Chapter 13
Nate
New York, evening…
I could hear fifty-thousand fans erupting in cheers from inside Comet Stadium. It was a miracle Bryan could hear his phone ring, but he answered after two.
“Man, you don’t even want to know what you’re missing.
Bottom of the eighth and the shortstop just whacked a three-run homer to put us ahead!
” he announced instead of saying hello. “It was a thing of beauty.” Then he launched into recounting every detail of the home run as if he were a play-by-play analyst. I waited for him to take a breath before I broke in.
“I know. Just got an update on my phone. Not quite the same though.”
“Not the same at all. Man, I’ve missed this. I mean, I wouldn’t trade the babies for the world, I’m not complaining, but…Kat and I really needed some adults-only time.”
That was a perfect segue. I cleared my throat.
“Hey, Bryan, speaking of adult time. Remember that time nine or ten years ago when you stayed at my house for two weeks the summer after business school, and fell in love with my sister and didn’t tell me about it?”
Of course he remembered falling in love with Kat. But it was clear from his voice that he couldn’t fathom why I would bring it up now. “Yeah. Of course I do.”
“Good. I hate to dig up the past, but I hope the fact that I was never an ass about you dating my sister behind my back will make this hurt less.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding nervous. “What’s going on, man?”
“I need you to leave,” I said bluntly.
“Shit. You can’t be serious?”
“’Fraid so. I’m sorry, but I’m also not sorry. I hope you understand. Tell my sister I’ll make it up to her and I’ll babysit next time. I’ll be there in five minutes. You and Kat will need to go then.”
I ended the call and shook my head. Damn. My sister was going to be pissed. She’d been looking forward to this night out for some time too. But she didn’t have to go home—she just couldn’t stay there.
True to my promise, five minutes later I opened the door to the private suite. Three pairs of eyes landed on me but I only had eyes for one person.
Although the sharp look—and sharp elbow—my sister gave me on her way out told me Kat might just forgive this after all.
Casey
I stood, my heartbeat speeding to NASCAR levels, my skin heating up.
Nate was the last person I’d expected to see. He was supposed to be in D.C. for the night.
His eyes raked over me. He had that hungry look in them—the look that melted me in seconds. I wore a tank top with the Comets logo on the front, a short jean skirt, and Converse sneakers. I never wore sandals to Comet Stadium; too many people, too many pairs of feet that could step on my toes.
Bryan was whispering to Kat, whose eyes widened as she glanced from Nate to me. Then she quickly gathered her purse, hugged me and simply said, “See you later.”
If I had been processing what was happening I probably would’ve asked, “Why? Where are you going? What’s going on?”
But I wasn’t processing anything except the way I felt. For the last several hours, I’d swallowed the disappointment from the night before. Because when he’d told me about how his day turned upside down, I’d felt so bad that I’d doubted him.
I simply hoped that he wasn’t still mad at me.
As soon as Bryan and Kat left, Nate shut the door, then locked it.
I glanced quickly behind me at the window that provided a view of the sea of rabid fans.
The stadium shook with excitement. Cheers from the crowd vibrated throughout it.
Nate stalked down the three steps separating us.
When he reached me, a vein twitched in his neck.
His mouth was a ruler-straight line. His jaw was set hard. His stare undressed me.
“I was wrong,” he said. Each word possessed a hard edge.
“Wrong about what?” Was he talking about the dress? Or about wanting to be my teacher? I prayed he wasn’t backing out.
“I was wrong about tonight’s lesson. It’s not spanking.”
“What is it?”
“It’s role-playing.” His voice was hot and rough. His dark eyes prowled over my body.
“What kind of role-playing?” I didn’t even bother to hide my nerves, but the nerves also excited me.
Or maybe he was simply the one who excited me.
It seemed whatever he did turned me on. The fact that he was standing here, a solid mass of muscle and strength, of extreme and utter sexiness, sent shivers across my skin.
I drank him in: the wavy mess of his golden brown hair, the stubble lining his jaw, the exposed patch of skin on his chest where the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone.
All of it, all of him, made me tremble with want.
He took one step closer, and reflexively I backed up so my spine hit the wall behind me.
I was caged in, and against my better judgment, I liked it.
I liked the fact that it was starkly quiet inside the suite, and that it was intensely noisy outside, a white noise that masked all that I was feeling.
“I’m going to be playing the role of the jealous lover,” he said, his voice still laced with the same frustration I’d picked up on earlier. Was he annoyed with me?
“What do you mean?”
“I’m the jealous lover who can’t stand the thought of his woman wearing a gorgeous, stunning, absolutely fucking breathtaking dress on a date with another man.”
A wild thrill rushed through my veins from his words and what they meant. “But I thought you didn’t like the dress?” I asked, coyly, playing along.
He lifted his hand and brushed the tips of his fingers against my wrist. I shuddered from that one subtle touch.
My body begged for more, and I was almost ashamed at how much desire flowed through my bloodstream right now.
I hadn’t been completely aware of how very much I had wanted to see him tonight, of how truly disappointed I had been for the first eight innings that he wasn’t here by my side.
Now that he was here, I wasn’t sure how I’d survived the game without him.
He brushed his fingers along my arm, across the crook of my elbow, and up to my shoulder. Goosebumps rose in his wake.
“I don’t like the dress if you wear it for another man,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
“And sometimes that means I’m going to act like a dick and tell you I don’t like the dress at all.
” He brought his hands to my head and I wanted to cry out because it felt so fucking good to be touched by him like this, with hands that were both tender and completely possessive.
He speared his fingers into my hair. “But what I really don’t like is the idea that another man might look at you in it, and want to touch you the way I touch you. ”
He leaned into my neck, and pressed his lips against my skin. There was nothing gentle in the kiss. His lips were hot and angry, and I felt his teeth nip my skin. A sting of pain raced through me, but it was a good pain, a pain that made me long for more.
“I didn’t mean to make you so jealous,” I said, playing along, sounding contrite, sliding into the roles we’d assumed. I raised my hand to his chest, and trailed it up to the top buttons that were undone. His breath caught in his throat as I spread my fingers over his warm skin.
He looked me in the eyes. His seemed to be on fire. “It made me crazy. Absolutely fucking insane. Sometimes a man is wildly jealous when he thinks other men are looking at his woman.” He dropped his hand to my waist, gripping my hip, and digging his fingers into my bones. “His woman,” he repeated.
“His,” I said, in a trance.
“And sometimes a man has to touch her, and mark her,” he said, returning to my neck to trace the faint imprint of his teeth, “to make it clear she belongs to him, and to remind her that he’s the only one allowed to touch her.”
His words were heady. They hypnotized me. I was so used to handling everything, to devising the plans, giving the sign-off, managing and making all the final decisions. Here, with him, I didn’t have to think. I only had to feel.
He cupped my face, grasping me. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you,” he said, his gaze pinned on mine, his warm breath painting my skin.
I swallowed dryly, tried to speak, but could only manage a few words. “I can’t either.”
I wasn’t sure if we were playing roles. If he was talking as himself, as the jealous lover, or as someone else. And honestly, I didn’t care.
I ached.
All over.
I ached for him everywhere. My lips longed to be kissed. My hair craved to have his fingers threaded through it. My skin begged for contact. My body needed to be filled. The desire for him was profound. It dug trenches all throughout my mind and heart.
“And I want to remind you that you’re mine. That’s why I came back for you,” he said, his hands tighter now on my face. He could have squeezed me, could have hurt me, but he didn’t. I was safe with him. Always.
“I wanted you to come back,” I whispered, my chin tipped up as I kept my eyes on him. I couldn’t look away. The spell he’d woven was too strong.
“I couldn’t take it. I can’t have you send me pictures of clothes you’re going to wear for someone else.”
I shook my head. “I won’t. I won’t wear it for anyone else. I’ll wear it for you.”
“Wear it for me,” he said, and inched his face closer. He needed to kiss me soon. He needed to touch me. I was about to go up in flames.
“Do you remember what I told you I’d do the next time I was alone with you?”
I nodded as a rush of sparks tore through my body, making me hot and damp between my legs. My underwear was fast becoming useless.
“Yes.”
He dragged a finger along my jawline, and I hitched in a breath.
“You said,” I began, but words were so hard right now, especially as his fingers reached the hollow of my throat and he lowered his head, kissing me there next.
My eyes floated closed. I was comprised of nothing but raw feelings; I was reduced to only red-hot want and pulsing need for him.
“What did I say?”