Counselor Undone (13 page)

Jordis lay with her back against the locker room bench, legs
straddling either side, feet on the floor. Her side hurt where Eric had elbowed
her dozens of times, and she could feel the wrist on her shooting arm cramping
up. She hadn’t played ball in a while. She certainly hadn’t expected to go at
it this hard during what was supposed to be a friendly pickup game.

The effort to get her tank off had been excruciating. Bruises
had started to form along her side and rib cage. They wouldn’t be pretty come
tomorrow. She lifted her arm over her eyes and winced at the painful tug along
her side. She needed a shower, but the thought of trying to pull off her sports
bra made her cringe.

A knock sounded on the locker room door.

“Jordis, you in there?”

Michael.

“Come on in.”

Michael rounded the corner and saw her laid out on the
locker room bench.

Jordis dragged herself to an upright position, her legs
still straddling the bench.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Just a few bumps and bruises. Nothing a hot shower,
some ibuprofen, and a nap won’t cure.”

Michael looked down at her midsection and cursed. He dropped
his bag and squatted beside her. “Good, Lord.” He ran his fingers lightly over
purple and blue blotches along her right rib cage.

She flinched at his touch. “It looks worse than it is. I
bruise easily.”

His fingers traced across her midsection. The pain of her
bruises scattered, leaving a slow boil in its place. He smelled good. It wasn’t
the woodsy fragrance he usually wore. This scent smelled crisp and clean, with
a bit of citrus. His sporty fragrance, she thought. It made her want to get
physical with him in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with sports. His
fingers caressing her skin didn’t help. His touch, his smell, his words were
messing with her equilibrium. She couldn’t think when he touched her like this.

She scooted back along the bench, breaking their skin contact.
The movement freed her ribs from his touch, but he dropped his hand to a thigh
covered by black spandex.

“Maybe I should take you to the emergency room for x-rays.”

“No. Trust me. I’ve had much worse than this.”

He looked into her eyes as if trying to judge her forthrightness.
“Yes, maybe you have.” Absently, he rubbed her thigh as he spoke. “Doesn’t mean
we should ignore it. That push and shove match got intense. Covington came at
you pretty hard. You should have let me take him.”

Jordis placed a hand on top of his to still its movement and
quiet the tremors he’d set off in her nether region. “I fight my own battles,
Remington. You need to remember that.”

“I gave you the lead today,
Morgan
, because you insisted,
but I’m not a man who stands by and lets his wo— . . . people be bullied.
One day, Covington’s going to cross a line with you that he finds me standing
on the other side of.
You
need to remember
that
.”

He looked down at her hand. He frowned before running an
index finger over a polished nail. No French manicure graced her nails today.
She wore only clear polish over her natural nails. He seemed fascinated by
that.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes, searching for something. “No.” He
took a deep breath and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.

She recognized the move as a sign something bothered him.
Whatever it was, he pushed it aside.

He placed his other hand on her opposite thigh and changed
back to the topic she’d thought she’d escaped. “If you’re all right, why were
you lying in here half dressed?”

Her leg flexed beneath his touch. The movement made him look
down. Jordis became conscious of her legs spread wide over the bench. Feeling
exposed, she started to swing her far leg over so she could close her legs.
Michael stopped her.

He shifted his position so that he knelt on one knee, one
hand on each of her thighs. “Answer my question, Jordis.”

Hyperaware of his hands on her thighs, she found it difficult
to speak. “I had a hard time getting my jersey off. I couldn’t bring myself to
try for the rest.”

Michael’s gaze dropped to her sports bra, lingering long
enough for her nipples to pebble under his gaze. His voice deepened. “I could
help you with that.”

When his eyes returned to hers, they were that smoky gray
that reminded her of storm clouds. The color of lust, she decided. The color,
the look, the man, all combined to make blood rush through her veins and pool
in her sweet spot. She swallowed, fighting the dryness in her throat. With his
hands so close to the apex of her thighs, all she could think about was letting
him help her with that and a whole lot more.

She fought the urge.

She’d resolved to take a stronger stance on this whole lust
thing. Right now, she silently questioned whether that resolve would hold.

* * *

Taking her silence as encouragement, Michael slid his hands
up her legs. When they neared the crease where her legs joined her torso, she
said his name in a breathless whisper. The sound of her longing tapped the
adrenaline in him that hadn’t yet dissipated from the ball game. The desire
that had bombarded him earlier when she’d stripped off her sweats filled him.
The chemically-charged emotion churned together with the jealousy he’d felt
when she’d flirted with McCormick and overlaid the possessiveness unleashed by
Covington’s manhandling of her.

He wanted her.

He’d wanted her since the moment he’d seen her standing
across the conference room that first day. No, he’d wanted her since he’d
touched her for the first time New Year’s Eve. The complication of their work
situation had done nothing to chill his desire. That, in itself, told him this
wasn’t some passing hormonal attraction. Denying himself what he wanted only
prolonged a turmoil that wouldn’t dissipate until he’d made her his.

His thumbs angled down towards the bench. As they crested,
he slid his hands into the crease of her legs and rubbed both thumbs against
her center. A gasp escaped her lips, and her hands went immediately to his
wrists.

He ignored her hands and circled his thumbs against their
prize. Without ceasing the motion of his thumbs, he leaned into her neck and
kissed it. Her skin tasted salty after her workout on the court. The natural
taste of her ratcheted up his desire. He swiped the tip of his tongue against
her skin then nipped the spot with his teeth.

She shivered and satisfaction rushed through him. She wanted
him. She may not want to want him, but her body craved his touch as much as his
craved hers.

He pulled back to check her eyes. He would know for sure
when he saw her eyes.

He smiled inside. Yep. They were that dark foresty green of
desire she couldn’t hide even when she could mask her emotions in other ways.

He moved one hand from the damp spot he’d created between
her legs and grasped her by the neck. He kissed her deep and with longing. Gone
were the gentle, seductive, courting kisses. This kiss said I want you, all of
you, and right now.

Jordis pulled back from him, her chest rising and falling
rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. “What are you doing?”

“If you have to ask, I’m not doing it right.”

“Michael, you can’t possibly . . . I need a shower.”

Michael couldn’t suppress the lusty smirk that tilted his
lips. “Yeah, let me help you with that.” His hands went to her midsection. “Who
knew you were hiding all these muscles under those designer clothes?” He rubbed
a palm against the slight indentations outlining her abdominals. “It’s damn
sexy.”

Jordis gave a nervous laughed. When his hands moved to the
elastic bottom of her sports bra, her breathing stopped.

He began to move the fabric up. “Why don’t we get this off
so I can see what else you’ve been hiding under your Michael Kors?”

Jordis’s eyes widened and darted towards the shower stall
then over to the locker room door. She placed her hands on top of his to stop
him.

Though furtive, her glances told Michael everything he
needed to know. She might be wondering about the wisdom of getting in a public
shower with him present and was probably calculating the chances of them
getting caught. She didn’t, however, seem opposed to his presence per se.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Michael. I’ve got this.”

“You couldn’t do it alone before. What’s changed?”

“I’ll take a shower later.”

“Don’t you have to meet Miss Gardner at the office soon?”

Jordis closed her eyes and sighed. She clearly hadn’t factored
in the client appointment.

He removed her shoes and socks then stood and offered her
his hand. “Come on.”

They stared at each other, motionless, his stubbornness
bouncing against her will.

“Let me help you, Jordis. I won’t do anything you don’t want
me to do.”

Without saying a word or breaking eye contact, she took his
hand and stood. Her head dropped as she mumbled under her breath, “Maybe that’s
part of the problem.”

Michael stifled the grin that threatened his face, not
letting on he’d heard her hushed admission.

He led her to the shower stall, leaned in and turned on the
water, careful to adjust the temperature so it wasn’t too hot. He turned her so
she faced the shower, her back to him. “Raise your arms.”

A grunt of pain escaped when she got her arms all the way
up.

“Easy.” He pushed the lycra material up her sides, using all
his will power not to brush her full breasts with his fingers as he lifted the
material to free them.

After he pulled the bra up and off, Jordis dropped her arms
across her chest. He could tell she had some discomfort, but she hid it well, exhibiting
the classic stoicism of a trained athlete. Knowing she’d had a college basketball
career shed additional light on her personality. The drive, the discipline, the
ability to take hits from an opponent but keep pressing forward were skills
she’d mastered playing ball.

“Now the bottoms.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Don’t be crazy. Those
I can definitely manage by myself.”

He slid his hands to her waist and pressed himself fully
against her back. His arousal nested at the juncture of her buttocks and lower
back. “You sure about that?” His hands traveled around to her abdomen, gliding
through drops of water splattered on her skin from the shower spray. “I’d be
happy to help. Maybe I could wash your back.”

Her defined abdominal muscles flexed beneath his palms. Her
eyes closed. “Michael, enough.”

“Enough? I haven’t even started yet.” He dropped his lips to
her neck, alternating between nipping and nibbling. His large hand eased down
her stomach and wayward fingers pushed inside the band of her spandex.

Jordis pressed a hand firmly over his from the outside of
her shorts and instinctively pushed her hips back to avoid his touch. The
movement rubbed her behind firmly against his erection. The thin layer of
spandex shielding her buttocks taunted the bulge beneath his athletic pants. He
grew firmer against her, and Jordis’s knees released as she tried to stifle a
moan.

He dipped his knees and grasped her more firmly around the
middle. Her gluteal shapeliness cradled over his erection, bursting the fount
of lust he’d heretofore been able to keep under a tight lid. He pressed his
cheek against the side of her head. His warm breath tickled her ear. “I want
you,” he mumbled.

The hand beneath the waistband of her spandex moved lower,
undeterred by the pressure of her hand. He smoothed past soft curls and fingered
her lightly. The sound she emitted fell somewhere between a startled breath and
a whimper. Her hand clamped tighter over his.

“You’re wet for me,” he choked out in a gruff voice. “Why do
you keep fighting this? Let me show you how great it could be between us.”

He stood wrapped around her moving nothing but the middle
finger of the hand between her thighs. Jordis, tight with tension, radiated
indecision. Her shallow respiration betrayed her arousal, and her hand squeezed
down on his as if she intended to stop him, but she didn’t push his hand away.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Michael
braced himself to have to let her go. He sighed out her name questioningly.

Her desperate reply rasped through her vocal cords.
“M-Michael, what are you doing to me?”

Instinctively, he understood the psychological import of the
question. They stood in the middle of a public locker room where anyone could
walk in on them. Under normal circumstances, he had no doubt this would be the
last place Jordis would ever consider entertaining his advances, but the sexual
tension between them denied rational thought. He couldn’t think beyond the
immediate feel of her in his arms. Apparently, neither could she because to his
astonished relief, she slowly relaxed her restraining hand and slid it up to
rest lightly on his forearm.