Keeping Score

by Regina Hart

  She hugged her arms around herself. “I don’t want to be trapped inside my home behind triple-locked doors and drawn curtains. That’s no way to live. How long is this going to last?”

  Warrick shook his head. “I don’t know that, either.”

  Marilyn locked gazes with him for several long, silent moments. What was she thinking? What did she want? If it was in his power, he’d get it for her. Anything.

  Warrick followed her as she turned back into the family room.

  “My mother called.” Her voice was brittle. “My parents have seen the Horn.”

  The muscles in Warrick’s shoulders bunched. “They live in San Francisco. How did they get a copy of the paper?”

  Marilyn’s tension communicated itself all the way across the room. “They set up a Google Alert notice on us.”

  Warrick shut his eyes. “Son of a—”

  “I know.”

  Warrick’s eyes opened. His forehead tightened with a scowl. “I’m sure this situation hasn’t helped me win them over.”

  Marilyn’s parents had disliked him since Hello. Celeste and Terrell Devry were probably at this minute filing divorce papers for their daughter.

  “But the article isn’t the only thing online.” Marilyn’s statement dragged Warrick from his unpleasant imaginings to his equally unpleasant reality. “Mother said there are at least half a dozen photos of us on the Horn’s Web site.”

  Warrick’s brows shot up his forehead. “That many?”

  “Did you know about this?” Marilyn’s troubled gaze searched his.

  He shifted his stance in the family room’s threshold. “Troy mentioned the images to me, but I had no idea there were that many of them.”

  Marilyn’s lips parted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Jackie told the Horn’s publisher to remove those photos this morning. By the time I went to the site, they were gone.”

  Marilyn threw her arms up and paced in a small, agitated circle. “You still should have told me.”

  “I didn’t want to upset you even more.” Warrick spread his arms. “I’m angry and embarrassed enough for both of us.”

  Marilyn fisted her hands. “That’s my decision to make, Rick. Not yours.” She spun away from him and paced farther across the room. “I had to find out from my mother. She caught me completely off guard.”

  “I’m sorry.” He’d been saying that a lot. Did the words still mean anything to her?

  He wanted to go back to the way things used to be between them. How much longer would they have to weather this storm? And where would the gusts carry them?

  “I can’t believe this.” Marilyn muttered the words under her breath.

  She stood frozen in a far corner of the room, almost hidden in shadows. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. Her shoulders slumped.

  This was what Warrick had been trying to avoid. Maybe he should have told her. She did have the right to know. But the damage already had been done. Knowing the images had been posted to the Internet could only cause her pain. She’d experienced enough of that because of him. Still, he wasn’t ready to let her go. He wasn’t strong enough.

  “What can I do?” Would she let him hold her?

  She stepped from the dark and looked at him in disbelief. “This isn’t just about me, Rick. Mother said you were naked in those photos, too. Aren’t you horrified? Doesn’t that make you furious?”

  His temper stirred. “I’m angrier for you. You don’t deserve any of this.”

  “Neither do you. But you’re still not angry enough to do anything about it.” She swung her arm toward the covered windows. “And now those jackals are swarming our home. When will they have crossed the line? When will you defend yourself ?”

  Warrick stared at her. “Mary, I’m not going to defend loving you.”

  Her shoulders slumped again. She buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Hard. “How many people have seen me naked? This is a nightmare. Why won’t they leave us alone?”

  Warrick rushed across the room and gathered her in his arms. He didn’t care whether she wanted him to hold her or not. He needed to touch her, to comfort her.

  He gathered her against him, pressing her head against his heart, and murmured into her ear. “We’ll get through this together.”

  She tightened her arms around him, digging her fingers into his back. “How?”

  He held her closer and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know. But it will be all right. I promise.”

  “How can you make a promise like that?” Marilyn’s words were muffled against his chest. “These people are crazy. You can’t promise that they’ll suddenly come to their senses.”

  “No, but I can promise that the media has a very short attention span.” He heard the heavy irony in his own voice. “In a minute, they’ll find someone else to vilify, like Tiger Woods or LeBron James.”

  Marilyn was silent for several moments. She stopped crying and slowly relaxed in his embrace. “I wouldn’t wish these constant attacks and public humiliation on my worst enemy.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if Arthur experienced this. Maybe then he’d understand how invasive the media is and how unfair he was to fire you because of them.”

  Marilyn pulled away to look up at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her lashes were spikey from tears. “You’re right. Arthur’s the exception.”

  Warrick lowered his head and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. The temptation was too strong. His mouth moved gently over hers. His touch was meant to soothe and perhaps heal. He tasted her tears, still wet on her lips. He sipped them from her. He nibbled her full, lower lip, then ran his tongue across the seam of her mouth. Marilyn wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. He sighed at her acceptance and deepened the kiss. She moaned into his mouth.

  Reluctantly, Warrick pulled back. “I have to fly to Miami tonight for Sunday’s game.”

  Leaving her this time would be the hardest it had ever been. It wasn’t that the media had prepared to camp outside. They had a security system to prevent break-ins. But Warrick wasn’t fooling himself that their marriage wasn’t still on shaky ground.

  She sighed. Her breath was warm and soft against his neck. “I know.”

  “Come with me.” His tone was urgent.

  Marilyn stepped away. “I can’t, Rick.”

  Her response didn’t surprise him. But it did disappoint. She’d yet to travel with him on an away game, and he really wanted her there. “Can’t or won’t?”

  12

  Marilyn scowled. With her puffy eyes and congested nose, she wasn’t certain the expression was effective. “Your career is taking off and you have the media attention to prove it. However, mine is in shambles—also because of your media attention.”

  “I’ve apologized for that.” Warrick sounded frustrated. Well, so was she.

  “This isn’t your fault. I don’t need an apology.” Marilyn led the way out of the family room. “I need a job. Arthur fired me. And Janet is hesitant to offer me the partnership with her clinic.” She mounted the stairs.

  “A change of scenery will help clear your mind.” Warrick’s optimistic prediction floated up from behind her.

  “There’s media in Miami, too, Rick.” Marilyn’s tone was dry.

  “But they won’t be camped outside your door or pointing cameras through your hotel window.” Warrick was persistent.

  Marilyn spoke over her shoulder. “I seem to remember a photo of Jackie and Marc taken outside Marc’s Miami hotel room. The picture was plastered all over the New York papers the next morning.”

  Warrick sighed. “I remember that, too.”

  At the top of the stairs, Marilyn turned toward the master bedroom—their room, in which they’d made love last night. Now she couldn’t get the ugly idea of their photos posted to the Horn Web site out of her mind. She rubbed her eyes. The media would not ruin the memory of last night for her.

  “You don’t need me in Miami and I
can’t leave Brooklyn right now.” Marilyn pulled her pink shorts and cropped white T-shirt from the closet. She tossed them onto the bed and unbuttoned her blouse.

  Warrick crossed his arms over his chiseled chest. Every muscle—and there were many—in his well-defined arms flexed. “Are you blaming me for the photos?”

  Marilyn faced him. “No. I blame the media.”

  Without another word, Warrick left their bedroom.

  Marilyn exhaled on a trembling breath. As cowardly as it might have appeared, she wasn’t ready to leave the house. Her technophobic parents had found the photos on the Internet. How many of the other people she knew had seen them? The kid at their grocery store checkout? The old man at the fruit stand? The guys at the fish market? Maybe she should do her food shopping in New Jersey for a while.

  She changed her clothes, washed her face, and brushed her hair. It was easy to keep feelings of turmoil at bay if she focused on tedious tasks. Her uncertain career didn’t plague her. The disaster of her marriage couldn’t worry her. The existence of those photos didn’t twist her stomach into knots.

  Marilyn turned to leave the bedroom, still preoccupied with the mundane. Dinner. The weather.

  A familiar melody rose from downstairs, filling their brownstone’s high-ceilinged rooms. Olivia Newton-John’s pitch-perfect soprano accompanied the music. From its opening notes, Marilyn recognized “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from the musical Grease. It wasn’t the song that caused her to pause in uncertainty in the upstairs hallway. It was the person who was playing it.

  Marilyn hurried down the stairs, allowing the music to draw her into the family room. Warrick stood in front of the compact disc player. He used the remote control to lower the volume, then tossed it onto the sofa.

  Marilyn stared. “You hate this song.”

  “But you love it. And I love you.” He offered her his hand.

  Marilyn went to him. She shivered as his strong arms wrapped around her and the day drifted away. Under her hands, his muscles flowed with the music. She drew closer to him, sharing the warmth from his body. Warrick rested his cheek on the top of her head and tightened his hold around her.

  He hummed along with Olivia for a few stanzas. The deep, soothing sound was like a magician’s spell. More of her tension disappeared. She let his movements and his magic carry her away.

  Warrick’s lips brushed against her hair as he added his baritone to the song, expressing his hopeless devotion to Marilyn.

  Marilyn’s heart sighed.

  Olivia Newton-John wrapped up the song, promising to hold on to the end. Warrick straightened, drawing her with him so that her feet left the ground, and pressed his lips to hers. Marilyn’s eyes drifted close. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tight.

  She was floating. Her head spun from his taste. Her pulse raced from his touch. She shivered as his mouth moved from her lips to her cheek, her chin, then down her neck. Marilyn tipped her head back and held her breath as Warrick licked his way to the pulse at the nape of her neck.

  His hands pressed her closer to his strength. They raised her up and held her steady as he loved her. Warrick’s mouth returned to hers. He cherished her with his touch. In his kiss, she sensed the same devotion he’d sang of.

  Marilyn parted her lips on a sigh. “Rick.”

  His tongue stole inside. Marilyn drank him in. His feel, his taste, his scent. She stroked the roof of his mouth with the tip of her tongue and her toes curled. She caressed the sides and his teeth and her stomach did flips. She reacted to his scent, his touch, his taste as desperately today as she had their first time.

  Marilyn wrapped her legs around Warrick’s hips and held him tight. Warrick cupped her hips and pulled her closer to him. Her breath hitched in her throat. Marilyn’s hips rolled against his in response to his touch.

  This is what she did to him. And his heat turned her bones to jelly. Her body was weightless, warm, and wet.

  Had she moaned or had he?

  Warrick leaned over. Marilyn’s arms and legs slipped from his body, and she landed on the mattress.

  Marilyn’s eyes flew open. Her gaze circled their bedroom. “How did we get here?”

  Warrick grinned. He braced an arm on either side of her head. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Magic.” His words whispered against her lips and her thighs went lax.

  Marilyn’s arms rose of their own accord, twining around his neck. Her fingertips trailed the smooth, hot skin from the base of his head down his long neck. They dug into the deep muscles of his shoulders and back.

  Marilyn groaned. “Too many clothes.”

  “You’re right.” Warrick’s breath tickled her ear. Marilyn’s body shivered.

  Warrick stood beside the bed, pulling her with him. Their clothes disappeared between licks, kisses, and caresses. Soon, there was nothing between them; nothing that mattered in this moment. There was only the two of them and their passion.

  Marilyn reached out. She stroked her fingers over Warrick’s well-sculpted torso, his deep pectorals, and six-pack abdominals. Her right hand hovered over his full erection before cupping him. His hips flexed, pushing himself against her palm. Marilyn felt a rush of pleasure and power at his response.

  “Tell me what you want.” Warrick’s words were a husky request. “What would make you happy?”

  Marilyn’s fingers traced the hard angles of his features. She cupped his face with her palm and looked deep into his midnight eyes. “You. You make me happy.”

  Warrick bent his head. She rose on her toes to meet him. His mouth covered hers and she parted her lips to accept his tongue. He swept inside her mouth as his hips again pressed into her hand. Marilyn stroked him. She smiled as his body shook against hers. It thrilled her that this big, strong man ached for her as much as she yearned for him.

  Warrick pressed her onto the bed behind them. The hunger between her legs made her restless. Warrick soothed her with a touch. His broad palm stroked from her thigh to her waist and higher to her breast. He deepened their kiss as his long, talented fingers drew closer to her breast. Marilyn felt her nipple tighten in anticipation of his touch.

  He played her body like a musical virtuoso, plucking and strumming her breasts until her hips swung in rhythm and her arousal pooled in her core.

  Marilyn tore her lips free of his spell. “Rick, come inside me.”

  “Soon.”

  Warrick moved down her body, stopping at her left breast. He suckled her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled around her areola and his lips nibbled at her nipple. Her fists pulled at the bedsheet when he lifted his head to treat her right breast to the same intense caresses. Marilyn moaned. Her body tossed and twisted beneath his weight. Muscles deep inside her pulsed with an almost painful pleasure.

  “Please, Rick.” Marilyn’s voice was thin and unrecognizable. “I need you now.”

  Warrick released her breast. “Soon.”

  He breathed the word against her damp skin. Every muscle in Marilyn’s body strained.

  Warrick moved lower. He kissed her hip bones and licked her navel. Marilyn’s hips lifted toward his chin, silently begging for this most intimate of kisses. Warrick touched her. She felt her moisture dampen his fingers.

  “Are you ready for me?” He whispered the question against her curls.

  “Yes.” Her response was choked.

  Warrick lifted her hips and covered her with his mouth. Marilyn screamed behind clenched teeth. She pressed her head into her pillow. Her body arched, stretching taut. Warrick cupped her hips and worked her against his tongue. Her body responded to his silent commands, rocking, writhing, twisting in his sinful embrace. She commanded him, but she didn’t know for what. She pleaded with him, but she didn’t know why.

  Light exploded behind Marilyn’s closed eyes. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her blood heated her veins. Her muscles strained to the breaking point.

  Marilyn’s release crashed over her. She was drowning under waves of pleasu
re. She crushed the bedsheet in her fist, trying to hold on. Finally, she flung her arms above her head and allowed herself to be swept away.

  Warrick surged up and over her body. He entered her with one smooth, deep stroke, stirring the tidal wave of sensations again. Marilyn gasped. She wrapped her legs around his hips and answered his thrusts as her desire built again. Warrick slipped his hand between them. He gently tapped her spot. Marilyn caught her breath at the almost unbearable ecstasy. Her body soared, then shattered again. Warrick’s hips surged into her. He tightened his embrace, then spiraled with her over the edge.

  Eons later, Marilyn’s breathing returned to normal. She hugged Warrick to her.

  He propped himself on his arms above her. “Now I can leave for Miami with the memory of your smile instead of your tears.”

  Marilyn raised her head and kissed him.

  After throwing on some clothes, Warrick packed his travel case for the team’s two nights in Miami before helping Marilyn prepare a quick dinner of salad and spaghetti. God, he was going to miss her, even more this time than ever before.

  He’d pulled on black slacks and a short-sleeved gray dress shirt for the trip. His black loafers waited near the front door. Marilyn had wrapped her curves in a skimpy bronze robe that made her honey skin glow. Warrick’s gaze stroked over her slender back, rounded hips, and well-toned legs. If people knew what the conservative Dr. Devry-Evans wore away from the hospital, they’d probably swallow their tongue depressors.

  The phone rang, distracting him from his mental image of what she looked like beneath the stingy robe. Marilyn caught him staring at her.

  Her chocolate eyes laughed at him. “Do you want to answer the phone?”

  Warrick shrugged. “Not really. It could be a reporter.”

  The twinkle left Marilyn’s eyes. His joy went with it. Marilyn finished draining the spaghetti. He gave the salad a final toss and set the bowl on the kitchen table. By the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. Warrick crossed the hallway into the family room. He reached the phone as the caller identified himself with his words.