Pressure Point (Point #2)

by Olivia Luck

  The mood shifts from playful to sexually charged in the exhalation of one shallow breath. If I arched my back at the right angle, I’d brush against him and… Blake’s molten gaze sends goosebumps along the back of my neck. Reality sets in and I remember that he has a meeting.

  Breaking the sensual spell, I prop myself up then reach out to clutch a handful of his pale blue shirt and yank him toward me. “Don’t fall,” I gasp as he nearly topples over my body. At the last second, he rolls to his side, breathing heavily. One arm drapes over my waist. I love that he’s always touching me, wanting to be near to me.

  “This is the happiest that I’ve ever been.” I blurt out the words before I can stop myself. Everything about my hard, often impenetrable, man goes soft with my words: the touch on my stomach feather-light, the color of his eyes becomes melty chocolate. He doesn’t answer me, and deep down I know it’s because he can’t be the happiest he’s ever been when Zoe’s hurting badly. Instead, he conveys his bliss in the sweetest, gentlest kiss I’ve ever experienced.

  I’ve finished responding to emails and found a bit of time for myself at the hotel pool a few hours later. Now I’m brushing my unruly waves, hoping they’ll cooperate tonight in the dry heat. Selecting an outfit to wear wasn’t hard; Violet practically picked all of my clothes. The event planner in her always knows what clothing is appropriate. In a red silk, sleeveless top, tight black skinny pants, and black booties, I’m wearing team colors and feeling like myself. The front door opens as I’m applying a coat of crimson lipstick. Blake’s not alone; I hear Cam razzing Blake like no one else dares to.

  “Pretty whipped, eh?” There go Cam’s Canadian roots.

  “Give me a break, thirty-one. You’ve asked about Violet only a dozen times and the girl is engaged to another guy.”

  Whoa. Violet caught Cam’s eye. That’s an interesting development and explains why he never mentions other women in the times I’ve hung out with him.

  “Don’t,” Cam snaps. “I would never interfere. Insinuate otherwise and I’ll knock you out.”

  Double whoa. I’ve never heard Cam this tense. I make a mental note to interrogate Blake later. I slip my black wallet-on-chain bag on my shoulder and make my way into the living room where Blake and Cam have moved on to lighter topics.

  “Stella,” Blake says when I enter the room. He strides across the tile and yanks me against him. He claims my lips in one of those possessive, back-off gestures toward Cam. Don’t get me wrong, I eat up his attention and the tender caresses against my back, but now I know that there’s no need. Cam’s got it bad for Violet, and I’m sad that he has eyes on a girl who’s completely lost on another man. Cam is kind and goofy and a great guy. He deserves to be happy, too.

  Blake’s lips brush my sensitive ear lobe. “You look good enough to eat.”

  I flash him a sly grin then turn to greet Cam, who’s wearing worry like it’s a Scrapers jersey. Feigning nonchalance, I don’t mention Violet or what I overheard. “Ready?”

  The three of us walk together, crossing outdoor patios to reach the main lodge. Blake’s cell rings when we’re walking through the hotel lobby, and he offers an apologetic glance my way.

  Cam places a hand on my shoulder, the unease still apparent all over his face. “Look, Stella, I don’t know what you may have heard back there, but I’m not trying to make a move on your cousin’s girl.”

  “I didn’t hear anything, Cam.” His face goes lax with relief. Empathy laces my tone when I continue. “If I did, I’d never say anything. You’re a stand-up guy, and I can tell that you’re not the type to try to destroy a relationship. Further than that, I’ve suffered through unrequited romance, and it can be brutal. I don’t want anyone who I care about to go through that kind of turmoil.”

  Cam’s intense stare doesn’t waver through my short speech. He watches me intently, not speaking until Blake claps him on the shoulder roughly. “Aren’t we here to celebrate? You two look like someone just died.”

  “In a way,” Cam mutters, shrugging out of Blake’s grip. He walks away, heading toward the ballroom where the Wind players are wolfing down what Blake calls enough food to feed an entire zoo.

  “What was that all about?” Blake asks with a note of concern. Cam’s supposed to be the smiley, happy guy.

  “Usually he’s not Mr. Intensity, like someone I know,” I tease Blake. I fit my hand into his, interlocking our fingers.

  “Mr. Intensity, huh?” Blake makes a mock stern face.

  “Sometimes, but I like it.”

  He drops a brisk kiss on my forehead and we head off after Cam. “What happened?”

  “He knows that I overheard you two talking about Violet. Poor guy. We need to find him someone else.”

  Blake squeezes my fingers gently. “You care about him.”

  “If you care about him, I care about him. Isn’t that how a relationship works?”

  Blake shoots me a tender look. “Not the ones that I observed between my father and his bevy of girlfriends. And none of the women I’ve dated have cared about my happiness more than their own. I notice, Stella. All your sweet gestures don’t go underappreciated by me.”

  We’re still walking, but I’m floating high above the room in a cloud of bliss. Every word, every action—it’s all what I dreamed a relationship with Blake Campbell would be like. And better.

  “There she is, the infamous Stella Baccino. You’ll have to tell your mother that I adore her biscotti. No one makes pastries like her.” The broad man approaching us must be Blake’s father. Though he has salt and pepper hair, not a follicle is out of place, like his son. Stewart wears navy slacks and a dress shirt with the same air of confidence and his eyes are all knowing, a trait he must have taught Blake.

  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Campbell. Thank you, I will tell my mom. She’ll love to hear that you like her cooking. In fact, she’ll probably make you some anytime you wish.”

  “Don’t tell him that. The old bastard might take her up on that offer,” Blake says affectionately. He releases my hand long enough to pull his father into a manly hug; they both pat each other on the back after they squeeze. It’s obvious that they care deeply for each other. I know that Zoe considers the music and athletic mogul to be an uncle of sorts, but she didn’t speak of him much. When he sweeps me into a hug of his own, I’m pleasantly surprised. Ma would be, too, a voice in the back of my mind reminds me. Clearly, family values are top shelf to the Baccino family.

  “I’m Stewart, only Mr. Campbell in a formal letter.” He winks at me and puts a friendly arm around my shoulder, leading me into the massive ballroom. There are dozens of circular tables spread throughout the room and three multi-table buffet lines. I expected the mood to be somber, players focusing on the big game less than four days away. Instead, the atmosphere is jovial. Laughter rings out in abundance from the predominantly male occupants. I notice Cam talking easily with Trent Connors, the Wind’s quarterback.

  “Really, Dad? You’re going to steal my girl in front of the team. Not cool,” Blake jokes but when I glance at him over my shoulder, I can tell that he would rather have me by his side than with his dad. He shakes his head affectionately when our eyes meet and mouths sorry. I beam in response, not minding this introduction to Stewart.

  “Let’s get you something to eat. Food here is decent. Nothing like Baccino’s, but we’ll make do. These men eat enough to feed an army of a small country, so there’s a little bit of everything. I’ll get you a drink. What will it be?”

  “Dad, we actually were only stopping by before I take Stella out. Just the two of us,” he adds with a heavy emphasis on two.

  “Nonsense. Stella and I need to get to know one another and we won’t have another opportunity for the rest of this weekend. Now, Stella, drink order.” I wouldn’t want to argue with this man; he speaks his words as if they are law.

  My mouth falls open, a billionaire taking my drink order like I’m part of the family already? Mom would be pleased, and I have to
admit, his father’s kindness makes me instantly comfortable. That’s why I find myself saying, “Blake, let’s stay. I want to talk to your dad. Please?”

  Blake’s features soften again like they had earlier today when I confessed how I felt about him. “Whatever you wish,” he murmurs gently. “She’ll take red wine. Montepulciano, if we’ve got it. Otherwise, anything Italian.”

  “Get this girl something to eat. We’re sitting with the offensive line.” Then Stewart’s tracking down a waiter, making friends and requesting drinks.

  Blake shakes his head with a sigh. “There’s one person who pushes me around with ease. If we spend too much time with him, you’ll start to think I’ve got no backbone.”

  “Oh, I know you have a backbone. I’ve spent plenty of time checking it out.” My hand flies to my mouth, covering it in response to my comment. Meanwhile, Blake’s smiling cockily at me.

  “Yeah? That’s good, because I’ve been checking out your backbone, too.” He steps close enough for me to inhale his masculine scent. One hand presses firmly against my spine then slides down the length of my back to cup my bottom in a quick squeeze. His deep brown irises flair with sparks of lust and the promise of what’s to come. “Let’s get you fed.” Blake’s voice is hoarse and I’m trembling. We’re both affected.

  Blake and I collect our food and land upon a table with a gaggle of men each clearly weighing more than two hundred pounds. I try not to be intimidated by the mountain of muscle seated next to me. Okay, truthfully, I’m sweating bullets. Football is not my forte. Throw me in a hockey rink and I’ll tell you what’s up, but I have no idea what an offensive line does.

  “What up, Blake?” There’s a chorus of greetings around the table and a few curious gazes sent my way.

  “Who’s this?” the man next to me asks in the deepest voice that I’ve ever heard. James Earl Jones but a few octaves lower.

  “Guys, this is my girlfriend, Stella.”

  I’m off the hook from scrutiny when the guys joke with Blake.

  “Beautiful woman like that is dating you? You better hold on tight.”

  “Damn! Boss man finally tied down? Don’t fuckin’ believe it.”

  And so forth.

  “They bring up some interesting points.” Stewart presents a wine glass to me and a neat whiskey to Blake. “Stella, how did you meet my son?”

  I glance around the table, all eyes are turned to me, and I’m suddenly a bug under a microscope. There’s no way that I can mention Zoe in this setting, most people don’t know Blake has a little sister, a product of him trying to protect her from the limelight. “Well, er, we were introduced by a mutual friend.” That was the least convincing answer I could have given.

  “She’s a close friend of Zoe,” Blake says easily. I whip my eyes toward him. He gives a quick shake of his head, indicating we’ll discuss this later. “And she’s all mine, keep those roving eyes to yourself, gentlemen.”

  Turning to look over my shoulder and in the direction of Blake, I whisper, “Settle down, Mr. Intensity.”

  “Telling me what to do now?”

  I let out an unladylike yelp when he yanks my chair against his with a clang. His arm curls around my shoulder and he squeezes me against his body. He smothers my cheeks with sweet kisses, making me forget where we are. “Say that again,” he demands. Unsuccessfully stifling my laughter, I lean my head back and match his infectious grin. His eyes drift away from mine. I quickly realize the men around us are silent. The offensive line and Stewart stare at us with unabashed surprise.

  “Dude,” the guy next to me mutters.

  “Yeah?” Playful Blake disappears instantly, though his grip only relaxes enough to tuck me into his side.

  “Happy for you.”

  “Appreciate it, man.” Blake tips his head in acknowledgment.

  We get down to the business of eating. Blake and the players staunchly avoid talk of the Super Bowl, preferring basketball. Midway through the meal, Stewart forces Blake to swap seats to be closer to me.

  “My son tells me you work with a vendor of the Chicago Center.” The man doesn’t waste much time getting down to business, but he says it with a thoughtful expression, not a judgmental one.

  “Yes, the company is called Speck. I’ve been there since I graduated college in the account management department. The Center is my biggest client and then there are several other local clients.”

  “Morgan Trucking and Pendent Arena,” he says to my obvious surprise. “My son tells me that he has a girlfriend, I look into her.” There’s no shame in his tone, and I nod my understanding. I’m sure my parents would have done the same thing had they not known Blake for several years, though they probably wouldn’t have gone as deep as Stewart clearly has with the background info.

  “Why don’t you want to work at your family restaurant? Tradition is important,” he says.

  The direct question doesn’t surprise me. This man has no time for simple pleasantries. “Definitely, and Baccino’s is more of my home than the townhouse that I grew up in. The employees, those who aren’t blood related, are family. Even though I don’t work there full-time, I’ll never leave Baccino’s. Somehow, I end up working the front door or the kitchen when they need me. Since I was a baby, I spent all of my time in the restaurant and learning the ropes. After a lot of consideration, I decided that I wanted to work in corporate America. I’m not sure that I would have made that decision had my cousin and her husband not had a passion for Baccino’s. There’s a built-in safety net knowing that it will stay in the family and I can pop in the kitchen whenever I want.”

  Stewart nods his approval at my explanation. “I appreciate your drive, Stella. My pop was a butcher and wanted me to take over the reins for him. Like you, I turned him down. I respect those kind of guts.”

  To think this successful businessman, and the father of my boyfriend, and I share a trait fills me with pride.

  By the time the meal’s over, two glasses of red have mellowed me considerably. Blake insisted that his father switch back, (I teased him that they were playing musical chairs, but he didn’t seem to mind) and now I’m resting in the crook of his arm while the conversation swirls around me.

  “Ready?”

  Blake’s hot breath sends pinpricks of anticipation tickling at my neck. I don’t have to look at him. The innuendo is tangible.

  “Yes.”

  My blood’s molten hot, setting my body ablaze as it races through my veins. The heat stems from where Blake cradles my hand in his. He leisurely strokes the pad of his thumb against my palm. One sidelong glance at his smirk tells me that he knows the pulsating burn he’s set coursing through my body.

  The path to the cabin takes us through a cactus garden and a fire pit. Blake pauses on the stone path, turning to fully face me. The night is breathtaking. The sun melts into a sky of soft pinks, oranges, and yellows and the winds still, even. But I’m tense, wound tight in anticipation of being with Blake. I’ve never wanted anything badly enough that sparks burst all over my body.

  Blake lifts his hands to my cheeks, cupping them lightly. He stares at me intently, eyes nearly the most serious that I’ve ever seen them.

  “I nearly messed up our relationship beyond repair before it even started. You’ve given me the second chance to redeem myself, and I promise you, Stella, I won’t take it for granted. I may be new to the concept of a relationship, but you’ve made it easy for me. What I’m trying to say is that I value you, Stella. Immensely. If you’re not ready tonight, then I’ll wait. I’ll wait for as long as you need.”

  “Blake, stop.” I let out a frustrated huff. “You’re what I want, have wanted… for a long time.” It’s a mountain of an understatement, but there’s no need to reveal how long I’ve wanted him. “I feel no different tonight than the last time we were together. I want you.”

  Blake goes stone still and silent. Then, slowly, he releases a breath through his nose.

  “Tonight,” I add with less confidenc
e, wondering what’s going through his head.

  One step closes the gap of air between our bodies.

  One step brings his lips crashing against mine.

  One step sends our bodies careening together.

  One step and the fire ripping through my body scorches every nerve ending.

  I need you.

  One-half step breaks the contact too soon, leaving me hot. Bothered. Frustrated.

  “Let’s not give those morons a show, hmm?”

  Blake’s attention is over my shoulder, eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t want to look back there, do I?” Without answering, Blake’s hands fall from my face and he captures my hand once again.

  I hardly notice the uneven stones as I walk double time to keep up with his long-legged pace. At a near run, it’s the fastest that I’ve ever walked in a pair of four-inch heels. The short distance seems like a marathon and then, finally, finally, finally (!) Blake nearly rips the door to the private cabin off its hinges and I scoot inside. He slams the door with a vengeance but doesn’t acknowledge that he probably splintered the wood.

  And then the mood changes.

  Blake takes my hand in his again, and I nearly yelp with agitation. The slow build isn’t working for me. “Blake…?”

  “I rushed this last time, took you fast and, believe me, I’ll take you that way again, but not tonight. We’re slowing down.” I can’t stifle my outward reaction; my body pulses and a whimper escapes my lips, causing Blake to smirk in satisfaction. “I’ll have to remember that you like it rough, sweet Snow White.”

  Taking a brave step forward, I stare straight into the depths of his endless brown eyes. “That’s what I want tonight. Raw, uninhibited Blake.”

  “No.” He nearly whispers the word as he flips my arm upward. Dipping down, his lips meet the tender skin on my wrist. Then he traces a delicate path to my elbow, his tongue flicking out along the way with teasing caresses.

  “No?” I murmur huskily.

  “Tonight, I’m relishing every inch of Snow White’s delectable body.”