SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  “Ow,” Mad complained to his friend’s back, then followed him, towing the second cooler.

  Predictable. Levelheaded. Cautious.

  Dull. Lifeless. Burned out.

  He shook off all the labels. Damn it, he was going to join his friends, have a great evening, enjoy the fuck out of the hours. Be himself.

  His boring, burned-out, lifeless self.

  Continuing onward, he squared his shoulders and took a second look at the knot of people. If Sophie was already here, then there’d be good things to eat.

  Besides pork rinds.

  He stowed the cooler beneath the nearest table and wandered over to his friend Shane who was looking at the setting sun, his expression doleful. “Waves are flat,” he said.

  “Why I didn’t bring my board,” Mad replied. “I checked the surf report before I came.”

  “I don’t check the report.” Shane shoved a hank of hair off his forehead. “I don’t need to check the report. I feel the waves, see?”

  Mad rolled his eyes. Shane claimed to be tuned in to the universe. “So this time you were off.”

  His friend shook his head. “It’s not right.” He turned his back on the surf and faced the tables, food, drink, crowd. “There’s a disturbance somewhere.”

  Another eye roll. But Mad dutifully turned too. Then, a concerning thought. He ran his gaze over the people on the beach, talking, laughing, dancing. Whew. No sign of the woman he’d seen on Shane’s arm the other night. By itself, that wouldn’t be bad, but he was particularly relieved not to see the woman with Raf at her elbow.

  “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Not a thing.” Especially now that he didn’t need to warn one of his best friends about said best friend’s willing-to-poach half brother. “Not a thing’s wrong.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Shane said, spreading his legs in the sand and crossing his arms over his bare chest. His chin jutted toward the circle of dancers on the sand. “Girl mush pot. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

  No one said Shane didn’t appreciate the female form.

  Or wasn’t part-caveman.

  Then one woman’s form caught Mad’s eye. A big canvas hat obscured her face as she moved sinuously to the beat. When she spun around, giving him a view of her back, he blinked hard. “Jesus.”

  “What?” Shane asked.

  “When did female bathing suit fashion mean exposing everything with such…cheekiness?”

  Shane snorted. “You’re just getting around to noticing? Let’s just be grateful it doesn’t extend to men. Look at Geoff Simms over there. Imagine having to look at his hairy ass.”

  “Don’t put that in my head.” He squeezed shut his eyes, then managed to take a careful peek through his eyelashes. The view remained blinding. “Shane…”

  His friend laughed. “Is this a cop thing? You’ve been keeping your eyes at shoulder-level the past few years?”

  “But that…that…” Mad gestured vaguely.

  Turning his head, his buddy sent him a strange look. “You do know that’s your former girlfriend under the big hat and sporting the, uh…”

  Harper? He gulped. “Can those scant pieces of fabric really be termed swimwear?”

  “She always had a wild side. Or a side at least wilder than yours.”

  “Vegas,” he said darkly. “That’s where she’s been.”

  “Well, she’s wearing it well,” Shane said lightly. “And by the way, have some advice. You should take that cop stick out of your ass.”

  The boring, predictable, stick.

  He decided to stop staring at Harper, because it only made him feel more dull in comparison to all that movement, life, skin. But just as he shifted, Hart stepped up and groaned. “God, look who’s back.”

  Mad’s head whipped toward the dancers again. The women had a man in their midst now. Tatted Arms, whose hand had previously been in Sophie Daggett’s back pocket, was now leering at Harper Hill, with her poppy blossom of a hat and her dental floss of a bathing suit. He spun her around and she laughed, throwing her head back and twirling on her bare feet. The big hat fell to the sand, revealing Harper’s flushed face.

  “That guy,” Hart said. “I can’t decide whether I hate him or I hate him.”

  “I hate him,” Mad replied, then regretted it. “Of course I don’t give a shit about him.” Or the fact that he appeared to be hitting on his former girlfriend.

  Why should he care about that, either, after all? She was free to enjoy any guy she wanted. Smile at him, laugh at him, hold his hand. Over the last six years she’d probably had a good time with any number of other men.

  “How many would that be?” he asked Hart.

  “How many would that be what?”

  “Over six years, how many…people would someone encounter, enjoy, whatever.”

  Hart blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  With another glance at Tatted Arms, Mad told himself it couldn’t be jealousy surging through his veins. Harper had been away from him, from town, for so long he should barely remember what she felt like. How she tasted. How his tongue enjoyed flirting with the hollow behind her ear.

  And the curve of her ear.

  And her nipple.

  Her clit.

  “Gah,” he said and pressed his palms to his temples. How many other men had similar memories of her in his head? The idea of it made his blood chug hot and thick in his veins. Cut him and he’d bleed green.

  And Mad had called Shane a caveman.

  Still…how many could it be?

  One man a month, times six years…or one a week? That would be…

  His brain hurt, which was stupid, because he was his father’s son and his father could have made this calculation without wishing he had a pad and paper or at least more fingers. Problem was, thinking of Harper with anyone but him caused his intelligence to turn off and…

  The music suddenly changed.

  Someone shrieked, the boombox volume blared.

  The sound of The Bangles reached across the sand. “Eternal Flame.” Almost all the women paired off to slow dance with one another.

  Tatted Arms took Harper into his.

  On impulse, Mad moved forward, no longer lifeless, dull, or cautious.

  He ran to take what he wanted, feeling completely, thrillingly alive.

  Chapter Seven

  One second she was loosely held by a lean stranger, his arms impressively tattooed, and in the next, her hand was in Mad’s and he’d pulled her free so they faced each other.

  And just like that, the world went away. Except for him. And “Eternal Flame.”

  “It’s our song,” he said, even as his fingers released hers. “We dance to this song.”

  “Right,” she said, because it felt so. So right.

  His arms lifted, hovered, and a perplexed expression crossed his face. “Harp, I don’t know where the hell to put my hands.”

  She glanced down, felt heat rush from her forehead to her feet. Most of her was naked. “I told Sophie this bathing suit wasn’t right for me.”

  “Oh, I disagree,” his gaze slid down her body, “it’s very right for you.”

  Embarrassment easing, Harper smiled and put one fingertip on his chest. “What a nice thing to say.” It might have come out like a purr.

  He took a step forward and this time his arms didn’t hesitate to surround her. She shut her eyes as he pulled her closer, their bodies brushing. The notes of “Eternal Flame” embraced them like a blanket.

  “Why is this our song anyway?” she said, her head woozy. The beer she’d downed too fast? Just Mad, so close? In any case, it seemed important to prove that she could still speak. “It’s an oldie.”

  Their feet shuffled in the sand. “I’m just glad it’s not the piña colada song.”

  She giggled. “The Daggetts are still playing that?” she asked, glancing up. His eyes were shut now, dark lashes fanned on his tan cheeks.

  God. How had she ever m
anaged to leave him?

  His lips curved in a faint smile. “They’re still playing it.”

  With him not looking at her, she snuggled closer and then bowed to impulse and brushed her mouth against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. His fingers flexed, digging into her hips.

  “It became ‘our’ song when we were parked at ‘our’ spot,” he said. “I had the radio tuned to a station with 80s programming.”

  Harper knew all this. “Hmm,” she said, as if it was just coming back to her.

  His head drew closer and his mouth breathed heat against her ear. “You know those ‘say my name’ lyrics?”

  “Hmm.” She bit back her smile.

  “During that song you did that exact thing the first time I made you come.”

  Her body quivered. But she’d matured, hadn’t she? So she lifted her chin and caught his eye. “Well, not the first time you made me come.”

  He pushed her three inches away, his eyebrows arching. “What’s this?”

  Now it was her turn to lean in. “Self-pleasure, Maddox Kelly. Before that particular night, I may have been having filthy thoughts of you when I indulged.”

  His slack jaw made her laugh. She pushed it up with one finger. “You should know females do this. Didn’t you say something about women friends?”

  “We’re not that close,” he said. “And you…back then, I just never would have thought…”

  “Cute,” she said, grinning up at him. “You are definitely cute.”

  He yanked her close again and his voice lowered to that stern tone that made her toes curl into the sand. “For that, you’re getting kissed.”

  “Punish me, sir,” she whispered, daring him.

  His mouth brushed hers. Her belly clenched and a rush of want rocketed through her veins. Her arms tightened around his neck and his hands slid from her hips to the bare flesh of her butt cheeks. Her whole body shivered as her lips opened. His tongue slid inside and she moaned at the taste of him, apple-tart and slightly salty. Her fingers found the short hair at the back of his neck, the strands cool against the sensitive insides. She shivered again, and beneath the skimpy top of her suit her nipples pearled.

  Mad groaned and drew one hand up her naked side to cup her breast, his thumb flicking the hard bud. Sudden crowd-awareness cleared her head and she half-opened her eyes to find he’d danced her away from the rest of the party. They were on the far side of a tall dune and behind some scrubby trees that gave enough cover for her to surrender once again to sensation.

  His mouth broke from hers and traveled to her jaw, her neck, then her ear, where he nuzzled like a puppy for a moment before biting the lobe. She moaned, her hands dropping from his hair to his back, finding the hem of his T-shirt and fighting the cotton to pull him free of it.

  Laughing, he obliged, and then his wide, hot, bare chest was available for admiration and touch and taste. She kissed from nipple to nipple and then laved one with the wet flat of her tongue. His hips bucked against hers and she felt his erection, hard and long and arousing. Her whole body quivered with need and her head fell back when his hand inched under the bathing suit top, his rough palm cradling her aching breast.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  His fingers came together to pinch the delicate flesh and it wasn’t enough. She pushed herself into his hand, wanting more. Wanting everything.

  Wanting.

  On tiptoe, she found his mouth with hers and kissed him again, sliding her tongue into his heat to share her own taste. His hand on her butt gathered her closer and his hard-on pressed her lower belly, igniting new desire.

  Let’s go, she said in her mind. Get truly alone. Make love.

  Her fingers slid into the waistband at the back of his board shorts. He groaned, then lifted his head, staring down at her with dark, glittering eyes.

  “Let’s go somewhere.” His voice sounded guttural. “Find a bed. Do it. Do it now.”

  And her mind spun as he kissed her once more, his mouth, the feel of his body against hers turning her inside out. Leaving all the vulnerable parts on the outside.

  Making it too easy to become attached.

  Let’s go somewhere. Find a bed.

  As good as he tasted, as good as he felt against her, the vulnerability, the yearning for attachment seemed so dangerous.

  Do it.

  Not make love.

  Do it now.

  With a wrench, she pulled away from him, her breath coming in sharp gasps. They stared at each other as she struggled between desire and fear. Mad, she thought, her toes on that calamitous brink. You make this too easy.

  That’s what was truly in her DNA, this weakness that caused a person to give over, to surrender to a passion that the other didn’t share. The kind of intense caring that meant a lifetime alone without being loved with the same depth. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be doomed to a sad existence of forever wanting yet not receiving a reciprocal…eternalness.

  If that was even a word.

  “I’ve got to leave,” she said now, and meant it with the same certitude as six years before. “It’s for the best.” Then she turned in the opposite direction of the party and ran.

  The low tide allowed her to pick her way around the point of the cove, leaping over rocks and splashing through tide pools. Once back on wide sand, she picked up her pace, with no real plan but to put space between herself and that near-fall. The air chilled as the sun hit the ocean and then she tripped, landing flat on her face.

  “Ugh.” Without moving, she took a quick inventory and realized her bare foot stung. Turning, she sat up and inspected her wound. A small cut, oozing blood. “Ugh.”

  She glanced around for something to stanch it, noting she’d happened upon a makeshift camp—a small tent, some ratty and mussed beach towels, a hibachi, Styrofoam cooler, and a pile of damp clothes. She’d tumbled over a couple of empty glass beer bottles, one which broke then cut her foot.

  “Everybody knows not to bring glass to the beach,” she muttered, and curled over her foot, blowing on the sand trying to take up residence in opened flesh.

  “Hey, look who’s here.” A male voice sounded from the direction of the waves and she turned her head to see a pair of young men—nineteen, twenty years old, maybe—approach from the water. One shook himself like a dog when he reached the camp.

  Harper cringed from the cold drops and struggled to her feet, putting her weight on the uninjured one. “Hello and goodbye,” she said, and tried deciding which way to go—her car, or farther up the beach?

  “No goodbyes, sweet thing,” said the one who hadn’t gone dog. Water ran out of his long hair and down his narrow chest. He sidled closer, eyeing her getup.

  Harper forced herself not to make sure the stretchy fabric hadn’t moved north, south, east, or west to over-reveal.

  Oh, who was she kidding, the swimsuit was one over-reveal from top to bottoms.

  She began to limp away.

  A hard hand grabbed her elbow. “Stay and party with us.” Dog-boy.

  “Yeah.” The second annoying youngster moved in to press close to her other side.

  “Excuse me?” Harper looked down her nose at them—even though they were taller—and yanked her arm free.

  It was caught again. “Party with us. We have booze, fried chicken—”

  “Booze.”

  Dog-boy shot a look at his friend. “I said that.” Then he slid his hand from her elbow up her arm, his knuckles grazing the side of her breast. “Stay, beautiful.”

  She edged away, every feminine instinct standing on end along with the hairs on the nape of her neck. “I’m expected somewhere.” She gestured vaguely. “Another party.”

  “We’re more fun,” they said together.

  Great. The Doublemint twins. Her hand hit her flank, seeking a cell phone that couldn’t be stowed in this stupid, stupid suit. She would never go out pocket-less again. “Guys, I’ve got people expecting me.”

  This time when she tried an escape, they onl
y crowded closer. “We need a new friend,” one said.

  Shit. Shitheads. It hit her that they were not completely sober and not just buzzed on those couple of beers either.

  Shit. Shithead. This time she meant herself. Though not her fault, this was a predicament that she’d landed in and she should have moved quicker to get herself out of it.

  “Friendship. What an offer.” With a smile that every woman on earth had been forced to paste onto her face at least once, she began rear stepping, putting space between herself and her eager swains. “But I have enough friends, thanks.”

  “We need a lady,” Dog-boy said to his companion. “We need this lady.”

  Harper sped up her retreat. “Uh, no.”

  Then Companion lunged for her. Her breath caught in her throat and she leaped backward, tripping again, this time on a mound of kelp, and fell onto the sand once more, butt-first. The swains loomed and Harper’s pulse went into overdrive. “Listen, boys,” she said, her voice sounded too high to her own ears. “I—”

  “What the hell is going on?” a new voice roared.

  Her growing concern—okay, fear—instantly subsided as Mad pushed the strangers out of the way, putting himself between her and them.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  Because she could breathe again, she tried erasing incipient panic from her face. “I’m fine. I have everything under control. I don’t need you.”

  “Yeah, man. She’s partying with us,” Dog-boy added.

  Mad glanced over his shoulder. The young guys should have withered to the size of sand fleas. “Harp, with me.”

  “I’m not with you,” she said, and immediately felt stupid for the knee-jerk retort.

  Companion puffed up. “See? She’s with us.”

  Mad snorted, turning just as Dog-boy let fly a fist.

  The scrawny kid didn’t pack much of a punch, but the blow still hurt as it bounced off Mad’s cheekbone. The kid danced back, fists under his chin, while his smarter buddy backed farther away.

  “Hey, hey,” he said to his friend. “Chill out.”

  “Yeah, chill out,” Mad said and reached down to assist Harper. “Let’s get you up.”

  She put her hand in his and allowed him to haul her to standing, then he noticed her wince when she put weight on one of her feet. Frowning, he took a longer look. “What happened?”