Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  “I decided to visit here for a while.” He paused. “Make sure this new publicity and marketing push for the Grand is effective and on point, since I have a vested interest in it. But I’m sure Alexander and the board will be glad to know that you are burning the midnight oil, since everyone else is so convinced you can turn the situation around with the Grand,” he retorted. “Good night.”

  The bastard pivoted and disappeared. For several long seconds, Kim remained clutching the edge of the door. Finally, with deliberate and almost careful movements, she shut it. But it was a little longer before she turned to face him.

  “Who the hell was that?” Ronin asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Mainly so he wouldn’t charge across the room and wrap her in them. He knew how well that would go over. “And did he just threaten your job?”

  A half smile quirked one corner of her mouth, and there was nothing humorous about it. “Oh yes. There’s nothing new about that. Or surprising.”

  “Why? Because you’re a woman? Because you’re black? Or C, all of the above?” he pressed, disgusted. Men like this Malcolm with their archaic, boys’ club mentalities were outdated relics that needed to be retired.

  She scoffed, and he caught the sharp edge to it. “If only it were that simple.”

  Confused, Ronin frowned. “Who is he? A president or board member? Can he endanger your job?”

  “He’s the former CEO of Bishop Enterprises.” She paused. “And my father.”

  Fuuuuck. Her announcement slammed into his chest, rocking him. She couldn’t mean… Not the man she’d just told him about who’d abandoned her and her mother… And she worked with him? That’s why the other man had seemed familiar to him. The facial features, the gray eyes… Shit. And he’d thought his relationship with his father was dysfunctional. This—that scene he’d just witnessed—made them appear like a parent and child duo off a Nick at Nite show.

  “Kim…”

  Shaking her head, she approached the table still littered with their dinner. “Thank you for dinner, but I’m tired and would like to go home.” She stacked the containers and replaced them in the brown paper bag.

  “Kim, I can do that,” he said softly, cautiously. Though she reflected calm and control, there also seemed to be a brittleness to her, as if she were moments from cracking into pieces.

  With his sisters, mom, and Grace, he’d never had a problem offering comfort. Saying the right things and holding them until they’d felt better. But they weren’t Kim; she didn’t want his comfort. Didn’t want anything from him.

  Damn it. He shoved his fingers through his hair. This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. If he’d kept his hands and mouth to himself, he wouldn’t be standing here, floundering, in a battle. She’d made it clear she didn’t need him. Not for sex, and damn sure not for a shoulder to lean on. Kim Matlock didn’t lean on anyone, and especially not a football player.

  He should leave. Give her what she asked for. Leave her alone. Hell, he shouldn’t have touched her in the first place, making this situation more complicated.

  Yet…

  Swearing under his breath and calling himself about eleven different kinds of fools, he covered the distance separating them and cupped the back of her neck. She froze under his touch. “Kim,” he murmured.

  “I’m okay,” she insisted, shifting away from him. “I’m. Fine,” she gritted out as she continued to repack the leftover food. “Just…go. Please.”

  Clenching his jaw, he studied her bent head.

  Just what he thought: she didn’t need anyone. Least of all him. Co-parents didn’t make them lovers, and definitely not friends. Trust, affection, mutual respect, sharing—those made a relationship, and they didn’t have that. He’d had it with only one person, and Kim had reminded him why he didn’t want to go down that road again.

  Rejection. Hurt. Loneliness.

  Better to keep things platonic and cordial just as she’d requested.

  And just as she’d requested, he picked up his coat and left.

  Chapter Nine

  Kim stepped out of her car, shivering in the night air, and wondering what the hell she was doing, showing up unannounced at a man’s home at ten o’clock at night. Sighing, she shut the door but gave it a lingering glance. If she had even the tiniest scrap of sense, she would climb back in and drive away from Ronin’s place.

  Yes, return home, and on the way figure out how to explain to Renee why she’d asked her for Ronin’s address. Her friend had tried to pry the reason out of her, but Kim had put her off, promising to dish everything later. Damn, she wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

  Propelling one foot in front of the other, she forced herself to move up the walk and toward the front door. Ronin had covered his surprise well when he’d granted her access through the privacy gate at the end of his long drive. At least, his voice through the security speaker hadn’t betrayed any shock. But what was he thinking about her showing up like a stalker? She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Desperate to distract herself from her impromptu, crazy, most likely hormonal-driven errand, she focused on Ronin’s home instead of his reaction when he answered his door.

  They might have known each other for a short amount of time, but the man was reflected in this house. The sprawling structure of wood, stone, and glass stretched out in front of her in an arc around a circular driveway. From the outside, the different, haphazard levels reminded her of a castle. It was kind of whimsical but…cozy. Huge maple trees towered above the Bellevue home, protecting it from prying eyes along with the wide, beautifully crafted wooden gate at the bottom of the drive. It wasn’t the huge mansion that she would’ve thought a successful, famous football player would own. Instead, it reminded her of a place a family would happily invade and call home.

  It emanated security, safety, warmth.

  None of that warmth penetrated the cold numbness that had enshrouded her since Malcolm had appeared at her office door a couple of hours earlier.

  She briefly closed her eyes, rocking to a stop at the bottom of the three steps leading up to the door. Immediately, images of her father assailed her, of him standing there staring at her as if she were nothing to him. As if she didn’t share his DNA. As if she weren’t…family.

  Who was she kidding? To him, she’d never been part of his family, even though Alex had acknowledged and claimed her from the first time they’d met fifteen years ago. But not Malcolm. To him she was, at best, an employee who hadn’t earned her position. At worst, an address he’d sent checks to for eighteen years.

  She tipped her head back and stared at the cloudy, dark sky, blinking against the sting in her eyes that heralded the arrival of tears that were stupid and pointless. After being ignored and resented for her entire life, she should be immune to Malcolm’s rejection and disdain. But somehow, in thirty years, she’d never managed it. That little girl deep inside her still yearned for her father’s approval and acceptance. Even though it would never come.

  In the immortal words of Lethal Weapon’s Roger Murtaugh, she was too old for this shit. She usually handled run-ins with Malcolm better than this. It could be the pregnancy hormones playing havoc with her emotions. It could be she was extra tired.

  Or it could be that Ronin had been there to witness the cold war that was her relationship with her father, only minutes after she’d told him about how Malcolm had abandoned her and her mother.

  She hadn’t been able to bear the pity in his dark eyes after she’d revealed Malcolm’s identity. One more glance at that painful sympathy, one more gentle touch, and she would’ve cracked. And that, she couldn’t do. Not in front of him. After Matt, she’d vowed never to be weak again. Never to depend on a man again, because he could rip the rug out from under her so quickly, leaving her alone, depleted…broken.

  Ronin’s big hand had cradled the back of her neck, and for one oh-so-tempting, weak, terrifying moment, she’d wanted to lean back into it…into him. Let him take her to that p
lace where his kiss had transported her. Somewhere she didn’t have to pretend to have all the answers, to be in complete control. The place where she could just be, and enjoying that rush of absolute pleasure was her only concern.

  That momentary slip had scared the shit out of her.

  Sighing, she continued up the steps. God, she was tired. That, she hadn’t lied about to Ronin. Everything else—wanting him to leave, needing him to leave her alone—that had been true, too. At least then. But she’d been in survival mode. Hell, still was.

  Then why was she standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night? Why had she gotten in her car and come to him? That wasn’t survival. It was emotional suicide.

  Shit, this was stupid. She should be sleeping. Tomorrow, her head would be clearer, and this…ever tightening knot of emotion in her chest would be loose, possibly even have disappeared.

  I’m going home…

  The front door opened, and Ronin stood in the entrance.

  She couldn’t prevent the spiral of heat that twisted and expanded inside her. His mouth called to mind those mindless minutes on her office couch when he’d taken hers like he owned it. She swallowed a groan, grateful for the bulky sweater she wore. The thick knit hid her suddenly beaded nipples. Because his all-too-perceptive scrutiny would’ve definitely noticed. He might appear laid back, but he missed nothing.

  He didn’t speak but stepped back, silently invited her inside. Ducking her head, and, determined not to ogle the width of his shoulders under his white T-shirt, or the strength and power of his denim-covered thighs, she stepped past him into a large foyer.

  She had only a brief glimpse of a living room with gorgeous, cathedral-style ceilings and wooden beams, a huge, dormant fireplace in what might be another living room, and several framed black-and-white photographs on the walls, before turning to him.

  “Is everything okay, Kim?” he asked, cocking his head and studying her with a narrowed gaze.

  “Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “I wanted to apologize for what happened in my office. I was rude and pretty much just pushed you out. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” he replied, but then frowned. “Well, actually, no, it’s not fine. But I think I get why you did.”

  Malcolm. Of course he referred to that scene with her father. “I—” she stammered, embarrassed. “I don’t know—” She broke off the explanation, mentally wincing and hoping he credited the hoarseness to anything other than the tears that had stung her eyes and burned her throat only minutes ago. Hell. What explanation? She couldn’t get the words out. Didn’t really even know what words she was trying to say.

  Damn. She blinked again. And again. Freaking tears.

  They stung her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. Goddamn.

  Hard, strong arms closed around her, and for a moment, she remained rigid, her mind battling the chaotic maelstrom of emotions whirling inside her. But those arms tightened, and Ronin cupped the back of her head, pressing her cheek to his chest. Offering it to her. With a whimper, she surrendered. Gave in.

  Just for a little while, she promised herself. I can take this just for a little while.

  Once she gave herself permission, she slid her arms around him, encircling his lean waist, fingers curling into the back of his T-shirt. His scent of wild wind and fresh earth embraced her, as well, and she indulged herself in it. Inhaled it, savored it. Seconds, minutes, hours could’ve passed—she didn’t keep track.

  She just…enjoyed him. The soft tickle of his beard on her forehead. The power of his large body surrounding her. The press of his thighs to hers.

  The nudge of his cock against her.

  Desire, dark, hungry, and needy, wound through her. Unable to resist, she curved closer to his frame, rubbing over his erection. His arms tightened a fraction, a stillness invading his body. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, and that same beat throbbed between her legs.

  Tension filled his foyer, vibrating off her skin, humming with lust.

  Back away. She should thank him for letting her in and not accusing her of being crazy, then leave before this got any more out of hand than it already had.

  She tilted her head back.

  Rose up on her toes and crushed her mouth to his.

  Groaning, she unwound her arms from around him only to encircle his neck and draw him closer. She nipped his full bottom lip, licking and sucking it. A deep, almost guttural growl vibrated against her breasts, hardening the already aching tips even further. His lips parted, and with one hand splayed over her ass and the other spread over the back of her head, he snatched complete control of the kiss from her.

  His tongue stroked inside and possessed her. It danced, parried, and thrust. He was as wild as his scent, and he called that same raw, voracious greed out of her. She opened wider for him, demanding he take more, claim more. And at the same time, she took, claimed.

  Between one instant and the next, he transported her back to that place she’d been craving just before he opened his front door. As if he’d somehow known what she needed and was offering it to her. Nothing existed but the exquisite carnality of his kiss, the insistent grinding of his cock against her. Nothing but the chase and giving of pleasure and oblivion.

  Reaching between them, she cupped his dick, squeezed the thick, big length through his jeans.

  “Fuck.” The rough curse blistered the air, and she loved it. Love that she was the cause of that jagged, almost angry note in his voice. So she squeezed and stroked him again. And again. Each shudder of his frame, each surge of his hips ratcheted the hot desire burning her alive. She grabbed his belt, fumbling with too-clumsy fingers to release it.

  But his hand closed over both of hers, and in the next moment, her spine connected with the wall, her arms pulled over her head.

  A whimper escaped her, and she twisted against his hold. Not to get away. Oh, hell no. But to get closer, to climb that beautiful body and have him shove his cock so deep inside her she thought of nothing else but the tight fit that stretched her to her limits and drove her crazy.

  He slid a hand under her sweater, skimming his palm over her stomach. She sucked in a hard breath at the contact. Oh God. She needed this. To be touched again. The night at the hotel had uncapped the lid on needs that she’d denied having for over a year. She wanted Ronin’s touch. Craved it. And as he slipped beneath the band of her cotton lounge pants, she released another, higher, whimper. Before his fingers even grazed the top of her panties, she’d parted her legs, inviting him to give her that more intimate caress. To break her with his special brand of lust like he’d done before.

  “Tell me something, hala,” he said, his deep voice like gravel wrapped in black silk. “Are you using me to forget about earlier?”

  “Yes,” she confessed, too aroused to lie, to hide anything from him.

  His mouth crashed over hers. “Good,” he rumbled against her lips. “I want you to use me. Let me take it away for you.”

  Then his fingers dipped beneath her panties and plunged inside her.

  A scream tore from her throat, and that one thrust of his thick finger pushed her so close to the edge of orgasm, she shuddered, damn near convulsed.

  “Please,” she begged, shameless in her need.

  “I got you,” he promised, and releasing her wrists, he shoved up her sweater far enough to latch onto her nipple, sucking it, drawing so hard and good, she, again, almost came.

  But she fought it, wanting this to last. Digging her fingers into his dark hair, she gripped the strands, holding his head to her even as she rode his other hand. Her hips pumped hard against him, meeting his every stroke. He brought his thumb into play, sweeping the pad of it over her clit, and she cried out. Electrical pulses of pleasure struck her, centering on the top of her sex where he tormented with flicks and circles. But it was when the calloused tips of the two fingers inside her rubbed over the patch high up in her sex that she surrendered. Gave up the fight.

  She threw he
rself into the orgasm that blasted through her, shattering her. Ronin murmured in her ear, but she couldn’t decipher the words, not when her world centered on the ecstasy gripping her body and shaking her like a rag doll.

  He continued to finger-fuck her, gifting her with every bit of the pleasure, making sure she took it. Only when she whispered, “Please,” did he stop, withdrawing from her body. As she watched, thoroughly wrecked, he slid those fingers inside his mouth and sucked the evidence of her desire clean. Unbelievably, a spark of desire stirred within her.

  She moaned, reaching for him, and he swooped her up in his arms. With passion still humming through her body, she rested against him. He carried her in the direction of the living room with the cathedral ceiling and wooden beams that she’d spotted earlier. Hell, she couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

  Gently, he lowered her to the couch and cradled her on his lap. Then, with shock reverberating inside her, replacing the lassitude of lust, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her. She waited, half of her anticipating him continuing what they’d started in the foyer.

  But he didn’t. And part of her cursed his chivalry.

  But the other half was thankful.

  Because if he’d laid her out on the cushions and pressed that big, beautiful body to hers, she wouldn’t have said no. They’d have had sex and made this complicated, messy situation even more complicated and messy.

  As a bone-deep weariness weighed her down, lowering her eyelids, she blamed tonight’s lapse in judgement on her emotional state. Just as soon as she rested, got herself together, she would leave, get in her car, and press reset on this celibate, platonic, co-parenting relationship.

  She had to reaffirm her resolve. Not make the mistake of becoming even more involved with Ronin. Nothing but heartache and pain lay down that pitted, well-traveled road. She’d make Ronin understand.

  Tomorrow.