Making the Play (17 page)

Grant brushed his finger over her cheek and along the side of her neck. She wanted to cry at the tenderness in the touch and the burn he ignited within her for more—­more than she was willing to ask for, more than he was willing to offer. She knew without a shadow of a doubt he would leave, knew it would break her heart into pieces when he did, but trying to bank this fire burning within her was just as painful.

Bethany slid from the couch and stood, taking his hand. He followed suit, forlorn and filled with remorse as he followed her into the hallway. Instead of leading him to the door, she took him to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” He stopped midstep and she could see the uncertainty in his face before desire flared.

“Come with me.” She moved to the second step, so that she was almost eye-­to-­eye with him. “Spend tonight with me.”

His jaw clenched and she could see the muscle working, ticking with the seconds before he finally answered, his voice strained. “You have no idea how much I want to, but we can't.”

The heated wash of embarrassment swept over her and she was grateful for the dark hallway. She took a step back but he caught her.

“It's just that I didn't come—­” he searched for the word he wanted to use “—­prepared.”

Her impression of Grant rose several notches, even as disappointment seeped into every crevice of her needy body. She wasn't the type of woman to sleep around. Hell, she hadn't even slept with Matthew until just before their wedding, but Grant had a way of making her forget more than just the list of dating rules she'd set for herself. He seemed to make her want to throw out the entire book. She'd assumed that men like Grant, those in his line of work, were always prepared. He was a celebrity, after all.

What was wrong with her? Instead of being so frustrated with what she couldn't have tonight, she knew she should have been thrilled that he hadn't simply assumed that sleeping with her was a given.

But she wanted him. For the first time in six years, she wanted to be intimate with someone, and taking that giant leap, only to find out it wasn't going to happen was like ice water to her face in a sound sleep and it stopped her in her tracks. The blush in her cheeks still burned, even when he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and smiled down at her.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you get embarrassed?” He breathed slowly, deeply, and laid his cheek on the top of her head, pulling her into his embrace. Bethany wasn't about to waste the opportunity to hold him and wound her arms around his waist. The man was solid muscle, from head to toe. His back was long and lean, tense beneath her hands. Where her cheek pressed against his chest was a broad expanse of cotton, and she inhaled the scent of him. The spicy musk of his cologne mixed with soap and a scent that was all Grant, like warm summer afternoons at the park and crisp fall days. He smelled like home.

“You're going to kill me, Bethany,” he mumbled into her hair.

His fingers trailed over the back of her neck, beneath her hair while the other slid down her spine to her lower back. Her body responded without her permission, arching into him and he released a quiet sigh of longing.

“Stay with me tonight, please?” The request fell quietly from her lips against his chest before she could stop it, almost as if she were whispering it to his heart.

She hated the pleading note in her voice, but she needed him the way she needed her heart to keep beating or air in her lungs.

“Okay, but only on one condition.” His answer surprised her and she leaned back slightly, trying to look into his eyes. His hand slid over her rear, cupping it and pressing her against his groin, his arousal exciting and frightening. “It may be your house but we follow
my
rules tonight.”

She had no idea what that meant but as the blood throbbed in her veins with renewed desire and every nerve ending in her body seemed to be on high alert, she didn't care.

 

Chapter Seventeen

T
HE QUIET PL
EA
in her voice was his undoing. Grant knew he couldn't give her everything he wanted to, couldn't come close to what she deserved, couldn't even promise her more than a few days but he could give her that much. If a few days was all they might have to hold on to, if circumstances came crashing down around them, he was going to make sure she would never regret those few days. He knew he would never forget them.

Taking her hand, Grant led her up the stairs to her room, closing the door behind her and turning the lock. Her gaze found his, hesitant.

“You sure you want this?” She chewed at the soft inner flesh of her lower lip and he felt himself swell with hunger as she made her decision. “Bethany, you can still change your mind about this.”

He knew she would assume
this
was unprotected sex since he'd already told her he hadn't brought any condoms with him. He had. He never went anywhere without them, although most of the time he was slapping it into the inebriated hand of one of the other players bent on a one-­night stand. He'd seen far too many players trust a groupie's word only to end up standing at the altar with a baby nearby.

But Bethany wasn't some one-­night stand. She wasn't a woman to toy with. She was a forever kind of woman, the kind he'd always hoped to find,
after
his career had ended. So tonight, he would be the man she needed, not the one she thought she wanted.

“I want you.”

Her voice was a whisper of sound in the silence, the only light in her room filtering in through the sheer curtains from the full moon hanging high over her yard. Her house, while small, stood out among the other older homes in the neighborhood since it was one of only three two-­stories on the block, which meant no one could see into the room from nearby houses. It was a blessing for him because it meant he could admire her body bathed in moonlight.

“Come here.”

He pulled her toward him, wrapping one arm around her waist as his mouth captured hers in a kiss that shook his very resolve. Her arms found his shoulders as she clung to him and he felt his body answer with raging hunger.

But this wasn't about him—­it was about Bethany, reminding her of the love she deserved to find. His lips moved over her jaw, tipping her head backward with a sigh, and he pressed hot, open-­mouthed kisses over her neck. One hand slid under the hem of her t-­shirt, his fingers gliding over the indentations of her ribs, over the soft cotton padding of her bra, and Grant smiled against her skin. His sweet, innocent woman didn't have time for things like lace and lingerie, opting instead for something practical, and he'd be damned if it didn't make him want her even more.

Bethany had no idea how seductive she was without even trying. The scent of her hair, the sweet taste of her skin, her soft sighs and the way she dug her fingers into the muscles of his back when his lips found a spot on her neck that covered her arms in goose bumps. He brushed his thumb over the curve her breast, just above the top edge of the cup, and felt her shiver against him, arching into his hand. Grant tugged her t-­shirt over her head, tossing it aside and looking down at her.

She was perfection. For a woman so petite, she had full breasts and a narrow waist that curved out into womanly hips. She wasn't at all like the stick-­thin, straight-­bodied women who chased so many of the players at camp. She had curves, soft edges, dips and valleys he couldn't wait to explore. His hands slid to her back and unclasped the bra, dragging it from her arms, exposing her perfection to his hungry gaze. He held his breath as he took in every inch of her, unable to tear his gaze away but even less able to keep from touching her. His fingertips grazed over the outer curve of her breast before his palm covered her. Bethany's body trembled, the nipple pebbling against his hand, begging for his attention. Grant smiled at her response to his caress and sat at the edge of her bed, drawing her between his legs, pressing light kisses to her cleavage before covering one taut peak with his mouth.

His name was torn from her lips on a ragged breath as her fingers gripped his shoulders, clinging to him. Grant slid his hands into the waistband of her pants, easing them down her legs and pulling her to straddle his lap. She cupped his jaw, staring into his eyes with reverence as he lifted her, still clutching him as if he was her only lifeline, and laid her on the bed. Grant hovered over her still fully clothed and Bethany snuck her hands under his shirt, letting her fingers trace the lines of his muscles, making him agonize for a release he knew he wouldn't allow himself.

Jerking his shirt over his head, Grant tossed it near hers on the floor, sliding up her body, relishing the feel of their bare skin heating one another to a volatile explosion of hungry desire. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pressing the two of them together and he couldn't help but imagine himself buried deep within her. Just the thought was almost enough to make him give in to his longing to possess her fully.

Grant held his breath, trying to slow himself, to restrain his desire, but Bethany had other plans and slid her hands to the front of his jeans, tugging at the button of his pants. He sucked in a hissing breath of sheer ecstasy as her fingers found him, straining to be free of the confining denim.

Grant pressed his forehead to her collarbone, his lips brushing over the sensitive flesh of her breasts. “Baby, you can't touch me.”

“What?” Her gorgeous hazel eyes were slightly dazed, slumberous with desire. “But—­”

“My rules, remember?”

He swirled his tongue over the peak and her back bowed, arching into him and pressing her fully against his erection. Grant growled low in his throat, fighting to rein in his passion. He moved her hands to his chest.

“Trust me.”

Bethany nodded slightly and his heart soared. It was a huge step for her and he knew it. He also knew he couldn't betray her trust. His hand moved over the curves of her body, and he followed the path with his lips, whispering his praise over every inch of her skin. He wasn't a romantic man but her body was poetry, ethereal sweetness and seduction, practically glowing in the pale light with her dark hair spread over the pillow. His fingers traced the lines of her hips, over the plane of her stomach before dipping low to find the core of her desire and Bethany gasped in surprised ecstasy.

“Grant.” She reached for his hand. “Wait.”

He nipped at the point of her hip, his teeth barely grazing her flesh and she arched into his touch. Grant wrapped his arm around her, moving his shoulders between her thighs and she reached for him. His gaze crashed into hers and he could see the fire inside her blazing. The heat from her skin branded him. His own body was screaming at him, begging for release, but he ignored the demand in favor of her pleasure.

“Let me do this for you.”

Grant brushed his thumb over the folds of her and Bethany's body bucked against him as she closed her eyes in sweet surrender to her desire. He was greedy for more from her, tasting her, teasing her, letting his lips and tongue dance over her and Bethany let go of the control she'd clung to for far too long.

“Grant, please,” she begged, unable to remain still as he found the secret places of her body that excited her even further, leaving her gasping and limp in his arms.

His hands worshiped her as her body quivered, waves of release washing over her one after another as he refused to let it end. Bethany lay unable to move with the most bewitching smile on her lips.

Moving over her, Grant let his denim-­encased thigh brush against her hypersensitive flesh, congratulating himself as she gasped in awed pleasure again. He circled her nipple with his tongue, his own smile breaking against her skin as his fingers continued to toy with her.

“You have to stop,” she pleaded.

“Stop? I don't remember that being one of my rules,” he warned, his voice a low growl against her throat and she practically purred in pleasure.

Grant wasn't sure how much more of this torture he could take. He was feverish with need for her, wanted to plunge himself into her, to reach her soul and connect them as one. But this wasn't the right time and he was no stranger to self-­denial. He'd beaten his body into submission for years in training. He wasn't going to do anything that Bethany might regret later.

Bethany sighed as he rolled onto his back, still clothed from the waist down, and she curled against his chest.

“Just let me rest for a minute,” she murmured sleepily against his skin, each brush of her lips sending sharp jolts of desire straight to his groin.

Grant knew she would fall asleep and willed his body to resign itself to the fact that there would be no release for him tonight. He didn't care. He wouldn't have it any other way. His sweet Bethany had gifted him with her greatest treasure—­her trust. She had come alive in his arms and that was more valuable than any trophy.

B
ETHANY WOKE THE
next morning to voices in her kitchen. She jerked upright in her bed as the sound of James' giggles carried upstairs through her closed door.

“What the hell did I do?” she wondered aloud, her hand reaching for the pillow that still held the indentation of Grant's head. She drew her bare knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Images of her and Grant played through her mind as the blush crept over her shoulders and covered her cheeks. Even as she burned with embarrassment, other parts of her body—­most of them, if she was being honest—­tingled with hot, dark pleasure, begging for Grant's touch again. How could she have let herself get so carried away?

“Hang on, buddy.” She heard the deep timbre of Grant's voice downstairs. “Why don't you start your breakfast and I'll make sure she's awake.”

Bethany had barely tugged the sheet up under her arms, covering her breasts, when Grant slipped through the doorway and smiled at her, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. “I see you're up.”

He set the coffee on the nightstand and moved to her side of the bed, grabbing her clothing from the floor and passing the items to her as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“What time is it?” She glanced at the clock on her nightstand.
Six-­thirty a.m.

“I didn't want to wake you but I figured you'd prefer that to being late for work. James is downstairs eating a bowl of cereal.”

“What did you tell him?” Dread grabbed a hold of her lungs and squeezed with a viselike grip.

“That I came over early this morning to surprise him.”

Relief coursed through her. James was already too attached to Grant. She didn't want him to get the idea that he was going to become a permanent fixture in their lives. Now if only Bethany could convince herself to let go of that hope as well.

She reached for the cup of coffee, catching the sheet as it slipped slightly. Grant smiled wickedly and reached a finger out to tug it back down slightly, allowing him a better look at the swell of her breasts.

“Grant, about last night,” she began.

“I know.” He nodded slightly.

“I mean, I like you. I
really
like you, but I don't usually . . .” She closed her eyes, trying to gather her embarrassed thoughts into something that sounded coherent. “I just don't want you to think—­”

“Bethany,” he interrupted, giving her a lopsided grin that made her heart race. “Don't worry about what I'm thinking. I know what kind of woman you are, okay?”

He rose, leaning over her, and before she could put the cup to her lips, he captured her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath and made her want to call in sick to work just so she could stay in bed with him all day. Her entire body sizzled with longing and she could barely think straight, almost dropping the cup of hot coffee into her lap. Grant ended the kiss slowly.

“Go, take your shower. I'll help James get ready.” She watched him walk toward the door, appreciating his backside even more now that her hands had memorized every dip and curve of muscle intimately. He paused with one hand on the side of the door, partway through the opening. “For the record, Bethany, next time I'll be prepared.”

He closed the door behind him and she thought she might faint. Desire, hot and liquid, pooled low in her body and her heart raced erratically.

There was going to be a next time? There was going to be a next time.

“
W
ELL, WELL, LOOK
what the cat dragged in.” His mother eyed him speculatively, disappointment creasing her brow. She slid a mug of lukewarm coffee across the table in his direction, shaking her head as she turned away from him.

“Mom, it's not what you think.”

Not
exactly
what you think.

“Sure it's not.” She looked him up and down before dropping the newspaper on the table beside him. “Grant, I like her. You treat her right and be careful.”

“I know, Mom.” He glanced at the paper.

Grant McQuaid's Undercover Hot Date.
It was easy to make out the close-­up of his face with the baseball cap. “Son of a bitch,” he bit out.

“Grant,” she scolded, the lines etching deeper into her forehead. “You want to tell me what's going on because you're not acting like yourself. It's not like you to sneak around.”

“You'd sneak around too if you had some damn reporter following your every move.”

“Maybe your
moves
wouldn't matter to this reporter so much if you'd just quit trying to be sneaky.” She tapped the newspaper. “Be upfront with everyone and they'll go away. They only do this because they think they're getting something juicy that you don't want ­people to know about.”

Grant ran a hand through his hair. “I can't. Not yet.”