Love. Set. Match. Page 8

  “Please ignore him,” Em said, smiling at Frank. “His brain is warped from too long on an airplane.”

  Rob held the door open for Em while she transferred her bags to Frank, admiring the way her dark-green leggings emphasized the muscles of her thighs. Her loose tunic-style sweater and oversized peacoat were expensive but simple. His mother always wore overly flashy, clearly designer-label clothes, and she’d trained Maren—normally a very simple kind of girl—to follow her lead. He liked that Em stayed true to the way she was brought up. By now, she had to have built up a pretty decent bank account, but she didn’t flash it around like a lot of their peers.

  She climbed in and settled herself on the back seat, as close to the opposite door as she could get. He slid in and let his body fill up the space between them.

  “Where to, Ms. Grace?” Frank asked.

  “The Library Hotel in Midtown.” She gave him some brief landmarks, and Frank pulled into traffic.

  Rob let the silence stretch between them for a few minutes before he reached to press the button that slid the privacy screen up, cutting them off from Frank.

  “Hey!”

  “What happened to no talking?” He shifted to face her, daring her to talk to him.

  “Why did you close the screen?” she asked, eyes narrowing dangerously.

  Shrugging, he reached out to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, savoring the warm floral scent of her. “Because we’ve spent the last day surrounded by other people, and this may be the last chance I get to spend time alone with you.”

  And God, how he wanted to spend more time with her. This was what he’d been craving during all those days of recovery—the peace that only came when he was around Em. She didn’t feel the same peace, though, a fact which hit him harder than he’d care to admit. It was his own damn fault, and being this close to her, especially after that kiss, was pure torture. His whole body had been on high alert for almost twenty-four hours, so close to the woman who haunted his dreams and yet not able to touch her the way he’d imagined a thousand times.

  With a cute little nose wrinkle, she pulled the loose piece of hair back to where it was. Her jaw tightened, and a hundred emotions played across her face, tearing at him because he’d caused all that hurt.

  “It’s been seven years, Rob. Seven years. Why now? Why are you switching gears on me now?”

  You’re the one who ended things. You’re the one who let your father tell you how awful I was for you. The words hung between them, unsaid, but very much present. So he’d lean into the turn and hope like hell she didn’t rip his testicles through his nose.

  “Because it’s been seven years, and I can’t get you out of my head. Can’t stop wanting you.” He moved so his knee grazed hers, so his body took up more space to remind her he was here and this was real. Can’t stop missing you—the words stayed on the tip of his tongue, fear holding them back.

  “That’s all this is?” she asked, clearly looking for something as her brown eyes studied him. “You want me? Shit. Tell me this isn’t because of those goddamn pictures.”

  He shook his head before she finished. “No. Not because of the pictures. Don’t get me wrong—they were hot. Like make-a-guy’s-blood-evaporate hot, but I wanted you before that. I’ve wanted you for years, but being away, not seeing you, made it harder to ignore.”

  She didn’t need to know about the doubts that had tormented him in those first days after his shoulder injury. The feeling of complete idiocy that had hit him when he thought about how he gave her up—the one woman he could possibly fall in love with—for the sake of a career that was gone in an instant. Hearing all that would only spook her and send her running in the opposite direction.

  “I—” She started to speak but stopped herself.

  For what felt like endless moments of his heart pounding in his ears, she stared out the tinted window as the city streets slowly crept by, her jaw clenched and her hands curling into tight fists on the seat. One minute, he thought she was close to punching him, and the next she was in his arms.

  Warm, soft lips hit his with the force of a wicked first serve. He fell back against the seat, thrown off balance by the tight package of willing, passionate female. He tasted so much in that kiss. Desire and passion were obvious; every kiss they shared bore a heavy dose of both, from their first kiss in London to the kiss on the plane. But he found more there than just the obvious—bitterness laced with regret along with a big helping of frustration and anger. He understood all of them, because the same emotions battered him every time he thought of her.

  He hated what had happened between them seven years ago, that he let her go. It made him sick, thinking of all the time they’d spent sniping and fighting because his stupid pride and need to please his father got in their way. More than anything, he loathed and despised the walls between them. He returned the kiss stroke for stroke, nip for nip, trying to show her what he’d been too chickenshit to say seven years ago. Sooner than he would have liked, air became necessary.

  “Em? Wha—?” He struggled to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers.

  “No talking, remember?” She suckled on his neck, just below his ear.

  Shit. She remembered that spot? His body went harder than the court surface in Arthur Ashe Stadium.

  His laugh came out strangled with need. “You sure?”

  Why was he questioning this? She wanted him. He should be celebrating, dancing a fucking jig. But a nagging voice reminded him she’d gone through hell over the last week and might not fully realize what she was doing.

  “I’m horny, and we have thirty minutes left before we get to my hotel. Shut up and make me feel,” she ordered, her voice husky and full of feminine power. This woman knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to grab it while she could.

  He groaned and went back to kissing her, tasting every inch of her mouth before he moved up over her cheekbone and down the curve of her jaw to her neck and her collarbone. She purred and arched against him.

  “Please.”

  “So good, baby. So sweet,” he murmured.

  He continued to taste her, returning to her lips, his hand slipping under the hem of her oversized sweater. The soft knitted wool contrasted erotically with the lace of her bra. Through the diaphanous web of fabric, her nipples pebbled under his touch. He tweaked and teased them, savoring the ripe weight of her breasts. They fit into his hands perfectly, even fuller than they’d been when she was nineteen.

  A cool, slim hand played with the hem of his shirt, trailing over the small of his back, sending a blinding jolt through him. Every cell in his body screamed out for him to bury himself inside of her now and to hell with Frank in the front seat. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose what little control he had left between the desire and rising jet lag fogging his brain. He had to get the upper hand.

  Gathering her closer, he switched their positions, pressing her back into the supple leather seat. Long legs wrapped around his waist, and she canted her body against him, moaning into their kiss.

  “More,” she murmured, lightly biting his bottom lip.

  He ignored the insistent bulge that would soon have the outline of his zipper permanently tattooed into it. He began to tease his way along the waistband of her leggings. He first encountered a pair of cotton underwear, a practical counterpoint to the lace of her bra. He grinned into the kiss when he found the material between her legs already damp and hot. So much between them remained unspoken and unsolved, but her body still responded to him, still needed him as much as he needed her.

  As his fingers teased her through the thin fabric, she rocked into his hand, her legs loosening from around his hips the more he touched her.

  He couldn’t take her here in the car, not the first time in so long, but his mouth and his hands mimicked what every cell of his body screamed to do, delving into her, stoking that beautiful passion she kept buried beneath the walls of cool professionalism.

  The more he stroked, t
he more taut her body became. She was close; he could feel it in the edge of their kisses. Thanking God for the stretchy fabric of her leggings, he moved aside the panties, his fingers plunging into the wet warmth of her, his thumb finding that sweet little bundle of nerves, all swollen and ready for him. Cries muffled against his mouth, her body spasmed, going over in a wave as she moved and writhed against him until she came back down again.

  When she finally went limp beneath him, he pulled back to look in her eyes. Passion still clouded the chocolatey depths, along with the same questions that battered against the need-locked doors of his own brain. Before either of them could speak, the car eased to a stop, and Frank rapped on the door.

  “We’re at the Library Hotel, Mr. Ashton, Ms. Grace.”

  No, not yet. It was too soon. He couldn’t let her go now, but he had to.

  He cleared his throat, reluctantly easing back from her. “Thanks, Frank.”

  She struggled to sit up, quickly pulling her sweater back into place and redoing her ponytail. Color rose in her cheeks.

  “I should…” She pressed her kiss-swollen lips together. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Not giving him a chance to speak, she climbed out of the car and shut the door in his face. He sat there, listening to Frank helping her get her bags to the bellhop and making idle chit-chat about the icy weather.

  He tried to get his raging hormones under control, but he remained painfully hard for her. He’d been so close to getting through the walls. He wanted more time—he wanted more, period. She was ready for him. Whatever stood between them, their chemistry remained off the charts. What would she do if he followed her to her room? Was that crazy? Then again, when would he get this chance again—the chance he’d spent more than a year praying for?

  Chapter 7

  “Rob? What are you doing here?”

  He stood there, in the doorway of her hotel room, staring at her like he used to when they’d first met, like she was the only woman in the world. She’d thought she was rid of him. She’d made it safely to her hotel room without making a spectacle of herself, and she thought she could finally relax and make sense of what had just happened. Then the next thing she knew, he was in her room, the door was closed, and his mouth was on hers.

  Emerson’s brain must have started to leak out of her ears. There was no possible way that it was still a solid mass. She’d had the most mind-blowing orgasm ever in the back of a limo in the middle of New York City. Now she was standing in the entry hall of her hotel room, and Rob Ashton was once again liquefying her with that ridiculously talented mouth of his.

  Their time in London always had a Twilight-Zone feel to her, and that same sensation colored the last day as well. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t what she did. She kept her relationships civilized and contained. She didn’t sit and argue with someone for hours on end over everything from Harry Potter to what constituted an acceptable second serve. Making out in the back of a limo wasn’t something she ever imagined herself doing, especially with this guy.

  But instead of protesting, instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer, slamming his back against the door before he had time to react. She couldn’t deny his body called to hers in an age-old song so difficult to ignore.

  This was going to be different than their first time together. Or their last time together. The first time, while sweet, had been awkward. She’d been a virgin, and she hadn’t known what to do with a man who made her feel so much. Their last night had been slow and easy, as if they had all the time in the world. He’d spent nearly an hour just playing with her breasts. By the time they finally fell asleep, she’d orgasmed five times.

  If she was going to do this, if she was going to let him touch her and make her feel like this again, then she was going to do it on her own terms.

  “You sure? We could always just—talk,” he said against her mouth, his hand sliding under the hem of her sweater, teasing her spine, and sending sparks ricocheting through her.

  Reaching between them, she cupped his erection with a grip she usually reserved for her racket. “Just sex. Dirty, hot, jungle sex. That’s all. Make me forget everything but how hard you’re making me come.”

  A wave of pure feminine power surged through her as he groaned. Good. If he could make her all squiggly and needy, she should be able to return the favor. She continued to kiss him, the full, open-mouthed kisses that she’d spent so many nights craving. While they kissed, she continued stroking him through his jeans.

  Big hands slid down and cupped her ass, pulling her up so he wasn’t stooping quite so much to kiss her. “I can do the jungle sex. We’ll negotiate the ‘just sex’ part later.”

  A warning bell clanged whisper-soft in the back of her head, but she could barely hear it over the need pounding a merengue in her blood. Instead, she went for the buttons of his shirt, tugging them from their moorings. “Get naked. Now.”

  “You first,” he said, running a finger under the strap of her bra.

  They moved toward the bed, circling each other with the anticipation of a crowd waiting for the serve on match point. She pushed his shirt off his broad shoulders, but it caught on his elbows as he cupped her face for a particularly soulful kiss.

  “Jesus. I know you said to get naked, but are you trying to melt my panties instead of taking them off like a normal guy?” She moved to tease the hollow behind his ear with her tongue, and—just as she expected—he growled that deep rumbling growl that made her girl parts tremble in desperation.

  She used his momentary distraction to push him back until his legs hit the giant bed, and he fell back. With him spread out in front of her, she reached down to undo the fly of his jeans. Sweet heavens, the man was sexy. Even after months away from tennis, he still had muscles for days and abs that would make most men weep with envy. Perfectly sculpted with just a hint of golden hair trailing from his belly button into the waistband of midnight-blue boxer briefs.

  “Your body is ridiculous,” she murmured, running her hands up and down the bare skin she’d exposed.

  “Yours is better. Show me.” The roughness in his voice sent more quivers and butterflies zinging through her.

  She hesitated for only a moment, then gave him her best come-hither smile. She wasn’t going to let the stupid pictures or that asshole Kole keep her from cathartic, wildly dirty sex. Standing between his legs, she grabbed the hem of her sweater and slowly pulled it over her head. She reveled in the darkening of his eyes when she tossed the light blue garment aside.

  “You’ve come a long way from the white cotton bras. I thought you bought stock in Hanes or something when we first met.” His gaze traced over the pale-yellow lace bra she’d tossed on yesterday morning. It was one of her favorites, even more so now that it made him look at her like she was a slice of his favorite chocolate caramel cake.

  “No more white cotton. Especially not bras. Why? Do you miss them?” She hooked her fingers in the waistband of her leggings. She was glad she’d already taken her shoes off.

  A tight smile flitted across his face. “I had a thing for them, but wow. Gotta say the yellow lace is climbing the charts.”

  “Mmm. I may not splurge on fancy limos, but a girl likes to have nice lingerie.” She tugged on the leggings, slowly wiggling to help them slide down, but she was careful to keep her yellow panties firmly in place.

  “No lace underwear?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows, eyes raking across her body with enough heat to singe the rest of her clothes off.

  She shook her head, kicking the leggings aside as they finally pooled around her feet. “You try sitting on a plane for twenty-plus hours with lace against your sensitive parts. Not as sexy as it sounds.”

  “The cotton panties work just as well,” he assured her.

  Purring, she tugged at his jeans. “Come on, hot stuff. Your turn.”

  “As the lady commands.” He bolted upright, easily shedding his shirt. Together, they managed to push his jeans over his h
ips and off.

  They sat there, both in their underwear, their breaths hot and fast on each other’s faces.

  “No more talking,” she said. “In me. Now.”

  With a grin, he reached behind her to unclasp her bra, his tongue tracing along the curve of her collarbone. “Patience.”

  His mouth fastened on her nipple as soon as he tossed her bra over his head. With a gasp of pleasure, she tunneled her fingers through his old-gold hair, pulling him closer.

  While he drove her crazy, teasing and sucking one breast, then the other, she reached down and pushed her underwear over the curve of her hips. Almost immediately, his fingers danced along her hipbones, tantalizingly close to the hot, wet center of her. She circled one of his wrists with her fingers and gently moved it to where she needed him most.

  Her clit was still sensitive from the orgasm she’d had in the limo, her body ready for another, and he was more than happy to oblige. He’d been good with his hands seven years ago, but now he was a master, reading and playing her body with even more skill than he’d displayed on the court. She let herself go over the edge again, a million fireworks going off behind her eyes.

  While her body was still riding out the pleasure, he pulled her onto the bed, flat on her back. He made quick work of his underwear before he returned to cover her body with his.

  “Please tell me you have a condom in those fancy jeans of yours,” she said.

  He reached down to the pile of denim beside the bed and pulled out his wallet, digging around in it until he came up with two foil-wrapped packages. “Always prepared.”

  “Sure of yourself, huh?” she challenged. “Planning to get laid sometime soon?” She yanked him back to her and used the momentum of his big body to gain the upper hand again.

  He gripped her hips, sliding the tip of his erection along the lips of her sex. “I hadn’t gotten laid in more than a year, angel. I just like to plan for every eventuality.”

  She opened the first package and tossed the other aside on the pristine white comforter. She slid it over his erection, savoring the hardness of him, loving how hot he was, how his hips jerked a little as her fingers brushed his testicles. She remembered the first time she’d done this, how powerful she felt as he watched her, trusted her so completely. A man who could have any woman wanted her. How young and naive she’d been. Just to prove she wasn’t that girl anymore, she cupped his balls, massaging them lightly with her nails.