Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella (6 page)

Derek had chosen a small diner off Key Highway near Ft. McHenry for their lunch. The place was decorated straight out of the fifties, but Bridget was pretty sure that was because it hadn't been updated since then. That didn't detract from the atmosphere and it certainly didn't discourage customers, not if the crowd was any indication.

She slid into the booth across from Derek and glanced at the menu. Her stomach growled, from the choices as well as the aromas filling the air around them. Thankfully there was enough noise that nobody could hear it. That didn't stop the rise of heat flushing her face and she hoped Derek didn't notice.

"They have great food here. Real home cooking."

She glanced up from the menu and noticed Derek wasn't even looking at his. "I take it you come here a lot?"

"Yeah. Probably too much. I don't live too far from here so it's convenient. And it beats cooking." He smiled, giving her another glimpse of that dimple. She looked away, trying to ignore it, trying to ignore what he said about living close to here.

The immediate neighborhood was classic blue collar, the area mostly residential, featuring classic Baltimore rowhomes with their famous marble stoops. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't imagine Derek living anywhere near here.

Which meant he probably lived in the expensive waterfront condos that circled the harbor. Of course he did. Why would that surprise her?

The waitress stopped at their table, automatically pouring coffee and water. Bridget was a little disappointed to see her wearing snug jeans and a tight black t-shirt emblazoned with a local rock group's logo instead of a fifties diner uniform. She pushed that thought from her mind and ordered a simple breakfast with eggs, toast, home fries and bacon. She paused, thinking that maybe it was too much food, that Derek would think she was overeating. But she wasn't one to stick to salad just to impress a guy, especially not when she was hungry. Then Derek ordered and she realized she had been worried over nothing. No, her order was nothing more than a small snack compared to what he was getting.

The waitress took their menus and moved to the next table, leaving them alone. Bridget shifted, the worn vinyl of the bench seat crackling beneath her with the movement. She tried to think of something to say, come up with something to start a normal conversation, but her mind was completely blank. She wasn't used to social situations like this, not one-on-one with an attractive man, not one she was really attracted to.

Not one she had actually slept with.

Derek took a sip of his coffee then leaned back, watching her. The look made her uncomfortable but she wasn't sure why, so she busied herself with her own coffee, adding cream and sugar to it before taking a sip.

"Did you have fun last night?" Gah, what a stupid question to ask. What if he thought she regretted not taking him up on his offer? What if he remembered her snarky comment when he asked her to go, the one about them already doing their thing together? That was the last thing she wanted to remind him of.

If he remembered, he didn't say anything about it. He just shrugged and gave her a small grin. "I decided not to go."

Bridget nodded then looked away. It shouldn't be this hard to have a normal conversation. Why was she struggling so much?

Why? Silly question. She was struggling because she had already slept with him. Because she hadn't expected anything else to happen after that.

Because she wanted it to happen again.

Pathetic. Hopeless. No, hopelessly pathetic. That was her alright.

Something knocked against her foot and she jumped, startled. Derek was watching her, waiting. Too late, she realized he had said something, or asked her a question, and she missed it because she had been completely zoning out.

He laughed, the sound surprising her with its richness and warmth. It was a genuine laugh, real and comforting and totally unexpected.

"So how long have you been volunteering at the hospital?" He repeated the question, his expression curious, like he really wanted to know. Bridget cast her gaze to the table and realized she was fingering the spoon, rolling it back and forth along the paper placemat. She yanked her hand back and folded it in her lap.

"A little more than a year. I wanted to get some experience for school and just kept at it."

"You're still in school?" He looked a little surprised, a worried expression crossing his face. "How old are you?"

Bridget laughed when his eyes widened in surprise, like he couldn't believe he had just asked the question. The surprised was quickly replaced by relief when she answered him. "Almost twenty-four. It's taken me a little longer because I was only going part-time for the first couple of years but this is my last semester. Finally."

"What are you studying for?"

"My BSW. To be a social worker. Once I'm done school, I have to take the exam to get licensed. And I want to keep going, eventually get my Master's in a few years, too."

"Wow. I'm impressed. That's not something you hear a lot of people going into, not when all you hear about are the bad things."

"Yeah, I guess so."

The waitress appeared with their food, several plates of it. A smile crossed Bridget's face as she watched the heaping plates being placed in front of Derek. Eggs, bacon, sausage, home fries, toast, pancakes. It had sounded like a lot when he ordered; it was even more in reality. Her own plate was piled high, with more food than she thought she could eat.

She glanced at her plate, then over to the pile of food in front of Derek. "I guess you guys go through a lot of calories, huh?"

"Yeah. That, and they have really good food here."

One bite was enough to convince her Derek was right. They ate in silence for a few minutes, surrounded by the clattering of plates and silverware and noisy conversation. Derek used a napkin to wipe his mouth, took a swallow of coffee, then looked over at her.

"So what made you decide to become a social worker?"

Bridget paused then sat the forkful of home fries back on her plate. She should have expected that question, if for no other reason than curiosity. Looking at Derek's face, that's all it was: mere curiosity.

She took a sip of her own coffee then offered him a small shrug. "I was in the system for a few months when my mother died. I was lucky, though, because my cousin took me in once he made it back to the States. But those six months had an impact on me and I realized then that I wanted to do something to help people."

Derek sat back in the seat, his breakfast forgotten. His expression was carefully hooded, the curiosity gone. But he wasn't staring at her like she had two heads, and she couldn't see any pity in his deep blue eyes. Either he was good at hiding it, or he didn't pity her.

Please, let it be the latter. She didn't want pity, not from anyone, which is why she seldom gave people any details. Bridget especially didn't want pity from him.

So why had she said anything at all? Why had she shared even that little bit with him?

"That's cool. Sounds like you know exactly what you want." Derek smiled then went back to the disappearing mound of food. Bridget stared at him for a few minutes, stunned, waiting for him to ask more questions or press for details. But the only thing he did was pause long enough to motion to her plate with his fork.

"Eat up, your food's getting cold."

Bridget glanced down at her plate then looked back at him. The flash of anxiety that had cramped her stomach a few minutes earlier disappeared. A small smile lifted her lips and she reached for the fork, piercing a few bites of the home fries.

They finished their meal in companionable silence, making occasional small talk between bites. Derek had been right: the food was delicious and filling. Bridget didn't think she'd have to eat anything the rest of the day. In fact, all she wanted to do right now was take a nap.

The waitress came over to remove their empty plates, leaving the bill behind. Bridget reached for her bag, intending to grab her wallet, but felt something nudge her foot. She looked over to see Derek frowning at her, shaking his head as he grabbed the bill.

"I didn't invite you to make you pay. This one's on me." He tossed some bills on the table then slid off the bench and stood, offering her his hand. Bridget hesitated for a brief second then placed her hand in his, easing out from behind the table.

Instead of releasing her hand like she expected, Derek adjusted his hold on her, threading his fingers with hers before leading her through the busy diner. She didn't miss some of the looks they received: curiosity, recognition. No, not
they
. The looks were mostly directed at Derek. She suddenly felt underdressed, like a slob in her jeans and sweater, with her hair pulled back into its usual messy ponytail.

It was a little late to be worrying about that, though, so she pushed her sudden discomfort to the back of her mind as they stepped outside.

"I think I ate too much. I don't know whether to take a nap or go for a walk."

"I was thinking the same thing a few minutes ago."

Derek paused on the sidewalk and looked at her. One corner of his mouth turned up in a boyish grin. "Yeah? Which one?"

Bridget's heart fluttered in her chest and her mouth suddenly went dry. Dangerous. That was the only word she could think of, with him looking at her like that. No, he wasn't threatening her. He wasn't even standing too close, even if he was holding her hand. But he was still dangerous. Too good looking, too charming. And too nice, not as nearly arrogant and self-absorbed as she had first thought.

Yes, definitely dangerous. To her well-being, to her sense of self-preservation, to her imagination. Like right now. Surely it was her imagination that he was studying her with those deep eyes, that he was leaning closer to her, that his hand tightened just the briefest bit around hers.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, then back to meet her own. And yes, he really was leaning toward her, stepping closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body wrap around her, pulling her in.

He reached up with his free hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb gently brushing her lower lip. And then he kissed her, his lips soft and warm against hers, gentle, coaxing.

He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush against each other. His tongue darted out, swept across the crease of her lips. She didn't need any more encouragement than that. Her mouth opened under his, accepting, welcoming, tasting.

The kiss was deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world and all he wanted to do was taste her. She melted against him, her hand curling into the soft material of his jacket as a breathy moan escaped her. No, not a moan. A whimper. A sound of need, want, desire.

Derek slowly ended the kiss, finally pulling away with a groan of his own. Her lids fluttered open and she met his gaze, surprised at the heated look flashing in his eyes, now a much darker blue.

She should step back, put more distance between them. They were on the sidewalk, in public, for crying out loud. But she didn't want to move, not unless it was to get closer to him, not when he was looking at her like that.

Derek blinked, his mouth curling into a small smile as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip one more time. His voice was a little deeper when he spoke, huskier. "My place isn't far from here. We could go back there and take that nap together."

She should say no. She really, really should.

Bridget didn't want to say no, not when the memory of their other time together was still so fresh in her mind. And why should she say no now, when she hadn't the first time? She had already convinced herself that she'd never see Derek again, that it had been a one-time fling. Maybe it could be a two-time fling. The anticipation was stronger now, because she knew what it would be like. And yes, there was a difference between anticipation and expectation. She had no more expectations now than she had the first time.

Bridget swallowed and finally worked up enough courage to give him a small smile. "I, uh, think a nap sounds like a great idea."

"Did you want anything to drink?" Derek stood in front of the refrigerator and called over his shoulder, his voice raised enough to carry into the living room.

"No. Thank you." Bridget's voice was muffled by the distance, a little hesitant, a little unsure. She was probably still standing in front of the patio doors, looking at the view of the harbor stretched out below. He didn't have to see her to know she was probably still nervous.

Hell, he knew the feeling.

What had he been thinking, asking her back to his place? He hadn't been thinking. Not with his big head, anyway. One kiss had been more than enough to wipe all rational thought from his mind, to be replaced with a single purpose proposed solely by his cock.

He wanted her in bed. Again. To feel her body writhe beneath his, to bury his cock deep inside her wet heat. Maybe then he'd be able to stop thinking about her, get her out of his system.

But a nap? Really? That was the best he had been able to come up with?

He closed the refrigerator door and left the kitchen empty-handed. Maybe he shouldn't knock the suggestion, since it seemed to have worked. She was here, wasn't she?

He moved into the living room then stopped, his gaze immediately landing on her. She stood to the side of the patio doors, looking out at the view, just as he expected. What he didn't expect was his body's instant reaction at seeing her, at watching how the afternoon light played against her pale skin, turning it gold. Or how it reflected off her thick red hair, turning it to the color of flames. Vibrant, alive.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He shouldn't be standing here staring at her, like he was mesmerized. But he was.

Or maybe that was just his cock talking, aching to be set free, aching for release. That had to be it.

But why? Why Bridget? What was it about her that created these strong reactions? There was nothing special about her, nothing that stood out, nothing that would draw attention to her. Not to mention that she probably had some serious emotional baggage, too. He hadn't known what to think when she told him she had been in the system, that her mother had died and that she wanted to be a social worker.

He'd had no idea what to say so he just made some neutral comment and shoved more food into his face.

Yeah, she was definitely different, nothing like anyone else he knew, her background nearly completely opposite from his own. Which made his reaction to her even more baffling. One more time, he told himself. One more time and she'd be out of his system and he could stop with this ridiculous obsession.

He stopped next to her, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. Her body stiffened for a brief second. Derek snaked his arm out and wrapped it around her waist, moving her closer before she could step away.

"It's even nicer during the summer, when you can sit out on the balcony. You can feel the sun warming you but there's always a breeze so it's not too bad. And if you listen close, you can even hear the rigging from the sailboats down in the marina." He pointed below, the tip of his finger just touching the glass door. "My boat's down there, just to the right. See? Maybe we can take it out for a weekend this summer."

What the fuck? Did he really just say that?

But Bridget either didn't notice, or didn't know how to respond. Which was a good thing, because there was no way that would ever happen.

His arm tightened around her as he pulled her closer, so they were facing each other. She tilted her head back and looked up at him, her eyes wide behind her glasses. He wanted to see those eyes without the lenses in front of them, wanted to see her hair loose around her shoulders.

Her breathing came a little faster, each breath causing her chest to brush against his. And suddenly he wanted to feel her brush against him, flesh to flesh, with nothing between them.

Suddenly? Who was he kidding? That was all he'd been able to think about for the past few days. No, not days. Weeks. Since that morning he left her apartment.

He dragged his hand up her back and gently tugged at the elastic band holding her hair back, sliding it down until the last strand fell free. Then he ran his hands though her hair, his fingers drifting through the thick softness, spreading it over her shoulders until she looked like a fiery goddess.

And still she didn't say anything, just watched him with those wide eyes. Derek closed his fingers around the metal frames of her glasses and tugged them off, taking care not to smudge or break them. He leaned to the side and placed them on top of the bar, his gaze never leaving hers.

"So about that nap." He didn't give her a chance to respond, didn't think she would even if he did. Her head tilted back, her lips parted as he pressed his mouth to hers. Warm, sweet.

Derek pulled her more fully against him, pressing his hips against her, letting her feel the hard length of his cock straining against the zipper of his trousers. She moaned, a tiny little whimper that seared the blood coursing through him. Her hands pressed against his chest, her fingers curling into the thin weave of his sweater. He cupped his hands around her ass, squeezing the firm curves, pressing her even closer.

Need, burning and urgent, exploded inside him. His touch turned desperate, frantic. He grabbed the hem of her sweater and dragged it up, his knuckles skimming soft skin. She moaned again when he broke the kiss, stepping away just enough to pull it over her head. He tossed it to the side and let his gaze roam over her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her creamy skin, the lushness of her firm breasts behind pale green lace, the toned tightness of her flat stomach. Hunger and need filled him, swift, aching, powerful. 

Bridget shifted, her arms coming up to cover her. Derek grabbed her hands and held them out to her sides, stopping her. He met her gaze and shook his head then released one of her hands, holding tightly to the other.

He ran the tips of his fingers up her arm, the touch light, soft. Up to her shoulder, where he traced the thin strap of her bra down to the triangle of lace. Up again, tracing the flare of her collar bone, down, down. Slowly, until his finger dipped into the soft cleavage of her breasts. Her chest hitched on a swift breath, her head dropping back.

He traced the edge of the lace, spreading his fingers over the firm roundness of her breast. Her nipple hardened even more, the tight peak poking against his palm. A small growl built in his throat; he tugged at the lace, pulling it to the side, baring her to his gaze.

Her fingers tightened against his hand, squeezing. He dragged his eyes away from the pale skin of her breast, up to her face.

"Beautiful." The word fell from his mouth on a ragged whisper. And she was, with her thick vibrant hair flowing past her shoulders, her head tilted back, her soft lips parted with each quick breath.

Derek cupped her breast in his hand, its weight full and heavy in his palm. His thumb flicked over the nipple, grazing the tight peak. Then he dipped his head, his mouth closing over her nipple, licking, sucking. He nipped the peak with his teeth, pulling it deeper into his mouth.

Bridget cried out, her back arching as her free hand cupped the back of his head, her fingers clenching against his scalp.

"Derek." His name was a ragged whisper, hoarse and husky, filled with desire. Filled with need. The sound unleashed something inside him, snapping his control.

His hands slid to her jeans, his fingers fumbling with the snap and zipper. She pushed them down her legs, shimmying out of them when he released his hold on her. He stepped away, just long enough to shed his own clothes, grabbing a condom from his wallet before throwing his pants to the floor.

Then she was in his arms again, bare flesh to bare flesh. Her mouth was hot and wet under his, her tongue meeting his, thrusting, demanding. She ran her hands down his chest, lower, her nails dragging along his hip bone. Then her hand closed over him, her fingers circling the hard length of his cock, stroking. Long, hard strokes that froze the breath in his lungs.

Bridget trailed her mouth along his neck, down to his chest. Her teeth nipped, her lips tasted. Insanity, desperation. His bedroom was down the hall, a short walk away. He should pick her up, carry her—

She was on her knees in front of him, her hot mouth closing over him, and all thought fled from his mind. There was just feeling, sensation. Her mouth, hot and sweet, sucking deep as her tongue swirled around his length. She licked him, from the base of his aching balls to the smooth tip, back down again. Over and over.

He fisted his fingers into the smooth tresses of her hair and held her in place. His hips pumped, slow and easy, driving his cock into her mouth as she sucked and licked.

Derek's head fell back, his jaw clenched, his fingers tightening in her hair. She cupped his balls in one hand, squeezing, caressing. And still her mouth worked him, so hot, so wet.

Christ, he was ready to explode. Right here, right now. He hadn't planned on this, hadn't thought—

He tried to pull away, her name barely more than a whisper on his lips. But she didn't stop. One arm came around his hips, holding him in place. No, not holding—pulling him closer. And Christ, it was too much, her mouth too hot, too sweet, too wet.

Derek tightened his hands around her head and pumped his hips, thrusting. Once, twice. Once more. His climax exploded, tearing a groan from his mouth. Over and over, until his legs turned to rubber, no longer able to hold his weight.

He dropped to his knees, his arms folding around Bridget, pulling her against him. His mouth crashed against hers, his tongue sweeping inside, stroking, tasting. Christ, he was ready again, need coursing through him, hardening his cock.

His hands closed over her arms as he stood, pulling her with him, stepping closer to the bar. His hand swept along the surface, closing over the condom. He tore it open and sheathed himself, then tore his mouth from Bridget's.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dazed, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses. Her hair was a wild tangle around her face, falling past her shoulders and down her back. A thick strand hung over her shoulder, the curl resting just above the creamy fullness of one breast. He reached out, his fingers stroking the curl.

"Beautiful. So beautiful." He kissed her again, slowly, his mouth lingering on hers. "I need you. Now."

"Then take me."

That was all he needed to hear. His hands closed around her hips, lifting. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips thrusting, searching. He cupped her ass, holding her, guiding her as she lowered herself onto him. Taking him in, squeezing. Tight, so fucking tight.

"Bridget." He was barely able to utter her name, sensation robbing him of thought. There was only her, tight, wet, clenching, seeking.

He tightened his hold around her and took two steps, bracing her against the wall. His hands kneaded her ass, spreading her cheeks as he pumped into her, over and over. Her head fell back, her breasts thrust forward, their hard peaks teasing the bare flesh of his chest.

She grabbed his arms, her fingers closing over his biceps, her nails biting into his flesh. Their hips clashed together, over and over. Deeper, hotter. Her fingers dug into his arms as her muscles tightened, clenching around him.

A whimper, a moan. A soft scream. Then her climax exploded, her inner muscles squeezing, milking, coating him with liquid heat. He held her still, his hips pumping. Hard. Fast. Deep. Over and over. Derek groaned, clenched his teeth, and lost himself, following her over the edge into fiery abandon.