The Player's Club: Scott (19 page)

“Like Scott goes clubbing,” Kayla said with a wry grin. “Come on, Matt. Let’s get going.”

“Um, not Madrid,” Scott said. “Pamplona.”

“Pamplona, huh? In July?” The guy laughed. “You’ll probably be able to see those nutcases run with the bulls. That’s about the right time.”

“You don’t say?” Scott suppressed the urge to punch the guy. With everything he’d been through in the club, he felt comfortable with the notion of mixing it up.

“Hey, if you run with the bulls, I want one of those red neckerchief things,” Jake joked, nudging Scott on the shoulder.

“I’ve got to run,” Scott said quickly. “I promised a friend I’d—”

“No, don’t rush off,” Kayla’s boyfriend—Matt?—said, as Jake excused himself and moved to the next knot of people. Kayla looked a bit surprised, as well. Why was her burly boyfriend sticking to him like lint? “Kayla’s mentioned you.”

“Well, we did used to date,” Scott said, to Kayla’s obvious discomfort. What, was the guy looking for a user rating or something?
I’d give Kayla three stars as a girlfriend?

“She mentioned that you’ve been going through some changes lately,” Matt said. “Said you used to be really, you know, quiet and sort of shy, and now you seem to be keeping secrets, acting differently.”

“What is this? An intervention?” Scott asked, baffled. “Listen, I don’t even know who you are. You don’t work with us, do you?”

“I’m sorry. My name’s Matt. Matt Richardson.” He had a friendly smile, broad and harmless, the human equivalent of a puppy. “Nice to meet you. No, I don’t work with you, but I am interested in people. Anyway, she mentioned that you seemed like you were into something. She sounded concerned. I just wanted to find out what was going on.”

Kayla? Concerned about
him?
“Well, thanks, but I’m fine.”

Matt leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “Kayla said your girlfriend came to the office, caused kind of a stir. And there’s been rumors about you being tired coming in—like you’ve been having some really late nights.” He paused a beat, his tone suggestive, coaxing. “Bunch of new friends, maybe.”

“I also told you I couldn’t believe it,” Kayla said sourly. “Honestly, Matt, this isn’t a story. Why are you being so pushy about this?”

Matt’s eyes glittered. “Mr. Ferrell—Scott—have you ever heard about The Player’s Club?”

Scott froze, then cleared his throat. “The what?”

“The Player’s Club,” Matt said, and his voice held a tinge of pure avarice. “It’s a group of guys in the city, very hush-hush. Rich, influential guys. They throw parties, but they also do crazy stuff. Skydiving, BASE jumping, white-water rafting.” He waited a beat. “Running with the bulls.”

“God, you’d have to be living under a rock not to know about those guys,” Kayla scoffed. “But…you don’t honestly think that Scott’s with those people, do you?”

Damn. Was this guy trying to join, or something? Or maybe he had been a member, and this was some sort of confidentiality test?

“I think that maybe he is with those guys,” Matt said, his eyes never leaving Scott’s face. “Well, Scott?”

Suddenly, something that Kayla said registered in Scott’s head.

Matt, this isn’t a story.

“You’re a reporter,” Scott said slowly.

Matt grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

“And you’re looking to write about these guys.”

Matt nodded.

“I’m telling you, there’s no way Scott’s…”

“Kayla’s right,” Scott said brusquely. “Even if there was a club like this—and I always thought they were some kind of urban legend, like the sewer alligator—I seriously doubt that they’d take someone like me. I’m pretty damned boring. Ask her.” He nodded at Kayla, who at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

“You’re lower profile—that’s what they like,” Matt protested. Now that he’d dropped the laid-back pretense, he was clearly hungry, like a shark scenting blood in the water. “At least, that’s what I hear they like. But they’ve been getting a little crazier. Rumor has it they were involved in trashing a nightclub and harassing a bunch of strippers.”

Scott frowned. That didn’t sound like Lincoln.
George,
he thought, annoyed. If George kept it up, they sure as hell wouldn’t be a “secret” society for long.

“They’re on the radar, and people love to read about them. If I could get a story, it’d be huge.”

“I can’t help you.”

“If you know anything, I’d make sure you stayed completely anonymous,” Matt said, his tone persuasive and as gentle as a wrecking ball. “You wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“I told you, I’m not a part of this club,” Scott said. “And I’ve got to go. My girlfriend’s expecting me.”

He started to turn and walk away. Matt took his arm, putting a business card in his hand. “If you change your mind, call me.”

Scott shrugged off the guy’s hand. A reporter. Jeez. Of all the stupid bad luck.

He headed for the door. There was a time when he’d feel thrilled that a reporter actually thought something in his life was interesting enough to write about. Man, he’d been pathetic. Now the last thing he needed was publicity. He wanted to make it into this club.

Of course, there was a chance that Amanda was only into him to get into the Club, as well. And because she thought he was one of these daredevil badasses.

Don’t they know who you really are?

He sighed. He was starting to wonder.

WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS?

It had to be two o’clock in the morning—at least, it was somewhere—though Amanda had no idea exactly where they were. It was dark outside the windows, as far as she could see. She sat in the middle seat, coach class, on a plane headed toward Madrid. She forced herself not to grip the armrests, instead trying to read the paperback romance she’d picked up at the airport. She’d read the same page, over and over, while almost everyone else was snoozing away, seats reclined as much as possible, with those little neck pillows and blankets. They looked blissfully oblivious to the fact that they were, what, forty thousand feet from the ground with nothing but air holding them up.

She forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Scott touched her arm, and she jumped. “What? What?”

He hushed her, smiling a warm, crooked smile that had her easing her choke hold on the poor, defenseless book. He took it out of her hands. “You could’ve told me you hated flying.”

“I was rather hoping I’d be drunk enough that it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“How’s that working for you?”

She tried for a smile, but got the feeling it just came out looking sickly. “Two tiny bottles of vodka, and the stewardess hasn’t been back since. Apparently it’s not quite doing the trick.”

Scott smiled sympathetically. “I used to hate flying, too.”

“Really?” She latched on to any sympathy she could get. “What did you do to cure yourself?”

“I tried going to classes,” he admitted in a low whisper, and she could have kissed him. Even if he were lying, which she guessed he was. “Meditation, guided visualization, you name it.”

“Then what?”

“Well, I guess I just figured that it wasn’t much worse than getting in a bus.” He shrugged. “I just sort of got over it.”

She sent him a wilting look. “That’s not really helping me, Scott.”

He smiled, then glanced around. “Looks like everybody’s asleep.”

“But us,” she grumbled.

He leaned close, his lips brushing against her earlobe, his breath tickling her ear. “You know, the key is distraction,” he murmured, scarcely audible. “You wouldn’t be afraid if you focused on something else.”

“You got any suggestions?” she shot back, with a touch of acidity.

He pressed a hot kiss against her neck, and she felt a thrill flutter in her stomach. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Hmm.” She turned and shivered as he nibbled her neck. “You know, you may be on to something.”

He returned to her ear. “Why don’t we try the restroom?”

“I’m fine,” she demurred, turning back to him. “Why don’t we just…”

Then she froze. Her eyes widened. He chuckled wickedly.

“Trust me,” he breathed, “in a few minutes, you won’t even know where you are.”

Good God. Couldn’t they get arrested? Or…deported, or something? And those restrooms were
tiny.
She couldn’t even imagine…

He reached under her blanket, his hand stroking between her thighs. She went damp.

“Okay,” she rasped. “I’ll, er, go first.”

She headed for the restroom. The flight attendants seemed congregated in the back of the plane, drinking coffee, talking in animated whispers. The first-class section was completely curtained off. Except for a random few people, everyone was asleep.

She crept into the restroom, closing the door behind her. Her heart was pounding in her chest when she heard his soft knock. She opened it, stifling a giggle as he crammed into the compartment with her and locked the door behind him.

His eyes were alight as he reached for her. She kissed him, hard and quick, still giggling softly, breathlessly. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she mouthed.

“Better hurry,” he whispered back, nipping at her throat. “God, I want you.”

She felt adrenaline and lust drenching her body, and she quickly undid her jeans, shimmying them down her legs and off her feet. He undid his pants, and she shoved them down his thighs, bumping against a wall as she did so, which set off a fresh set of strangled chuckles. “Shh!” she breathed, her face splitting with a smile.

Then he reached for her, and all she felt was urgency, need. His cock was already completely erect, pointing at her like a missile, and he pressed her against the wall. She almost fell onto the toilet seat, and she laughed out loud.

He covered her mouth with his, smothering her humorous sounds as he moved between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling either side of the room against the outside of her thighs. She was pretty sure her knee was hitting the counter.

He had rolled on the condom, and now he pressed inside her in a rush, and she was more than ready for him. He groaned softly, so quietly, as he buried himself fully in her, and she tightened her thighs around his waist. He withdrew, then pressed forward, slowly, deliberately.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, and saw her face in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. Her hair, tousled and sexy, just like a model’s. Her pale skin flushed. Her eyes were bright as diamonds, and her lips were rosy and swollen from kisses. Scott looked like a mystery man; his face was hidden, his clothes still on, his broad shoulders covering her. He still had a great ass, and watching it clench as he thrust inside her made her wet and shivery and aching with need. He increased his pressure and his speed, and she clutched at him, with her arms and her legs, urging him harder, faster,
now.

“Scott,” she said, her voice barely audible, just a slight brush of air against his neck as she matched his every thrust, shimmying against him, feeling his cock glide against her clit as he moved, stroking the inside of her pussy with his full hardness. She gasped, sounding choppy and urgent. Her hips bucked against his as he continued his sensual onslaught.

“Hurry,” she whispered. She could feel the beginnings of orgasm curling around her consciousness, and her pussy started to contract…

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and they froze. “Everything all right in there?” a brisk masculine voice asked with concern.

She looked at Scott, terrified even as her orgasm screamed to be released. “Out in just a minute,” Scott said, his voice hoarse. Then he pressed his mouth to hers as he slammed into her, a high, perfectly aimed thrust that hit her G-spot and shattered her control.

The taboo, getting caught, everything flooded over her, and her orgasm splintered her into pieces. She screamed soundlessly against his mouth as her pussy rippled around him, her thighs clamping onto him like a vise. She threw her head back, gasping. She hit her head against the wall, and didn’t care. He shuddered against her, his body jerking, the two of them gasping and straining with the aftershocks.