Hoops (28 page)

He found her mouth with his and claimed it. It was a kiss that remembered the differences and disagreements, and knew there would be more. But it was a caress that promised solutions and commitments.

The tip of her tongue, arcing along the roof of his mouth, was the head of a match igniting a fire. Before the flame flashing through him became something he couldn’t control, he ended the kiss.

He had to, he thought with a wry inward grimace, or there would have been a major scandal when the basketball coach made love to the professor of English literature in the sodden remnants of last summer’s flower garden.

He touched the crown of her head with his lips, then rested his cheek against the softness. “I love you, Carolyn.”

She pulled in her breath with the pure, shuddering joy of it. “I love you, C.J.”

They held each other there, letting the fragile, molten words harden into a vow strong enough to last a lifetime. He stirred first. “You know, someday one of us will want to take that other job.”

“I know. We’ll work it out. Perhaps you could become a specialist in coaching basketball at strong academic institutions.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, and maybe you can become an expert at teaching literature to jocks.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asked.

C.J. knew she was asking about his job at Ashton, but he chose to take it another way. “What I’d like to do is maybe have something to eat, then watch the game in bed with you—and I really don’t care how much of the game I see.”

“The game! I forgot. I’m supposed to be at Stewart’s by now.” She headed up the stairs, but she kept a secure hold on C.J.’s hand until he laughingly reminded her he had to retrieve a piece of Ashton athletic department property he’d let roll under the evergreens. She was on the phone when he came into the kitchen with the basketball in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

“Stewart, this is Carolyn. I’m not going to be able to come over tonight.”

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t.”

“C.J.’s back, Stewart.”

“I know. He came by my office first. Ostensibly to get his letter of resignation back, but actually to find out how you felt.”

“He did?” Carolyn looked over her shoulder at the tall form closing in on her. She had so much more to learn about him, this confident, sure man with the streaks of deep vulnerability.

He wrapped an arm around her waist from behind and used the other hand to sweep back her hair to clear a path for his kisses along her neck. She found it difficult to concentrate on Stewart’s voice.

“He said I should go ahead and tell the team that he’s coming back, but I thought maybe you and C.J. would want to come over—”

“No,” C.J. whispered into her ear before gently nipping the lobe. “Tell him maybe next week. Or next month.”

Voices in the background told Carolyn that someone on the other end had claimed Stewart’s attention but certainly not as seductively as C.J. had claimed hers. Stewart came back on with a laugh. “Helene says if I dare to suggest you should come over, I’ll be drawn and quartered. With that in mind, I think I’ll just say good night. We’ll tell the team, and you’ll probably hear the cheering over there. God bless you both, Carolyn.”

“Thank you, Stewart.”

She hung up the phone with a hand only slightly unsteady from the attentions being paid to the tender skin below her ear. When those attentions continued down her neck and into the V of her blouse, the unsteadiness extended to her knees.

Hunger was a live current in their lovemaking. Hunger for each other, hunger for touches that confirmed the spoken assurances, hunger to start fulfilling the promises of forever.

Clothes were pulled off with mutters of satisfaction. Hooks, buttons, zippers were met with frantic fingers and half-laughing mumbles of impatience. Finally, flesh to flesh, Carolyn sank to the bed, pulling him down with her.

When C.J.’s thrust joined them, they stilled, letting the miracle of being one carry them. Then another, more immediate hunger, nudged them into slow, rhythmic motions, and they continued their journey to pleasure.

Such pleasure, Carolyn thought, a long while later when her mind could find any thought beyond his name. Such dazzling, delightful pleasure.

He started to roll away to relieve the crush of his weight on her, but she held him tightly in place. She needed the reality of his body. She needed to hold on to the security of his long legs still tangled with hers.

She looked around at the darkened room to remind herself that this was real. C.J. loving her was the most real, the most secure thing in her life. Feelings were as real as the curtains on the window, the bedspread half tumbled to the floor, the numerals of the alarm clock adding a faint red glow to the night table.

“Oh, it’s almost time for the game to come on.” She felt ready to play herself—and she knew she’d win. She was tall, powerful, invincible; she was loved. “Why don’t you set up the VCR, and I’ll get something for us to eat?”

He grumbled something into the soft skin of her shoulder.

“What’d you say?” she asked.

“I said—” he lifted his head to pronounce the words clearly “—that I think I’ve created a basketball monster. There’ll be another one of these games next year. Let’s just stay here.”

She laughed. The look that sprang into his blue eyes drew her back into his arms for another long kiss. But at last she broke away and went to the closet for her robe.

“What about Frank, C.J.? He told you about not playing this summer or the fall semester?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He said you didn’t mind.”

“Yeah, but that was before I came to my senses and decided to stick around. We’re going to have to figure something out about that. You know,” he said slyly, “if Frank doesn’t play next fall, I’m going to have to spend a lot more time this spring recruiting, trying to fill his spot. Lot of time away from home. Nights. Lots of nights.”

Perfectly straight-faced, she adjusted her robe and said, “I think with a special tutor he could make up the work in the summer—with the right tutor.” At the door she turned back to add, “I thought I might do some tutoring this summer.”

He grinned and called after her. “I knew that brain of yours would come up with something.”

When she returned with sandwiches, chips, fruit and drinks, he was propped against the pillows with the remote control in hand.

“It’s all set, you basketball junkie.” He grinned a little smugly. “But I put it on automatic, just in case we find something better to do.” He took the tray from her and looked at the drink suspiciously. “What’s this? It’s not Gatorade, is it? I’ve lost my taste for that stuff ever since someone threatened to put rat poison in mine.”

“Just keep that in mind if you’re ever tempted to stray,” she warned darkly. Then she laughed. How she loved him, that semi-drawl, that crooked grin, those blue eyes. She wanted to be back in his arms.

“Ow! What’s this? I stepped on it.” From the heap of their clothing discarded on the floor, she found a small paper bag that contained the hard object her bare foot had encountered.

“Oh, that. It’s for you.” He leaned back for a better view of her face.

She glanced up curiously, but he just nodded at her to open the bag. Inside was a small square jeweler’s box covered in soft velvet of an unusual warm golden brown. She looked at C.J. again, but his blue eyes were fixed on the box in her hand. Carefully she flipped open the lid.

It held a single sheet of paper. In C.J.’s handwriting were the words: “Redeemable for one diamond ring of your choice and one set of wedding bands of a mutually agreeable design.”

She swallowed tears of joy and looked into his bright blue eyes.

He smiled back. And a final tiny, unspoken fear slid away from his heart. “I hear Tuesday’s a good day to shop for diamonds.”

She slipped an arm behind his waist and wrapped the other around his flat abdomen, cuddling closer as her hands clasped to complete her circle around him. “A perfect day.”

She rubbed her cheek against his chest as he encircled her with one arm. With his other hand, he picked up the jeweler’s box she’d dropped amid the covers.

“Now this,” he said, tapping the box, “is the color of your hair. By God, I finally matched it!”

Copyright © 1990 by Patricia McLaughlin

Originally published by Silhouette Special Edition

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.