The Passion Play (19 page)

She got up with due care for his state and for the chair, closed the drapes then switched on the lamp by the bed. Then she started to take off her clothes.

His head came up, reminding her so vividly of a dog at the sight of a treat – dead still and with its ears pricked and attention fixed – that she almost laughed. She conquered the urge, set aside her jacket, her pearls, her shirt and silk camisole, unbuttoned then unzipped her skirt and placed it too on the dressing table, pushed down her pantyhose and left herself only bra and knickers, feeling cold with the sudden nakedness, her nipples drawing up in tight points.

He had not come towards her yet so she climbed into the bed, eased down under the covers and then – as he liked to do to her – patted the space next to her.

“Dinner will get cold,” he repeated her words, and she tilted her head to one side, then deliberately removed her bra and underpants and tossed them across the room.

“Priorities,” she told him, and he got to his feet and came to her. She watched him take off his clothes in swift motions – swoosh, swoosh, naked –– and then he climbed in next to her, pulled her closer to fit against him, small and soft against big and hard.

“Better?’ she asked him.

He laughed soundlessly, his frame shaking a little with it. “Are you trying to seduce me into a happy mood?”

“Maybe.
Is it working?”

“It’s a good idea in theory. It really needs practical application. A field test, if you will.”

She was relieved to have him tease her again, her dependably kind Luke, and she moved her head to kiss him, her eyes wide open, too close to focus on him properly but not wanting to let go of him to sink down inside herself.

It was a solemn kiss, a sober one, her closed lips pressing against his, their breath mingled. Not sexual, though her body was tingling to be lying skin-to-skin with him, those tickling impulses traveling up and down her spine making her want to flex and shift, feel him anew with each movement. Ignoring the desire she stayed with him, wanting to give him something, to reach out and connect.

His eyes were open too, half-lidded hazel eyes, the color difficult to discern in the light from the bedside lamp but she knew what they were like: dark brown in the very center, then golden brown, with the edges a dark green; almost pine green, though not quite. When he lifted his hand to her cheek, sliding her hair back behind her ear, she recognized that dry, faintly callused touch, the rasp of it and the warmth.

Her chest knew the feeling of his, the brush of rough hair on her nipples, the bumpiness of a man who spent hours working out in the gym and on the field; the flat planes and hard ridges of him, substantial and solid.

She registered these points of connection, his physical presence, and thought of how his spirit, the man he was, lodged inside it. It occurred to her how mysterious that was, and how weird to feel spiritual about a cuddle, about lying naked with a man, when it was an earthy thing to do, lusty and animal. This was not animal though. It was a different energy altogether.

She slid down a little further in the bed, breaking contact with his lips but not his eyes, low enough to have his
erection come to rest between her parted thighs, which she closed around it, holding him close to her.

His fingers trailed infinitely slowly down from her cheek, down her neck, found her nipple and flicked it, sending that signal of anticipation, of readiness, straight to her womb, a jolt that made her breath come faster, make her hips flex and strive to be nearer. He curved so he could kiss her
again, following her lead to keep his lips closed, but then opening his mouth as she did, delicately seeking. Their tongues meet, so very slowly. Instinctively her eyes slid closed but when she found herself alone in the darkness she opened them again and he was there, waiting for her.

He splayed his fingers on her hip then moved them in and down, over the small curve of her stomach, lower still to find her clit with a deft touch that made her swallow hard, her eyes glazed, then closed on a long blink, dragged open to find him, lose him then find him again. The sweetness of the gentle touch was overwhelming. She breathed as he moved, or he moved as she breathed, she did not know which and it was difficult to think straight but she stayed with him.

She only knew how wet she was when he moved and his shaft was like silk on her, so slick and slippery. Now his breathing was ragged, his voice husky as he asked “Condom?” in the way that had become their ritual, a little tender, a little comical, a reference to their flippant contract.

“No,” she said, for the first time.

He stopped moving and his eyebrows went way up, his eyes opening very wide.

“Condom?” he asked a second time, whispering now, and she shook her head.

He blinked, and then he was inside her in one quick thrust, startling her so she gasped and shuddered, stretched unbelievably by the sudden invasion. He drew in a deep breath as if he was sucking air all the way down to his toes, shuddering too. “God!” he groaned fervently, then started to pulse inside her, a swift, small motion, his thumb sliding over her clit back and forth to the same rhythm.

She watched him, saw how waves of movement passed up his spine from where they were joined, making his chin lift as if he wanted to throw his head back. The cords in his neck tightened and released, his body straining against itself, holding him back, keeping him gentle. He breathed in small huffs of air.

“Lissa?” he said, a break in the word.

“Come in me. I want to see,” she told him on a sigh, the feeling of connection bigger than herself now, large enough to encompass all that was him.

“I want to feel you come,” he said. “I want to feel you wrapped around me this tight, coming. Give it to me.” Like his command was enough she felt the rising tension grip her hard and shake lose a surging cascade of pleasure, extraordinarily strong so she clung to him, giving it to him like he asked, sharing the moment with him.

Share it they did because watching her, his eyes soft and full of wonder, he spilled deeply into her and she felt the pulses of his essence, shared also, given as a gift to her body, pure potential and magic.

“Oh,” she said, feeling the wonder she saw in his eye, feeling it right down deep inside her, transcending everything that had gone to making this moment, a step above and beyond it.

She stared at him, still quaking, emptied and filled and renewed, remade in a way she had no words to describe. Frightened and awed by it.
Bewildered. Uncertain what had happened or if he could have felt the same way she did.

“Sweetheart?” he asked her, open and vulnerable.

She did not know what to say. This was too much, too intense, but she could not hurt him by running away like she wanted to, so she stayed, breathing through her panic until the intensity, the certainty she was on the edge of some immense chasm, eased and then dissipated.

It would be okay. It was just her, just Luke, a particularly intense orgasm. There was no need to feel so shaken.

“That . . . sweetheart, there aren’t words . . .” he said, looking at her with such warmth and tenderness it plucked at her heart.

“Shall we have dinner in bed?” she asked, giving in to the overwhelming urge to close her eyes, ease away, stretch and smile a little in a
pretense of languor. “I don’t think I can move now.” Then she cracked her eyelids open just enough to see him under her lashes.

He hesitated, reading her face, and she thought she saw the moment when he folded it and put it quietly away, whatever had been in his mind to say. “Do you want me to get it for you?”

“Yes, please. That would be lovely.”

He went, and returned swiftly with the two plates she had laid out, and cutlery. It was a difficult meal to eat in bed but they managed, she taking her time, finding it easier to concentrate on the mundane task and keep her gaze on her plate than keep looking at him and feeling that softening inside as if something had been shaken loose, her pieces not quite fitted back together yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Come up to my office, Barrett. I want a word," said Daniel King, his hands on his hips as he spoke heavily, then turned away without waiting for an acknowledgment.

Luke took a deep breath and held it as he threw his gear into the wide open mouth of his bag, thinking this was it. He'd been waiting for this little talk for a day and a half now, since the moment he'd walked out of Felicity's house and seen his smashed-in windscreen.

Even if the man hadn't recognized the car as his, a person could do plenty with a license plate number and there was nothing like handing out season tickets to get
favors done around town. He'd been certain Daniel King would learn who had parked outside Felicity's house. The man she had called her lover.

So yeah, this was unwelcome but hardly a surprise. He still hadn't decided how he was going to handle it though. He'd like to
plow his fist through Daniel King's face for everything he'd done to Felicity, but he sure as hell didn't want to be forced to leave her behind as he transferred. She'd been crystal clear with him: she cared enough to want him to stay, but not enough to go with him if he left.

He was so close. So damned close it just about killed him. He saw how she was opening up to him, an inch at a time, all cautious and wary and surprised at herself.

He hung his bag on a hook, ready to grab it and walk out after this little chat if that was the way it went.

The man was an arrogant bastard for stepping in where he was no longer wanted, sloshing around and trying to muddy the waters. He had no business getting between Luke and Felicity. He'd had his chance and he'd ruined it beyond redemption.

Luke would like to tell him so but he remembered her face, the hint of anxiety as she'd leaned on the bench in her kitchen and told him not to get in the middle of things, to let her and her lawyer take care of justice.

That anxiety had made him hope so stupidly that she cared for him
– did not want him to get hurt – he'd challenged her, thinking maybe she'd come to him, tell him what he wanted so badly to hear. Reckless of him, pushing too hard. The last thing she needed was him breathing down her neck all hot and heavy. He knew the rules. She'd taken care to let him know, trying to protect him from himself.

Even now it made his mouth quirk up at the side thinking of it.
Tender-hearted little Felicity, trying to wrap him up and keep him safe.

He left the locker room and his remaining teammates and walked up the stairs alone, feeling the pull of muscles worked hard but also the adrenaline rising in response to the implicit threat.

He hadn't given his word about staying away from Daniel King and his kind of trouble, but he'd decided to respect her wishes and not seek out the man. A rock through the windscreen surely made him think hard, though. The sort of man who enjoyed doing damage to a car and treated his wife like an object was the sort of man who might do something very stupid when enraged.

Luke wasn't a man who frightened easily but he also wasn't a fool. This was a big guy, an ex-athlete with a vicious temper and a sense of entitlement that defied belief. Luke was prepared for anything right about now. If Daniel King tried to damage Luke he'd find he had bitten off more than he could chew, and if he harmed a hair on Felicity's head Luke would put him down.

He came into Daniel King's office without knocking, scanning the room in case of nasty surprises. But there was no maniac ex-husband poised behind the door with a baseball bat, only the man himself, sitting behind his pretentious, inappropriately ornate desk that had needed a dozen guys to shift in here and had to be taken apart halfway in because the damn thing couldn't manage the staircase.

What an idiot, Luke thought but did not say, keeping his scorn from showing on his face. As if a power desk made a lick of difference in a place like this. The men on the team, the coaches, and everyone else, were used to proving themselves on the field, game after game, either personally or vicariously. How big and fancy your desk was didn't change how those sorts of people saw you. It was just a waste of space.

"Take a seat," said Daniel King, and Luke came and sat, slowly, resenting the need to play polite so long as the other man was civil. It didn't sit right with him to take orders from a person for whom he felt so little respect. "Now I just wanted to say you've been doing an okay job out on that field, but I know you're opening yourself up to . . . distractions. A man in your position needs to be really dedicated, really focused. There are thousands of guys lining up to take your place. If you want to stay where you are, you got to concentrate on your playing, not get all," he made a descriptive gesture with his hands, "caught up in something distracting. You got to prioritize right. Now sure, that might feel like a sacrifice at times. You might even feel angry to have to give something up. But for your own good and the good of the team you just have to make those sorts of sacrifices. It's the only way to keep your place."

Luke leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying there's something I need to give up to keep my place on the team?"

"That's about the size of it."

"You have something specific in mind?"

"Oh, I think you can guess. I think it's best if we just keep things civil. No one wants any trouble. But there are certain things that just aren't right, Barrett. Poaching on another man's preserves is one of them." When Luke opened his mouth King raised his hands in a gesture of pacification. "Now I can see it would be easy to get confused. God knows, women can be confusing creatures. Saying one thing then saying another, contradicting themselves, getting all worked up over nothing and sometimes even straight out lying. You really can't depend on them to give you an accurate picture of any situation. I always think it's a pity when a good young man is ruined by messing with the wrong woman. Sometimes that's his whole future, right there, washed down the drain, just from one little mistake. Just from trusting the wrong person."

"I'm certain that's not the situation here, Mr King," said Luke, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"You seem mighty sure of yourself there. Well it's good to meet a man who has confidence in himself. So long as it's not misplaced. You see, I've known other young men who were confident like that. A couple in particular I'm thinking of. They got messed up with the wrong woman. Let's call her . . . Felicia. She likes to hang around, likes to prey on young men, you see. Athletes. Likes the thrill. Likes the excitement. But she's poison to them, to their careers. You see I had to let those young men go, Luke. They wouldn't see reason. They thought this . . . Felicia really felt something for them, and they were wrong of course. They were wrong. When they lost their place in the team, when they were sent away, Felicia didn't even bat an eyelash. You see she didn't care about those men. They were just toys to her. It's easy to be confused by a woman like that, Luke." He shook his head sadly. "All sweetness and lies. It goes to a man's head, makes him do stupid things. I'd hate to see you ruin yourself like that, over nothing. This is such a short period in a man's life, son. A brief flash of time, gone so soon. When you're living it you think it's yours, you think it'll be there forever. And then bam, it's gone, and over what? Over nothing. You got to take better care of yourself, Luke. You just got to do it."

Luke sat there, letting the mass of words, of implication and insinuation and threat, wash over and around him, and thought of his sweet Felicity in the midst of this garbage. Twelve years of it. God, how
had she stood it? How had she stayed steadfast and strong inside? No wonder she was cautious about getting involved with a man if this was how she'd been taught.

He felt sick for her. This was so foreign from everything she was.

"This has been real informative," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll certainly bear it in mind."

"So can I count on you then, Luke?"

"On the field? Always, Mr King." And with that he turned and went out.

"Hey Carlos, you got a minute?" Luke said.

"Yeah?"

"Want to get a bite to eat?"

"Sure, I guess. What did you have in mind?"

"You like those pies at that place on Blake Street, don't you?"

"Sure do. I could about murder one of them I reckon."

"Come on then. I'll drive."

"No way man. We're not going in your car. My nana drives a car like that. We'll take
my
car."

"Hey, you guys going out for pie? I'll come," Big Joe volunteered
himself. Luke frowned. That wasn't part of the plan. But Carlos was already leading the way out of the door, his bag slung over his shoulder, breaking down the play he'd seen in the morning's meeting, ". . . then the dude jumps like this but the balls going straight, out here to the lineman, and he catches it and . . ." with big arm gestures, and Luke sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then hitched his own bag up higher and followed them. Maybe Big Joe would know something too. He just hoped Carlos would open that flapping mouth of his as easily around the big guy as he did with Luke.

"So, Carlos, I was wondering about that conversation we had I while back, where you were asking me about,"
Luke clicked his fingers as if trying to remember, "I can't think of the name. Some kind of PED you'd heard of?"

"Uh, yeah?" said Carlos warily.

"Did you find the answers you wanted?"

Big Joe stopping inhaling his caramel pecan slice and looked up, a frown forming on his doughy face.
Luke wished the man could – just for this moment – pretend to be busy.

"Ah. Well.
Kinda."

Luke could tell from the hesitant way he spoke and the guilty look he wore the kid had got somehow involved with the Adderall and didn't want to talk about it, but also wasn't going to come out and say so.
Maybe because Big Joe was there or because of Luke's strongly stated views about drugs, all too inconvenient now he needed information.

"I
wondered if Mr King knew about it," he said, aiming for ultra-casual.

"Oh," said Carlos, looking relieved, "I'm not sure he knows that I . . . I mean . . . I don't know if he knows specifics, but he told Steve to get us whatever we wanted and Steve's the one who . . . um . . . yeah, I guess Mr King knows."

"Why are you asking, man?" said Big Joe, looking grim.

Luke took a deep breath and debated whether to dodge the question, or tell the truth. He didn't want to discuss Felicity's business with anyone else, particularly not gossipy Carlos who already knew more than she'd like.
"Information gathering."

Joe looked him over carefully.
"Information for you, or for someone else?"

Luke guessed he meant the police, the football authorities or press, any of which were possible given the hard line he'd taken verbally about drugs in the past. He'd chosen not to be a vigilante about it but it wasn't surprising one of the other players might be wary around him. Trouble in the team was trouble for the team.

"Just for me," he said, hoping his reputation for honesty would be enough here.

Big Joe thought it over slowly, his eyes narrowed. Luke knew the man liked him. He'd made it obvious in his quiet way. After long seconds Joe took a deep breath, his mind made up.

"Steve's been handing the stuff out but he always checks with Coach and Mr King. Not everyone is using – I'm certainly not," and here he looked hard at Carlos, who shifted in his seat and lowered his gaze to his slice of pie, "but a fair few are. Almost all the offensive linemen are on Adderall and there's a couple of other things making the rounds too. Nothing too nasty. Don't make a stink about it, will you?"

"No stink. I pro
mise." Not for the team. But Daniel King needed a reason to tread carefully around Felicity, and Luke was prepared to give it to him.