Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  I offered her a drink, not quite sure how to put her fears to rest.

  She shook her dark head and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at me uncertainly as she stood in front of the wall of windows that framed my patio and the ocean beyond. She was beautiful like that, the wide Pacific darkness stretched out behind her, those eyes big and worried. I took a step closer to her and reached out a hand.

  Erica matched my step, bringing us nearer, and took my hand in hers.

  I pulled her to the couch to sit. I had to make her talk to me about the way she'd left the other day, about the accusations Marissa was leveling against me, about whatever this thing was between us. About stupid Mr. Match. But it was hard because I didn't really want to talk, unless the conversation consisted of her screaming my name.

  She nestled into the far corner of the couch, tucking her legs up beneath her.

  I scooted down to where she held a pillow against her chest and took a seat as close to her as I could get. "Okay." I watched as she took a deep breath, as if she was preparing herself for this conversation. "I think I owe you an apology."

  Her expression went from shuttered to shocked in a split second. "What? You...why?"

  "For thinking the worst."

  "About what?" She still seemed completely flabbergasted.

  "The other night, when you left, I was ready to write you off completely."

  Her confused smile dropped.

  "You took that call, and you couldn't get away from me fast enough. I assumed the worst, that you'd believe everything you heard, that you weren't going to give me a chance to explain."

  She shook her head lightly. "That's basically what I did."

  I wondered if I'd been right. My mother had too much faith in humanity. But I couldn't let Erica off without this conversation coming to a conclusion, one way or another. "But I'm hoping you've had time to think a little bit about it now."

  Her mouth closed into a thin line, and she seemed to be thinking. "Fernando," she said. "Marissa sold her story to HOT-LA. They're going to air it at the end of the week. It almost doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. We've got to do damage control."

  "I know," I told her. "But I'm hoping that somewhere along the way someone's going to ask for my side."

  "That's part of why I called you," she said.

  "I never slept with Marissa."

  "Good." She looked relieved, and I hoped it was about more than just the PR scandal we were about to endure.

  "But we did have a relationship." As soon as the words were out, I knew they were wrong. But it was too late to take them back, and I knew I had to get through this, even if it was clumsy, or I might lose Erica forever.

  The relief vanished and she covered her face with her hand. "Maybe I should take you up on that drink."

  I reached out and took her hand, leaning closer to look into her eyes. "Not that kind of relationship."

  Her nose wrinkled adorably as she squinted at me. "What other kind is there?"

  "Seriously?" I laughed. "In this case, it was just a situation where she was going through something rough—a divorce—and needed a friend."

  "But why you?"

  I leaned back into the cushion, not releasing Erica's hand, and thought about the answer to that question. "I don't know really. She approached me at McDaughtry's one night, and there was something in her look that worried me. Theo had bought the team a few months earlier, and this was one of the only times he'd come out with us after a win. It was the first time I'd met his wife.

  "Theo left with a few of the guys, I have no clue why or where they went. And Marissa looked so lost. She came up to me and gave me some stupid line, and I just got this sense that she didn't need a one-night stand. She needed a friend."

  "So she propositioned you?" Erica had flipped into analytical mode. She was gathering facts. I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was just the tiniest edge of jealousy mixed in there too.

  "Initially, yeah." I remembered the weak attempt Marissa had made, almost like she thought it was what I expected from her.

  "And then what happened?"

  "We talked a bit at the bar and then we went to get coffee. I drove her home."

  “Alone?” Erica asked, her voice small.

  “Yeah.”

  Erica pulled her hand from mine and dropped her head into the back of the couch. "Fuerte, that's not good."

  "Nothing happened." I couldn’t help the defensive tone in my voice. Marissa had needed someone. I’d been there. That’s all it had been.

  "No one knows that."

  "Marissa does." A dark cloud crept through my mind. I'd struggled with the feeling when I'd heard about Marissa's allegations, but had chosen to give her the benefit of the doubt because I’d gotten to know her a bit. She wasn’t a bad person. But now I was starting to realize that I'd given the woman plenty of ammunition to use against me. I just never thought she would.

  I told Erica the rest. About the two lunches we'd had out near my condo in Coronado, and about the time I'd gone to her at Theo's house when he'd been out of town because she'd told me she was feeling so low she thought she might hurt herself.

  "This is going to be hard to deflect, Fuerte." She sat up straighter and I could practically see it when her business face slid into place. “You were alone with her multiple times, and the fact that you went to Theo’s house when he was out of town looks really bad. Do you know if he has video security?”

  “He does.” I remembered seeing the camera at the security gate. I’d had to talk into the screen to get Marissa to open the gate from inside. He definitely had me on camera.

  Erica sighed. “Okay. At least we know what we’re probably dealing with.”

  "Great." I thought about it for a long minute, and considered the potential fallout. I'd already been made out to be some kind of Casanova in the press, so this was really nothing new from that perspective, though my agent thought it would make it hard to find a position on another team. The real question came down to Theo, and what he believed... and to Erica. "Do you believe me?"

  She widened her eyes and spread her hands on the pillow she held in her lap. I didn't like that she needed time to think about it.

  "You aren't sure," I said.

  "I don't know what to think," she said.

  I didn’t say anything, disappointment making me feel heavy, dull.

  "We've got work to do, Fernando. We need to figure out a way to make you look good through all this, regardless of what happened or didn't happen with Marissa."

  "I'm more concerned about what is or isn't happening with you."

  "I don't know the answer to that right now," she said, her voice a whisper.

  "Are you willing to find out?" I asked.

  She looked confused and for a minute I wondered if this would be worth it. Was Mr. Match right about us? And if he was, would she figure it out soon enough to have faith in me?

  "What do you mean?" Erica asked.

  "Go out with me. For real.”

  "I'm not sure it's a good time, with all this heating up right now. And my brother..."

  "Leave Trace to me. Yes or no?" I had no idea how I’d convince Trace, but I thought making it clear that my intentions were honorable might be a good place to start.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. "Okay."

  My stomach jumped just the tiniest bit when she said okay, and I restrained myself, though I wanted to do a fist pump. "This Friday."

  Erica's eyes didn't leave my face, and it took all the self control I had not to leap across the couch and pull her into my arms, maybe coax her into my bed. I forced myself to wait for her answer instead.

  "Okay."

  Relief washed through me, and I realized that I’d thought she might refuse. But she didn't. Now I just needed to figure out what kind of date would make the most sense—something that would get her out of her head, force her to forget about the insa
nity surrounding us, definitely make her forget Marissa.

  "I think HOT-LA is running their feature Friday," she said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

  "Not a lot we can do about that." I sighed. At least this would all be over soon, one way or the other.

  She stood and looked around uncertainly, as if she might be about to tell me she had to leave. I stood and took her hand, and felt a jolt of heat fire through me when her eyes met mine.

  I wrapped her fingers in mine and pulled her gently nearer, moving slowly, the way you do with a cat you've only just lured near enough to touch. And then I couldn't stand it a second longer.

  I pulled her into my arms, trapping her hard against my chest. I waited a beat for her to protest, to move away, to show me that she wasn't one hundred percent on the same page as me.

  And then I wrapped her in my arms, took her mouth in mine and carried her to my bedroom.

  Chapter 28

  Step Into the Light

  Erica

  There had been a plan.

  Win a bet, eat some cheese, mock my brother with the fact that I was always right.

  And though I had basically just won the bet—at least the first part, since he’d asked me out, I didn't have any cheese—let alone the sweet wonderful Wensleydale I'd watched my brother destroy, and I wasn't sure I was right about anything.

  Instead of being smug or pleased, I found myself more confused than ever. Also more turned on.

  Fernando was above me on his bed, we'd both somehow lost every stitch of clothing we'd been wearing when I arrived, and he was rolling a condom onto his very impressive cock as I writhed beneath him, not nearly recovered from the way his tongue had sent me into spasms of pleasure by trailing tiny lines all over my body and finally circling and landing at ground zero. He'd sucked and teased and then stopped, just before I was ready to burst, and for some reason I could hear myself whisper-chanting, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

  I actually thought the whisper-chant was just in my head, but it turned out I'd lost control of more than my plan—my vocal stylings were actually audible, and Fernando was now wearing both the condom and the most wicked grin I'd ever seen in my life. His devilish eyes were on me when mine popped open, and his sexy voice sent shivers through me when he said, "Oh, don't worry. I'm about to."

  And then he captured his mouth with mine again, those perfect full lips moving with exactly the right amount of pressure as his tongue teased at mine and then plundered my mouth at the exact moment his fingers were doing the same to my most sensitive parts below. As his hand worked some kind of mystical rhythm, I felt his cock pressing gently at my center, and then sliding in, inch after delicious inch until I didn't think I could take any more.

  "Oh my God," I gasped, pulling my mouth from his. Something was building inside me, and it was a little bit terrifying. Between his tongue, his fingers and his cock, he had taken utter control of my body, and my mind—which was usually in charge of everything—was battling to take charge. "I can't...I don't..." I couldn't form a sentence. Everything was slipping from between my fingers as I grasped Fernando's muscled body as it moved over me. "I..." Thoughts filtered through the fog in my mind like wisps of tissue paper withering in the rain, transparent and immaterial.

  Fernando stopped moving for a moment, concern etched into the line between his eyes as those incredible lips formed a slight frown. "Is this okay? Do you want to stop?"

  Stop?

  God, no.

  But as I was incapable of coherent speech, how could I tell him that if he stopped I actually thought I might implode and be left catatonic for the rest of my life?

  I lifted my mouth to his and thrust my hips up under him, egging him on the only way I was capable.

  The hand that had been working between us landed next to my head as he met my thrust, and unbelievably, I felt him even deeper inside me.

  "Shit, Erica," he breathed, his voice echoing the strain I felt as I reached for something just beyond my grasp.

  He moved slowly, teasingly, in and out, as I panted and clenched and finally gave in to the complete dissolution of rational thought. Every sensation, every little bit of awareness was centered on Fuerte, buried to the hilt inside me as I held on for dear life. His rhythm was delicious and maddening at once, slow and steady and building toward something so big I thought it might kill me when it came.

  But I'd die happy. Or at least satisfied and too tired to care if I was happy or not.

  I wanted to say sexy things, to be some wild vixen like I imagined those girls I'd seen on his arm in the tabloids probably were. But it was too much—I hadn't had a lot of sex, and I'd definitely never had sex like this. And all I could do was breathe, moan, and hope he never stopped.

  Fuerte picked up his pace, and the tension inside me built even more, until I was holding onto him for dear life. My hands slid over his toned and tanned brown skin as I wrapped myself around his body, breathing him, feeling him, becoming something completely apart from myself.

  "Fuck," I heard him breathe, and I knew we were close as his rhythm began to get faster, more erratic. I was almost there, and I could feel him building toward his own climax.

  I'd heard of people coming together like this, but I didn't think it was a real thing.

  My last sexual encounter (with my ex, Andrew, the illustrious hand model) had been less than fulfilling. He insisted on wearing cotton gloves while we made love, and it did a little something to stifle the passion.

  This was no white glove sexual encounter here, though. This was wet and dirty and so ridiculously hot I really thought I might not recover, and I didn't care. One. Little. Bit.

  "Fernando," I gasped. "I'm not... I can't... I'm going to..."

  "Yeah, baby. Me too," he said.

  And that's what did it. His sexy voice in my ear, the hoarse raspy breathiness of it that told me he was hanging by a thread, losing control.

  For me. For plain old Erica Johnson, the behind-the-scenes girl.

  And right then I didn't care about the bet. Or about the cheese. Or the owner's ex-wife, or all the other women.

  Because Fernando Fuerte was fucking me to within an inch of my life and I was making him come. I was powerful. I was womanly. I was sexy enough to make Fernando Fuerte groan and pant and curse as his hands roamed my body and his cock plunged into me over and over again.

  Every nerve cell in my body set to shaking, and then I felt all the muscles inside me contract at once in a frightening and violent movement just before they released in pulsing waves of the greatest pleasure I'd ever felt. I have no idea if I laid still, thrashed around, screamed Fernando's name, or delivered the Gettysburg Address in Italian, I was so lost to the world. All I knew was Fernando Fuerte—his scent, his voice, and most of all, his hard muscled body. And so much fucking sensation I honestly thought I might never recover.

  Fernando stilled over me and then collapsed to the side, my body turning to hold him inside me as we lay on our sides, both of us gasping. After a moment, I felt his finger tracing the side of my face and I dared to open my eyes to discover I was, in fact, still alive. And the look in Fernando's eyes made me think everything about what just happened might have been just as shocking to him as it was to me.

  "That was..." he tried, his voice still hoarse. "Fuck."

  "Fucktastic," I suggested.

  "Fucksational," he agreed.

  "Fuck."

  "Yeah."

  We lay there for a long time, holding each other in every way possible, and just breathing. I think we were both a little stunned—by the magnitude of the release, but also that it had happened at all. I honestly could have stayed there in that state of suspended life—half floating above Fernando's bed, but his voice brought me back from the dream state I'd been in.

  As the moon laid silken fingers over our skin from the window, I felt settled and happy for the first time in a while.

  Chapter 29

  Hot Rolls

  Erica


  It was a relief to know the stories Marissa was telling about Fernando weren't true. It was less of a relief to hear Fernando explain how many times he'd put himself in situations where they were alone together, though. Even if nothing happened, it gave Marissa a window and an opportunity to make it seem like something had.

  It was hard to figure out exactly what her angle was—except doing anything she could to get back at her ex, I guessed. I’d had enough relationship misfortune that one might think I would relate, but I supposed maybe things could have been worse. I’d never been anyone’s center of attention, but then again, I’d never been utterly disregarded either—no one had ever cheated on me. Maybe this was Marissa’s attempt to make Theo pay attention after being neglected for too long? There were plenty of rumors about his extra-marital affairs. Funny how those things never seemed to hurt men the way they hurt women.

  I felt good about where things stood between Fernando and me, but with everything that had happened at Fernando's tonight, I'd forgotten to ask him about his youth soccer charity work.

  Tomorrow. For now, I was going to go home, close my eyes, and relive every second I’d spent in Fernando's bed.

  Despite the fact that I now received texts from the guy, it was still a little unreal to wrap my head around the idea of us together. I'd spent the last year believing the guy was a player, that he reveled in his soccer-star appeal, and that the most likely story I'd be trying to keep quiet would be him knocking up one of his soccer groupie girl fans. It hadn’t been difficult to buy into the story Marissa was telling at first because of my previous beliefs about the guy—and that was the reason she was having luck selling it in general, I guessed. But now?

  I could see past the assumptions I'd made. Here was a guy who spent most of his spare time with his mom, and doing some kind of youth charity work. Yes, girls latched on to him, and maybe he’d let them in the past. But from every bit of evidence I could find, Fernando Fuerte was a good guy. He was sweet and kind, caring and... Let's face it, he was also hot. As. Fuck.