Love Game (4 page)

“I guess you could say so. But like anything else, it’s a matter of what you want and how much you’re willing to sacrifice to get it. I’ve paid my dues, proved myself in active duty. Once I did that they caught on where I really belonged was behind a desk. Go figure.”

“Must be boring to shuffle paper after seeing that kind of action.”

“Top secret, Rick, so my agenda’s not exactly boring. I still get around.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Chris grimaced.
Oh, this was embarrassing, ridiculous. The only thing worse would be—

“Hi! I’m Audrey. Who are you?”

“So, you’re Audrey.” Greg bent down and formally shook the small hand that disappeared in his. “I’m very pleased to meet you, young lady. Call me Greg. I’m an old friend of your mom’s. Maybe we can be friends, too.”

“Neat. Want to come with me and Grandma to McDonald’s?”

“I’d like that,
but maybe another time. Your mother and I are eating out at a competitor’s—”

“A what?”

“A com—somewhere besides McDonald’s.” As if realizing he wasn’t speaking her language and wasn’t sure if he could, Greg rose. He towered over the child Chris suddenly wanted to whisk away. A suitable father he wasn’t, and she felt a nudge from her conscience for wanting to be with him instead of with a daughter who was counting on Mama’s good judgment.

“Tell you what, Audrey. Since you’re loaning me your mother for the evening, I’ll bring her back with a surprise to put under your pillow. What’s it to be? Candy?”

“I’m tired of candy.”

“Then, maybe a present?”

“Nope. Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Do you like kids?”

Scooping Audrey into her arms, Chris gave her a fierce hug. “Mind your grandmother or the only surprise you’ll get is a piece of coal.”

“You’re squishing me, Mama!”

Chris put her down and tossed a withering glare at Rick. She grabbed the coat she’d conveniently hooked by the door. Greg took it and spread the lining. One arm was in when she heard her parents’ voices close by.

“Let’s go, Greg,” she said abruptly.

Chris bolted for the exit. She didn’t say goodbye.

“G
REAT RIBS
,” G
REG
of
Memphis pronounced. “Only place to compete is Kansas City. But I’ll take Dallas any day, just so you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here. You’re good company, Greg. Sorry about Rick.”

“Don’t be. He was looking out for his sister and I give him credit for that.” Leaning closer, Greg said in a private tone, “If it was anyone but you, I would’ve ordered a steak instead of the ribs I wanted. They’re a little too messy to impress someone you don’t know too well on a date. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your upper lip.” When she reached for her napkin, he caught her hand. “Funny, I never realized barbecue sauce could look sexy on a woman.”

The air fairly hummed with an illicit vibrato that shut out the voices surrounding them, and she thought he was going to kiss her at last. Eyes half-closed and lips parted, Chris felt the glide of his wet fingertip wiping away the last traces of sauce. Then his finger was no longer there but at his own mouth where he discreetly sucked the remains.

Somehow, that seemed a lot more intimate than a kiss.

“Dessert?” he asked politely.

Two bites of pecan pie was all she could get down and he finished
what she couldn’t. Rather than seeming rude or overfamiliar, his use of her fork, his sharing the same plate, rivaled his finger kiss of the sauce. Those liberties were subtle but telling, as was his prudently generous tip, his slide of her chair and “Ladies first” as he held open the restaurant door. Altogether, they heightened her desire for the kiss so much that Chris considered stopping him and
taking
what she wanted.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Old habits died hard.

“You’re hobbling. New shoes?” he asked, slowing his pace.

“Half a size too small but they looked so good, I couldn’t resist. This is absolutely
the
last time I buy for appearance instead of the right fit.”

“Sounds like me and marriage.” He laughed, making himself the butt of the joke. Chris thought it a rare ability and an immensely appealing trait.

“I could learn from you, Greg.”

“How’s that?”

“You don’t let life beat you down by taking it too seriously.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He stopped her with a firm clamp on her waist, a narrowing of his eyes that spelled
t-r-o-u-b-l-e.
Suddenly, her feet left the ground and she was in his arms laughing with abandon as he growled ferociously against her neck. She yelped when he threw her in the air, catching her just when she was certain she’d been dropped.

“Put me down!” she shrieked, not caring about onlookers or reputation, simply cutting loose, not giving a damn, for once—Oh, when had she had this much fun?

“Wanna race me to the car?”

“I’ll be a cripple before I get there!”

“In that case, enjoy the ride.” His easy shift of her weight over his shoulder amazed her a little. A young athlete’s firm muscle could go to flab by the time he was eyeing forty. It seemed that Greg had avoided the pitfalls of comfort the same way she sidestepped even the hint of a conflict. But watching the way his legs moved, two trunks of equal sureness and strength, attached to the tempting view of tight buttocks, Chris decided a conflict might not be so bad after all. She swatted his backside.

He swatted hers
back. “You’ve got a great ass,” he said conversationally, and then he bit it. “Betcha taste even better without your clothes. Ah, here we are.”

He tumbled her into the car. On his side.

Her first instinct was to scoot to the opposite door—a generous length in a luxury sedan—and think about the last half-minute. Compromising on her sudden cowardice, Chris opted for the middle and put her purse between them.

Greg cranked the engine, slid in a CD and pitched her purse into the back seat. He patted the spot beside him.

She inched closer until their hips met. The feel of his arm around her, the slow rub of palm to shoulder, raised gooseflesh beneath her coat.

“Where to?” asked the man who bit butts in parking lots and thought she’d taste better without her clothes.

“Do you like to dance?” she ventured.

“Slow’s no problem, but a fast number and I’ll trample what’s left of your feet.”

Did she really suggest
dancing?
A lesson in humility she didn’t need. “We could hit a club and have a nightcap.”

“Tell you what, if you don’t like my idea of a good time once we get there, say so and we’ll catch whatever’s playing on the big screen, then top off the night with a drink.”

With a calmness she wasn’t feeling, Chris agreed to his small intrigue. There was an edge of purpose she sensed in him and it felt more darkly suggestive than a kiss. By the time he drove into a deserted shopping center, her palms were pumping sweat. When she began to wipe them on her new suede skirt, he quickly placed her hand high on his thigh.

“Your skirt’s
too nice, wipe your palms on me.” The firmness of thick muscle flexed beneath her touch and she was caught between a tingling quiver and chagrin that Greg was aware of her slipping composure.

He circled the parking lot—ensuring they were alone, she suspected—then, once in the back, pulled into a reserved spot.

Off went the car lights but the engine still idled.

“Know where we are?”

“It’s familiar but—no, I can’t place it.”

The brush of his lips was a restrained hunger. Her own hunger mingled with taut nerves and she hoped he’d keep kissing her until the first consumed the other.

“Do you remember now?”

“This is where we used to go parking.”

“The concrete walls weren’t here, but you had some walls of your own I did my best to crack.”

“You made more than a dent.” Her smile was a little wobbly; so was her voice. “After all, you gave me my first hickey.”

“The most persuasive thing I knew to do with my mouth.
Then.
” The engine continued to idle against the innuendo that he wanted more than a repetition of old memories. She’d heard the dating game had changed since she’d been an active player, but it distressed her to think Greg would hold her in such shallow regard.

When Norah Jones began crooning a new song, Greg switched on the lights. “So what movie do you want to see?”

“Wait.” Chris gripped his hand on the shift. “I have to know, did you expect casual sex as payment for dinner?”

“Casual sex?” he repeated, a hint of amusement in the
lift of his brow. “Why, Chris, surely you realize any sex we might have would
never
be of the casual variety. And there’s certainly not much variety to be had in a car.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“I had hoped,” he said slowly, “we might make some good memories to keep us warm when life turns cold.” Shifting into reverse, he added, “I’m somewhat offended that you thought I would pressure you for sex because I sprang for the meal. That’s not my style and I’ve yet to take anything from a woman she wasn’t more than willing to give.”

Truth or dare; Chris twisted the key. The engine ceased to purr and she imagined he could hear her dry swallow.

“Forget the movie. Unless it’s at a drive-in.” It was she who turned off the lights, and it was she who said in a trembling whisper, “Wanna make out?”

Determined to forge past her qualms, she closed her eyes and waited. And waited. Until finally, she blurted, “What are you waiting for?”

“You.” His lids were lazily drooped over his eyes. “You’re tense. Like this is something you’re bent on doing because it’s good for you, not because it’s easy and natural.”

“Of course, it’s not easy,” she retorted, flustered. “And you’re certainly not making it any easier for me, staring at me like that, like…like—Ah, hell. Maybe
you
want to take in the last show.” Why was he making this so difficult? Scrutinizing her until she couldn’t stand it a second longer. She turned away. “I’m not too good at this, Greg.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re doing great.” He pushed off her coat and got rid of his. Their blended wool heaped on the floorboard, he smoothed the fleecy angora spilling around her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that I’m making a total fool of
myself and I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. That I’m scared of what I’m feeling because I’m not even sure what it is—if that makes any sense.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“It does?” His nod, the stroke of his thumb over her cheek, had a wonderful, soothing effect. She relaxed, feeling…okay. Okay with him, with herself. How he’d done it, she didn’t know, but somehow Greg had shifted the moment into one of natural ease. “Do me a favor?” she asked.

“For you, anything.”

She believed that, just as she believed he could guide them more smoothly than could her rusty confidence. “Would you take it from here?”

“Love to. But Chris, how far we take it, that’s up to you. I won’t stop until you tell me. It’s not in me to be noble when you make me hard with just a smile.”

“You’re very good for my self-esteem.”
Whoa!
She was flying on the wings of his earthy praise, giddy with the thrill of a woman empowered by her sexual allure. Testing it, she murmured, “I’m smiling, Greg. Are you…hard?”

He kissed her palm, then settled it over the straining of his fly. The air trapped in her throat rushed out as he slid a hand up her skirt. A single finger licked her crotch.

“Are you wet?”

“Heaven help me.”

“Let’s hope so, because any intervention won’t be coming from me.” He pressed her down on the soft leather and shifted them until her knees were spread and his were bent against the door. Greg tossed off her shoes. His thumb worked the arch of a stockinged foot as he said quietly, “I dreamed about you last night. It was a very erotic dream.”

“Then maybe we were having the same dream.” He rubbed against her, reminding her of how empty she’d felt upon waking. More, how empty and aching she was now.

“I always did
wonder if women could have wet dreams. Should I take it there’s at least one woman who does?”

Chris began to wonder if a woman could orgasm in the front seat of a car without so much as a kiss.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, desperate for the taste of his mouth, for more than the slow lift and press of his hips.

The sound he made was somewhere between a profanity and a blessing. Then his mouth was everywhere but on hers, laving her neck and bathing her ears between whispers of hot, urgent words. She ravaged his mouth, frantic to shut him up before she begged him to make good on his wicked suggestions. He returned her kiss with a stunning fury while his hands traveled under her sweater and slowly inched it up until he was fingering the front clasp of her bra. “Let me,” he said in a low, persuasive voice. “Let me.” And she did.

It was the touch of a man who knew exactly how to touch. And it was the tentative touch of memory, discovering the wonder of a female body. She was coming undone and Chris didn’t have the want or the will to stop him, not even when he released the button of his jeans. She knew what was next, and then, there it was, his hand moving hers to the zipper.

“Do it,” he urged her. “You want to, Chris. Do it.”

She hesitated. He wedged a thigh between her legs, then pressed with a steady rhythm. “While you make up your mind, let’s see if I can sway your decision.”

He was good at this—too good. But she couldn’t fault him. Greg was honest in his seduction. And Chris was honest with herself. She very much wanted to be seduced.

She drew down his zipper.

“Don’t stop there. Take me out. Touch me.”

Being seduced was one
thing; seducing him, another. As if he sensed her desperation to let go, he kissed her with a tender patience. Sometime in the midst of that kiss, he took hold of her hand and guided it to do what he wanted.
What she wanted.
She wanted to feel him; she
did
feel him, warm and sleek, virility pumping within her fist until she pressed him against the barrier of hose and panties.

“Pull them down,” she said urgently. “Do it before I change my mind.”