Chapter Fourteen #3
“You should’ve stayed home if you’re still sick.” She snagged a glass of champagne off the waiter’s tray as he swept by and downed it. It was suddenly ten degrees too hot in the room, while her dress hugged her so tightly it was like being strangled.
The things I want to do to you.
She flagged down another waiter, reaching for fresh champagne.
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.” Nicole’s voice was clogged and nasal as she shifted uncomfortably. “Headmaster Wilkes was very adamant on the phone.”
“How did you get away with wearing a pantsuit? I was told cocktail dress or bust.”
No, no, don’t think about clothes. Think about anything other than a dress pooled at Remy’s feet after he slides it off…
“I told him if I’m being subjected to a charity even while sick, I’m wearing what I want.” She dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “And I mentioned an article I’d read about private schools perpetuating homophobia through gender norms.”
Marcee clinked her flute against Nicole’s glass. “Very nice, Giles.”
Alpha Ridge Academy’s principal stepped on stage and introduced himself, the music dying down and conversation cut short as he explained how the night would run.
After introducing Headmaster Wilkes as the auctioneer, the event officially kicked off.
Marcee heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for anything to take her mind off Remy.
She had to admit, there was a certain thrill in watching people try to outbid one another. The attendees were more than happy to throw around large sums of money in the name of charity, and in the first hour, she lost count of how much was raised.
Halfway through the night, she noticed a man three tables over watching her as she picked at the chicken cacciatore catered for the event.
Her nerves were too frayed to eat much of anything.
She tried to determine if she’d ever met him, as there was something familiar about his face, but she couldn’t place him or come up with a name.
He was handsome in an older, Paul Newman kind of way.
When he raised his glass to her in a long-distance “Cheers!”, the lights winked off his gold-plated Rolex and she realized who it was: Bill Cope. She raised her own glass, somewhat unnerved.
After the training sessions for lacrosse were auctioned off, Wilkes called for the soccer coaches to come onto the stage. She immediately searched out Remy, who looked cool as a cucumber as he stood.
“Finally. Let’s get this humiliation over with,” Nicole muttered, pushing back her chair. Marcee followed, keeping a pleasant smile on her face as they walked to the stage at the front of the hall, eyes trailing after them. If he could be cool, she could be cool.
“Excellent. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen. We have a stellar finishing round this evening featuring some of the top soccer coaches in the country, all of whom are available for a private training session for your child, should you place the highest bid. We’ll start off with Nicole Giles, assistant head coach at Pemberton Prep!
” Wilkes read off Nicole’s qualifications, bolstering her “worth,” and read the starting bid.
Nicole and the other assistant coach for Alpha were over quickly, with decent but limited bidding.
Wilkes moved along with the boys’ assistant head coaches, where Mark dominated in money pledged as he pranced across the stage, wooing potential bidders.
He exited to a hearty round of applause and several whistles.
Marcee and Remy were the only ones left. His presence beside her was smoldering, the embers between them threatening to ignite into life-altering flames. Now, that would be a show.
“Next up we have Marcee Ackerman, head coach of Pemberton Prep’s girls’ soccer team!
” Wilkes beckoned her forward, and she approached the edge of the stage, mimicking the Miss America contestants she’d watched on YouTube the night before.
As Wilkes read her qualifications, making it sound like he actually did find her worthy, she smiled brightly, waving to select people in the crowd as if she knew them.
Honestly, it was a low point in her life. She should be arrested for fraud. She was soccer, not publicity.
The bidding started, and as the numbers soared, Marcee was flabbergasted at the amount brought in. Moreso, she was shocked at the ever-increasing bids placed by Bill Cope. He had to know how much his daughter didn’t want one-on-one time with her coach.
As the bidding continued, slowing down, she walked across the stage, closer to the stairs so she could get the hell off when the farce was finally over.
Wilkes’ voice was like a kid at a candy store. “Going once, going twice… sold to bidder thirty! Thank you, sir, your contribution will go a tremendous way in helping restore that which was lost in the flood!”
Finally.
Dress in hand, she picked her way down the stairs and was met by Bill Cope, whose demeanor was more like someone on a mission than an excited patron.
“Coach Ackerman, may I have a minute?”
Marcee paused. “I suppose you get at least sixty.”
“Ah, yes. Too true.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his lapels.
“Our last meeting did not go the way I’d hoped.
Frankly, I was caught off guard. I’ve never seen Cass that way, ever.
And with Helen getting in every jab she could…
” He sighed. “Obviously, things are tense for our family right now. I’m sorry you had to be a witness to it. ”
“It’s fine, Mr. Cope. I am a bit surprised you bid on a private session. I’m not Cassidy’s favorite person right now.”
“My little girl holds a grudge like no other,” Bill replied, nodding.
“Once she commits, she commits. An admirable trait, except when she’s hurting herself.
” There was a sheen across his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.
“I didn’t see it. That’s on me. But that’s not the reason I bid on the session.
I want your help. Whether my daughter shows it or not, she looks up to you. We have to try again.”
Marcee was pleasantly surprised. Most of the parents at Pemberton left the parenting up to others. She’d automatically grouped Cope’s parents into the same category. Instead, Cope had a father who actually cared.
“And you want to do it at the training session?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes. She’s comfortable on the field—it’s where she’s most like herself.”
Well, it couldn’t go any worse than the first intervention.
“I’ll do whatever I can. I should get back to my table right now. Email me and we’ll come up with a plan, okay?” Before she stepped aside, she added, “You could’ve just asked me, Mr. Cope.”
He grinned, and for a moment, he looked a lot like his daughter. “I know, but it’s a good cause. Plus, my daughter’s not the only one in the family who likes to win.”
Nicole was already at the table, holding her chair out so Marcee could slide into it.
“That was quite the conversation. Everything okay?”
“It is,” Marcee said. “That was Cope’s dad. He wants to try another intervention.”
Nicole looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “No shit?”
“I think he might actually be a decent guy.”
“Huh. Who would’ve thought.” Nicole leaned away and let out an explosive sneeze. “Ugh, will this thing ever end?”
Wilkes had moved to the last auction of the night, which was, of course, Remy.
The crowd was electric as Wilkes detailed his impressive career in London and opened bidding on the session.
His bids exceeded hers within minutes, and by the end, Marcee couldn’t believe how much he raised alone.
One of the parents from Pemberton’s boys’ team was the winner, and he shook Remy’s hand as if he’d won the lottery.
Which he kind of did. A one-on-one session with someone so talented? Anyone would be lucky to get it.
The auction was officially over, and although people would stay to network, all Marcee wanted was to go home, take a scalding bath, and listen to sad-girl music in her flannel pajamas. Possibly another sad-girl activity beneath her covers, too. It’d been a long, tense night—in more ways than one.
“I’m out of here. Go get some rest, Giles. We’ll talk later.” She grabbed her purse and slowly picked her way through the crowd, ignoring her name from a few people, until she finally escaped the throng and made it to the lobby.
Another few minutes and she’d be free and clear.
The coat check attendant was nowhere to be found, so she let herself into the office serving as a garment room.
She fished out her ticket, eyeing the numerically arranged racks.
It was a good thing she wasn’t a thief, because the quantity and quality of designer labels within a thirty-foot radius was impressive.
She couldn’t even fathom how people could afford that level of luxury.
“Hi.”
It was her worst fear and her deepest fantasy all at once.
Marcee turned around, bracing herself. The light from the hallway glowed around his silhouette, defining the slope of his shoulders and the length of his body. Part of her wanted this. Had she manifested it?
“It’s self-serve, so you’ll have to find your coat on your own,” she told him.
The quiet click of the door as it shut behind him rang through the space like the hammer being pulled back on a revolver. “What if I don’t have a coat?” Remy asked, stepping closer.
“Then I’d say your sense of direction is terrible. Bathrooms are down the hall.” Blast! Her coat was up front, right next to Remy. She debated the merits of leaving her three-year-old Macy’s clearance find for the lost and found.
“We need to talk, Marcee.”
“Don’t call me that!” she bit out, gritting her teeth against the flutter of her stomach and the increasing tempo of her heart.
“Call you what? Your name?” Incredulous looked good on him. Everything looked good on him.
“Yes! That!” Hearing her name on his lips was like the final incantation of a spell—the lingering notes of a ballad that struck every chord in just the right way.
When it was “Pemberton” or “Coach,” she could still pretend they were nothing more than enemies, fated rivals who would share the field and nothing else.
“And we have nothing to talk about. In fact, it’s best we don’t talk at all. ”
Gathering up her courage along with the end of her dress, she marched past him and grabbed her coat off the hanger. Thirty more seconds and she would be in the biting cold, headed home.
Alone.
“Then let’s not talk,” Remy said, suddenly so close their chests brushed against each other. Silk pressed into her nipples at the contact, and she squeezed her eyes shut, helpless to move away.
“What are we doing, Remy?” The coat slid from her fingertips, pooling at her feet, just as she’d imagined her dress doing earlier. “You fight with me. You tease me. You—” She gasped as his mouth skimmed her ear.
“I what?” he murmured.
“You make me feel,” she whispered, her head dipping back as his nose brushed across her neck. “You make me feel everything.” No one had ever had this kind of power over her body.
“You”—a kiss along her jawline—“consume my thoughts”—a kiss at the base of her throat—“every minute”—fingertips trailing between her breasts—“of every day.” Remy’s hand slid beneath the silk of her dress, palming her breast. She arched into it, moaning as he pinched her puckered nipple roughly.
“Like that?”
“God, yes,” she gasped, pleasure and pain turning to ecstasy when he dipped down and took it in his mouth.
Her cry was muffled by the music coming from the ballroom as Remy’s lips wrapped around her nipple, his tongue sweeping back and forth.
When his teeth scraped over her, she jerked against him, the sensation like lightning between her thighs.
“More. Please.” Words were a foreign concept. There was only the moonlight coming in through the slanted window, illuminating the gorgeous man before her.
“Such manners.” His grin was wolfish as he backed her up against the wall. When she reached for his zipper, he grabbed her wrists and put them above her head. “Not yet. I’ve waited a long time for this, Marcee. I’m going to savor every drop. Pull up your dress.”
Marcee never gave up control in the bedroom. Never. Remy’s authority sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. As she gripped the fabric and pulled it up to her hips, exposing the light gold thong beneath, he dropped to his knees before her.
The corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he looked up at her. “Good girl.”
Oh, hell.
His fingers hooked into the sides of her panties, sliding them down her thighs. When she stepped out of them, he moved closer and hoisted her leg over his shoulder.
Marcee couldn’t have torn her gaze away even if she’d wanted. His tongue swept up her center as his hands wrapped around her ass, pulling her into his mouth. She cried out as he sucked and she unabashedly held his head, rocking against his face.
“Yes, Remy.” Her breath came out in pants as he lapped at her. “Yes, that’s so good, please don’t stop.”
He moaned against her, the vibration and heat sending her into a frenzy. When his tongue dipped low and inside, she rode his face with wild abandon, the pleasure mounting and mounting until she came apart on his mouth.
It was… she was…
Marcee had never experienced anything like it in her life. She could barely stand as he kissed her trembling thigh gently and helped her into her panties.
“Look at me.” The gruffness in his voice startled her.
Heady, intense brown eyes bore into hers, an intimacy that scared and thrilled her wrapping around them.
“No more running.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I can’t go back from this. We can’t go back from this, Marcee.”
Something had just happened, something more than the best sex of her life. A very real, beautiful, talented man was settling into her like a second skin.
She never asked for it, yet they were pushed against each other time and time again. Every path Marcee had taken since summer camp continued to lead back to Remington Lockley—an immovable, unshakable force.