Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (22 page)

When he had dumped her onto the bed, he
stripped off his shirt and pants, then stretched over her and said
sheepishly, “One more thing.”

“Seriously?
Now?”

He laughed, then sobered quickly and
insisted, “I need to know you’re okay with the belts-and-suspenders
thing.” He took an audible gulp of air, then insisted, “I won’t
ejaculate inside you. So if that’s a deal breaker—”

“It’s not,” she assured him breathlessly. “I
mean . . .” She couldn’t help flashing a wry smile.
“It was disappointing, that’s all. We were so close. And then you
were gone.”

“Sorry, Darcie, but that’s how it is.”

“You felt it, though? How good it almost
was?”

A wave of hot, vibrant blue flooded his
steely gaze. “Trust me, I felt it.”

“Oh, God . . .” She stared
into his eyes, honestly shocked by the truth. This guy wanted it
even more than
she
did. He
craved
it. Coming together
with her, soaring in each other’s arms. The very fact he had denied
himself this pleasure over the years made him ache for it even
more.

“Do you want me to do you first this time?”
he asked desperately. “I could do that.”

“No, Wyatt.” She pulled his mouth to hers
and kissed him hungrily. “Do it just like last time.”

When his eyes shifted to her chest, she
started pulling her camisole over her head but he stopped her,
saying, “Let me.” Then he lowered his mouth to her left breast,
devouring it through the black lace before shoving the fabric
higher and plumping both breasts in his huge hands, tasting her
nipples ravenously but still not undressing her.

Almost mindless with arousal, she still knew
he must have had this fantasy, maybe more than once, while he
watched her sleep. The idea of him lusting at forty thousand feet
got her so hot, she practically whimpered his name, and like a true
superstar, he went for it, stripping away the camisole, the shorts,
the panties, then plastering his mouth between her legs in homage
before rocking back on his heels and locating a condom in the
pocket of his discarded pants.

“Let me,” she pleaded, reaching for the
packet.

“I’ll do it,” he countered sternly.

She remembered this from last time. As
though he didn’t dare let her fondle him too soon or too often.

“Let me help at least,” she coaxed, her hand
stroking his hardened penis, willing it to want her as much as she
wanted it.

“Damn . . .” He rolled the
condom into place then kissed her again as his hands slid down
behind her, cupping her bottom, urging her to move against him. In
an instant she wrapped her legs around him and then he was in her,
careful but also determined, his ardor growing more powerful with
every thrust.

She could hear herself moaning his name.
Could feel herself rhythmically pulsing around him, driving him
deeper inside her, hungry for more. Trembling with excitement, she
grabbed his face and kissed him hungrily, willing him to stay in
her. To give her this. To give
them
this.

“Darcie . . .”

“
Please
, Wyatt?” As she climaxed in a
burst of overpowering pleasure, she moved against him, pleading in
his ear as she shared every mind-blowing sensation until he too
lost control, pumping wildly, his breathing ragged, his vocabulary
reduced only to “Darcie” and “God
damm
it.”

It seemed to go on forever. The pulsing, the
groaning, the ecstasy. Even when they finally lay quiet in each
other’s arms, slick with perspiration, their breathing perfectly
synched, she clung greedily to the memory.

So perfect. So utterly, deliciously
perfect.

Finally she lifted her head and flashed an
adoring smile. “That was so amazing, Wyatt.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Congratulations.”

“What?”

Rolling to his feet, he reached for his
clothes. “This was a mistake from the start. But at least you got
your way, right? Nice moves,” he added dryly.

“
Moves?
You think I was—well, what?
Faking it? To get you to come?”

“Except you never fake
any
thing,
right? That’s your secret weapon.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Scooping her
robe from its hook, she wrapped it around herself as she followed
him into the living room, where he somehow picked up and put on his
shoes without missing any steps toward the door. “Wyatt, just slow
down for a second.”

“Slow down?” He laughed harshly. “That’s
hilarious coming from you. And just for the record, it’s not fear
of intimacy that makes me pull out during sex. It’s fear of
unwanted pregnancy. Specifically with someone like
you.”

Speechless at the insult, she stood rooted
to the spot, gaping after him in a mixture of misery and fury as he
hefted his gym bag onto his shoulder and headed out the door.

• • •

Blood pumped furiously through Wyatt’s body
as he strode across the porch, his brain seething with frustration.
He had seen this coming a mile away. Had known instinctively how
manipulative she could be, and had warned himself against getting
involved with her. Which meant this was on
him,
not her.

Still, that didn’t stop him from being livid
with her too. Because she had used every tool at her disposal to
trick him. The huge green eyes, the quick wit, the playful
ignorance about all things football. Possibly the sexiest routine
in the history of making a God damned fool out of a guy.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, he felt
a new wave of disgust at the sight of the sleek black Jaguar he had
rented for their night on the town.

He must have been out of his effing
mind.

Throwing his belongs into the back, he slid
behind the wheel, gunned the engine, and peeled out onto the
street, perversely pleased by the sound even though he usually
disapproved of such displays. But this was a special occasion,
wasn’t it? The day Wyatt Bourne learned a valuable lesson about
women.

Not that he needed another one. He had had
enough of that already. Had learned what thinking with his dick
could cost a man. Cost those around him. The price—the tragedy,
really—of an unwanted pregnancy. No one knew that better that
Wyatt.

He almost envied Darcie Kildare at that
moment. She saw it as a game. Saw everything as a game. A game she
intended to win.

Furious again, he remembered how she had
plotted, so sure she could show him the error of his ways. Give him
a taste of what he was missing. As if he didn’t already
want
it? Didn’t already yearn to abandon his famous discipline—his
finely tuned self-control—at least in bed?

And then what? Father another child?

Never. He’d have kids someday. Or at least
one. But he’d use lawyers and firewalls and surrogates. Plan every
detail. That child would be wanted—maybe more than any kid in
history had been wanted. But he or she would never,
ever
be
a pawn or a victim. That was the pledge he had made to himself and
to the child, and he intended to keep it no matter how many hot
women schemed to change his mind.

As he maneuvered the sports car out of her
neighborhood his anger finally receded, which made sense. Just as
he wasn’t a fan of burning rubber, he prided himself on controlling
his temper. Still, the idea of a five-hour flight to New York made
him cringe. He needed to work off his pent-up frustration. A run
maybe, or some weight-room catharsis. Recalling how one of his
favorite trainers had moved to the LA area the previous year, he
eased the Jag into a grocery store parking lot and pulled out his
phone.

An intensive workout was just what he
needed. A chance to sweat this episode out of his body. Then he’d
go back to New York to square things with the Jets. He should have
done that weeks ago but had gotten off track. Mostly because of
Darcie.

Now he had no more excuses.

• • •

Darcie still couldn’t believe how Wyatt had
reacted. So angry. So unfair. It had honestly shocked her,
especially given the erotic afterglow she had wanted to sink
into—
with
him—for hours after their blissful adventure.

As bizarre as his reaction seemed, not just
the anger but the very un-Wyatt-like squealing of tires as he put
distance between them forever, she knew there was a grain of truth
to his accusations. Not that she had actually planned to seduce him
into breaking his precious pull-out rule, but once the opportunity
presented itself—once his gorgeous eyes assured her he wanted it as
much as she did—she had probably crossed a line.

“Probably?” she scolded herself. “He must
have said it ten times. He
always
pulls out. It’s
non-negotiable. A deal breaker. But like he said, you just
had
to have your way. For his benefit, sure, as much as
yours. But still, a boundary is a boundary, isn’t it?”

If the situation were reversed—if
she
had agreed to have sex with a guy but made it clear she didn’t
consent to certain things, and then he tricked her into doing them?
She would feel violated. Betrayed.

And pissed as hell.

Which meant she owed Wyatt an apology.

Only two things stopped her from calling
him. Or at least texting.

The first? He had honestly hurt her
feelings, not with the jerky accusations but by saying he had known
from the start
they were a mistake. It was so cold. So
dismissive. Especially since, even
now,
she would cherish
this crazy interlude forever.

A mistake from the start? To her, it was
just the opposite. The most amazing attraction she had ever felt.
The most amazing guy she had ever met. The highest highs, the
hottest buzz, the sweetest hunger for more, more, more.

Did he honestly feel just the opposite?

Which brought her to reason number two for
not calling him. What would be the point? There was no hope for
them, and apparently there never had been. If she called, he might
suggest getting together to talk. And then what?

It might not have been a mistake from the
start, but it was definitely a mistake now. Even Darcie knew
that.

Why else would she be crying like a
baby?

• • •

It had taken longer than expected to track
down his former trainer and complete the workout. Wyatt’s memory of
how good the guy was at his job had been accurate, but he had
conveniently forgotten how every bone and muscle in his body would
ache at the end of it.

And so once again, the thought of being
crammed into an airplane, even in first class, seemed like further
torture, so he booked a flight for Sunday at noon then turned his
attention to finding a decent hotel suite, preferably with a
whirlpool or jetted tub where he could soak his sore muscles as
well as his lingering frustrations.

And then he would put LA behind him. Not
that he disliked this town, but he had been here way too frequently
these last few weeks, and for what? Some crazy romantic fantasy?
Luckily, he wouldn’t be back until the Jets played the Rustlers in
October.

Then an image of his great-uncle flashed in
his mind. Would the old guy even make it to October? Hadn’t Wyatt
promised to visit more frequently? Every six months had sounded
reasonable, but it might be too long for Tony. Even if he lived
past then, he might not be lucid. And certainly unlikely to
recognize Wyatt, since they really hadn’t seen much of each other
over the years. Not after Matt Bourne left for Afghanistan, and
certainly not after Matt was killed.

It made sense to check in with them again
before he left. Maybe even spend the night to ensure a more
meaningful visit. Bea would like it, and hopefully Tony would get
something out of it too. So Wyatt tracked down a decent deli,
picked up two trays of food—one with cold cuts and rolls, the other
filled with mini desserts—and headed out to the ranch.

They’ll ask about Darcie,
he warned
himself. Luckily, his anger had subsided and he would just explain
that they had broken up. Everyone would be upset—Aunt Jenny in
particular—which was a tribute to how freakishly charming his fake
date could be when she set her mind to it. But Wyatt’s past history
worked in his favor, didn’t it? He hadn’t had a long-term
relationship with any woman up until now, at least not to the
family’s knowledge. They’d just chalk this up to his antisocial
nature.

How had Darcy put it?

The clueless uncle routine
.

Amused but also frustrated, he pulled the
Jag over again, cued up her number, and sent the text he had known
for hours he should send:
Sorry about that parting shot. You
didn’t deserve it.

Her reply came immediately, assuring him,
I’m sorry too, Wyatt. Friends?

Sure,
he told her, relieved that that
particular obligation was out of the way.
See you around,
Darcie.

• • •

He hadn’t expected to run into any young
Bournes at the ranch, but as he drove the Jaguar down the long,
tree-lined driveway and saw his niece Gail step out onto the porch
and wave shyly, he understood. The family couldn’t leave Bea and
Tony alone. Probably not at all, and definitely not overnight.

So they worked the ranch in shifts. If he
had known, he could have offered to cover this evening and tomorrow
morning, but it was too late for that now. And selfishly, he liked
the idea of a quick chat with Gail so he could compliment her on
using her sweet-sixteen check for animal rescue.

Gail’s brother Danny followed her onto the
porch, bolted down the steps and ran over to shake Wyatt’s hand as
he exited the car.

“Cool Jag, Uncle Wyatt,” he said
enthusiastically. “Can I drive it?”

“Huh?”

Danny swept his arm toward the abandoned
road that ran alongside the old olive groves. “Just around here.
Not in public or anything.”