He took my hand.
Cripes, this man liked to touch.
He escorted me out of the suite and then the hotel. A valet brought his car around. Not what I expected. No flashy sports car, but a BMW. He opened the door for me and I sank into the blissful leather.
“Buckle up.” His hand was already pulling the strap across my chest and sliding it effortlessly into the clasp next to my hip.
I gulped and prayed the sound was silent. Killian MacGregor was taking me home to my semi-rundown apartment, a mile from the state college. I took another breath.
Him…the car smelled just like him. They could bottle this and make a fortune.
Would leather show stains? I so needed a towel under my ass.
“Where to?” One confident hand held the steering wheel.
“The university.”
Even though I couldn’t see them in the dark interior, I felt his eyes on me. His head dipped slightly. “Dancer?”
My thighs slammed together.
“Runner.”
He didn’t comment, just pulled around the long circular drive and headed out to the main road. The campus was twenty minutes away without traffic, and for once I wished there was a mile-long pileup. I wanted to breathe in his scent for the rest of the night; hell…the rest of my life. Sable-haired babies; tall, coordinated athletes. We’d make the perfect children if they looked like their father. A laugh escaped my lips. Crazy. I was absolutely certifiable.
“Do you want to share the joke?” In the close confines of the car, his thick, molasses voice made me fidget.
My good-girl sense of honor got the best of me and I spilled part of the beans. “This is unreal. I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but really. You…Killian MacGregor, driving me home.”
He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “My mother would be proud.”
“Oh gosh…you even have a mother.”
This time he laughed and every nerve ending I possessed went on high alert. My nipples tightened, my breathing grew shallow, and I clenched my thighs tighter.
“Yes, and I was even created the old-fashioned way.”
He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.
His next words drew me out of my fantasy.
“How old are you?”
I turned and looked at his profile—the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose…still perfect even in shadow.
I took a long a breath. “Twenty-one and old enough to know better than to let my sister drag me to a party like the one we just left. Sorry, no disrespect, but that’s not my scene.”
I had completely blown it now. Given away the fact that “slutty college girl” wasn’t my thing even if, for the first time in my life, I wanted to qualify for the slut Olympics. I couldn’t help thinking about what he saw…my favorite skirt, a tad too short, but it accented my legs, which were my best feature. Unfortunately, when it came to my chest, there was nothing much to show. I’d worn a peach-colored, button-up blouse with just a touch of lace on the shoulders for sleeves; more clothes than any two girls at the party wore, including my sister. My nothing-special brown hair had been curled, but was now in complete disarray. I was tall and gangly looking, though he had no idea I was usually quite coordinated and lithe. Well, maybe he did. He asked if I was a dancer.
He glanced at me and the headlights from an oncoming car showed that sexy tilt to his lips.
“Do you run for the college team?” He turned his head back to the road.
“Yes. Scholarship.” I wasn’t ashamed.
“So you’re good?”
Well, maybe I was ashamed. “Middle of the pack.”
He didn’t say anything after that. I gave directions when we got closer. He pulled in front of the dilapidated college-like dorm apartments and my hand went to the door handle.
“Do not touch that.” There it was again, his “don’t mess with me” voice.
Funny, because I didn’t even consider going against his order.
“I’m sorry as fuck about tonight.” He turned his head my way, remaining completely in shadow, but I could picture every gorgeous line on his face.
My heart thumped so loud I knew he could hear it. “I’m okay. No harm, no foul.”
His deep, throaty chuckle was back. “You a baseball fan?”
“Not really.” I ran track, but wasn’t much for any sport, and didn’t they have fouls in football?
“Football?”
“No.”
“But you came to a football party?”
I would dream of his voice tonight. “My mistake, but thank you for your help.”
“You made the party…interesting. I watched you all night. I don’t suppose you’ll be at any others?”
He watched me!
“You suppose right.” I would give anything to stop the chit-chat and let him fuck me silly. Why was I pushing him away?
“You attached?”
“Attached?” Did I really need to repeat everything he said?
“Significant other?” I heard the laughter in his voice and knew his dimples flashed. “Boyfriend?”
“Uh, no.”
“I’ll walk you inside.” He stepped out before I could protest.
My door opened and his hand took ahold of my forearm and then slid down to my hand. I couldn’t remember the last time I held hands with a guy; grade school maybe. I entered the security code at the lobby entrance and turned to say goodnight.
“To your door.” Again, no room for argument, and I scurried along like a trained puppy straight to my apartment door.
“Key.” The hand not holding mine came out.
I dutifully placed the key in his palm and watched his large, deft fingers unlock my door.
He looked up.
I failed to breathe.
His incredibly full, sensuous lips leaned in and he kissed my forehead. I mean really…my forehead.
“Goodnight, Webecca.”
I couldn’t get any words out and just turned to walk inside.
“And, Legs…”
I peered over my shoulder.
“If you do come to any more parties, say hello.”
I nodded then shut and locked the door behind me.
Holy fucking shit. The dream father of my future children just walked away and I knew I’d never see him again. But I would fantasize and my vibrator would get more use than it had this past year.
Killian MacGregor’s warm lips had touched my forehead and I was a goner.
The entire week after THE party, I spent every available minute on the Internet researching Killian like some obsessed fan. I couldn’t help myself. Twenty-five years old, star quarterback in college, first-round draft pick when he turned pro at twenty-one. Two years ago, he took over the starting quarterback position for the Scorpions. One year ago, he was one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. But, as always, there was a downside—he was known to have a quick temper, use his fists when push came to shove, and for a non-thug position like quarterback, he had a thug reputation. And I couldn’t forget… the face of an angel. I dug deeper. His single mom raised him along with one brother, but no other articles gave insight into his family. An in-depth feature about his high school years shed some light on his temper. He grew up in Richmond, California, and attended a predominately non-white high school. There, he learned to use his fists until his throwing arm caught the eye of the
What the hell did you wear to a football game in an indoor arena anyway? What did it matter? He probably wouldn’t even see me or I him. I might just go, watch the game, and return to my apartment where Big Ben waited. I called Amanda. “Really, Becca, there’s no dress code. Be comfortable—comfortable shoes and a lightweight top will do. The stadium’s cooled, but still gets warm when all the hot bodies pile in.” “Okay, thanks.” I hadn’t told Amanda or Lyle, my prerequisite black, gay friend, as he called himself, how I got the tickets, just that I had them and they were invited. Amanda was great in that she didn’t ask too many questions, because her mind was currently filled with finding a student-teaching position. But she did enjoy football and went to all the college’s games. She also stood nine inches shorter than me and made me feel goliath. Lyle was two inches shorter than me, an arts major, and completely gay since before puberty. He really enjoyed football but only because
Malory directed us to the front seats, which were to the right of the owner and his group, but separated by an aisle. “These are Killian’s and he wants you sitting here,” she said when I gave her a, “No I’d rather sit in the very back” look. Just as we took the proffered seats, the crowd started clapping and cheering. I looked down at the field and saw Killian, helmet dangling from his hand, leading the team onto the field at a steady jog. Oh my fucking my. In street clothes, he was a wet dream, but in pads, the number twenty jersey, and skin-tight football pants…totally cream-dream worthy. Damp hair hung just a little below his ears and was plastered to his head. He made the wet shaggy style look scrumptious. I continued to subconsciously drool as he sat on the grass, spread his legs, and stretched. “Heart attack here. Where’s the medic?” Amanda said in a low voice. Malory heard, laughed, and said too loudly, “We keep smelling salts on hand for just this purpose.” “I need some
Killian clicked a built-in switch above our heads and the wrought iron gates opened into a different world. He hadn’t touched or looked at me since his vocabulary demise. It was disconcerting, but I thought he might have some idea of the literal puddle I was sitting in. By not talking, he was looking out for the best interest of his car. He drove up the long driveway, clicked another control, and drove straight into the monstrous garage. I had just enough time to notice a huge truck and little else. “Don’t touch that door.” My hand had automatically lifted to the handle. There was something to be said for his manners when it came to gentlemanly behavior, but he negated it with his commands. Like I really cared! He opened my door, grasped my hand and walked me through the door into his home. Again, I had little time to appreciate the details because he pulled me past the kitchen, an entertainment room, took me around a corner, down a long hallway and into his bedroom. It was a hug
The covers were now pushed to the bottom of the bed. He held me curled with my back against his chest, my legs pulled slightly into my stomach. He’d arranged me how he wanted me then skimmed his fingers from my hip past my knee. God this man’s touch drove me wild even in my sexually exhausted state. “You hungry?” The words broke the spell, but it took me a moment to switch from the prefrontal cortex orgasmic part of my brain to the lateral hypothalamus hunger part of my brain. He waited patiently, never stopping the lazy slide of his fingers. “Starving.” In one fluid movement, he rose from the bed, totally unconcerned with his nakedness. I looked at the hand he held out. My nudity caused me to hesitate. “Um.” I sat up, ignoring his hand, and made a grab for the rumpled sheet. His fingers closed around mine. “Naked, in my kitchen…now.” “No way,” I yelped. I wasn’t sure what to expect with my rebellion, but even so, I was surprised over what I got. His dimples flashed and be be
I could do nothing but blink several times at the quick change in subject. He gave me a lopsided grin. “Things are about to get fuck-all hectic. I don’t handle relationships well during football season. I’d like you to stay the night.” My heart dropped. I wouldn’t be meeting his cook. I looked away, feeling tears well behind my eyes like some stupid heartsick teenager. “Hey,” his fingers hooked my chin and turned my head his way. “It doesn’t mean I won’t try, but I have no idea if you can put up with the intense focus I need during season.” “Focus?” “It’s what I eat, live and breathe. I make no excuses and I get paid a hell of a lot of money to be the best. I’m a very poor loser and not even my mother wants to be around when that happens. I want to give you tonight and tomorrow before you judge me on more than what you’ll see when regular season starts.” Really, when I thought about it, none of this made any sense. “Why me?” “Truth.” He stared intently into my eyes. “The party.
He kissed my forehead and rolled out of bed in complete darkness after his alarm went off. He explained the night before that watching film of the coming week’s rival team was the highlight of the week. I grumbled and fell back to sleep. My eyes popped open when the covers were yanked away, and I squinted against the light shining through the open blinds. He held a tray in his arms. “One of the few things I can cook, sleepyhead, is waffles, and I make a mean cup of coffee.” “No coffee. Not till after I run.” My voice was still groggy with sleep. “Sit up. I’ll drink yours, and you can have my water.” I adjusted the pillows behind my back, looked at the pushed down covers, and glanced at him while trying to snag the sheet. He shook his head and gave me his “just-try-it” look. Killian was really into this naked thing, though he was completely dressed. All my insecurities returned. “You shouldn’t drink coffee before running,” I said grumpily to hide my awkwardness. He scanned my
Lyle made the trip worth his time. He ogled and leered, lifting his eyebrows and making a complete cake of himself. That was Lyle, and surprisingly Killian didn’t seem to mind and even played along. “Thanks for saving me. I think I’m giving up jogging. I’ll just stick to weights.” “Excellent idea. Weights are good.” Ogle, leer, eyebrow lift. This went on even after Killian took us to a late breakfast. I scarfed, both men watched, and I didn’t care. “She eat like this all the time?” Killian questioned Lyle. “I’ve invested in pizza stocks and made a fortune. She eats a large, topped with everything, all to herself. Touch a slice and lose a finger. Not with a knife or anything, she’ll just bite it off and eat it.” “Ha ha, funny.” Amanda and Lyle always teased me about food. Killian was great to go out with because he actually managed to eat a little more than I did. If I added the five waffles he ate this morning, he was holding his own. Lyle dropped Killian and me off at my apart