Triple Score (8 page)

“I know. That’s why I’m worried about you.”

“My knee’s going to be fine. I’ll be dancing again in no time.”

“It’s not your knee I’m worried about. Or your career.”

“Then what?” Noelle cracked open the water bottle and took a long, satisfying slug. “And please don’t say my heart.”

That ship had sailed with Yannick. She’d given herself up to him, trusted him with not just her heart but her career. She’d even brought him home and introduced him to her family, something she almost never did with her “city boys,” as her father dubbed them.

And how had the lowlife repaid her? By using her, building her up as his inspiration, choreographing ballets around her, only to replace her in his bed with a younger, fresher prospect in the corps with perkier tits, a tighter ass and fewer functioning brain cells. And to make bad matters even worse, he’d turned the whole thing into a public spectacle, ditching her on stage, in front of the entire company.

Later, one of the soloists had discretely pulled her aside and advised her to get tested. Seemed their esteemed choreographer had been dallying with his new muse for months. But somehow what was common knowledge among the company had escaped Noelle’s not-so-keen observation.

She was negative, thank God. But it would be a long time—maybe even forever—before she let herself be that vulnerable again.

Ivy’s voice brought Noelle back to the present. “Holly told me about your baseball player.”

Figures.

“He is not my baseball player.”

“She says he’s a walking wet dream.”

“Holly so did not say that.”

“Okay, maybe the words were mine. But the sentiment was hers.”

Now
that
Noelle believed. “What other sentiments did she share with you?”

“Just that you had some sort of misunderstanding and owed him an apology.” Ivy popped the last of the candy in her mouth, balled up the wrapper and tossed it off screen. “How did it go? Did you kiss and make up?”

Yes and no.

Ivy’s eyes widened. “So, yes to the kiss and no to the making up?”

Damn.
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Noelle considered backpedaling, but she’d never been very good at lying, as Holly had so aptly pointed out the last time they’d talked. So this time she opted for a partial dose of honesty. “Okay, so we kissed. It was no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Ivy squealed. “He’s the first guy you’ve given the time of day since that douchebag Yakov.”

“Yannick.”

“Whatever.” Ivy’s face disappeared from the screen for a split second. When she returned, her image was blurry. “The important part is you kissed him. That’s a huge step.”

“He kissed me. And you’re holding the phone too close. You look like a giant, fuzzy redheaded caterpillar.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ivy’s face came back into focus. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Now back to that kiss...”

Noelle sighed and took another drink, stalling for time. “Can’t we talk about something else? Like
your
love life? Or global thermonuclear war?”

Hell, even the state of the world economy would be a better, or at least easier, topic for discussion than her relationship—for lack of a better word—with Jace.

“Negative.” Ivy shook her head, sending her auburn curls into a riot. “I’m under strict instructions not to hang up until I get the whole scoop on you and Mr. MVP.”

“Let me guess.” Not that it required much deduction. The nickname was a dead giveaway. “Our beloved big sister give you marching orders?”

“Yep. I can’t wait to tell her you actually tongue-wrestled the guy. Does he kiss as good as he looks?”

Tongue-wrestled?
Ivy had been hanging out with Cade and his firefighter buddies too long.

“Who said anything about tongues? And how do you even know what he looks like?”

Ivy touched a finger to her cheek and rolled her eyes upward. “Google is a beautiful thing. And so is Jace Monroe. Any man who looks like that definitely knows how to use his tongue.”

Noelle didn’t even try to argue. “He caught me in a moment of weakness. But it’s not going to happen again.”

“Why in the name of all that’s holy not?” Ivy shrieked.

In the background Noelle heard a plaintive meow. Her sister bent, moving out of frame. When she reappeared, she held a grumpy-looking tabby cat. “Sorry, Piper. Didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”

“Look, just because you and Holly are blissfully mated doesn’t mean I’m going there.”

“Blissfully mated?” Ivy scoffed, kissing the cat on the nose and setting him down.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Ivy said, her voice taking on a dream-like quality. “I do. But no one said anything about you falling in love. It’s been six months since He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named showed his true colors. You’re way overdue for a rebound guy.”

“I’m not sure I can do the rebound thing.” Noelle finished off her water and set the empty bottle down on the floor next to her chair. “How do you get involved without, you know, getting involved?”

“Beats me.” Ivy laughed. “I thought Cade and I were just a fling. And look how that turned out. Not that I’m complaining.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Noelle muttered. Not softly enough, apparently.

“There’s your problem right there.” Ivy pointed her finger at the screen. “Fear.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t scared when you started your—what did you call it?—fling with Cade?”

“You bet your ass I was.” Ivy laughed again, prompting another meow from the once again invisible Piper. “But I didn’t let it stop me. And neither should you. At a minimum, you’ll get good and laid. Let off some sexual tension so you can focus on your rehab.”

Her sister had a point there. Even Sara had noticed. It had been impossible for Noelle to concentrate on anything but Jace and his lethal weapon lips since that damn kiss. Some hot and heavy action between the sheets—or against the wall or on the bathroom counter—might be just the ticket to get him out of her system, lips and all. Then her rehab would be front and center again, no distractions.

“Aha!” Ivy aimed another accusing finger at her. “I’m right, and you know I am. Stop thinking about it and just do it already.”

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t.” Noelle tried to sound nonchalant, but her heart rate climbed to near NASCAR speed at the thought of full-body contact with Jace. “Right now I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. Like showering. And sleeping.”

Ivy stuck her tongue out and blew out a raspberry. “How is that more pressing than sex?”

“It is when one, you stink so bad no man would get within ten feet of you, and two, even if by some miracle one did you’d be too exhausted to do anything about it.”

“Okay, you win that round.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Come to think of it, Cade’s shift ends in half an hour and I’m pretty rank. Photographing a five-year-old’s birthday party outdoors at high noon in the first full week of summer will do that to you.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one headed for the shower.” Noelle smiled.

Ivy eyes took on a mischievous glint and she licked her lips. “Then again, some of our best sex has been when we’re both sweaty, hot and bothered. I think it turns him on. One time...”

“Stop, I beg of you. Stop.” Noelle’s smile turned to a grimace. “What is it with you and Holly and the incessant TMI?”

Ivy lifted one shoulder, and her voice got all dreamy again. “I guess when you’re happy, you want to share that happiness with the people you love. Someday you’ll understand. Maybe sooner than you think.”

Before Noelle could get the “don’t bet on it” that was bouncing around her head to come out of her mouth, her sister was signing off. “Gotta run. Don’t wait too long to start Operation Boink The Ballplayer. And let me know how it goes.”

There is no Operation Boink The Ballplayer
, Noelle thought as she ended the call and clumped into the bathroom. She turned on the water, adjusted the temperature as high as it would go and sat on the toilet to watch the tub fill. She’d told Jace she was going to soak in a long, hot bath, and that’s what she aimed to do. Hopefully, it would be more relaxing than a quick shower.

And less likely to remind her of a certain shortstop and his seven plus inches of hardwood.

* * *

H
E
ALMOST
MISSED
the soft knock at the door.

Jace was in bed, eyes closed, in that misty, magical place between awake and asleep. The place where Noelle Nelson danced through his half dreams. But this ballerina was no sugarplum fairy, she was a fair-haired femme fatale, tempting him with her sultry eyes and her bee-stung lips and her long dancer’s legs.

Then the knock had brought him fully awake and he’d swung his door open to find the temptress standing right in front of him.

He rubbed his tired eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Nope. She was there, eyes, lips, legs and all.

“Another late-night visit?” He yawned and scratched his bare chest, getting a perverse sense of satisfaction when her gaze followed his hand over his pecs down the trail of hair that bisected his abs and disappeared under the waistband of his sweats. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“So it’s a pleasure. That’s a start.” She glanced up and down the hall, her ash-blond hair, still mussed, he presumed, from sleep, swinging gently. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, since you asked so nicely.” He stepped back to let her pass. “This time.”

She spun around, her eyes shooting poisoned darts at him. “What happened this afternoon was...”

“Stop.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t want to fight.”

She loosened her clenched fists and let out a long, slow sigh, like his words had deflated her anger. “Neither do I. But that’s what we seem to do.”

“Any idea how we can change that?” Because he had a few. Most of which involved him and her and a conspicuous absence of clothing. In his experience, it was hard to fight when you were skin to skin.

“That’s sort of why I’m here.” She twisted the hem of her shirt. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yes, I do.” He advanced on her, backing her up against the bed. “I don’t think you came to sit. Or to talk.”

“No?” Her voice was breathy and she stared down at her hands, which had wrung her shirt into a knot.

“No.” He slid a finger under her chin, tipping it up and forcing her eyes to meet his. Desire and doubt swirled in their indigo depths. The first he approved wholeheartedly, but the second had to go. “I think you came to finish what we started on that bench. In private. Without the cookies, unfortunately.”

“What makes you think that?”

He knew what she was getting at but decided to play dumb and go for the laugh, hoping it would loosen her up. “Well, for one thing, your hands are empty, unless you count that shirt you’re destroying. And I doubt you’re hiding a tin of cookies in your bra.”

It worked. Her shoulders relaxed and she let the hem of her shirt fall. “Not the cookies. The finishing what we started.”

“I told you, your body doesn’t lie.” He wedged a leg between hers, pressing against her core. “And neither does mine.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty impressive, um, truth, you’ve got there.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Duchess.” But she would, if he had anything to say about it. And soon.

He laughed softly, brushing his mouth across her temple, and she shivered. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“You did.” He brought his arms around her waist, pulling her even tighter to him. “But I know down deep you like it.”

“Maybe way down deep.” Her hands crept up between them, coming to rest on his chest, her palms cold on his superheated skin. “So we’re really going to do this?”

He sucked in a breath as her fingers tangled in his chest hair. “Is that a statement or a question?”

“A question.”

“My vote’s yes.” He lowered his head for a kiss, his lips grazing hers just long enough to tease. “But it has to be unanimous.”

He kissed her again, longer this time, deeper. When he came up for air, she wasn’t the only one who was all hot and bothered, as evidenced by the giant tent in his pants. If she voted no, he was staring down the barrel at another long night alone, just him, his hand and the shower.

Unless she wanted to watch again...

He touched a finger to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse was going crazy. “What’s it gonna be, sweetness?”

“This is a bad idea.” She abandoned his chest hair for the hair at the nape of his neck, her actions warring with her words.

“Maybe.” He gave her his most seductive smile, one that promised a world of wicked wonders. “But sometimes bad ideas are the best ones.”

She waited so long to respond he lowered his hands to his sides and started to back away. She stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

“Wait.” She rubbed her lips together, and the tent in his pants went from teepee to circus. “I don’t want you to go.”

He stared down at the hand on his arm. Pale, delicate, her pink-tipped fingers trembling with nervous excitement. Or maybe it was fear. She was out of her comfort zone, that was for sure. Hell, so was he. Not that he cared.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, covering her hand with his own. “I’m not going far.”

“You’re not?”

She blinked, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks. Damn, her eyes were hypnotizing.

“Hell, no.” He chuckled. “This is my room.”

“Oh. Right.” Her cheeks flushed with red but those hypnotic eyes never left his. “Well, I don’t want to go, either.”

“Then what do you want, Duchess?”

“You.” She stepped closer to him, moving between his thighs. “I want you.”

Reluctantly, he released her, but only to cross the room and lock the door. “Last chance to back out.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not backing out.”

“You sure?” He crossed back to her, letting his hands rest on her shoulders, barely covered by the thin straps of her tank top. Was her skin that soft everywhere? “I’m not a one-and-done kind of guy. We’re talking a whole night of debauchery here. You on top of me. Me on top of you. And any other position I can interest you in.”