The Bottom Line

by Shelley Munro

  The spanking part he’d deal with later.

  Connor picked up his cell phone and called Julia. She lived closest to him.

  “This had better be good, Connor Grey. It’s only seven in the morning.” Her words emerged as a tiger-like snarl, the sort that came from pain.

  “Headache?”

  “No thanks to you,” she muttered. “Have another drink. One more won’t make any difference. You lied!” The outraged mockery brought a grin to his face.

  “I prescribe coffee,” Connor said. “Strong and black.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me about that hurricane shot?” Julia moaned.

  “I didn’t force you to drink another cocktail at the pub,” Connor said, “or the bottle of wine at Susan’s.” He heard her snicker.

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  He changed the subject. “You guys coming to watch our game this afternoon?”

  “With this headache?” The sharp note in her voice made him curse under his breath. The woman was no slouch in the brain department. He’d have to tread carefully. He wasn’t ready for his feelings about Maggie to come out into the open.

  “We need all the support we can get,” Connor admitted. “Frankly, our team sucks. We need someone on our side.”

  “If there’s coffee involved,” Julia said. “I might be persuaded to round up a team of supporters.”

  Connor checked his watch. “Coffee will be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Done,” Julia said. “Oh, while I think of it—don’t tell Maggie we told you about her blog. She threatened to smother us with her breasts if we told anyone.” She paused then added, “Those breasts of hers could do the job. Promise?”

  “Her breasts?” Connor chuckled. “Yeah. Okay.” He hung up, smirking. Death by breast smothering. What a hell of a way to go.

  “Can you tell me what I’m doing standing on the sideline of a rugby field freezing my ass off?” Maggie tugged her wooly hat over her ears and pulled her knee-length coat tight around her waist. “Greg’s not playing today.”

  “Clearing the hangover cobwebs,” Julia said, moaning.

  Maggie lifted her chin. “I wasn’t the one who stayed up late drinking a bottle of wine after leaving the pub.” She winked at her friend. Her complaints were only half-hearted.

  Play came down the rugby field toward them, and she concentrated on the players, searching for number eight. There he was. Tall. Dark. Broad shoulders. Connor played with both determination and skill, the tight-fitting uniform fueling her fantasies. His slim hips tapered to a tight butt.

  Although not traditionally handsome, when he grinned, his entire face lit up and made her want to smile in return. His blue eyes twinkled. And he was a nice person. There weren’t many guys who could hang out with four girls and hold their own in wide-ranging conversations covering the gambit from work to make-up, sex and sport.

  And everything in between.

  There weren’t many taboos once they’d had a few drinks, including masculine topics, which made Maggie wonder if perhaps they should cut down on the drinking. Nah, they chatted the same way during lunch breaks at work. They were a team. So why couldn’t she stop fanaticizing about Connor? They’d all met Gwen, his girlfriend. A requisite blonde with long, slender legs and loaded with sex-appeal, she seemed pleasant and perfect for Connor.

  Why did that fact make her so miserable?

  The game passed in a blur. Maggie had difficulty concentrating, still nursing a sense of dread since climbing out of bed this morning. She waited with Julia, Susan and Christina while Connor chatted with his team mates and members of the opposition.

  “I wonder where Gwen is,” Maggie said in a matter-of-fact voice, looking for the leggy blonde.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Julia asked. “Connor and Gwen broke up last week.”

  Christina quit ogling the players and snapped to attention. “What?”

  “He never said anything to me.” Surprise skittered through Maggie first, followed by excitement. Then that meant—

  Don’t go there. A relationship between the two of you wouldn’t work, so there was no point in letting her thoughts drift in that direction. Besides, you made a promise to the others. Remember?

  “Did he say what happened?” Susan asked, curious.

  “No, just that the parting was amicable. I asked nosey questions, and he refused to answer,” Julia said. “Shush, he’s heading this way.”

  Mud covered Connor’s face when he stalked to them, his eyes sparkling through the grime. “Hey, did you see the way I left the opposition in my dust?”

  “Yeah, we saw,” Susan said, trying not to sound impressed.

  “Don’t you mean mud?” Maggie said with a grin, striving to keep her voice natural. She couldn’t let her feelings for Connor screw up their friendship.

  Connor’s smile burst with sunshine, despite the overcast day. “You girls coming for drinks?”

  “Are you kidding?” Christina asked. “I intend to scope out the eligible men.”

  “You’ll have to count me out,” Maggie said. “I have to go home and change for dinner. I have a date with Greg.”

  Susan’s brows rose. “But didn’t you—” She came to an abrupt halt, shot a swift glance at Connor before offering Maggie a weak smile. “We’ll miss you,” she finished lamely.

  “You can tell me about it tomorrow.” With a sigh, Maggie refrained from looking at Connor and turned away.

  “Hey, wait—” Connor grabbed her hand and grasped it firmly, spinning her back toward him. Maggie stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t seized her. The musky scent of male sweat, mud and wet clothing filled her nostrils while a shiver rocked her to the core.

  “I’m such a klutz.” She froze, tipping back her head to stare him in the face.

  His thumb made a slow pass over her cheek. “Sorry about the mud,” he explained in a husky voice. “But I wanted to remind you about our date at the gym tomorrow.”

  “I won’t forget,” Maggie promised.

  “Don’t drink too much tonight,” he teased. “I’m warning you, I’ll drag you out of bed tomorrow by your…toes.”

  “Um…okay.” Maggie pulled away, aware of the hard muscles of his chest, the rush of blood to her cheeks and the lingering tingle from his touch. She contemplated sleeping in late on purpose. Connor had a free ticket into her bedroom any time. He just didn’t know of his incredibly good fortune yet.

  “You’re gonna make her go to the gym on a Sunday?” Susan backed away, hands raised in front of her, an expression of horror contorting her face into a comical mask. “I hope this craziness isn’t contagious. No way will you find me anywhere near a gym on the weekend.”

  “I’m trying to get fit, Susan,” Maggie said, then turned to the sexy man standing beside her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Have fun tonight, everyone.”

  Blowing them a kiss, she turned toward the parking area before temptation zapped from her brain to her limbs. It was all too easy to imagine the reaction if she grabbed Connor. The pact between her and her girlfriends was suddenly in dire danger of smashing wide open.

  Temptation played a siren song inside her.

  No. No way would she be the one to break the pact.

  The second Greg slammed from her apartment, angry and upset, Maggie stomped straight to her laptop. She was still shaking when she put her fingers on the keyboard and logged onto her blog. Without taking a breath, she started typing furiously.

  My dinner tonight with Mr. X went from bad to worse. I can still feel the embarrassed glow on my cheeks. He blames me for what happened. How was I meant to know he’d invited his friends to dinner with us?

  When he came to pick me up, I tried to tell him then I didn’t want to go out with him again—that it was over between us. The man wouldn’t let me get a word in and hustled me from my apartment before I could tell him. I tried to talk about breaking up in the cab on the way to the restaurant. That’s when he informed me we were dining with
his business friend and his wife.

  During the last six months I’ve met most of his friends. Some are okay. The particular couple we were dining with wasn’t in the okay group. The woman stands firmly in the bitch camp, while her husband had a different agenda. He belongs to the wandering hands club. He wandered his hands over my ass and breasts when his wife and Mr. X weren’t watching.

  By the time we arrived at the Italian restaurant on Nelson Street, my temper simmered. This particular restaurant specializes in great food, and for entertainment, they have budding opera singers performing several live segments during the evening. Not only did I have to spend time with Mr. X, I had to put up with his friends and the opera. So shoot me. I like rock and pop. I can even listen to country when the mood takes me. Opera, not so much. It makes my head hurt.

  I tried to escape into spanking fantasies. It worked until a hand on my upper thigh jerked me rudely from my steamy dreamscape.

  All this, combined with several glasses of wine and my irritation, loosened my tongue and lowered my inhibitions. When I couldn’t take the husband staring at my breasts any longer, I stated my opinion. Loud and clear.

  “If I wanted you to look at my breasts, I’d take off my clothes. Give you a good look at them. I’d even supply a tape measure so you could see if they measure up,” I added, my tone nasty.

  “M!” Mr. X’s aghast expression suggested I’d stepped out of line. “Apologize to R for that remark.”

  “Why should I? Are you saying it’s okay for R to perv at my breasts and pinch my ass every chance he gets? You want me to sit here and take his abuse?”

  “Eat your dinner,” Mr. X said.

  I reached for my wine, but Mr. X slid the glass toward him before I could grab it.

  Do you believe it? He blamed the entire incident on me.

  After that, the rest of the night was pretty uncomfortable. The wife glared at her husband. Mr. X glared at me. I can tell you I received more than my fair share of glares. The only reason the husband didn’t glare at me was because he’d land in bigger trouble than he was already.

  The minute we were alone in the taxi, Mr. X started telling me off, listing my infractions which, according to him, were many.

  “You made a laughingstock out of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But you didn’t give me a chance to talk to you. You see…I don’t want to go out with you again.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Mr. X said, not taking me seriously. “You drank too much. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not going to hold a little overindulgence against you. I admit I wasn’t happy with your outspoken comments. Next time just ignore the attention. He was only looking. Anyway, you shouldn’t have worn such a low cut top. It encouraged him.”

  My fault? Pompous pig.

  Fuming, I didn’t answer Mr. X. I was afraid of what I’d say next. I could see the taxi driver watching in his rear view mirror. He was listening to everything we said. Instead, I bit my tongue and stared out the window at the lights of the city, the glowing red and green Sky Tower, lit for mid-year winter celebrations, and St. Matthews Church. I remained silent as the cab headed up Hobson Street to the motorway. I could have sliced the silence with a knife and served it on my grandmother’s heirloom china.

  When the cab pulled up outside my apartment, I thrust open the door and climbed out. Mr. X followed me.

  “Wait for me,” he told the driver then shouldered his way through the entrance door before I could stop him.

  I stomped to my apartment and unlocked the door. Mr. X followed me inside and the instant the door closed behind him, I whirled around to confront him. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Will you spank me?”

  “What sort of a question is that?” Shock vibrated in him, pulling him upright so he appeared taller than normal. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

  “What if I wanted you to spank me? Would you?”

  His mouth dropped open and confusion clouded his face. “You’re joking, right?”

  I shook her head. “I can’t go out with you again. Your friends were disrespectful, and you blamed me. As if I asked for him to stare at my boobs and grab my ass.”

  “I—”

  “Please go. I don’t want to see you again.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Jeesh, what part of that didn’t he understand? “Yes.”

  “Don’t you realize I’m doing you a favor by going out with you?” His dark brows drew together until they were a slash across the top of his eyes. Shock transformed into outrage.

  “Get out,” I said in a firm voice. “Now.”

  “You’ll come to your senses,” he snapped. “And when you do, don’t bother crawling back to ask forgiveness. I don’t do second chances.” He slammed the door so hard my ears rang, ending our date with crashing finality. Not exactly a stellar evening.

  But guess what? I’m footloose and fancy free.

  All I need to do is find a man.

  A grin formed on Connor’s face when he read the blog entry. Most people would label it a smirk. Hell, he knew exactly where Maggie could find a man. He was that man. Damn, he couldn’t take this. He had to talk to her today, come to an understanding.

  Half an hour later, he leaned on the intercom button, and a curious neighbor let him inside—probably to stop the racket at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced up to the second floor and thumped on Maggie’s door. It took her a long time to answer. Finally, the door flew open. Maggie…her hair. It was the first time he’d ever seen it loose, and it rippled all the way down her back, stopping just above the curve of her ass.

  “Hey.” Weak, Connor. He cleared the lump from his throat and sought something witty to say. His gaze slipped to her breasts. Rounded and sexy. Tempting. A distraction.

  “Connor!” A soft blush crept over her cheeks and down her neck. “Having a good look?”

  Connor wanted to explore the pink glow with his lips. “You shouldn’t answer the door dressed like that.”

  “You’re early.” Maggie scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Watching her butt, he followed her into the kitchenette, mesmerized by the dark locks glinting under the artificial light. It took him another four steps before he realized all she wore was an oversize T-shirt. He glanced down. Great legs. Normally she hid them beneath ankle length skirts or baggy sweats.

  “Should I make coffee?”

  “Yes. I need a shower.” She padded down the passage and disappeared into a room at the end. Connor didn’t move until he heard the rattle of pipes and the distant spray of water. A visual formed in his mind. Dark hair dripping wet, nipples playing peek-a-boo while Maggie lazily soaped her body… Hell. The last thing he needed right now was to imagine her naked.

  Coffee. Yeah. He forced himself to walk into the kitchen, arousal shooting through his veins and pooling in his groin. He needed to stick to the plan he’d formulated in the early hours of this morning, after he’d seen her blog entry. Talk to her today. Part A of the plan. Part B was keeping her permanently, but that was on a need-to-know basis.

  Spanking—that might cause a few problems too, but first things first.

  Coffee…

  Connor was familiar with the layout of Maggie’s apartment since the Tight Five often hung out at her place. It didn’t take him long to make coffee. By the time the shower stopped, water dripped through the coffee filter and the fragrant scent of ground beans filled the kitchen.

  He waited. Where was she? Five minutes passed, then five more. He imagined her drying her body, smoothing on her body lotion smelling of old-fashioned lavender, brushing the knots from her long hair and restraining it into the braid she favored.

  He grasped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. Damn, he had to get his lust under control. He couldn’t touch her, except on a friendly basis. Not yet. Patience, man. Cursing softly, he grabbed two white china
mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into them. He steeled himself when he heard footsteps. Seconds later he smelled lavender, and Maggie breezed into the kitchen.

  “Why are you so early?” she asked. “Didn’t you see Gwen or whoever you’re going out with last night?”

  “I’m not dating Gwen anymore. I’m solo for the moment.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. Damn, why did he sound like Romeo between Juliets? Despite public opinion, his bedroom didn’t have a revolving door.

  “Since when? Won’t you walk lopsided now without a babe to balance you?” Maggie grinned and dropped into a stool beside him at the breakfast bar. She leaned over to switch on the stereo, her V-neck T-shirt gaping to display creamy white curves. His mind blanked, his fingers itching to touch her. Instead, he wrapped his hands around his mug and took a sip of coffee. Baby steps and patience.

  “I thought you liked Gwen,” she added.

  “I do like her, but I felt like I was dating my sister.”

  Maggie’s brown eyes widened. “Ouch. You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  “No. Our parting was amicable.” Her compassion made his heart melt. He wanted to hug her for caring about a woman she’d met only once.

  “Do you have your eye on someone else?” She sipped her coffee and glanced at him over the rim of her mug.

  “Not really,” he said, seeing an opening. “Gwen was always complaining about rugby season during winter. With training and Saturday games, I don’t have many free nights. I’m not desperate for a replacement. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that you always have a woman.” White teeth nibbled her bottom lip. A cute furrow formed and vanished between her eyes, as if she didn’t believe him.

  “Maggie, contrary to public opinion I don’t always have a woman around.”

  “Can I ask a personal question?”

  “Sure.” He wouldn’t guarantee a reply, but her expression told him she knew that.

  “What about sex? I mean, I like sex. The closeness and sleeping with a guy.” She paused, looked him straight in the eye. “Do you miss sex when you’re not going out with someone?”