Touchdown: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Pass To Win Book 1) (15 page)

I feel my own release coming and with it, my misgivings over the exchange with Aria begin disappearing. What does it matter in the end? I will never see her again and under no circumstances will I ever open myself up like that to another woman.

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding a staccato drumbeat against my ribs. I had that damn recurring dream again. Correct that; I had that damn recurring nightmare again. It’s always the same. I wake up in the dingy small bedroom of my youth; the twin bed, film and band posters on the wall, stained ceiling. My mom and dad’s trailer, the only home I knew for the first seventeen years of my life. In the nightmare, I am right back there and the last five years have all been a fantasy. I’m still pale, skinny, broke, and most of all, clueless about girls.

I take in the unfamiliar surroundings, and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not the trailer. Then I curse myself for not going home after the evening’s entertainment. Once sex was over and yoga girl was fast asleep in sexed-out bliss, I should have hit the road. But uncharacteristically, I fell asleep. Now, here I am, still in her bed, and she has her legs wrapped around me so tightly that it’s like waking up with a boa constrictor using me as a pillow.

Despite my desire to escape before she wakes up, morning wood is getting the better of me. Especially when I can’t help but recall how she flung her leg behind her head so I could have better access to her damp entrance when I went down on her. So yeah, last night was hot, but not so hot that I don’t regret staying the night.

She is starting to stir, which means it’s time to make my escape. She rolls onto her back and I allow myself a last appreciative look at her toned body before I jump out of bed.

Fortune favors me this morning and I am dressed and out of the bedroom without the yoga superstar waking up. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible that I spent the night here after all. I leave her a short but sweet note on the entry table, to thank her for an unforgettable experience. And I am out of there. If I remember our walk here last night correctly, I am only a couple of blocks from my favorite coffee shop and then two more blocks from my own apartment.

If you told me when I was seventeen and still living in my parent’s trailer that I would have a glass-walled steam shower in an apartment in Manhattan, I wouldn’t have believed it. My parents and I shared a bathroom and by the time I got my turn, there was no hot water left and never any water pressure.

If someone told me that my morning routine would include shaving and buffing my entire body, and I mean absolutely every part of my body, I would think the person completely insane. But things change, and for the better. My body is my business now and I have to take care of every aspect of it.

I love my apartment and I love that it is just me living here. It is a one bedroom, and has an open floor plan. The space isn’t huge, but it’s not like I will need a larger place. I intend to stay single and this place suits me perfectly.

I never bring women back to my place. I don’t care that it would only be for a night. This is my sanctuary and I don’t need some desperate chick showing up at my door looking for seconds, or worse, a relationship. I’m not saying that no one from the club or bar has managed to track me down, but I like to keep it difficult.

It’s already eleven by the time I finish in the bathroom. Now mind you, all that time is not spent on getting myself perfect for the club. When you work as late as I do, eleven is breakfast time. I whip up an omelet and some bacon. I almost always have an omelet in the morning. Not just because it’s the best food to cure a hangover and gets me fueled for the gym, but because it’s the one thing my mom would make for my dad and me on the rare Sunday morning when everyone was home. Her omelets consisted of as many eggs as she had and whatever was in the fridge. My friend Juan told me that his mom did the same thing only she called it, “juevos rancheros” instead of “omelets du jour.” It wasn’t until I moved to the city that I learned “du jour” meant “of the day,” or in trailer park speak, “whatever is on sale at the market.”

Alone in my kitchen, my mind keeps jumping back to the girl from last night. Not yoga girl from the bar, but the pretty bachelorette, Aria. My parents seemed to think that living in a trailer and making Sunday breakfast out of anything that was still edible was good enough. All I could see growing up were two people that worked themselves to the bone and had little, if anything, to show for it. I wonder what Aria would think of the trailer? She’s so privileged, she has probably never seen a trailer, except in the movies.

When I wasn’t yet seventeen, my friend told me about his cousin that was making six figures as a stripper. I knew then and there that stripping was my ticket out. I started hitting the gym, discovered tanning salons, and the rest is history.

The last five years have been nothing but easy money and easy women. I dance six nights a week and almost never spend a night alone. I know the ladies are just into me because of my looks and my reputation in the bedroom, but still, I never let a night end without the
woman du jour
being satisfied, often multiple times.

All those women, and it is a blue-eyed brunette, who is getting married in a week no less, that cast her spell over me. I wish I had never sat down to talk to her, but she was just too gorgeous not to approach. The second I figured out she was not the kind of girl who would be interested in one last fling before getting married, I should have left. Instead, I told her to come find me if she doesn’t go through with the wedding. What the hell? I guess I’m supposed to sit at home and pine away for her like a chick from a romance novel. But I’ve got news for her. That was a slip up. It was a moment of weakness and nothing more. And who can blame me for getting a little weak when I was lost in those blue, blue eyes.

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Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance

* * *

E
xcerpt from
Trapped
In His World: A Dark Romance

I
t is almost
six in the evening and I am still sitting at my desk. I’m sure just about everyone else has gone home. I wonder if Mr. Black remembers that he asked me to remain in the office until he gets back. I sit patiently and wait. Luckily, he strolls into the office not too long after. He seems to be in a dark mood. Maybe his meeting didn’t go very well. His gaze finds me and roams over my face. I am tempted to pull out my mirror and look to see if I have something on my face. “Navia, thank you for waiting, follow me to my office please,” he says softly.

I nod and quickly get up, not wanting to upset him any further. As I make my way to the office I wonder what this is all about. Consternation creeps in as negative thoughts fill my mind. Maybe I did something wrong or maybe he doesn’t like the way I work. What if he is calling me into his office to fire me on my first day? My shoulders droop slightly. If I can’t do a job for one week or even a day, who is going to hire me now? We reach his office and he shuts the door, turning the lock. I frown. That’s strange. Why does he feel the need to lock the door? I nibble nervously at my lower lip and twirl my hands together. “Uh, how was your meeting?” I ask feebly, forcing a smile. It’s very hard to do, considering that I am a nervous wreck.

“It didn’t go as planned,” he says shortly.

I release a low breath. OK, maybe this has nothing to do with me after all. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me why he wanted me to stay after hours and why I am standing in his office. All he does is rake his gaze over me. He reaches up to loosen his tie and run his fingers through his hair. I wish I could do that for him, run my fingers through his head of luxurious-looking black hair. He seems troubled, as if he is battling internally with himself. I detect a play of emotion across his features and they disappear quickly. How does he do that? How does he give a slight sliver of emotion and return to cool and emotionless so quickly? It makes it difficult to read him. What is he thinking right now?

I begin to bite my lower lip again and his gaze lands on my lips. I stop biting immediately and my tongue darts out to moisten my lips. His eyes follow my tongue’s movement. I swallow hard, feeling too hot all of a sudden. He steps toward me and I take a step back, the back of my legs hitting against his desk. I can go no further. My nervous lip-biting resumes. “Don’t do that, Navia,” he whispers, reaching out to cup my chin with long fingers. He smoothens a finger over my lower lip and I forget to continue breathing. “It’s very tempting to kiss you when you do that.”

My eyes widen. I don’t have much experience, but I am pretty sure this is not typical employer-employee behavior. I am speechless, my mind in turmoil. Should I speak out and tell him this is not appropriate, or say and do nothing, to see how far he goes? The devil on the left side of my shoulder tells me to do the latter. “Do you have any idea why I called you in here, Navia?”

I swallow hard. “N-Not the slightest idea,” I breathe out.

His lips curl, “Your innocence is refreshing. Are you really as innocent as you seem?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure what you mean. Innocent in what way?” I watch as he peels off his jacket and throws it onto a chair. I follow his every movement, noticing how graceful and powerful each movement is. He is still standing very close, and I find it difficult to think straight.

“I have wanted to do something since I locked eyes with you on Saturday.” His gaze lowers to my mouth. “Your full lips are very tantalizing, just like the rest of you.”

I gawk up at him. I am in shock over his statement. He finds me tantalizing? I find it hard to believe that a man like Jason Black finds me attractive. “Err… I-I—,” my words refuse to come out properly. His lips twitch as if he is enjoying my discomfort. He lowers his head to mine, and his lips hover mere centimeters above mine. My breathing quickens. I want to pinch myself. This is playing out just like one of the dreams I had about him. Maybe this isn’t real. He doesn’t kiss me but continues to watch me intently.

“Would you like me to kiss you, Navia?” he enquires.
Hell yes!
I shout in my mind. But the words can’t pass my lips. I nod. “Answer me properly,” he demands. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I— yes,” I pant.

“Yes, what?”

I want so badly to feel his lips on mine. I ache for it. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Next time make sure you say ‘please.’”

There’s going to be a next time? Before I can analyze his statement any further, I draw in a breath as his lips capture mine. His mouth moves gently, urging my lips to move to part. I love the smooth, warm feel of his mouth, and my lips soon part to allow him entrance into my mouth. His gentle movements soon become more rough and urgent. He cups my face and forces my head back, causing me to moan in shock and delight. I moan as he ravishes my mouth. He pulls away to whisper, “You taste just as good as I thought you would.” He tastes just as good as I thought he would, as well, and his lips are just as soft. But I say nothing. What am I supposed to say? That I loved it and I want him to kiss me again? My fingers move to touch swollen lips ravaged by his passionate kiss. “Do you want more, Navia?” he asks.

My eyes fly up to meet his, “More kissing?”

A wicked grin forms on his lips, and I frown. “I guess you really are that innocent,” he says lowly. His grin turns into a grimace and he takes several steps back. He closes his eyes and whispers, “I shouldn’t do this. I should send you home, leave you the hell alone.”

Alarm rises in me. “Send me home? No, please don’t. I really need this job.”

He frowns, “It’s not about the damn job, Navia.”

I am immensely relieved, but still confused. “Oh, then what is it about?”

He rushes forward. “To hell with it, I can’t resist,” he growls.

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Trapped In His World: A Dark Romance