The Game of Love (13 page)

“Katie. Focus.”

“Oh. Sorry. Brain’s still asleep.”

“Uh huh. Your mouth, however, is wide awake. Anyway. She didn’t pick up last night and she isn’t answering her phone this morning either.”

“Hmm. She’s normally an early riser.” Katie wasn’t surprised about not picking up last night. After dealing with the teenage love drama the night before, Chris had probably walked inside, shut the ringer off and fallen into bed. But this morning? “Did you try her cell?”

“Don’t have it. But I’m a little afraid to call at this point. I just get the feeling something is up, and I don’t wanna spook her with an out-of-the-blue call. We’re just getting on the right track.”

She didn’t want to admit it, but she wasn’t entirely sure that everything was hunky dory either. Hoisting herself out of bed—no easy feat at seven and a half months—she padded to the bathroom to take a much-needed pee. “All right, what did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to have some time together. Not surrounded by teens or sneaking moments between commitments or behind a bleacher.”

“In AdultLand, we call that a date, sweetie.”

He sucked in a breath, and she had another chuckle. “Yeah. All right, I wanted to take her out on a date. Just get away from the school and everything, be alone. I mean…What is that noise?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you…are you in the bathroom while you’re on the phone with me?”

“I’m twenty-nine months pregnant and you woke me up. Deal with it.”

A grunt, and then, “I’m calling you back in five.” Before the connection was cut off, she heard him mutter, “And they say
we’re
gross…”

Chris woke up to
The Pink Panther
song. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked that it wasn’t quite eleven in the morning. She considered hurling the phone against the wall but decided against it. It might feel too good, and phone throwing would be an expensive habit to take up. Instead she rolled onto her stomach, picked up the phone from its charger on her night stand and flipped it open.

“What’s up, Katie?”

“You sound even less awake than me. What’s going on, slug-a-bed? You always beat me up.”

“Long night.” Then, because she needed to get it off her chest, she went on. “Dax called.”

“Bastard.”

“My sentiments exactly. So after I got over the initial shock of hearing his voice, I told him off and hung up on him.”

“Good. If only you could punch people through the phone.”

She laughed at that and rolled onto her back, covering her eyes with her forearm. “Yeah, if only. I was so pent-up afterward that I couldn’t fall asleep, so I cleaned the townhouse from top to bottom. It sparkles. But I collapsed around five in the morning and slept like the dead until just now.”

“That explains the sleepy-head routine.” Katie paused. “So how are you?”

She thought about that for a moment, taking inventory of her emotional status. “Pissed, a little mad at myself. And disappointed. But I’m all right.”

“Disappointed?”

“I—I thought maybe it was Brett calling.” She hated admitting it.

“Oh, sweetie.” Katie’s voice held a mixture of sadness and comfort. “That must have made it twice as upsetting.”

“Well, it’s over now. I think today I just need to relax and recharge.”

“As far as recharging goes…how about a surprise?”

Chris froze. “What are you up to, Katie Ann?”

“It’s a nice one, trust me. Just be ready to go in an hour.”

She thought about demanding more details, but decided against it. “All right, what the hell. An hour, then.”

Brett watched as Chris popped out of her townhouse to lock the door. He hated pulling the
I’m too impolite to knock on the door so you’d better respond to my honk
crap, but it was what Katie had told him to do. She was casually dressed, just like he asked, in a tank covered by a zip-up hooded sweatshirt, capri-length pants and tennis shoes. Her hair was swept back from her face with one of those skinny elastic headbands, but left to swing freely down her back. He spotted another hair band around her wrist as she turned the key.

Turning, she looked toward his Escalade and cocked her head to one side in confusion. He didn’t want her to bolt, so he stepped out to explain.

“I’m playing chauffer.”

She walked toward his car. “Is Katie in there?”

“Nope. She didn’t tell you I’d be picking you up?”

She stopped in front of his grill, shook her head. “She just said to be ready by noon.” She looked at him in silence, then a smile bloomed over her face. “Are you my surprise?”

He ignored the little pinch in his heart, the flip of his stomach. With a sweeping bow, he said, “Yes, ma’am. Just call me Surprise Wallace.” When she giggled, he stepped over to the passenger door and opened it. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a regal nod and hopped up. He waited for her to settle into the seat and then shut the door. She was already messing with his radio controls. On his walk around the hood, he thanked God that she seemed up for whatever he had in store.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he slid back in the driver’s seat.

“Does Katie know that you have me?”

“Yes.” He liked the way she said that. That he had her.

“Recharge, she said.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just replaying a conversation in my mind.”

He glanced over and saw a slight smile pulling at her lips. He almost asked what she was talking about but sensed it was a private joke and left it alone.

“So, are we gonna go?” She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “Oh, did I forget the magic words?” The question was more of a whisper as she leaned over the console and pressed her lips to his.

The pressure was gentle, and he was terrified to move for fear of ruining the moment. But then she angled her head, and that sweet tongue of hers pried his lips open, slipped inside, and he was beyond control.

He let his tongue meet hers and her lips curved against his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed. One hand cupped the back of her head, fingers lacing through her hair. The other unbuckled his seat belt so he could have more freedom. She moaned and he was hard as a goalpost before the sound ended.

He let his mouth wander down to her jaw, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck while she made appreciative humming noises. Her hands were tracing down his jaw, his shoulders, his chest. Using his free hand, he slipped it around her back and tugged her toward him. But instead of a satisfied sigh, there was a grunt.

He opened his eyes and started to laugh.

Thanks to using his little head instead of his big one, he’d forgotten she was still strapped in to her seat belt, and the console was between them. She rubbed her sternum with the heel of her hand and scowled at him, but the look lost its power when coupled with her kiss-swollen lips, whisker burn and tousled hair.

She swatted him on the arm. “Just go!”

She sure as hell didn’t have to say it twice. He threw the gear shift in Reverse and backed out of the parking space, ready to race to their final destination.

Chris could feel the nerves buzzing through her. Brett pulled into the driveway of his house and got out. She followed suit and waited while he grabbed a bag from the backseat of his car. When she started to walk toward his front door, he grabbed her hand. “Not that way. This way.”

“Where are we headed?”

“You’ll see.”

He led her around the garage, through the open grassy backyard and into the line of trees that lay about a hundred yards past his back patio. It was sweet, the way he held her hand. No sweaty palms or grabbing. Just the warm reassurance as they worked their way through the trees.

The farther they pushed through the growth, the less of human life she could hear. Leaves crunched beneath their feet, small animals scurried to find cover, birds called out to one another, or sang for their own pleasure. The wind rustled through the tree tops, leaving them relatively sheltered from the cold.

“Seriously, where are we going?”

“Little spot some of my nephews found when they came to visit. Not too far…there.”

Even as he said it, she stepped around the last tree and there was a circle of nothing but a blanket of leaves, thick grass and a tree stump.

“Hmm.” She walked a circle around the stump. “Not too shabby.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, loving the smell of the greenery, the lack of human touch. Was it crazy, or could she breathe easier here? Either way, the stillness refreshed her. She almost felt the toxins built up from the last night seeping out one by one.

“You look peaceful.” He stroked over her brow, drew a line down her nose and tapped it once on the tip before leaving. Opening, she saw he was standing right in front of her. Funny how she never heard him approach.

“What’s the plan, Ranger Brett? I don’t see any bodies to hide, so, what do you have for us to do?”

“Nope, I save the bodies for the second date.” He walked back to the pack, unzipped the bag and shook out a cloth that he laid over the tree stump.

The word rang in her ears. “Date? Is this a date?”

He looked over, one brow arched up in an expression that said
Duh.
“Yes, it’s a date, smartass. Why do you think I wanted to get you alone?” He paused to take out a plastic container, then looked back at her, one corner of his beautiful lips tilted up. “Unless you think you’re the body I need to hide…”

She snorted. Hard-headed jock, sure. Jack the Ripper? Not so much. “Sorry. I just thought you pro-baller types liked to class it up more on the first date. You know, swanky restaurant, rent out a movie theater, that sort of junk.” Dax had flown her to L.A., taken her to The Ivy, and made her spend twenty minutes posing for the paparazzi that camped outside the restaurant.

For a moment his hand paused in midair, still holding a plastic container. Then he slowly placed it on the makeshift table. “Do you need a four-star restaurant and an empty theater for a first date?” His voice was neutral, like it didn’t matter to him.

She snorted again. “Nope. You get any nicer than Texas Roadhouse and the food starts smelling like feet anyway. I’m just trying to figure out how you’ll outdo yourself with the next date.” She gave him a big grin. “Should we slide down a big hill on torn-up cardboard boxes?”

His smile, oh God that beautiful toothpaste ad smile, was back in a flash. “I was thinking more like going to the dump to pick out pop cans for recycling. Five whole cents a can…that’d buy us a pretty good meal at Taco Bell. Maybe I could even get you a ring from one of those quarter-machines. Put in enough quarters and I’m pretty sure I could come up with one pretty enough to do you justice.”

“Why, you silver-tongued charmer, you.” She couldn’t stop smiling as he finished arranging the picnic. Belatedly, she realized that through their joking, she had as much as guaranteed another date. She waited for the panic to set in. It didn’t. Sensing he was done pulling tricks out of his bag, she plopped down cross-legged on the ground, the stump-turned-table in between them. “The real test as to whether this gets repeated is what you brought to eat.”

“Ah. Well.” Long, strong fingers started opening container lids one at a time, the spicy fragrances mingling with the scent of the woods, and her mouth started salivating. “Being the smart man that I am—and knowing that I want you to survive this date so we can do round two—I decided to leave my cooking for another day. Or another year. So this,” he said with flourish, popping the last lid off, “is my mother’s cooking.”

Looking at the spread in front of her, all she could say was, “You did good.” But one thing was missing. “So, are we eating with our fingers or…”

“Oh. Right!” Producing a pair of forks wrapped in a paper towel, he handed her one, then saw the look on her face. “What?”

“Do you have the kitchen sink in there, too? The answer to world peace, maybe?”

“The kitchen sink, no. But the answer to world peace is my mother’s spaghetti and meatballs.” Forking up a bite of pasta from his own container, he held out the utensil, clearly expecting her to let him feed her.

Oh, what the hell. She closed her eyes and savored the spices of the sauce bursting on her tongue. She opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. “Interesting combination of spices. More oregano than I usually use, but it works well.”

Brett’s jaw dropped open in a cartoonish sort of way. “You can tell that from one bite?”

Chris shrugged. “Food Network. It relaxes me. Anyway, Italian food is a favorite, so I’ve experimented with a lot of pasta sauce and marinara. This is pretty darn good, though. Better than what I’ve come up with. Not that I’m the next Barefoot Contessa or anything,” she added, lest he start imagining using her as his personal chef like Dax had. “But I like taking a normal recipe and tweaking. And this,” she added, lifting a forkful of her own pasta, “is some good tweaking.”

“I’ll tell my mom you said so.” He had a strange look on his face, like he was in pain.

Pausing with a slice of garlic bread halfway to her mouth, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you all right?”

“Huh?” His expression changed to one of confusion.

“You look like you sat on a pinecone.”

“There are no pine trees around here.” He still looked distracted, like his mind was a million miles away.

She wanted to bring him back to the moment. She chucked the crust of her bread and hit him on the eyebrow. Garlic buttery goodness dripped down his nose.

“Hey!” He laughed, then picked up a crouton and nailed her on the cheek with it.

Oh, this is war.

Regretting the loss of her pasta for a nanosecond, she tossed the remainder of the contents in his face. Witnessing his wide-eyed shock the moment before the dish hit him with a splat was vastly more satisfying than eating the rest of the pasta. Of course, he wouldn’t take that one lying down.

Food was thrown, insults without heat were yelled, and before long they were completely out of ammo but for what covered their face, hair and clothing. She smelled like Sunday brunch at Olive Garden.

He looked around for anything left to throw. Then he grabbed his water bottle and started toward her. She took off, not sure where she was headed. It didn’t matter since she didn’t make it more than four feet before an unbreakable band wrapped around her midsection and dragged her down none-too-gently to the leaf-strewn ground.

“Gotcha! Say Uncle!” He draped himself over her so she couldn’t move.

Not wanting to give up the fun, she kicked and twisted until one large hand pinned both her wrists above her head, and his ankles wrapped around her shins to keep her completely immobile. Her back naturally arched, thrusting her breasts—insignificant though they may be—upward, and for a moment the unholy gleam in Brett’s eye made her feel like a pagan sacrifice.

Was the sacrifice supposed to be excited? Anxious? Completely turned on?

“God,” he croaked out, “happy birthday to me.” His mouth came down on hers. Teeth scraped, tongues meshed in one of the sexiest moments of her life. This wasn’t a kiss, it was an overall assault on her senses. She squirmed, wanting to wrap her arms around his neck, but his firm hold on her wrists didn’t budge.

His lips trailed over her cheek to the hollow below her ear, sucking gently. A soft
Mmm
met her ears. “What was it?”

“Salad dressing.” He chuckled. “Never really thought Ranch would get me off, but there’s a first time for everything.”

She loved that he could laugh, even now. It was easier, somehow, more natural. And she had no intention of stopping him. She wanted to see it through to the end. Determined to let him know, she wiggled her hips, feeling the long, thick evidence of his arousal through his shorts.

“Teasing.” He growled as he worked his way down her sauce-covered neck, sucking and taking small bites where he wanted, his free hand unzipping her hoodie.

She gasped when he took a particularly healthy bite. “Not teasing if you…if you don’t plan on stopping.”

His mouth was gone from her neck in an instant, and his face loomed over hers. “Say it. I need to hear it, Christina. No confusion.”

She gave him her most serious
I know what I’m saying and I mean it
face. “I want you.”

He dropped his head and although his words were muffled by her cleavage, she was almost positive he mumbled, “God bless us,” before he yanked her tank up. One breast was exposed as the material from her shirt gathered under her chin.

The cool air touched her previously warm skin, and her nipples tightened instantly. Still, there was no comment about her lacking assets. She peeked at his face.

His expression was one of reverence as he reached out and traced one calloused finger over her small mound of flesh. “You know, these are the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen.”

She wasn’t sure if he realized he’d just compared her to other women while she was now half-naked, but decided in his own mind, it was high praise. “They’re small.” Past experience dictated she fight compliments.

His hand closed over one, tested the weight and shape, plucked the taut nipple once. “Perfectly proportioned, perfectly shaped, perfectly natural.” His eyes met hers. “Perfect.”

Well, who could argue with a connoisseur? Especially one who wasn’t satisfied with touching, and apparently needed a taste too. His mouth teased her skin, goose bumps rising where his mouth had just left. His teeth tugged her nipple and she arched into him, wanting more.

He worked his way to her cleavage, where an unexpected slurping noise caught her off guard. She raised her head—not an easy feat the way he had her pinned—and gave him an inquiring look.