The Penalty

by Piper Westbrook

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “When you were leaving, you looked back at me. If you were so into that guy, you wouldn’t have turned around at the exit. But you did.”

  “The journalist isn’t mine, and I haven’t seen him since we said something to the effect of ‘Have a nice life’ in the Grimaldi parking lot and I drove myself home. I went out with him to please someone who can’t be pleased.” Waverly gripped the front of her waist pack tightly to keep her fingers from reaching out to slide along his angular jaw and over the hard muscles that lay beneath his shirt. “What do you want from me? Everyone wants something, and if what you want is something I can’t give, then you should know now.”

  “I want to see you. Not trainer Waverly. Not the Waverly who dresses up for a man she doesn’t want to be with. I want to see you.”

  “Breaking news. This is me.”

  “Okay.” Keeping his gaze on hers—oh, God, it sizzled through her defenses—he reached behind her with one hand and deftly unlatched her waist pack. It met the ground in a soft thud, and there was nothing in the air but a dense mist and an unspoken dare she knew she wouldn’t pass up. “Then just answer this. Why did you look back at me last night, Waverly?”

  The emotional face-off came raging forth. What to reveal? What to hold back? But in honesty she found escape. “Because I wanted to stay. With you.”

  * * *

  Waverly wasn’t lying to him. Jeremiah’s intuition told him she was for real. Tuned completely in to her, he sensed her boldness and hesitant trust. She wasn’t after a fantasy with some stranger. She was making a choice.

  Despite what was at stake for both of them, they couldn’t seem to keep away from one another. Before, he’d told himself he had the excuse that he hadn’t known the identity of the woman he’d taken up to his suite at the Rio. But now he couldn’t pretend not to know. He’d gone after her. He knew exactly who she was, what she wanted and how finishing what they’d started at the Rio would be both his best and worst decision ever.

  The plain, cold facts warred with hot lust in his mind, and he had to make a choice. Now.

  Jeremiah hooked a finger into the elastic band reining in Waverly’s hair and drew it down until the dark honey curls tumbled free. He replaced the elastic with his hand, tunneling it through until he could cradle the back of her head. “Stay, Waverly.”

  “Don’t…”

  Immediately he started to release her, to back off.

  She laughed lightly, using the back of her hand to mop away the shimmer of sweat on her forehead. “Don’t stop.”

  React. That was all Jeremiah would do. There was no need to calculate or plot. There was only instinct and touch and demand. He went for her bottom lip, tasting the soft swell before penetrating her mouth with his tongue. Her groan vibrated in his mouth, and in turn he explored his fill—gently sinking his teeth into her lips, learning the texture of her mouth.

  He let her go and she gasped sharply, crossing her arms protectively across her chest. He’d shocked her. Good. “Waverly.”

  The naked joy that lit her face nearly brought him to his knees. Her arms fell, then swept up in a single graceful movement, the hem of her purple shirt tangled in her fingers. In seconds the shirt was floating to the ground and she was in front of him in a black sports bra, shorts, and an inviting smile.

  She burrowed her anxious hands beneath his shirt, rediscovering the shape of him, her fingertips bumping along his abdominal muscles, then skimming up his back until her palms were pressed to his shoulder blades. “At the hotel…it was, I don’t know, unreal. But I never forgot your body and how you touched me. Did you forget?”

  Fuck, no. He’d tried to, because forgetting would’ve made it easier to put things in perspective and manage working with her through hellishly long training days without fantasizing about losing his mind and kissing her on the practice field.

  To answer her he stepped out of her embrace, peeled away her bra and slid his splayed fingers up her damp skin to cup her breasts. She closed her eyes only to open them again—wide—at the sensation of his mouth closing over one of her nipples.

  The taste of her elicited a moan from him, heightened his senses and sensitivity to her touch when she scraped his scalp with her fingernails. He retaliated with a firm grip on her ass, bunching the mesh athletic shorts and tugging them downward even as she toed off her shoes.

  Waverly dipped to shed her socks, then rose slowly, emerging from the swirling fog with that quirky, irresistible little smirk and dirty intent in her eyes. She was soft skin over toned muscles and lush curves. She went for his jeans, rubbing him through the denim, leaving it up to him to get rid of his shirt.

  In the time it took for him to yank off the shirt, she’d unzipped his jeans and worked her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

  Now she was the one shocking him, with her erotic, gritty promises and the way she raked her fingers up and down the length of his cock before baring his ass.

  He sank, landing on his shirt and taking her down with him. Hovering over her with his pants halfway down his thighs, he fumbled for the condom in his wallet. As he searched her eyes for signs of retreat and found none, he pressed the condom into her hand. This wasn’t about a power struggle or manipulation or competition. It was about Jeremiah and Waverly, giving and taking, finding the rightness in a situation that seemed to be wrong in a dozen ways.

  As she was occupied with tearing open the packaging, he took the opportunity to slip his middle finger into her pussy. She sighed, bowing up, opening herself further to his exploration.

  He leaned, groaning into her hair at the tightness of her walls around his finger. Relentlessly he teased her until she clenched and dropped back in a series of spasms, and then he let her test the weight of his dick in her hand before she rolled the condom onto him.

  Jeremiah stared at her beneath him, her eyes hooded, her body moving with his. “Your cunt feels so fucking good around me, Waverly. I don’t want to leave this pussy.”

  Bracing his weight on his knees and one forearm, he grabbed one of her hands and pinned it to the ground beside her head. Then, with their moans blending and damp flesh meeting in rhythmic slaps, he fucked her until they both let go.

  Jeremiah waited until she crawled away to gather her clothes before he righted his pants. There was an awkwardness to her movements. In a matter of minutes she’d gone from hotter than hell to colder than ice.

  Shirt in hand, he walked slowly to her as she pulled up her shorts. He bent, pressed a kiss to the center of her smooth back.

  “Jeremiah. We’re so fucked.”

  He gathered a handful of her hair to expose her nape, kissed her there, and got a pleasured groan in response. “I know.”

  It was hilarious and shattering at the same time that in spite of all the trouble that could come out of willfully crossing the line together they’d done it anyway. And wouldn’t mind doing it again.

  Waverly finally moved away to finish dressing, all the way down to snapping the pack around her waist and chugging down a few swallows of her drink. “We’ve stirred up something between us, and it’s not going away anytime soon.” Distractedly, she offered him the bottle, unaware how sweet the gesture was. If either of them should slip and show affection like this in public, the coaching staff, the front office, the media wouldn’t ignore it.

  “If you weren’t a Greer and I wasn’t a Tarantino, this—” he pointed at her, then himself “—wouldn’t be a problem. I could see you in a hallway and fuck you against a wall. I could eat you every day.”

  “I want it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  But they couldn’t have what they wanted. “Sometimes I goddamn hate that I’m a Tarantino, that blood loyalty is first in my family.” He gave her a considering look. “You probably don’t understand that.”

  Waverly shook her head. “No, Jeremiah, I do. I’m not spoiled, okay? And I’m not perfect. I’ve made some stupi
d choices. Epically stupid. It was all in the name of getting my way and sticking it to my parents, which sums up my college experience.” She stiffened, as if stunned that she’d said as much as she had. “Anyway, it feels like too many people are waiting for me to fuck up again.”

  He wanted to band his arms around her, touch her where she was most responsive until that worried frown melted into an expression of ecstasy. But he didn’t. “Waverly, when we report to camp today, will anything be different in the eyes of the team?”

  “No, because no one knows.… Wait. Are you saying we can keep this between us?”

  “Yeah.” He put on his shirt, glad that he had a spare in his duffel that wasn’t dirtied with telltale signs that he’d fucked a woman in the woods.

  “But for how long, Jeremiah?”

  “Until we’ve had enough and can put this aside.”

  After a moment she nodded sharply. “Okay.” Then she took off in a sprint, yet the look she’d sent him under her lashes was drenched in skepticism and mirrored his thoughts.

  What if I can’t get enough of you?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Four training days passed before Waverly was alone with Jeremiah again. Yes, she’d kept count. And yes, she was hyperaware of him when she barged into the staff lounge to toss her smashed headphones into her duffel bag. The pair was a casualty of a squabble between a few defensive linemen in the cafeteria.

  Jeremiah had been on a call but cut off the conversation.

  She held up the damaged phones. “Just tossing these away. I should go wireless.”

  “Jesus. What happened to them?”

  “Two hundred sixty pounds of linebacker.” Locker open, she was busily stuffing the headphones into her bag when she heard him ease the lounge door closed and engage the lock. By the time she turned around, he’d already crossed the room and was in front of her, hitching his chin at the row of bottles on her locker’s top shelf.

  “Are you a hoarder?”

  “No,” she denied with a laugh. It felt good to tease and banter, relaxed, especially after four days of torturous silence. Work had kept them busy, but it was after hours when she’d think about him and feel his absence most strongly. It wasn’t that she was missing him, she told herself.… That would only introduce a whole new layer of complication neither of them was looking for. This closeness was supposed to be on the low, and temporary, until they could burn themselves out and move on.

  But they had a habit of setting rules only to turn around and break them—along with rules set by everyone else.

  For one thing, he’d locked the lounge door, which just wasn’t done at this facility. Desert Luck’s open-door policy was literal. Part of the new mission statement emphasized teamwork, and no team member had the permission to lock anyone out of any room, be it the auditorium, the conference wing, the training room, or a lounge. Waverly’s only real privacy was the ladies’ restroom, which she used only minimally in an effort to stay integrated with her colleagues.

  And for another thing, she was letting Jeremiah get too close. He was starting to reach her on a level beyond physical.

  “So, what’s with all the shampoo bottles?”

  Oh, God, the timbre of his voice did something wicked to her. Waverly rose up on her toes, answering softly, “I heard it’s gotten to be popular around here, so I stocked up on enough to get me through camp. Thought I’d do you guys a favor.”

  Jeremiah reached out to shut her locker, then backed her against it and settled his hands on either side of her head. “That deserves a proper thank-you.”

  She dragged him forward, covering his mouth with hers. Coaxing a muffled groan from him, she snaked a hand into his shorts and underwear to grab his dick.

  Would she ever get tired of touching him?

  She took her mouth from his and lowered to her knees. “I’m ready for that proper thank-you, Jeremiah.”

  “Open your pretty little mouth.” He slipped two, then three fingers in, and spread the wetness on his cock. Working the length of it, he stood over her so powerfully that she began to shake. “Want me to thank you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  She clasped her hands, looked up into his eyes. “Yes,” she said again.

  “Open your mouth. And shut the fuck up.”

  Waverly felt arousal dampen her panties. She licked her lips, parted them.

  Jeremiah pushed his cock through, grabbed her hair, and started jerking his hips. Hard.

  She grunted but didn’t speak, wanted to guide him but didn’t move. She let him ride her mouth, and minutes later she swallowed his gratitude.

  Drained, he withdrew, tucking himself into his shorts. “I can’t fucking talk. Or think.”

  She smiled, found a tissue to pat against her lips. “You’re welcome.”

  “Waverly…there is something I want from you.”

  Instantly tense, she furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “Your number.” Jeremiah’s gaze dropped to her mouth, swollen from his invasion. “Don’t you think I’ve earned it?”

  Obviously they weren’t close to getting their fill of each other, and they couldn’t continue taking risks like this at Desert Luck Center. They were on the brink of falling in deeper, strengthening an already powerfully dangerous connection, but she could save them both right here, right now. All she had to do was say no.

  “Give me your phone.”

  When he grinned and handed it over, Waverly knew she was in trouble.

  ◆◆◆

  “She’s playing them.”

  Jeremiah had to fight to control his instinct to defend a woman he wasn’t allowed to step up for. Instead, he helped his brother settle into one of the leather chairs in the home theater as SportsCenter featured coverage from the Villains’ Get Fit campaign event. Having spent most of yesterday guest-speaking at a UNLV seminar about musculoskeletal medicine, Jeremiah had missed the chance to work with the children who’d been bused to the training facility to spend the day with professional athletes.

  After today’s semiformal dinner for the training staff, hosted at Whittaker Doyle’s house, Jeremiah hadn’t bothered changing out of his suit before driving straight to Lake Las Vegas for a visit. Even though his father was out and his brother still in a fucked-up mood from a grueling physical-therapy session he’d endured earlier in the afternoon, Jeremiah had stuck around, hoping he and Milo could hang out. Hoping they could be the people they’d been years ago when Milo had saved Jeremiah’s life and given him a future…before their mother died and their father fell into his ongoing downward spiral.

  Would Milo follow in Luca’s footsteps? Was it already happening? His spirits had been high on his birthday until the paparazzi had shown up. He hadn’t responded to Elaine’s messages, either, which Jeremiah knew because she’d eventually told him so—adding the specific instruction for him to never set her up on another date, favor or not.

  Jeremiah focused on the team footage in front of him. Players in jerseys and coaches in red polos were interspersed among the other supervising adults as kids sporting Get Fit shirts littered the practice fields. There was a noticeable lack of women, which had plenty to do with the fact that the Villains were one of the few teams that didn’t have an official cheerleading squad. Despite the buzz about Waverly Greer being approached to pose for magazines, and the owners’ statement that they were “examining the pros and cons of providing that aspect of fan entertainment,” it didn’t seem likely that athletic women in red and silver would be performing at Villains Stadium this coming season.

  The footage remained on Waverly in a thin-strapped silver top and shorts, with a whistle hanging from a lanyard, demonstrating to a group of teens the proper lunge technique. When an overweight boy lost his balance and looked ready to stomp off in embarrassment, she trotted to him and repeated the steps until the group lunged cohesively. Then she gave him a high five and a wink, and let Doyle lead in her stead as she jogged out
of frame.

  It didn’t seem to Jeremiah that she was playing anyone. She was patient with those kids. And without isolating the boy who’d struggled, she’d given him the personalized care he needed to accomplish something as seemingly small-scale as a lunge. And that boy’s smile as he slapped his palm to hers was all confidence and adoration.

  To an insecure teenager, a little attention from a beautiful female went a long way. Attention from a female who was beautiful and sincere was priceless. Jeremiah knew the difference. Growing up he’d been strung along by girls who’d used their looks and his raging hormones to reduce him to a human ATM. He’d craved sincerity and eventually outgrown searching for it.

  Until Waverly, who fulfilled his wish list and was tough and sexy and wild on top of it all, found him. Just his luck she’d be one of the untouchable Greer daughters.

  “I’ve been on the field with Waverly,” he told Milo. “She’s genuine. She leaves camp every night with the same energy she comes in with at six in the morning. Some of the guys have been assholes to her from day one, but she won’t back down. She brings it.”

  “She’s playing you, too.” Milo swore, reached to rub between his eyebrows. Veins in his arm looked as though they might poke through his skin. He was hitting physical therapy hard, but though his form appeared fitter and more cut than during his last season in the NFL, his spinal damage continued to cause pain as well as limit his speed. “Waverly Greer had no right to show up in the fucking Titanium Club that night.”

  Jeremiah twisted around to look at his brother’s profile. When had Milo become belligerent, a man who’d rather hate and attack than build a new future for himself? Oh, right. When his career and his chance to inherit the Villains franchise had been ripped from his iron grip. “Izzie said she invited her up.”

  “You’re smart, damn it, Jeremiah. She was there and so were the goddamn paparazzi.”

  “Drinks, boys?” In a strapless dress and bare feet, Izzie sauntered in, carrying a tray of what appeared to be an assortment of liquor bottles and glasses. Her eyes were sharp with warning as she bent forward to offer the tray to Jeremiah.