Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (31 page)

There’s a long pause, but I just let my words rest. I’ve said it now, so there’s no reason for her to doubt my intentions, no reason for her to think I’m a man that’s just trying to play her, or a boss toying with her emotions.
 

***

When I step into the Foundation with Cadence by my side, I grip her waist and pull her close to me. There’s warmth spreading through my body, electricity sparking between us. It occurs to me that it’s nothing like I ever felt with Joanna. Hell, I couldn’t even compare what I felt for Joanna to what I feel for Cadence.
 

I look to the woman next to me, the light blue contrasting against her dark skin, a spark in her deep golden-brown eyes, a dark red blush rising in her cheeks that she thinks I can’t see. She smiles, lips turning up at the corners, and she turns to me. It looks like she’s about to say something, some kind of protest against the kiss, some kind of question about me dragging her here as my date. I can almost feel those damn words forming on her lips.
 

“
What will people think, Rowan? We’re so different.”
 

Yes, we are. But dammit woman, there’s not a woman in the world that’s sexier than you right now.
 

I let the words rest in my mind, don’t risk saying them even though I think maybe I should. Instead, I draw her into me and kiss her on the lips again, biting the lower one just enough to make her squirm. Just enough to let her know that I mean business, and I’m serious that she’s my damn date. She pulls away, her lips parted, deep red from whatever gloss or lipstick she’s wearing. The color stays there through some magic of modern womanhood, and it looks hot as shit. There are a few people looking over at us, probably because I’m the president of this damn thing and they all know I was with a bored, rich-looking blond toothpick four months ago at the last fundraiser.
 

But they keep their mouths zipped. That’s the thing about being a billionaire. No one’s planning to come up to me and ask why I’ve got a different woman on my arm. She might be sweating the load about us showing up together. But by the end of the night, she won’t give a damn about anything but me.
 

She leans into me and whispers in my ear. “Rowan, you can’t just--“

“What?” I whisper back, nodding at some of the government officials and shaking hands with donors as I walk through the lobby. Everything is decked out in Christmas lights, and the caterers have really gone all out with the food. It smells like a damn five-star restaurant, and I’m proud to be the man with the best-looking woman on my arm. “What can’t I do? I can’t kiss you again? You don’t want me to? I just want to make sure I’m not crossing a line--“

“People will think--“

I turn to her and put her hand in mine. “Cadence,” I start, and then look around to make sure that no one is listening to us. “People will think you’re my date. Are you okay with that?”

She nods and purses her lip. Even though she’s continuing to nod, there’s a worried expression in her eyes. I know she’s thinking about all the things she’s told me--her bills, her apartment back in New York, her position as the resident artist for the month. And the thing she won’t mention, the thing that she thinks makes her different from me.
 

“Yes--like I said, I like you too, Rowan. But--“

“No buts then. It’s settled.”
 

Cadence smiles and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, looking down for a moment before turning and smiling at me again. A shock runs straight through my body, and I feel like scooping her up, dragging her to the back room, and unzipping that gorgeous dress, letting it fall to the floor. But there’s a petite woman in a blue suit walking my way, so I just grip Cadence’s hand and walk with her, head held high, toward the governor of New Mexico.

“Governor Martinez, this is our new artist. And my date to the first annual Coming Home Foundation fundraiser,” I say. Cadence’s jaw drops for a second, but then she’s shaking hands and walking through the crowd like she’s an old pro at the fundraising game. She laughs and throws her head back at the mayor’s jokes, and she chats with the families who live here. Her laughter is infectious, and after a while, I just stand back and watch her as she walks through the crowd and glances back at me every once in a while. Once she’s had a few glasses of wine, she’s completely at ease, talking about her mural and joking about living at the house with a billionaire. I watch her ass sway back and forth as she talks with one of the members of the State Senate about the Coming Home Foundation and her plans for the art she’s creating. Star joins her and takes her arm, leading her like an old girlfriend over to some of her friends from the reservation. Several times, I try to make my way over to Cadence so I can touch her, feel her hot, sweet skin touching mine. I still have half a mind to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my office. But instead, I keep getting caught up with donors whose names I don’t remember--and once a man who doesn’t know jack shit about the foundation. Usually I’m happy to talk about business, but now there’s something else on my mind. There’s a woman distracting me more than my chosen profession ever could. As the party starts to wind down, I take a place near the door, sipping on a fine old whiskey that I asked the bartender to have on hand. No one is bothering me now, and I watch Cadence as she dances in the center of the floor with star, twirling and laughing, the blue skirt of her dress swirling in time with her rhythm.
 

“She’s a natural at this,” I mutter into my glass. With the hint of whiskey running through my veins, my cock stirs as I watch her. I want to take her home tonight and do all the things I’ve been thinking about, but I won’t push her farther than she needs to be pushed. There’s loneliness and hurt in both of our stories. I don’t know what hers is, but tonight is the first time I haven’t seen it since I met her. I stare into my glass for a moment. When I look up, Cadence is in front of me, taking my glass from my hands and swilling the rest of the whiskey.
 

“Come on, wallflower,” she says, pulling me into the middle of the lobby. There’s not really a dance floor, but a few of the drunker politicians are slow dancing to some Christmas song I haven’t heard before. I laugh, and Cadence pulls me to the center of the floor where she was dancing with Star. I let her, as the warmth expands through my body again.
 

“I’m no wallflower, woman. But this isn’t exactly a dance floor.”

“It is now,” she whispers. I take her hand in mine and twirl her around as the song builds. She’s breathless when I pull her back into my arms. People are leaving now, and I pull her close and kiss her again, my own breath coming in a shorter rhythm. Unlike the other kisses this evening, this one is more urgent. In this kiss, I taste her, taking in her scent, the feeling of her body, dress crumpled against my tuxedo. Her eyes are wide, her heart beating fast, and I can almost feel the sparks forming between us, like static electricity on a cool, dry winter’s night before Christmas.
 

She pulls away and puts her hands on my forearms. I’m still gripping her by the waist, and for a moment, I feel like we’re trapped in time. I want to stay like this, because here, there are no expectations put upon us. Here, there’s no mention of the distance between our homes, the distance between our lives. As the people file out past us, there’s only her and me. My hand slips lower and rests on the curved shelf of her ass. I want to let it travel lower still, but I think that particular activity might be frowned upon.

“Rowan, I--“ She stops before she starts protesting at me. I can tell that she’s going to say we can’t do something, or that the kiss was too much, not appropriate. But here we are still, and she’s saying nothing else. So I kiss her again, covering her lips with mine, tracing my fingers over the soft, tender skin of her neck. Gooseflesh forms behind my fingers as they move over her skin. Star and her husband wave to us as they leave, and I barely notice them pass by us. The caterers are the only people left, and I’m vaguely aware that they’re cleaning up my event and leaving too, one by one.
 

“Let me take you home, city girl. I want to show you just how good I think you look.” Her eyelashes flutter, and everything about her expression is girlish and alluring. In my younger days, I would have taken her outside and pushed her up against the car. Maybe I’d kneel down and lift her skirt so I could taste her. Or maybe I’d part her legs and take her against the car until she was begging for me to let her come. But we’re adults now, and I’m planning to take her back home and keep her up all damn night.
 

As the thoughts of what I’m planning to do to this woman form in my head, she grabs me and pulls me outside. Even as I’m thinking about taking it slow, she’s got her hands trailing up my suit jacket, and she’s feeling me up like we’re teenagers after prom. That’s when I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist and haul her out to the car while she giggles the whole way.

“You’re tipsy,” I whisper.

“And you’re so damn fine I can’t stand it.” She leans in and kisses me, and I push her against the car.

“I can hardly control myself around you, girl.” I move my lips over her neck, taking in the slight scent of champagne and the sweet, mild perfume she’s wearing. She wraps her legs tighter around me, and blood rushes to my cock. It strains against the fabric of my pants. I look around to see that the other cars have left the parking lot. I lean in and whisper into her ear. I’m half tempted to pull down those panties and fuck you right here. But you’re a lady, and I’m going to take you home and fuck you in bed.”
 

She moans and moves her body against mine, the fabric of her dress crinkling, pressing against my cock. Without thinking any more, I open the passenger seat of the car door and put her inside.
 

And I drive faster back over the mountain toward home than any man in his right mind should. But I’m not in my right mind, and both Cadence and I know that all too well.

CHAPTER NINE

When we get back to the ranch, Rowan hoists me out of the car and carries me up the stairs. My body is already pulsing with want for him, even though the two of us barely know each other. Despite my past, my history, my losses... I want this man more than anything I've ever wanted. All night long, I've wanted to open my mouth to protest again, to tell him what an awful idea this all is.
 

He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me. He shouldn't want to.
 

The desire for him threatens to take me over, to drain all of the sense out of my body and drive me towards him indefinitely. But if I don’t say something ow, it feels like we’ll both fall into this abyss, blinded by lust and the stultifying need to banish our past.

“You don’t know me from Adam,” I breathe. He pushes me against the door to my room, the blue guest suite I’ve come to think of as my own. Maybe it was obvious when I opted to stay here after the guest house got electricity back, but hell, I like the painting. And I have all my stuff here. And Rowan Corbett lives in this house, and let’s be honest. I’ve longed for this since the moment I laid eyes on that man.

“Who’s Adam?” He grins when he says it and kisses my neck right below my ear. A shiver runs down my spine and sends heat straight to my belly. We’ve only shared one kiss and ten days of time between us, and here I am going as crazy as a schoolgirl over this man I barely know. This man who doesn’t know me at all.
 

“You know what I mean. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”

“What idea is that?” His voice is raw and husky, and it vibrates against my skin. Underneath the raw silk dress, my nipples stiffen, taut and hard as beads. Heat creeps over my skin, threatening to cloud my judgment, threatening to take me over. “The idea that I want to fuck you? Or more specifically, the idea that I want to make you come? Because if that’s the wrong idea, it’s one I’ve had since the first minute you arrived in this house. And nothing feels
wrong
about it.”
 

“Oh God,” I whisper. “Rowan—I just want to warn you—” He’s still kissing the hollow of my neck, and then he sticks out his warm tongue and
licks
me there, breathing deeply and pushing his body against mine. The heat and hardness of his cock meets my leg, and I gasp. I can’t breathe for a second, and my sex begins to throb in response.
 

“Warn me of what? What on earth could possibly make me
not
want you right now? I can’t think of a damn thing. You’re crazy? I don’t care. Some kind of hired criminal from New York? Not an artist at all? I have no issue with that.” He moves a hand to my breast and circles my nipple with his thumb, the silken fabric exquisite against my skin.
 

“I’m no good with relationships—I’m no good with men—” I stutter over the words, force them out. There’s way more than that.
 

“Oh? What was that, Cadence? I give absolutely zero fucks whether or not you’re good with men, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” He kisses me, more insistent than he was back at the fundraiser, his mouth somehow hotter and more searching. He pulls away and puts his hand to the doorknob of the blue guest suite.

“Really, I--“ Before I can say another word, he picks me up and pushes the door to my room open. My shoes fall off and clatter against the floor. His arms make me feel light and airy, and the blue dress makes me feel sort of like a princess, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time. He deftly places me on the ground before the bed and lifts the back of my dress, resting his hands on my ass.