Too Hard to Forget (Romancing the Clarksons Book 3)

by Tessa Bailey

  Wetness rushed between Peggy’s thighs as his apples and mint scent took hold of her throat like a giant metal hook. “I know the last six months were awful for you. They would be so hard for anyone. But especially you, because you carry everyone on your back. The whole school lives for Saturdays. If you’ll win or lose.” His brow furrowed, his scrutiny so intense, she wondered how her legs kept from giving out. They must have moved closer without realizing, because the tips of Peggy’s breasts grazed Elliott’s chest and he groaned. A harsh, guttural sound that might as well have been a symphony, it was so welcome to her ears.

  “You…” His throat flexed. “You don’t know anything about me, Peggy.”

  Her pulse went haywire. The wordless communication hadn’t been imaginary. Those hard eyes really had been speaking to her. It was the way he said Peggy. As though he’d tested her name on his tongue a million times. “You know my name.”

  “I shouldn’t,” he grated, pressing closer, so she could feel he’d been affected below the belt. Very affected. “Damn you.”

  “You only mean that half the time. And I do know things about you. You have a different coaching style for each player based on their strengths and weaknesses. When they changed the coffee lids in the campus coffee shop, you kept ripping off the extra little flap until finally you started drinking without the lid. Because you hate anything loose or unnecessary, don’t you? I can tell your mood by the way you watch me on certain days, because I watch you, too,” she whispered. “Sometimes you’re damning me. The rest of the time, you’re wondering what I’d feel like—”

  “Stop.”

  “Or if I’d let you.” A slow beat passed. “I would. I am. But not because you’re the Kingmaker or some other ridiculous title. Maybe I’m not letting you at all. Maybe this is me begging.” The B word liquefied her knees, as if they wanted to hit the ground and implore him in earnest. “You’ve been so strong and I—I want to feel that strength. Want you to feel mine. You’re taking all the blame for what happened and—”

  “Shut your mouth.” His forehead ground against hers. “Shut your beautiful, ripe, little mouth.”

  Desire thickening in her blood like oil, Peggy removed one of the hands he’d fisted on the locker, lowering it to the space between her legs. His nostrils flared, hot exhales bathing her face, eyelids slamming to a close. But she didn’t let his massive presence intimidate her. One by one, she smoothed open his curled fingers, then cupped Elliott’s hand at the juncture of her thighs, encouraging him with a roll of her hips to mold the flesh beneath the built-in panties of her cheerleading skirt.

  “It’s okay to need this.”

  “No.” His denial was a near-roar. “It’s not.”

  Before the words had fully fled his mouth, Peggy went up on her toes and fused their lips together, pancake batter folding and folding in her stomach. His mouth was hard, his cheeks rough even though they were shaven. But the taste of apples and mint, and the grudging, restrained returning of the kiss, made him too addictive to stop. The battle inside him only went on a few seconds, until their tongues met, and then Peggy was plastered between his ruthlessly fit body and the lockers, his hand treating the private place between her thighs with nothing short of disrespect.

  When he jerked aside the thin, red material and slipped a finger into her heat, shoving it deep with a grunt and a twist, Peggy flew across the bridge toward an orgasm, anticipating it in the tips of her toes, the downward pull in her belly.

  “I can’t do this,” Elliott growled, before taking her mouth in another no-holds-barred wrestling of tongues and teeth. “I can’t. You’re too young—you’re a student and I’m…Peggy, I haven’t been thinking clearly.”

  Oh God, if he stopped, she would drop dead from disappointment. Her head spun, tummy clenching, lungs seizing with short, desperate breaths. But through it all, his obvious pain permeated, drawing them into the eye of the storm together. “This isn’t wrong. Wanting me isn’t wrong.” Her hands shook between their bodies as she unfastened his tailored, black pants, lowering the zipper. The groan that left his mouth when she gripped his generous length and stroked would stay with her forever; it was so forceful and relieved and miserable, all at once. “Let go of what happened, just for a little while. We’re the only ones here. Just you and me.” She raised her left leg, hooking it around his hip, whispering, “I’m on the pill.”

  With a jagged breath, Elliott grabbed up Peggy’s other leg, drawing it high around his waist as she guided his arousal toward her core. He entered her with a biting slam against the locker door, releasing the vilest of epithets into her ear. “Jesus Christ. This is what sin feels like,” he rasped. “Wrong and right, at the same time. Life and death. Blond, long-legged, and tight.” A violent pounding of his erection into her already contracting flesh. “I should start saying my penance now, because it could take years to make up for the thoughts you’ve put in my head. And now I’m acting on them.”

  His hips moved faster, pinning Peggy’s bottom to the locker, rattling it…rolling her eyes back in her head until the climax broke like a cresting wave, turning her thighs to conductors of vibration. “Oh…oh my God…please.”

  “Don’t talk about God to me.” His sweating forehead wedged into the cradle of her neck. “You’re the reason I’m forsaking him.”

  “No,” Peggy breathed, planting kisses on his mouth, his cheeks. “No one is perfect. Not all the time. Not even you.” Her panting breaths were making her ribs ache, but his hardness moving in her body eclipsed any discomfort with bliss. So much bliss. “You don’t have to be…faultless with me. Not right now.”

  Hard eyes lifted, snagging hers. “Which way do I have to be?”

  The glimpse of vulnerability in Elliott—a man touted as Godlike in his genius and determination—raced through Peggy’s veins like a drug. Had she really been the catalyst that drew out his undiscovered weakness? “Human.”

  As soon as she issued the word, she felt it spear him, could almost hear the effect it had. He was looking at her differently now, like she were a new discovery he’d made, but didn’t fully understand. “You feel like ruin…but I can’t stop. Can’t stop.” Coarse hands climbed up Peggy’s thighs, wedging between her body and the locker to grip her backside. “Our father, who art in heaven…” The sound of wet flesh meeting began, as his pace increased. “Hallowed be thy name…”

  Chapter Two

  Elliott Brooks hated banners.

  Most of the time, he could accomplish tunnel vision, seeing nothing other than the green, manicured grass, the yellow practice jerseys, the white lines on his field. But the banners, they were so damn…colorful. They were a fishhook in his subconscious, trying to tug him back to the living and he resented it. Almost as much as the juvenile phrases splashed across the front.

  Bearcats on the prrrrowl. Hell. He’d been looking at that damn banner flapping in the breeze since yesterday, when his entire focus needed to be on the practice taking place in front of him. They were matched up against Temple on Saturday and it would be the toughest game of the season. Unfortunately, their staunchest competition was rolling into town on alumni weekend.

  Once a year, the University of Cincinnati invited graduates back into the fold, making a big production of their glorious return and every ridiculous activity centered around his field, distracting his players. Goddamn Alumni Week. Hadn’t four years on campus been enough? Some of them had graduated a matter of months ago, and already they needed reminding they were special? It was nothing but a pain in the ass. The marching band starting and stopping, instructions being called out—Raise the banner! Now lower it!—dancers twirling ribbons, cheerleaders chanting, newspaper reporters slinking around, somehow more tolerated than usual because of the almighty spirit of alumni week.

  Elliott didn’t have the spirit. He wanted everyone to clear the fuck out so he could worry about winning some football. Isn’t that what everyone wanted from him? Victories? Another trophy for the front office?


  Of course they did. At age thirty-eight, it was the one thing Elliott could be relied on to do successfully. Win games.

  Across the field, a fresh group of smiling people appeared in the stands, wearing Bearcats sweatshirts, but clearly too old to be students. More alums looking to rekindle their memories, while he strove to forget his own.

  Nonetheless, Elliott couldn’t help himself. He scanned their faces, giving a jerky nod to no one in particular when he didn’t recognize any of them. She won’t be here. She never comes. Stop looking for her.

  “Drill’s over, Coach. You want to run the offense?”

  Elliott cleared his throat way too loudly, thankful for the offensive coordinator’s interruption. Damn, how long had his attention been off the field? Every year. Every year he did this to himself. “Our tight end is dragging ass completing his routes. Let’s run every play in the book that gets him the ball until he wakes up.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Mentally running through the balance of what they needed to cover before he called practice to a close, Elliott went back to consulting his clipboard. A chorus of squeals from the assembled cheerleaders—past and present—broke his concentration and he gritted his teeth, assuming another one of their long-lost members had returned from on high. Against his good judgment, he’d already checked that none of them were her. No need to look again and feel another damning swoop of disappointment.

  It wasn’t until he heard the voice that hell broke loose in his chest.

  “All right. Who do I have to blow around here to get a decent toe touch?”

  Elliott’s grip on the clipboard went so tight, the heavy plastic cracked. He took several restoring breaths through his nose and mentally counted to ten, before lifting his head. Outwardly, his attention appeared to be on the cycling offense, but his gaze was cut to the side, where at least two dozen girls swarmed no other than Peggy Clarkson.

  Lord, he shouldn’t have looked. But then again, he’d never been able to keep his eyes off her, had he? He’d never had the problem before Peggy, or since. They were all students to Elliott, easily compartmentalized. Except for this one girl.

  A woman now, he saw, and hell if she wasn’t twice as incredible.

  Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…

  The prayer went off like a shot in his mind, playing defense against the gorgeous image she presented standing in the area past the end zone in the patch of winter sunlight. She wore black tights…the thicker kind you couldn’t see through. Leggings, he thought they might be called. Leather boots climbed up past her knees to wrap around thighs she’d once opened for him. Eagerly. They led to the firm temptation of her bottom, which he’d once asked her to keep covered in public, during a moment of weakness in the dark, while she took his thrusts. But the fitted, white long-sleeved shirt and furry black vest cut off at her thin waist, inviting everyone to look.

  Just like him. Elliott was no longer making any attempt to hide his scrutiny of the new arrival. All the while, he polished the black rosary beads in his pocket, as if acknowledging the weaknesses of his flesh might excuse him for falling victim. A discreet throat clearing from his offensive coordinator told him his interest hadn’t gone unnoticed, either. “You need something, Wayne?” Elliott demanded.

  Wayne bent forward to prop both hands on his knees, wisely putting his attention back on practice. “Hey, no judgments here.” The other man tipped his head toward the animated pack of cheerleaders and shot Elliott a look that bordered on apprehensive. “Even I remember that one, and I’m so far off the market, I don’t even remember what it looks like.”

  That one. Peggy.

  Of course Wayne remembered her. She was impossible to forget.

  Didn’t mean Elliott wouldn’t continue to try. With a vengeance.

  She’s a married woman. He’d given away his chance. Thrown it right to the wind, and lamenting his decision now wasn’t just pointless, it was masochistic.

  Garnering his will, Elliott turned his back on Peggy’s location and…immediately found someone fucking up his formation. Five someones, actually. This was why he resented distractions. They removed focus from the only two constants in his life: football and religion. He’d once allowed the balance to be upset between God and the sport, and as a result, a life had been lost. God’s way of telling him his path in life was unchangeable. He’d been sent to this university to win football games and set an example, to guide good men to better futures, a responsibility entrusted to him by their parents.

  And in between, he muddled his way through being a parent himself.

  Elliott wouldn’t allow himself time for anything else. He’d chosen football over his family, including his wife. Including his devoutly religious parents, who’d never understood his fascination with the sport. But three years ago, he’d found someone—the only someone—who’d been capable of tempting him away from his responsibilities. Away from his well-deserved guilt. Hope had flared so brightly, he could still remember feeling blinded. But he’d made his choice to live with the guilt. Away from her light.

  A choice he refused to question or he risked insanity.

  Elliott had made his bed, now he would lie in it. If he didn’t win games, didn’t bring home victories, his sacrificing of those who’d had the misfortune of coming into his life would be for nothing. Football had severed his one attempt at making a family, having a relationship with someone off the field, and it wouldn’t happen again. Not in this lifetime.

  * * *

  Elliott had just blown the whistle to end practice when he felt Peggy approach at his back. Or rather, his players started shoving one another, throwing their chins in his direction like a pack of jackasses. Had he not put the fear of God into these men yet? Tomorrow’s practice was going to be hell.

  The hell of right now concerned him more, however. In a matter of seconds, he’d be in her presence again. Her. And there was a good reason for his team and fellow coaches to be staring with their mouths open while Peggy probably swayed up like a runway model. Not only was she a bombshell that always seemed poised to go off any second, but no one ever approached him.

  Peggy had no such problem, apparently. In fact, before Elliott even turned around, he could sense her reveling in not giving a fuck, and panic slid into his blood like a sea monster. She’s gotten even braver. Brave enough to divert his path again?

  No. Not after all the work he’d done to lay the brickwork.

  During those months of madness her senior year, she’d come to him at night. Or vice versa. When no one else was around. They’d be on each other before the sound of the knock even faded. Without restraint. No boundaries. Zero patience.

  Being near her was too much of a danger to a man whose entire life was made up of rules. Rules that kept him from looking right or left. Straight ahead only.

  Furthermore, someone had been smart enough to keep her.

  Someone other than Elliott.

  “Head to the showers,” he boomed too loudly, perversely pleased when everyone moved at once, without hesitating, like he’d conditioned them to do. “We’ll be back here tomorrow, bright and early. Scrimmage against the B squad.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Yes, Coach,” came the amused feminine echo behind him. He thought the hour since Peggy arrived had given him time to prepare, but he was wrong. When he turned around, his gut screwed up like a fist. Fuck. Still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It was more than just her blond pinup looks, though, wasn’t it? Always had been. There was enough sharp wit in those dark gold eyes for a man to get lost. Like he’d almost done. And the wit was only a gateway to the compassion she’d spread over him like warm oil, enticing him to forgive himself. She was so much. Too much.

  “Peggy,” Elliott rasped, transferring his clipboard to the crook of his arm, so they could shake hands. A reflexive move. That was how he operated. Handshakes. Giving hugs and kissing cheeks weren’t part of his day. But even the muscle memory couldn
’t make it feel natural. Not with her.

  One of Peggy’s eyebrows arched at his outstretched hand, but she recovered, twining their fingers together slowly. At the zing of static, the corner of her mouth jumped, like they’d traded a secret, and God help him, his cock thickened in his jeans. “Elliott,” she murmured. “You look exactly the same.”

  He took his hand back out of necessity. “Three years isn’t all that long.”

  “No, I guess not.” For just a second, he thought her flirtatious smile turned forced, but it came back with such a glow, he figured it was his imagination. “It was long enough for them to put a giant statue of you at the entrance.” Her teeth sank into that full lower lip and held, just enough to drive him a little insane. “I bet you hate it, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Damn. It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed since they’d stood across from each other. Not when she could still call his bullshit a mile away, the way no one else ever had. “They could have waited until I was dead or retired.”

  “When it comes to you, I don’t think those things are mutually exclusive.” She hummed in her throat, her gaze tripping over his chest, lower. “Anyway, they already think you’re God, so your immortality is a reasonable assumption.” When she took a step closer, he almost dropped the clipboard. In favor of staving her off or yanking her closer? He had no idea. But she only lifted a finger, trailing the smooth pad across the seam of his lips. “The sculptor didn’t get your mouth right, though. It’s much more generous, isn’t it?” Elliott snagged her wrist and her eyes lit with challenge. “Or maybe the sculptor just hasn’t experienced it the way I have.”

  Lust and irritation joined forces in his blood, making it boil. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Peggy?”

  The seduction in her expression lost steam. “That’s the first thing you ever said to me.” She visibly shook herself, tugging her hand from his grip. “I’m here for alumni weekend. Obviously.”