Cross-Checked (5 page)

He turned and looked up.

I ducked behind the curtain.

The bike bellowed then screamed up the gears as he charged off. A loud, rude noise in the quiet street. So much for being inconspicuous. So much for my cool, calm plan.

Chapter Three

I settled on the sofa, bowl of nachos at my side and the remote ready. The Orlando Vipers were playing the Seattle Stars and it promised to be a fabulous battle on ice.

Brick skated out fourth in line, side by side with the new Dallas transfer, Wolf. Just seeing Brick on the screen knotted my stomach and hitched my breath. Now I knew what he was like to touch, to hang on to, the sensation of longing was so much more powerful.

Suddenly he bumped shoulders with a Seattle forward, hard and powerful, an aggressive taunt. Half the crowd cheered while the other half booed and hissed. The Seattle forward slammed his stick against the ice and squared his shoulders, reminding me of a bull ready to charge.

“And the puck hasn’t even dropped and there’s trouble,” the commentator shouted excitedly. “This is going to be one heck of a game, folks. Watch out for flying fists and teeth.”

And they were off.

* * * * *

They’d only been beaten by one point but Ramrod looked as though it was the end of the world when he was stopped in the tunnel by a reporter. His face was red and his dark hair clung to his sweaty scalp. He was still catching his breath and stood with his hands on his hips as he ranted about unfair penalties and gave his opinion on how Wolf had slotted into the team.

There was something about Ramrod that was very appealing. He had nothing on Brick of course, but as captain he held a certain air of authority. Plus the hugeness of his shoulders and his colossal height couldn’t help but make a girl wonder about the size of other parts of his anatomy. The average-sized reporter looked like a waif of a man in comparison.

Ramrod finished speaking and the channel switched to commercials. I flicked it off and stood, took my glass and bowl into the kitchen, washed, dried and put them away. I double-checked the lock on the front door, brushed my teeth and climbed into bed wearing an old t-shirt.

Brick hadn’t called and I couldn’t deny I was disappointed. Perhaps he hadn’t liked kissing me. Doubts niggled their way into my mind. Maybe there was just something about me he found unappealing. I couldn’t think what. He’d seemed as in to the whole kissing moment as me until he’d suddenly backed up and disappeared.

I sighed. At least I knew where he was and what he’d been doing. Plus I’d see him again on Monday in New York. He’d have to speak to me when we were interviewed on Ray’s couch.

I flicked on my table lamp and picked up a book. A Booker Prize winner I knew I should read but was struggling with. My mind kept wandering to a certain hockey player every few paragraphs.

I’d done half a chapter when the mobile on my bedside table rang.

“Hello.”

“Hi, honey.”

“Brick?”

“Who else calls you honey?” His voice was deep and slow and so very sexy.

I closed my eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks. “No one.” I smiled into the phone.

“Good, I like it that way.” There was a pause. “Did you watch the game?”

“Sort of, it was on in the background. You deserved to win. I’m sorry you didn’t.”

“We could have done with the points. But they’re a good team and we’re still missing Raven.”

“How’s his leg?”

“Hey, you really are a Vipers fan aren’t you?” he said in a voice that told me he was smiling too.

“Isn’t everyone in Orlando?” I could hardly tell him if he switched teams so would I.

He chuckled down the line and the delicious noise rumbled through my body. “He’s getting on just fine, he’s back in training and not far off playing again.” I heard him shifting and a click, a light switch perhaps. “So what have you been up to today?”

“I’ve been to see Mom and Dad, helped Mom out with her garden. They’re going away soon and she wants it tidy, then I did fifty on my bike.” I rested back into the soft pillows and stretched my legs on top of the duvet.

“Fifty miles.”

“Yes, that’s my weekend thing. It was really hot today though and the traffic was heavy even on the outer roads.”

“Why don’t you train indoors?” His voice sounded stern. “Cooler and much, much safer.”

“It’s way too boring. Not to mention they won’t give me the track to myself for that long unless my coach books it. So she only does that when there’s something major I’m going for.”

“So there’s nothing coming up competition-wise for you.”

“No, not for several months, that’s why I agreed to this charity work with the Promises Foundation.”

“Yeah, it’s a good cause, I’m glad I got picked for it.” He paused. “Especially now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, ’cause I got to meet you, honey.” He gave a little snort of humor as if he knew he was being cheesy.

There was a moment of silence and my mind went back to the kiss he’d given me when I last saw him. I touched my fingertips to my lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” he said in a softer voice. “It’s been a crazy day.”

“It’s okay.” I tried to sound nonchalant, as if I hadn’t been looking at the phone every ten minutes to check for signal and missed calls.

“We had an early flight and then Coach had us trying out a new formation, which didn’t work so we switched back and it all got…” he trailed off. “You don’t want to hear about hockey.”

“I like hockey.”

“I like you,” he said quickly as if the words had tumbled from his mouth.

My heart did a little flip of excitement. “So where are you now?”

“In my hotel room.”

“Why aren’t you out commiserating?” I wriggled down in the bed so I was lying flat. I could listen to his voice all night, it washed over me like nectar and poured into me like fine wine.

“I wanted to talk to you. I reckoned if I didn’t I might blow my chances forever.” I heard him swallow.

“Yeah, you might have.” I paused. “You got a drink?”

“Yeah, just a beer from the minibar, a nightcap.”

“Are you in bed?” I asked.

“Are you?”

“Yes, it’s late.”

“I’m on the bed but not in bed, if you know what I mean.” A silence fell between us and I could hear his breaths down the line. “I’m sorry I ran out on you yesterday,” he said eventually.

I was quiet. He seemed to have a lot to apologize for.

“You still there?”

“Mmm, I’m here. So why did you dash off?”

He cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was lower, huskier. “If I hadn’t left when I did, you’d have found yourself slammed up against the wall and me burying myself inside you.”

My skin flushed at his erotic words. Hard and fast against the wall sounded so fucking horny. So damn hot. “Sounds public and presumptuous,” I said as I squeezed my thighs together. A buzz radiated from my clit right through my pelvis and up to my breasts. I squirmed in pleasure.

“You said it wasn’t what you wanted to happen on a first date and so there was no way it was going to.” I heard him take another slug of his beer. He swallowed, a deep gulp of a sound and I could imagine him licking his lips with the tip of his tongue. Capturing the small, white froth left behind.
I want to be that froth.

“Can I be honest with you, Carly?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“You’ve achieved these amazing, superhuman feats on your bike,” he murmured, “and I just can’t believe you do all that with your sexy little body. It’s incredible. I mean, wow! Where the hell does all that stamina and strength come from? You got some revolutionary battery fitted somewhere?”

I giggled. “No battery.” Not tonight anyway.

“And no team with you either. I have a ton of guys backing me up, but you, you’re on your own out there, for miles and miles. It must be really, like, impossibly hard. I really admire you.”

He was silent for a long moment. I stared at my toenails painted pale pink. He was right, it was damn hard work.

“I wish I was there with you,” he said so quietly I only just heard him.

“What, out on the track?”

“No.” He gave a small rumble of laughter. “In bed.”

“Mmm, I just bet you do.” I smiled broadly. I so loved the way his mind was flowing in sync with mine.

“Yeah, I wish I was sprawled out on your bed with the lights down low, everything quiet and still, just you and me and the ticking of a clock.”

I’d pictured the scene a hundred times. It was a recurring fantasy. “And what would you do?” I lifted up my t-shirt and smoothed my hand over my flat belly. Imagined it was his big hand on my flesh. I could sense the rough skin on the pads of his palm now he’d touched me for real and I knew they were there. “If you were lying here in bed with me. What would you do?”

“You sure you want to know?” he asked quietly.

“You got
me
curious now.” I could feel myself getting turned-on faster than I could cycle. But I had to stay cool.

“I’d savor you,” he said. “Slowly, very slowly.”

“And how would you do that?” I hoped he’d be graphic. Really graphic and really detailed.

“I need to know something first.” He paused. “What are you wearing?”

“A slip,” I lied.

“Describe it.”

“It’s shiny black, very small and incredibly short.” I poked a finger through a ragged hole in the hem of my t-shirt. “The silk is so sheer your hand would slide over it as if it wasn’t there.” I tugged my finger and made the hole half an inch bigger.

“It sounds perfect. How short is it?”

“Well, if I bent over and touched my toes, you’d see my entire butt.” I felt a flush of excitement travel up my chest. “My entire naked butt.”

“Take it off.” He took another gulp of his beer.

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.” His voice was tight. My black slip and naked butt had clearly hit the spot.

“Okay, hang on.” I set down the phone, pulled off my t-shirt and tossed it on the floor.

I picked the phone back up.

“Are you naked now?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“Honey, if I shut my eyes I can see you sprawled out on a bed, shadows licking over your body and those tempting little tits poking out at me.”

My nipples puckered just at the way he said “tits”. All long and drawling and he stretched out the “s” like a hiss. I snaked my hand upward and cupped my right breast. My nipple poked against my palm like a bullet. “So what would you do?” I asked.

“I’d cup your tit in my hand. Your right tit.”

I gave myself a little squeeze and pretended it was him.

“Can you do that now, Carly? Will you touch yourself and describe it for me?”

Right now I would do naked cartwheels if he asked me to. “If that’s what you want?”

Silence claimed the line for several long seconds. “You were already doing it weren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling my nipple to a point. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know how you’d fit in my hand.” I heard him take a swig of his drink again. A bit faster this time. I heard the slosh of liquid and the pop of suction. “Would you fill my palm?”

“Probably not, I already told you, heck, you already looked. I’m not a big girl.”

“I’ve discovered a sudden fondness for the exact opposite of big.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah, lucky you, you’re the one holding a breast in your hand, I’ve got nothing in mine.”

“You could have.” Oh my god! Was this really happening? Could I really go through with this? I’d never had phone sex before.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m naked,” I said. Of course I could go through with this. It was the perfect way to keep myself distanced and in control but at the same time snare his attention and have some hot fun. “Why are you still clothed?”

“You want me to take off my jeans?” He sounded amused and disbelieving at the same time.

“Sure, it’s not fair otherwise.”

“Okay. Hang on.”

I heard the bottle clink onto wood, shuffling and the rustle of material.

“They off?” I asked when I heard his breath back on the line. “And your underwear.”

“Yep, I’m as bare as the day I was born.” He paused. “So tell me what it looks like?”

“What?”

“That pretty little nipple of yours.”

I swirled my fingertips over the hard bud and it pinched and tightened further. “It’s pink.”

“Pink, really?” he sounded genuinely surprised. “I kind of imagined it would be a coffee brown, caramel colored, dark but not too dark.”

“Why?”

“Well your hair is so black and your skin is a lovely shade of gold. I just presumed you’d be dark all over what with those dominant dark genes. Look at your eyes, they couldn’t be a more chocolate shade of brown.”

Jesus, he’d given it some thought. But he was wrong, my nipples were a pale, sugared-almond pink. “Not brown, pale pink.” I said.

“Go on.”

I looked down at my chest. “Like the border between nipple and flesh is only just visible.”

“So the flesh is pale too?”

“Yes, no sun hits the spot.”

He huffed in amusement. “And how’s it going to feel in my hand, honey?”

“Well it’s not going to be much of a soft, brimming handful.”

“Mm, a firm, neat
palm
full.” He sounded languid and content with the image.

“A cupped palm rather than a flattened palm. Your hands are pretty big.” I pictured his hand over my breast. “But if you cupped your palm you’d be able to feel my hard nipple.”

“How hard?”

“Really hard. Like a torpedo.”
Had I really just said that?

“Then I wouldn’t be able to resist rolling it between my thumb and index finger,” he said. “Do that and imagine it’s me doing it to you?”

“Okay.” I began to pluck and fiddle.

“Do it quite hard, not so it hurts, just so the nipple knows it’s got some serious fun ahead. A real treat in store.”

“Mm, I am.”

“And the other one.”

I switched breasts. The left nipple was straining for attention. I gave it the same tweaking as I listened to Brick breathing down the line.