Playing it Cool (Sydney Smoke Rugby) (15 page)

He took a step toward her. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh really?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, then. Take me to the gala on Friday night.”

He hesitated. It was barely perceptible, barely ruffled the air, and yet it hit her in the centre of the chest like a punch. Harper steeled herself to stand upright despite the winding force. She
would not
crumple in front of him.

He shook his head. “No. But please let me explain—”

“
No?
” Harper swallowed at the second blow, trying to tamp down a tide of rising hysteria.

This was her fault. All her fault.

What the hell had she been thinking tacitly agreeing to this half-life with him? She deserved this punch in the gut right now because she’d let him take her for granted.

“Harper…” His earnest green gaze begged her to understand. “I just need more time to wrap my head around all this. I just want to enjoy what we have for the moment.”

She snorted. “I bet you do.”

“No, I mean…I don’t want to
share
you with anybody. I want to keep it private and personal while we can. You have no idea how crazy the speculation gets with the media, and
God,
if the WAGS get wind of anything between the two of us they’ll never leave me alone. It’s a distraction I don’t need.”

And there was the third blow. Nothing and
nobody
could be a distraction from his precious career. She understood the demons that drove him, and the last thing Harper wanted was to stand between him and rugby. But why in hell couldn’t he have
both?

Plenty did.

Dex may have talked himself into thinking he could drop out from the human race. Become some rugby bot with tunnel vision. But…
you don’t always get what you want.

And if he wanted her—if this truly wasn’t about her being more Xena than Tinkerbell—then it was going to be on
her
terms.

“Well, that’s too bad, Dex. Because I love you and I want the whole messy, distracting enchilada. I want a
relationship
with all the expectations and pressure that brings. I’m not going to be happy to just sit by and let it all be about you and your career. Not anymore. If you want me, then you have to be in all the way, Dex. This is a two-way street and I’m not settling for some half existence in your shadow. I don’t care how good the sex is.”

He shoved his hands on his hips. “You love me?” His face blanched, his complexion looking washed out in the eerie red glow of her bedside lamp. “You told me that was just something you said in your sleep.”

“I lied,” she snapped.

“Christ.” He snatched up his jeans off the floor and yanked them on. “
Why
do you want it all?” he demanded, more incredulous than angry, the bed between them about as wide as the Grand freaking Canyon. “You think it’s easy being the partner of someone who plays team sport at an elite level? Because it’s
bloody hard.
Riding all the ups and downs with them. Early mornings and club demands, worrying about injury and sickness, and whether I’m picked for a world cup team, and dealing with me when I’m not. Then there’s money and salary caps and contract negotiations, and the pressure to retire, and travelling a lot of the year, and the bloody vultures in the media who’ll skew anything at the merest whiff of a scandal. Is that what you want your life to be?” he yelled across the bed at her.

Harper almost cried at the question.
Of course she fucking did
. “
Yes
,” she yelled back. “That’s what happens when you decide to be with someone. You’re there for each other. Halving the burden. You know, for better for worse.”

He looked at her startled, his eyes going all big and crazy as Harper realised what she said. “Oh, take a breath, Dex. I’m not about to start humming the wedding march at you. I just want to
be
with you.”

“You
are
with me,” he insisted.

“Yeah.
I
am.” She shook her head. “But
you’re
not with me.”

It was no use. She could tell how freaked out he was with just one glance. She’d never met anyone who could compartmentalise his life so succinctly. And no matter how much she loved him, she wasn’t going to settle for less. The way Dex had loved her body had taught her she didn’t need to take any man’s scraps.

She was damned if she was going to take his.

She lowered herself to the bed, her back to him. “I think it’s time you left,” she said, overwhelmed by the hopelessness of it all. She needed to be alone, to give into the crushing grief in her heart and the hot, insistent prick of tears.

She sat for a beat or two, holding her breath, conscious of him standing behind her, willing him to go, yearning for him to stay. The pressure in her chest and behind her eyes built and built until she didn’t think she could stand it any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And then he was gone. She heard the front door open and shut and it was only then she let the first tear fall.

…

Em, who had somehow miraculously deciphered Harper’s distressed phone call, made it over in twelve minutes. Normally, it took her a good fifteen to twenty, but it
was
one o’clock in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” Harper said, eyes streaming and nose running as her bestie appeared in the doorway. She’d never been so grateful to see those wild caramel curls in her life, even if she did look like a rumpled angel next to Harper’s dishevelled hag.

But when didn’t Em look gorgeous?
She
should be a WAG. Harper hiccupped at the thought, more tears threatening.

“A white or something stronger?” Em asked, producing a bottle of wine and a bottle of her old faithful—butterscotch schnapps—from behind her back.

White wine was usually Harper’s drink of choice, but tonight she finally understood Em’s attraction to something stronger when matters of the heart were concerned. “Schnapps.”

There was nothing like a friend with an apartment key who came to you at one in the morning, no questions asked, and brought good booze. Yes, Harper had done it countless time for Em, but the reciprocation was still appreciated.

Em left the bedroom and Harper could hear her clinking around, obviously grabbing shot glasses. She was back in under a minute, kicking off her shoes and climbing into the bed. She handed Harper the shot glasses and filled them almost to the top.

They tapped them together and threw it back. “Dear God,” Harper rasped as it clawed at her throat and ripped out every hair from her nostrils to her nether regions. She may never need to pay for a Brazilian ever again.

“I told you.” Em grinned. “Exactly what you need to forget a guy.”

“Forget a guy?” Harper blinked, trying to clear the splotches in front of her eyes. “I think I’ve forgotten my
own
bloody name.”

“Another?”

“Fuck yes,” she said, holding up her glass.

They sipped this time, settling back against the headboard, Harper resting her head on Em’s shoulder.

“Tell me what happened.”

Harper blurted it all out in a tumble of tears and sniffling and schnapps. Em had known that Harper and Dex had parted ways and that Harper was in love with him, but not that Harper had started sleeping with him again. She felt mildly guilty about not telling her—they did, after all, tell each other everything—but Em waved Harper’s blubbered apologies aside.

“So you’ve been having sex with the ex,” Em said, cutting to the heart of it when Harper had finally run out of words. And tears.

Harper shook her head, depressed at the question. “How can I have? He can’t be an ex if we were never a thing in the first place.”

Em seemed to consider that as she poured a third schnapps for them. “So you two have just been a series of booty calls for him?”

Harper’s face crumpled at the thought. Apparently there
were
more tears to be had.

Yeah, that’s what she’d been. Willingly, too. Being Dex’s booty call had been exciting in the beginning. Now she couldn’t believe she’d demanded so little from him.

From herself.

“I’ve been his dirty little secret,” she said, miserably.

“Oh, baby.” Em put her arm around Harper’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “So, what are we going to do about it?”

Harper looked at her friend warily—she’d heard that note before. “No voodoo dolls. Or re-virginising.”

“Spoil sport.” Em laughed. “No. I have a better idea. You wear that sexy red dress you bought and have never worn to the fundraising gala, and you flirt and dance with every guy there.”

Harper pulled away, settling herself farther back against the headboard. “Oh no.” The last thing she wanted was to go and mingle with the glamorous people. Dex might have denied her curvy figure was the reason for his reluctance to go public, but her confidence had taken an almighty wallop. “I’m not going.”

“What?” Em blinked. “You
have
to. Your murals are being featured. You’re giving a speech about them.”

Harper shook her head. She couldn’t stand the thought of having what she couldn’t be a part of rubbed in her face. “They can still showcase the murals. They don’t need me to speak.”

Em tsked. “You know your problem, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Three dress sizes.”

“You don’t think you’re worthy,” Em said, ignoring Harper’s belligerent reply. “Deep down, you’ve been okay with this dating in your house thing because you’re still buying into the stepdouche’s taunts and don’t think you’re worthy of being loved by a good-looking man who can have his pick of women. And you
are
, Harper. You’re the most worthy person I know.”

Em was glaring at her now. God, she even looked cute when she was angry. “Stop hiding your light under a bushel.”

Harper blinked. A bushel? Apparently she was cute and
biblical
when angry.

“And don’t let Dex hide your light, either. You need to go to that gala without him and flaunt that ass and every single curve right in his face. Let him see you’re just fine without him. Let him know what he’s missing out on. Hell, I’m going to come with you just to make sure you do it right.”

“You are?”

“Fucking A,” Em confirmed.

“It sounds kinda high school, don’t you think?” Even though Harper had done the same thing that day she’d dropped her gown on him. But at least it had been in private, with no chance of public humiliation if it backfired.

“There are times to be adult and times to make douchebags pay.” Em clinked her shot glass against Harper’s. “Now, drink up, you have a dress to try on.”

Chapter Thirteen

Linc whistled under his breath as he and Dex waited for the other Smoke players to walk the red carpet. “Well
hellooo,
mumma.” He nudged Dex. “Isn’t that Harper Nugent? No wonder you’ve been fumbling the ball.”

Dex turned, following Linc’s gaze, and almost swallowed his tongue. It
was
Harper. She was in a stunning red dress that hugged her figure like a glove. It also featured a diamond cutout over her chest, exposing most of a bra that consisted of a red satin half-cup and red satin ribboning that followed the rounded proportions of her upper breasts. To cap it off, there was a tantalising strip of ribbon running horizontally across the bared swells of her cleavage at about nipple level, dividing the exposed flesh into fascinating segments.

Her dark brown hair shone under the lights and swung loose and wavy over her shoulders and down her back. She was tall and curvy and stunning—Xena, red-carpet princess—and Dex stared unblinking for long moments.

Hell, every male with a pulse stared.

He wanted to kill them all.

“You’re a lucky man.” Ryder, in a tux and his best black Akubra—in deference to the formality of the evening—clapped Dex on the back.

“Who’s the cutie she’s with?” Linc asked.

Dex shook himself out of his stunned inertia at the question. “That’s her friend, Em.”

Linc rubbed his hands together. “I bags Em,” he announced, then grinned at his stupid pun.

“She’s not a locker or the goddamn front seat,” Dex said irritably. “She’s a
person
.” He stalked away, but not before he heard Bodie say, “I think he was happier when he wasn’t getting laid.”

He headed in Harper’s direction, despite an internal warning light blinking madly, advising him to leave it the hell alone. He ignored it and ploughed on, although it was slow going, dodging people milling around on the carpet and those who had stopped to talk to media outlets stationed along the entrance. But he kept his eyes on the goal.

He and everyone else.

A soup of emotions he couldn’t separate simmered in his gut. He’d assumed after what had transpired the last time they were together that Harper wasn’t coming. God knew, he’d have gotten out of it if he’d been able. But here she was. Looking stunningly sexy.

“Harper,” he said, when he finally managed to weave around the last excited group of gala goers. She had her back to him, and he absently noted how demure the dress was at this angle before he noted the stiffening of her shoulders.

She turned, her expression carefully neutral, her glossy mouth drawing his gaze. “Dexter,” she said coolly, a small, taut smile stretching her mouth. Em had also turned, but her expression wasn’t remotely neutral.

She was Team Harper all the way.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say to her. Except maybe offering her his jacket. And wrapping her up in it. “I didn’t think you’d be here after we…”

She smiled cynically. “Surprise.”

His gaze dropped to her cleavage. How could it not? He clenched his hands at his side as the overwhelming urge to bury his face in those curves took hold. To yank her into the nearest private alcove and do her against the wall. “You look…”

His brain flicked through a host of possibilities. Hot. Sexy. Fuckable. He discarded them all. He didn’t want to be lecherous.

Which left him with lame…“Nice,” he said finally.

She stiffened further and Dex wished he could kick his own ass. He opened his mouth to try again but Em didn’t give him the chance.

“Nice?” she hissed, her glare on full tilt. “Are you
fucking
kidding me?” she demanded, keeping her voice low. “Harper is so far out of the ballpark of nice, she’s on another freaking planet. In case you haven’t noticed, she has curves and cleavage most women would kill for. And seeing as how you’ve made it very clear that
balls
and not
boobs
are your thing, she’s going to have a good time flaunting them around here tonight, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay the hell away from her.”

Finished with her diatribe, she grabbed a solemn looking Harper by the arm. “Come on, girlfriend. Let’s go show those puppies off to guys who actually appreciate them.”

And then they were both gone.

…

Suffice to say, Dex
did not
enjoy the night. Being in the same ballroom as Harper was bad enough. Being in the same ballroom as Harper in
that dress
was a frickin’ nightmare. He watched every man in the room stop by her table, ostensibly to
congratulate
her on the murals that were being projected onto all the walls, but really to have a conversation with her cleavage.

Which she seemed to be
lapping
up.

Anger and frustration simmered in his blood. And something else that felt too big, too intense, too…terrible to identify. Something that was making him crazier and crazier. So crazy he barely noticed any of his surroundings. Not the beautifully decorated tables, not the people he knew, not the conversations going on around him.

“This is such a cool idea,” Valerie said, admiring the pink, heart-shaped toy ring on her middle finger.

Each place had been set with a small goody bag, and amidst the things inside had been one of those plastic balls that popped out of vending machines loved by kids everywhere. The balls contained the usual junk—toy rings and necklaces and miniature plastic cars. The vending machine company was one of the event’s sponsors.

Dex had no idea what was in his ball. He didn’t even look at his goody bag. He just sat there, brooding, trying and failing not to look at Harper, his mood getting blacker and blacker. Tanner and Matilda sitting to one side of him, and Linc and Valerie on the other, had given up trying to get any civilised conversation out of him.

How he got through the meal, he didn’t know. Then the dancing started and he had to watch Harper
dancing
with what felt like every guy in the room. His table companions came and went to the dance floor, but Dex just sat and brooded.

Women dropped by and asked him to dance, to which he politely declined, citing a training injury, until Tanner finally said, “Enough, Dex. Dance with someone or go home. Your fake injury is going to reach the media tables soon, and Griff will be even more pissed off at you than he is at the moment.”

Linc chose that moment to come back to table. “Okay,” he announced, rubbing his hands. “I’m going to ask Em to dance.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Dex said morosely. “She’s knocked back every guy who’s asked so far. She broke up with someone not long ago, and if that evil glare is anything to go by, she’s still not very male friendly.”

“I hate to tell you, buddy”—Linc slapped him on the back—“but that evil glare is solely for
you
. I, on the other hand, am charming and hot and have just the right kind of rebound sex a woman like Em needs. I’ll risk it.”

“Wait.” Dex stood as Linc turned to go. “I’ll be your wing man.”

And damn it all—if Harper could dance with every other guy at the gala she could damn well dance with him.

Valerie glanced at Tanner as they departed. “I think you’d better go with them. He looks like he’s going to punch the next guy who comes within a metre radius of Harper.”

“Yes.” Matilda nodded her agreement. “What the hell is wrong with him? I’ve never seen him so…cranky. He’s usually so contained.”

“He’s in love,” Tanner stated, with an assurance that had captained the Smoke to three premierships in a row. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I sure as hell hope you’re going to be the one to tell him,” Matilda said, looking at Tanner expectantly.

“I was hoping he’d figure it out by himself.”

“And how’s that worked out?” she asked, her smile sweet, her gaze unrelenting.

“Not so good,” Tanner admitted, looking like he’d rather be bringing Dex news about his latest STD status. “Guess he needs to hear it straight.”

Matilda smiled and patted him on the arm. “My hero.”

By the time they reached Harper, Dex had built up a full head of steam. She was back at the table, in between dancing partners, and he had to grip his hands around the empty chair next to her to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Hey,” Linc said, smiling down at Em like she was something particularly delicious he wanted to spread on toast. Possibly even his sheets, if she was amenable. “I understand you’re in the market for some rebound sex, and I reckon I’m your guy. I have no morals, amazing ball control, and stamina to burn. Fancy a dance?”

Em looked at Linc like he was something particularly nasty on the bottom of her shoe. She shot him a twisted smile capable of shrinking testicles in a three table radius. “I would rather drink poison.”

Linc shot Em his winning smile. Dex had seen it enough times to know it had a reasonably high success rate. “I’ll be your poison, baby, just name it.”

A guy with one of those trendy bushranger beards and
no clue
approached the table, smiling at Harper and asking her to dance. His hand rested on her shoulder, and Dex just about burst a blood vessel in his brain.

“Dude,” he said, fixing his gaze on Harper’s shoulder. “You better take your hand off her, or I’m going to break your fingers.”

The guy, clearly recognising Dexter immediately, threw up his hands and apologised, stepping slowly away. “Sorry, man, I didn’t realise she was your girlfriend.”

Harper glared at Dex as the guy backed away and disappeared into the general hubbub of the crowd, but he was over any kind of rationality. “Dance with me,” he said, his heart beating so loud in his ears he could barely hear the music pumping out from the band.

Hell, he could barely contain himself from hauling her up and dragging her onto the dance floor.

“No.” She glanced at Linc who was clearly looking for another inroad with the aloof Em. “But I’ll dance with you,” she said, smiling at him.

Linc, attuned to any woman’s interest no matter how facile, switched his attention to Harper’s cleavage. “Delighted.” He grinned.

Dex’s blood pressure spiked into the danger zone. He looked at his teammate and friend. “Touch her, and I’ll break
your
fingers, too.”

Harper, clearly dissatisfied with his macho crap glared at him. “You gonna break the fingers of every guy here tonight?”

Dex nodded. “If I have to.”

Harper shook her head at him. “What the hell is your problem?” she snapped.

A film of red washed over Dex’s vision. “Did you have to wear something so revealing?” he demanded.

She blinked. “Why not? The WAGS are wearing stuff just as revealing as I am.”

Dex didn’t give a shit what Matilda and the other wives and girlfriends were revealing. He cared what
she
was putting out there.

He cared a lot.

Not because she was flaunting it, but because she was flaunting to everyone but him. The thought made him want to whip off his jacket. “The WAGS aren’t you.”

Her eyes hardened at his growly response, and he realised too late that she’d misconstrued his words. He hadn’t meant she couldn’t compare. He’d meant he didn’t give a flying fuck what
they
wore or didn’t.

But for someone as sensitive about her appearance as Harper, it had been a stupid thing to say.

Unfortunately, she didn’t give him a chance to correct himself. “
Don’t,
” she hissed, rising to her feet, her temper obviously frayed to the point of snapping. “Don’t you
dar
e come over here when you don’t want me, telling everyone else they can’t have me, either.
Don’t
be ashamed of being seen with me in public then stop others who aren’t.”

Dex noted the heavy drag of her breath as those fascinating ribbons moved up and down in front of his eyes.

“
Oookay,
big guy.” A hand as heavy as an All Black forward row landed on his shoulder.
Tanner
. “Let’s go get some air, huh?”

The Smoke skipper smiled apologetically at Harper before glancing at Linc in an encompassing
that means you, too,
glare. Dex wanted air about as much as he wanted a kick in the balls. But Harper was furious, Em looked like she wanted to smash a plate over his head, and they were obviously attracting a bit of a crowd.

Dex drew in a shaky breath as Tanner pulled on his arm. Somehow he’d made things worse, and he had no desire to be on the front page of the papers tomorrow morning for being a dick. Even if he
was
being a dick
.
He left reluctantly with Tanner and Linc, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to beat his chest in absolute frustration.

“I got this,” Tanner said to Linc, keeping firm hold of Dex’s arm.

Linc nodded and headed back to their table as Dex let himself be led to the exit. “You going to tell me what’s up with you?” Tanner said once he’d dragged Dex far enough away from the noise of the ballroom and the stares of curious onlookers. “Or do you want me to guess?”

Dex slumped against the wall. “Harper.”

Tanner snorted. “
Harper
is not what’s up with you.
You
are what’s up with you.”

“Gee, thanks, man.” Dex glared at his so-called friend. “Your support is overwhelming.”

“Okay, fine.” Tanner held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “Tell me, then.”

Dex wished he knew where to start. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. She’s driving me crazy.”

Tanner nodded calmly as if the news was no surprise to him. “Because?”

Dex frowned
. Because?
What the fuck did he mean? “I don’t know why. She’s the first woman I’ve felt like I can be
me
around. I don’t have to be
on
or pretend I’m somebody I’m not. She gets who I really am, beyond what the club and the media try to project. She actually couldn’t care less about my rugby cred.”

He glanced at Tanner for feedback, but he just stood there expectantly as if he was waiting for something.

“She says she loves me then she tells me she’s not going to be my dirty little secret anymore. What the fuck?” he demanded of Tanner. “She’s not that. She’s
never
been that. I just don’t want to share her with anyone yet, but she thinks that means I’m trying to hide her. I
hate
that she thinks that.”