Player's Challenge (6 page)

“So the clause addendum stands. We’re offering representation, not a hook-up service. Of course, I don’t have to worry about you. You’re true blue, loyal to a fault. Not only to me but also your clients.” Yvonne suddenly paused. “Well, I hate to talk business then run. Bertram Fernier is on the line and we need to talk about a tennis racquet endorsement. I swear his French accent should be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac. Have a good one. Don’t forget to text me.”

Long after the phone disconnected, Gemma stared at the screen. Had her boss been merely joking or testing her? No matter how much she turned their conversation over, Gemma came up without a definitive conclusion. Well, except for one—keep her knickers on.

“I don’t know about you, I can eat a horse.”

Startled, Gemma whirled around. She must have looked like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar because Devin’s expression turned from happy go lucky to awkwardly tense.

“What’s up, you okay?” Hair wet with sweat, his skin still flush. He looked freshly fucked.

“Yeah,” she gushed. “I’m starving. You kept me waiting a whole hour.”

His expression softened into a goofy smile and all she wanted to do was walk over and kiss him.

“Let me take a quick shower and then we can go.”

As soon as he disappeared down the hall, Gemma slumped in relief. She was so hot and bothered right now, she kicked herself for not packing her vibrator.

Needing a diversion, she dived into Devin’s social network. With more than four million followers, he was one of the most popular footballers in the league. His profiles were going to be one of the best ways to turn around his image. By the time he inked a multimillion dollar contract, the world was going to think Devin spent his Friday nights with the Dali Lama.

“Gemma!”

Gemma removed her glasses. Did she just imagine Devin yelling her name?

“Gemma!”

Nope. She hadn’t imagined it. Pushing away from the dining room table, she got up and walked down the hall. What could he possibly want?

“Gemma!”

She followed his voice to the master bathroom. Hands on the door, she stopped at the last minute. She couldn’t go in there! What if he was nude? In her present state of arousal, she’d probably melt like Dairylea on a macaroni and cheese casserole.

“What do you want?” she asked through the crack in the door.

“Could you grab me a towel from the linen closet?”

“Sure thing.” Gemma turned around, but circled back. “What size? Hand towel or body?”

“A big towel, please.”

Gemma rolled her eyes. Just like a man to not know the difference. She walked back through the master bedroom and into the hallway. She didn’t waste any time selecting one of the bath sheets. The sooner she completed this chore from hell, the quicker she could get her mind back on her job and not the six-foot-plus Adonis soaping up his man parts.

With her heart pounding like it was going to jump out of her chest, Gemma pushed on the bathroom door. Warm and decidedly masculine, the room was spacious. A large two-sink vanity ran along one wall, and a garden tub made for two monopolized another. Between them was a door, which probably led to the loo.

“I really appreciate it.” Devin said, gaining her attention. “The cleaning lady forgot to refill the basket.” He nodded his head toward an empty wicker basket next to the shower.

Unable to move or utter a word, Gemma froze in the middle of the room.
So, this is my brain on Devin Spencer.
Covered in soap, his body was perfect. He slowly soaped his chest, and Gemma struggled with settling on which body part she liked best. His broad shoulders or his slim hips? Maybe it was his bum? Or possibly his muscular thighs?

Completely unaware of her dilemma, Devin moved under the rainfall shower head and rinsed off. Water sluiced said body parts, rolled in and out of his bulges and crevices, and Gemma concluded the whole was much greater than the sum of its parts.

Gemma chomped down on her bottom lip. It was so unfair for a human being to win the genetic lottery. Where she was curvy, a weekend binge away from being plump, Devin didn’t have an ounce of fat. All hard planes and muscle, he appeared to be carved out of stone.

“Do you need anything else?” In a vain attempt at self-preservation,
she ripped her gaze upward.

“I think I have it covered…unless you want to soap my back.” His grin was so wicked, Gemma cursed her job, her boss and even her university counselor for recommending she go into sports management.

“I’ll pass,” she mumbled, backing away from him. “I’ll be in the living room.”
Masturbating.

***

Chuckling, Devin closed the shower door. His seduction of Gemma Clarke had commenced with flying colors. He almost felt sorry for her. The moment she’d decided to room with him, she’d never stood a chance. At the top of his game, he could be just as tenacious off the football pitch as on it. And as a world-class goalie, giving up only eighteen goals last season, she was as good as his.

Devin smiled. Being around her made him feel good. Better than good, great actually. He enjoyed women but none of them compared to Gemma. She had a killer sense of humor. She was selfless. Independent and somewhat strong-willed, she still made him feel like a man, as if she needed him, valued him. And don’t get him started on that body. Her mouthwatering curves had starred in every one of his wet dreams.

If only she weren’t so adamant about adhering to the clause in her contract. Without a doubt, he would be plowing into her right now, slamming into her warm, wet body without any mercy. Mind in the gutter, Devin ran a hand over his abs. He didn’t stop until he palmed his cock.

Applying ample pressure, he slid his hand up and down his length, his ardor increasing with each stroke. His mind focused on Gemma’s image, envisioning her soft thighs wrapping around him, her pretty pink cunt drawing him in. Overwhelmed by a barrage of sensations, he placed his free hand on the bathroom tiles, steadying himself. Almost immediately, blood rushed south, making him unbelievably hard.

Faster and faster he pumped, a lump forming in the back of his throat. Anticipation building, his ardor rising like a tightly wound coil in his gut, he squeezed harder, applying more pressure at the base and letting up at the tip. His breathing growing ragged with each thrust.

“Gemma,” he groaned, thrusting over and over again until semen spilled over his hand like warm milk.

Devin grimaced as he rinsed his hands under the warm water. He’d jacked off twice in less than twenty-four hours, the most he’d ever done since he’d turned pro. Further proof Gemma was special. She had this knack of turning him inside out, making him thirsty for her undivided attention, making him pant after her like some randy teenager with his dick in his hands. Literally.

Too bad he wouldn’t want her any other way.

Gemma retreated to the living room. Hot under the collar, she glanced at the thermostat. Only twenty degrees Celsius, and her body was sweating like she’d just labored over a hot stove. Looking for some respite, she glanced at the bank of windows, running the length of the living room. In the distance, the London Eye spun slowly. Maybe some fresh air would do the trick. Pinching the top of her tank, fanning herself like a church lady, she stepped onto the balcony. Blues skies, and an unhindered view of London’s skyline greeted her. A balmy summer breeze ruffled her hair.

Still, the change of scenery didn’t completely mitigate the heat running through her veins. Before she did something foolish and desperately needing an outlet, Gemma punched in her parents’ number. Gladys Clarke always had the uncanny ability of making her blow her top. In this case, the end really did justify the means.

Her father answered the phone on the second ring. “Hey Daddy, is Mum around?”

“Who’s this?”

Gemma’s lips twitched. “Gemma, your daughter.”

“Gladys…we have a daughter?”

“I vaguely remember we had one,” her mother said in the background.

“If you two would stay put, stop globetrotting like no tomorrow, you’d see me more often.”

Her father’s deep throated chuckle drifted through the receiver. “Better make a visit before we leave for Mont Blanc. Your mum has it in her head to climb the blasted—”

“Don’t tell the chit that or she’ll never allow us to leave,” her mother groused. They exchanged a few words somewhere in the lines of ‘we’re the parents’ or ‘has she stopped us before’ and then the phone crackled.

“What do you need?”

Annoyed, Gemma stiffened. She’d hadn’t lived under her parents’ roof since she’d moved out for university. “What makes you think I need something?”

“Children always need their mothers.”

“You want me to need you.”

“Watch your tone, girl!”

10…9…8…7…6…5…
argh!
Not even counting worked. Abandoning that tactic, Gemma started to pace. Well at least, the conversation was serving its purpose, getting her mind off the temptation a few steps away.

Speaking of the two hundred pound goal keeper. “What’s between you and Devin Spencer?”

For once, her mother didn’t have a ready rebuttal. Gemma refused to let her off the hook. “I hear you’ve been right chummy, going for dinner and drinks.”

“We never went for drinks,” her mother balked.

Gemma rolled her eyes. With her staunch need to always be right, her mother couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

“Why are you playing both sides of the fence, Mum?”

“I didn’t mean it to happen the way it did. He kept popping up. Constantly asking after you, even when you cut him off.”

“And your motherly instincts kicked in.”

“He was so miserable without you, calling me all the time, sending flowers meant for you. What was I supposed to do?”

Gemma, her heart doing somersaults, refused to lose focus. “Umm…not talk to him.”

“Then you wouldn’t have a multimillion dollar client.”

Again, forest for the trees. “Stop justifying your reasons, and no more going behind my back.” Hand on hip, Gemma stomped her foot. In less than thirty seconds, her mother brought the six year old out of her.

“No can do, kiddo.”

Gemma glanced at her cell. Had she heard correctly? “Did you just say you were
not
going to stop seeing him?”

“You heard me right.” Her mother’s matter-of-fact tone triggered the usual response. Mouth open in a silent scream, Gemma stomped both feet.

“Did you forget how long it took me to get over him?”

Gladys huffed. “You’re
still
not over him
and
he isn’t over you.”

A light bulb suddenly went off in Gemma’s head. “You’re matchmaking.”

“Bingo! And it’s been a long time in the making.”

“Hold on, let’s back up. I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I’ll admit we didn’t start off on the best of terms. With him sniffing around your skirt all the time. But over the years, I’ve come to know Dev, and he’s become like a son to me. So guilt tripping me or looking for an ally isn’t going to do you any good. I have my money on the two of you working things out.”

“What about my career?” Why didn’t anyone take her job seriously? Had everyone forgotten how hard she’d worked to achieve her A levels, the four years at West Midlands College and a particularly arduous stint at Wooten School of Management?

“Jobs come ten a penny, you only have one true love.”

“I just can’t deal with this brand of crazy right now.”

“Who are you calling—”

Gemma hit the shut off button. She also ignored the subsequent call back. Tucking her cell in her back pocket, she stalked over to the railing. She’d show them she had her head on straight! They might think being barefoot and pregnant, stuck in the kitchen baking beef patties and coco bread, a better option. Not her! Her life trajectory was going as planned with nary a blip or detour.

Attend University.

Check.

Obtain her MBA.

Check.

Land a job in sports management.

Check.

Live in a fashionable flat in Camden.

Check.

Step foot on all seven continents.

Three down, four more to go.

Own her own firm.

Before she hit the big 4-0.

Have twins.

After
she’d accomplished all of the above.

Of course, she’d omitted getting married intentionally. Men were messy, aspiration-sucking, time-draining obstacles. She didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count the number of women who’d put their lives on hold, set aside their dreams just so they could declare to the world, ‘I got a man!’

Thankfully, she’d taken her first and only detour at an early age. Devin Spencer had been a costly diversion which almost derailed her entire senior year. Unlike the rest, she’d never became a repeat offender. Instead, she’d wrapped the mantle of Independent Woman around her like a Teflon cape. Up until now, it’d served her well. According to her timeline, she was exactly where she wanted to be.