watched him do in the last few days. All the small gestures, his vulnerability to his parents, his protectiveness toward Trevor. All the fame and adulation hadn’t warped the bedrock integrity of the man. “You don’t see yourself very clearly.”

It struck him again that she viewed him differently than others did. “You deal with some selfish, demanding people as clients,” he said. “How do you keep from getting cynical?”

“My clients can be challenging, but they’re also appreciative of my efforts. I like working in a residential building instead of a hotel because I get to know them, their likes and dislikes, which makes it easier to do a good job. I’ve grown fond of many of our residents.”

He felt a strange twinge of jealousy at the warmth in her voice. Since he never used the building’s concierge services, he knew he wasn’t included in that group. “What about your boss?”

“Orin’s a necessary evil. Our shifts don’t overlap much, so he doesn’t bother me.” Her full lips twisted and her shoulders went rigid. “All right, so coming to work for him might have been a choice I regret. But the Pinnacle, well, the name says it all. If I want to start my own concierge agency, it adds major credibility to my résumé.”

So she had her own ambitions. He wasn’t surprised. But Spindle bothered her more than she wanted to admit. “There must be other buildings as high-end as the Pinnacle where the boss isn’t such a scumba—er, jerk. He tried to make you look bad in front of me and Trevor.”

She finished chewing her oyster before meeting his eyes. He could see her making the same decision he had: to be truthful. “I don’t know why he dislikes me so much. I’ve never done anything to provoke that.”

“I’m guessing the clients like you better than him and he knows it. Which takes us right back to what we were talking about earlier.”

“He could get rid of me if he would stop trying to ruin my chances of getting another position.” She went still. “You’re too easy to talk to.”

A flicker of gratification banished his jealousy. He sat back in the chair and wished he hadn’t when pain wrapped around his rib cage. He swiped the champagne glass off the table and finished the remainder. “So you’re looking for a new job?”

Her slim shoulders lifted and fell on a sigh. “I have a shot at head concierge for a new luxury condominium uptown, but I need Orin’s reference.”

“What about a recommendation from someone else?”

“There are some colleagues who would help me out, but it wouldn’t carry the same weight, especially when Orin is running a smear campaign right now.”

Now he understood the tension in her shoulders. “What’s he smearing you about?”

She looked away. “Just general incompetence. The worst part is that he’s sabotaging things that I’ve set up for clients.” When she met his eyes again, hers were lit with indignation. “Making me look bad is one thing, but deliberately making our residents unhappy is something no concierge should do.”

Despite her sincerity, he could tell she was trying to deflect him from the smear campaign. Spindle must be using the newspaper photo Miranda had mentioned to stir up trouble for her. “Is it against the concierge code to date a client?”

The champagne sloshed in her glass as she started. “No-o-o-o, not really.”

“But Spindle doesn’t like it, so he’s making your working life hell.”

Yet here she was, in a killer dress that made him want to unwrap it from her body and eat oysters off her bare skin. He liked her guts, and he really liked what it said about her feelings toward him.

She squared her shoulders and picked up her fork with a determined air. “Let’s talk about something more interesting. Have you sent a document to the Morgan yet? I’m curious to know what you chose.”

“My brother started this, so how about I write you a recommendation?” He owed her that much. “You said using my name would get you anything in New York City.”

Her lips parted on a sharp inhale. For a moment he saw hope flare in her eyes, but then she shook her head, making the thick, glossy waves of her dark hair ripple. “The problem started well before your brother’s issue. That was just something Orin thought he could leverage.”

He’d only offered the recommendation out of guilt and because it would cost him nothing, since he’d get Doug to write it. Now he was determined that she should take it. “It’s a no-brainer for me. I’d rather help you than most of the people who ask me for things.”

“I didn’t ask you for it.” Her voice was tight.

He laid his drawl on thicker. “And that’s why I offered. No strings attached.”

“Sorry. Orin has me tied up in knots.” She gave him an apologetic smile before she polished off her champagne as well. He refilled their glasses.

“So I’ll write the letter.”

He got a surprise when she shook her head again. “I’ll find a way to get the job on my own.” She tried to look impish as she said, “No strings attached.” But the worry lingered in her eyes.

“Why?”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand the question. “You don’t use the concierge service at the Pinnacle. It wouldn’t be a legitimate recommendation.”

“I used it yesterday. I can highly recommend it.”

She gave a little cough. “Yesterday was . . . out of the ordinary.”

He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I know about lowlifes like Spindle. He won’t stop until he’s dragged you down in the dirt. Take my reference letter, sugar.”

Those liquid brown eyes went fiery. “I’m not going to use the influence of a man I’m having sex with, who happens to be so famous I can’t even meet him in public.”

She jabbed her fork into a piece of rabbit with such force that a lettuce leaf skidded off her plate.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Subject closed, sugar.” How had he gotten to the point of pissing her off when he was just trying to help her out? He wasn’t used to pushback, and it triggered the competitor in him. “Have another oyster.”

She accepted the shell he held out with a wary glance and a flickering smile. “I don’t need any extra aphrodisiacs around you.” She lifted it to her mouth and sucked the slippery mollusk off the shell.

That sent a wave of arousal straight to his groin. He wanted to lunge across the table and taste the brine of the oyster on her tongue. Instead he gave her a slow smile. “Maybe we could do some dancing after dinner.”

Chapter 16

Miranda had to brace herself to withstand the burn in his eyes as he held her gaze for a long moment. She sagged in relief when he smiled and stacked the empty appetizer plates, saying, “Time for the main course.”

She felt like she’d been caught in a stormy surf with waves slamming and tumbling her in the churning water. The earlier sense of connection had betrayed her into sharing too much about Orin. Luke’s offer of the recommendation had nearly blinded her with temptation for a moment; armed with that, all doors would open. For a short time.

She knew she deserved the head concierge job, but no one else would believe it if she used the famous quarterback’s influence. Her abilities would always be in question.

She’d expected him to be relieved when she turned it down, but instead he’d pushed harder. It was the first time she’d experienced the steel behind his drawl. She should have known it was there, but it had shocked her to have all that power unleashed against her.

And then he’d gone back to the seducer in the blink of an eye. When he’d mentioned dancing, she’d been flooded with embarrassment at the memory of her wanton behavior at the club. But the memory had also sent shimmers of excitement rippling through her body to pool in the hollow between her legs. Her appetite for the food had vanished, replaced by her hunger for his beautiful, muscled body.

She glanced up to meet his eyes and nearly moaned at the desire she saw there. He was as hot as she was, but he was controlling it with that famous iron discipline. It was time to see if she could break it.

She picked up a morsel of lobster from the plate in front of her and deliberately nibbled on it while keeping her gaze locked with his. She watched the icy control start to melt as she sucked at the rich, buttery sauce that coated the meat. She put the rest of the lobster in her mouth, letting her eyelids drift closed as she chewed and swallowed it with overt pleasure. Then she opened her eyes and licked her fingers.

His breathing grew harsh. His hands were splayed flat on the cream linen tablecloth.

She picked up another piece of lobster and held it out to him. “Try this.”

The table tilted slightly toward Luke, and she realized he was pressing down on it. Very slowly he angled in toward her hand, his eyes scorching. His height allowed him to reach the proffered morsel easily. When he closed his lips around her fingers, the touch of his mouth seemed to travel to her tight nipples. He took the lobster with a sucking pressure on her fingers, and she felt her breath hitch in a gasping sigh.

He swallowed and shoved back his chair. “Dinner’s over, sugar.”

She’d started this on purpose, but as he stalked around the table, she had a moment of panic. He was a big, sleek predator at the top of the food chain, and she felt like a little brown mouse who was being played with before she was devoured.

But she should have known he wouldn’t yank her to her feet and haul her off to the bedroom. Instead, he came up behind her and ran his palms along her shoulders and down her arms to where her hands lay in her lap. He interlaced his fingers with hers and brought her arms back behind her chair, where he cuffed her wrists together in one of his big hands. Her breathing quickened as she felt his strength holding her in place, yet her panic vanished. Now she just waited in delicious anticipation of where he would touch her next.

He surprised her by combing his fingers through her hair. “I like how it looks when it’s loose this way.”

He took a handful and let it sift down against her neck, the brush of it tickling her so she shuddered in his grip. His fingers went to where the chain of her necklace lay against the side of her neck, and he traced it around to the front, stroking down along the chunks of quartz where they nestled in her cleavage.

“I want to be this necklace, lying against your skin,” he said, his fingertips leaving the stones to drift over the upward swell of her breast. She held her breath as his callused fingertips grazed the skin bared by her neckline.

She knew he could see how hard her nipples were through the thin fabric of her dress. She yearned for him to touch them, but she understood the pleasure of waiting, so she let him hold her in place.

He continued his leisurely exploration, his fingers just under the edge of her dress as he dragged them over her skin. Every stroke seemed to move a little closer to the longing at the center of her breasts, and she willed him to thrust his hand all the way under the fabric and relieve the ache.

Did he realize his slow, sensual exploration was winding her arousal tight to the point of exquisite agony?

His breath whistled past her ear, its rhythm becoming more ragged. Suddenly, he reached down and separated her hands, moving them to the bases of the wooden posts that supported the back of the chair. “Wrap your hands around these and keep them there.”

She clenched her fingers around the smooth wood, slightly uncomfortable at how the position thrust her chest forward. The awkwardness evaporated as he slid his hands down from her shoulders to cup and knead exactly where she wanted him to, circling his thumbs over her nipples so she surged into his palms and moaned his name. Every circle spiraled in and downward, and she rocked her hips forward to ease the tension there. But she kept her hands locked on the wood.

“That’s good, sugar. You hold on tight and let me take you where you want to go.”

She felt a tug at her waist as he untied the bow, and her dress fell partway open. For a few moments, her insecurities resurfaced. He was used to the bodies of supermodels.

“It’s like unwrapping the world’s best Christmas present,” he said, pulling on the inner tie to release the last fastening. He drew the fabric of her dress aside, folding it back so the black lace of her bra and panties was exposed. She’d worn her most expensive lingerie.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Her grip on the chair became convulsive as heat coursed through her at the knowledge that he wanted to do nothing more than look at her. She stopped worrying about his previous lovers.

“There’s something about black lace that never gets old,” he said, his drawl taking on a rasp.

She tilted her head to look up. He bent over her, his hands braced on the arms of the chair, his eyes scalding as they moved over her body. His blond hair framed the planes of his face, and she wanted to pull his head down to feel those perfectly male lips against hers.

He seemed to read her intention, because he shifted to wrap his fingers around hers, the strength of his grip melding her fingers to the posts. “Don’t let go, baby.”

He slid his fingers under the lace of her bra, and she cried out when his skin touched hers. Sheer need sizzled through her, and she could feel her own moisture soaking the flimsy fabric of her panties. Now he pulled at her nipples, brushing them against the lace she had once thought was silky but that now felt exquisitely rough against her sensitized skin. The near pain gave her pleasure an edge that sharpened the experience of every new sensation. “Oh, God, Luke,” she moaned as a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Lean forward,” he said, thrusting his hands between her and the chair to unhook her bra. “Now let go for just a second.” He had her dress and her bra straps off her shoulders and down her arms in one deft motion. Then he returned her hands to their position on the posts.

“I’m going to move your chair,” he said, scooting it away from the table as easily as though it were empty.

She felt more vulnerable now that the tablecloth wasn’t covering her bare thighs.

But he remained behind her. He took handfuls of her hair and brought it over her breasts, brushing the ends against her like a paintbrush. Instead of edgy arousal, a gentle, tingling pleasure danced over the surface of her skin. It wasn’t enough, though.

“Please,” she begged. She wanted his hand between her legs. “Please,” she repeated, opening her thighs in invitation.

“I never say no to a lady,” he said, his drawl thick as molasses. He dropped her hair and reached down to push against the damp lace.

“Yes, there.” She pulsed against him. The sleeve of his shirt brushed against her bare nipple and made her hiss as it sent another streak of electricity downward.

He found the edge of her panties and stroked under the lace. “Sugar, you feel like wet satin.”

When his fingertip touched the focus of her arousal, she arched up with a strangled scream. The tension in her belly ratcheted a notch tighter. “Inside me. Please. Inside me.”

He obliged her, thrusting one finger deep into her as he rubbed his thumb against her clitoris. With his other hand, he massaged her breast, rotating his palm over the center of it to drive her closer and closer to orgasm. He found a rhythm that had her hovering on the verge of finishing as he sent waves of pleasure washing through her, making her writhe in the chair. She didn’t have to remember to keep her hands on the wooden supports; she was holding on for dear life.

“Okay, sugar, come for me,” he whispered beside her ear. He increased the pressure of his thumb and inserted a second finger into the hot, moist center of her with a hard, swift thrust.

She went absolutely still as she felt the exquisite moment of suspension before she began to fall over the edge into her release. Then he curled his fingers inside her and every muscle in her body seemed to convulse around the detonation within her.

The breath screamed out of her lungs as she bowed upward, her spike heels digging into the carpeting while she rode his hand to another explosion. And another. He found a new way to touch her and triggered one last burst of radiating pleasure before she sagged back onto the chair’s seat, her heart beating furiously, her lungs laboring to refill themselves.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, sending little aftershocks of delight rippling through her. “Ahh.” She let her head fall back against the chair and closed her eyes.

She felt his breath on her cheek before his lips touched hers ever so lightly, an acknowledgment that she needed time to come down from her orgasm, but he wanted to be there with her.

“You can let go now,” he said.

Her fingers were still clenched around the chair posts, the anchors she’d been clinging to as the storm of sensation broke over her. She released her grip, flexing and stretching her fingers.

And then his hands were under her knees and around her back, and she was sailing upward. Her eyes flew open, and she started in surprise as she landed against the wall of his chest.

“Easy,” he said, walking away from the table. “We’ll be more comfortable on the couch.”

He strode to the giant sectional sofa and settled onto the gray cut-velvet upholstery effortlessly, as though he didn’t have a benchworthy injury and a full-grown woman in his arms.

His touch was undemanding as he eased her onto his lap, but she felt the rock-hard length of his erection against her bottom. It sent another tremor through her.

“Cold?” he asked, seizing a throw blanket that was folded over the back of the couch and draping the whisper-soft cashmere over her exposed side.

“No, just getting a little extra thrill.” She snuggled under the blanket anyway, feeling self-conscious about being nearly naked while he was fully dressed.

He wrapped his arms around her over the blanket, one thumb stroking against her shoulder, the softness of the cashmere caressing her skin. She nestled closer, reveling in all the textures of his body against hers. The heavy silk of his shirt pressing against the side of her breast as he breathed. The warm steel of his thigh muscles covered with fine wool. The bands of his arms encircling her in a shelter of protective strength.

Odd that she felt protected even as his cock pushed against the
V
of her panties, reminding her that his needs had yet to be satisfied. The fact that he had taken care of her with such exquisite attentiveness made unshed tears burn behind her eyes.

She turned her face in to the hollow of his neck, inhaling the fragrance of aroused man and fresh, tangy aftershave. “You smell like Texas,” she murmured.

A chuckle rumbled against her ear. “You mean like bluebonnets?”

She smiled, even though he couldn’t see her. “Like a hard-riding cowboy.”

“You were the one ridin’, sugar.”

“And it was one heck of a rodeo.” She started to shift on his lap, but he held her in place.

“Rest a spell. I like having an armful of warm, satisfied woman.”

He seemed content to do no more than sit. Maybe his injuries were worse than he let on. Although he hadn’t demonstrated any difficulties with carrying her or bending over the chair to make her come. Memories of how he’d touched her sent tendrils of excitement curling through her all over again. “I want to unbutton your shirt.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, “Go right ahead. Just don’t be surprised at the color of the bruising. It gets uglier as it heals.”

She levered herself onto her knees and lifted one leg over to straddle his thighs. The blanket slipped off her shoulders, and his gaze zeroed in on her breasts, making them throb with the desire to be touched. But he raised his eyes and stretched his arms out along the back of the couch, so she had access to the buttons running down the front of his shirt. The expression in his eyes was almost challenging, and the corners of his mouth turned up just enough to bring out his dimple.

It was impossible not to brace her hands on his shoulders and brush her lips over the indentation in his cheek. That brought her aching nipples into contact with his chest, and they both inhaled audibly.

“That dimple is so disarming.” She kissed it again. “Not what you’d expect on a rough, tough football player.”

“I got it from my grandfather, who was a rough, tough insurance salesman. According to the family stories, it was an effective sales tool with the ladies of the town.”

She dragged her hands down from his shoulders and leaned back to flick the first button from its hole. “You should smile more when you’re on the sideline. You’d convert a lot of women to being football fans.”

“Grinning like an idiot would go over big with my teammates.”