Playing Dirty (Sydney Smoke Rugby)

by Amy Andrews

  “He asked me for my word that I’ll stay away from you.”

  Val blinked. She’d always been pissed off at her father’s rule where she was concerned. It was patriarchal and archaic and none of his fucking business. But it was one of the things she clung to because surely, it meant he cared? Surely trying to keep a bunch of testosterone-driven, sexed-up rugby players from her was his way of being a father.

  His heart was too broken to love her, and it was too hard for him to look at her every day when she was a constant reminder of Lauren. Of what had happened. Of what he’d done.

  But he could still do this.

  “I hope you gave it to him.” She said it lightly, but Val was conscious of holding her breath, waiting on his answer. Which was ridiculous. They’d been a one-night thing. A flash in the pan. It would be stupid to ruin his career over making it into something it wasn’t.

  “I did.”

  “Good. What we had was fun, but anything between us would be untenable for you.”

  The groan he emitted as he finally bit into the biscuit should have been illegal in all six Australian states. And the two territories. Lordy. “Oh. My. God.” His hand went to his abdomen as he devoured it, staring at her. “This is seriously good.”

  Val smiled, stupidly proud. She knew she was a good baker. She ran a very successful business based on her prowess in the kitchen. She didn’t need his praise. His validation. But there was something about this big sexy man appreciating her food that stirred primal juices.

  The cavewoman inside her was strutting around like a bloody peacock. She was satisfying her man. Except he wasn’t her man.

  So snap the fuck out of it.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured as his hand hovered over the tray and he arched an eyebrow, asking her permission to take another. She nodded—she could bake more. “And to think I only wanted you for your buns.”

  She frowned, tucking a loose tendril of her hair back up under the cap at the back. “My buns?”

  “Your Chelsea buns. I call in here about quarter to six most mornings on my way to training for a Chelsea bun. Have been ever since you opened.”

  Val blinked. “You do? You have?”

  He laughed. “Yes. How’s that for a coincidence?”

  “Ah…yeah.”

  If Valerie believed in woo-woo stuff, she’d be freaking the fuck out now. The two of them had about a degree of separation and yet they’d unknowingly crossed each other’s paths on too many occasions to count. Kyle just happened to be in the bar that night she’d been ripe for the plucking. He just happened to step out of the locker room the second she was passing?

  He just happened to be coming to her bakery every morning for two years.

  He was right. There was a disturbing amount of coincidence going down between them. Her mother would have said the universe was trying to tell her something. But her father’s indifference and rejection over twenty-two years had crushed any such flights of fancy from her existence.

  Val didn’t believe in fate or luck or happenstance. Or star-crossed lovers. She sure as shit didn’t believe in fairy tales.

  And she wasn’t giving this coincidence any significance whatsoever. She cleared her throat, determined to steer the conversation to more tangible subjects. “Quarter to six? I’m usually deep in the thick of croissants and doughnuts at that hour.”

  “Your croissants are sublime.”

  Stupidly happy at the compliment, she smiled. “Thank you.” Her croissants went like hotcakes. She could barely keep up with demand.

  “I’m surprised it didn’t come up when I googled you. That you owned Sticky Fingers.”

  He’d googled her? Her heart did a funny little giddy up. “You wouldn’t have, it’s registered in my mother’s name.”

  “Your mother owns the business?”

  “Technically.” Val girded her loins for the convoluted explanation, which all boiled down to her father’s incapacity to show emotion. “My father found out I was interested in buying the business and offered, through his lawyer of course, to buy the business for me. I told him I didn’t want any of his damn money and I certainly didn’t want to trade on his name or put up with autograph-hunting Smoke fans or gossip-hunting paparazzi bugging me every chance they got when it came out—and these things always do.”

  “So your mother bought it instead?”

  “No. He went ahead and bought it anyway and registered it in my mother’s name.” She shook her head, the wash of disbelief still potent after two years. “I was so mad at him. But as my mother said, it’s his way of expressing his love, and I was hardly in a position to buy it myself.”

  “That was…” Val could tell Kyle was choosing his words carefully. “Very generous of him.”

  Val dismissed the statement with an annoyed shake of her head. “He’s always provided financially. That’s never been an issue. I’d trade it all for one hug. For one I love you.”

  An unexpected rush of emotion bloomed in her chest and threatened to close off her throat. Her voice wobbled a little as she swallowed hard against the blockage. Her eyes burned with threatening tears, and she blinked them rapidly away.

  “Hey,” he said quietly and, before she knew it, he was on her side of the bench. Close. Coming closer.

  Temptingly, achingly closer.

  “It’s fine.” Val held up a hand to staunch his progress, and their gazes locked. It seemed this man was always seeing her at her lowest moments. “I’m used to it.”

  They stared at each other, his gaze uncertain, a tension to his frame as if he was prepared to take that last step between them and crush her to him if she so much as sniffled.

  “So…” Val cleared her throat of its huskiness. “You googled me, huh?”

  He dropped his gaze from hers, but not before she caught the telltale signs of a flush in his cheeks. It was very cute and kinda sweet, considering what they’d done to each other in his bed. Val hoped he never got a peek at her browser history. She’d Google-foo’d the fuck out of him.

  “I was trying to find you.”

  Val frowned. “The guys know how to get hold of me. Why didn’t you just ask one of them?”

  “The guys?” He snorted as his eyes sought hers again. “The guys think I pretty much defiled you and are determined to make it impossible for me to do again.”

  Her belly tightened. He wanted to do it again?

  “They’re the villagers. You’re Princess Fiona. And I’m the ogre.”

  Val laughed. She should be pissed at them, but their protective-big-brother bullshit made her feel like part of a family. A family where her father was the head and to which he was fully devoted, and therefore, by extension, devoted to her.

  God. Even admitting it sounded fucked up.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. They can be a bit…overprotective.” She laughed again at his unimpressed expression. His forehead and lips had scrunched into uneven lines, and even all frowny he was spectacular to look at.

  If Kyle Leighton was an ogre, then she was going to set up house near the swamp.

  “I suppose I should be grateful none of them were packing pitchforks.”

  “So. How did you find out where I worked? Who ratted me out?”

  For a moment he looked like he wasn’t going to reveal his source, but then he acquiesced. “Eve.”

  Val nodded slowly. Of course. Her father’s PA had been playing the go-between for father and daughter for the last ten years. Their estrangement distressed Eve. Her husband had walked out when her son was five, unwilling to make allowances for the lifestyle adjustments necessary with a special needs child. Consequently, she didn’t approve of Griff letting grief abdicate him of his fatherly responsibilities.

  But Griff had given her a job when she’d been a struggling single mother. A job that had been flexible, and a family that had welcomed her and Liam. He paid her very well, and the job was varied and interesting. She was loyal to Griff. Val suspected she was more than a little bit in love with hi
m. She was most definitely firmly in his corner. Except where Val was concerned.

  On that one Eve called bullshit.

  Val loved her. She was the conduit to her father. She passed information back and forth and smoothed out the hurts, filling in all the cracks with good sense, empathy, and a generous dollop of insight. She soothed the friction between them, which made her father’s distance that much easier to bear. She was his gatekeeper and she took that role seriously, and despite how Val felt about her father, she was pleased he had someone looking out for him.

  Because he’d sure as fuck pushed everybody else away.

  “She didn’t give it up easily,” he assured as the silence stretched. “And she didn’t do it out of malice, she really was reluctant to break a confidence.

  Val nodded. “Yeah. I know. Eve doesn’t have a vindictive bone in her body.” In fact, she knew exactly how Eve’s mind worked. “I’m sure she was just hoping that somehow this altercation would bridge the gap between my father and me. Like my mother, she lives in hope that one day my father will realise that ignoring my existence won’t make Lauren’s death hurt any less.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His voice was deep and rumbly and laced with understanding, and she wanted to fall into it, to sink into his arms and forget for a while, as she’d done the night of her birthday. Her stomach tightened at that pull again, her nipples hardening, her inner thighs trembling.

  Maybe it was just the intimacy of the quiet kitchen setting or the warmth from the ovens causing her body to flush with heat and need? Or maybe one night with this man was never going to be enough. Maybe this chemistry needed to be allowed to burn out of its own accord.

  She turned away briskly, facing the counter, automatically reaching for the biscuits and transferring them onto wire racks to completely cool. She wasn’t going to compound her error from two weeks ago by making another totally crazy, completely inappropriate pass at him.

  “It is what it is,” she dismissed, staring hard at the crumbly surface of the biscuits as she loaded them. “It doesn’t excuse that I put you in the middle of all my family stuff.”

  He gave a short, sharp laugh which startled her enough to glance at him. “Trust me, I’m an expert on family stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

  She was intrigued by his comment, but she wasn’t going there. The polite thing would have been to enquire as to what he meant, but the less she knew about him, the less she had to do with him, the better. The best thing right now was for him to leave. Her body was shifting, stirring. Heating up. Had he inched closer or had she just leaned in a little more?

  Pretty soon she’d go into some kind of Pavlovian meltdown and either start frothing at the mouth or be all over him.

  Possibly both.

  “Let me make it up to you.” His eyes widened briefly, and Val blushed as she saw about a dozen risqué suggestions swimming in the tawny gleam of his eyes.

  “For knowing you were off-limits to me but ruthlessly sleeping with me anyway?”

  “Yes. That.” She rolled her eyes. “How about free baked goodies for all eternity?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “As many Chelsea buns as I can eat?”

  “Yep.” Val nodded. “I’ll do you up a special order every morning just for you, if you like.”

  “A special order. For all eternity?”

  Val smiled. “Well, for as long as Sticky Fingers is around, I guess.”

  He glanced at the biscuits. “That’s not playing fair.”

  “Oh really?” Her eyebrows shot up in enquiry. “Why’s that?”

  “How am I supposed to be able to think of anything else when you’re dangling a lifetime supply of free Chelsea buns under my nose. I am but a man.”

  She smiled. Oh yes he was. A very big, very hard, very fucking good-in-bed man.

  “You drive a mean bargain, Valerie King.”

  God, the way he said her name, like he was humming it against her inner thighs, turned her knees to jelly. “I’m open to other suggestions.”

  Val held her breath. She was walking an incredibly thin line. There were about a dozen other ways she could make it up to him right here, right now. But she was supposed to be cooling this down, not heating it up.

  Any more heat in this kitchen and it might just explode.

  Thankfully, Kyle was sensible enough to pull them both back. “I think access to your buns”—he grinned unashamedly—“whenever I want is adequate compensation for something I never regretted doing in the first place.”

  “You’re going to send me bankrupt, aren’t you?” She stacked the empty trays together and pushed them over the other side of the bench, closer to the sink.

  He didn’t answer, just grinned and held out his hand. She took it after the slightest of hesitations. A prickle of heat flared up her arm at their contact, and Val swayed a little. The pulse at her wrist fluttered madly.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was low, hitting that you can tell me anything, baby register that made Val want to melt and surrender. Snuggle into his body and unburden years and years of crap.

  No man had ever made her feel like that. Like her hurts and her secrets and all the ugliness in her life were safe with him.

  It should have been a father’s job, but right now she’d settle for Kyle.

  Chapter Six

  Val shut her eyes as his hand fell from hers to land on her arm. She knew she should withdraw, but then his other hand was sliding onto her jaw and he was drawing closer. Her body swayed toward the warmth, the haven, of his. They weren’t touching, exactly, but there wasn’t much air between them, either, as he pulled her cap off and tossed it aside, his lips nuzzling at her temple.

  She sighed, resting her cheek against the ball of his shoulder, and allowed herself the luxury of a few moments just lapping him up. Enjoying the heat and the overwhelming presence of him.

  A deep groan rumbled through his chest, adding to the buzz. “What is that amazing smell?” He eased her back to peer at her. “I thought it was the kitchen, but it’s you.”

  He nuzzled her temple again, then farther down as if seeking it out, his nose finding her cheek, her ear, inhaling deeply as he went. “God yes, right there.” His breath was warm behind her ear where it rushed out over the flat, bony surface. “Is that vanilla?” He groaned again. “You smell good enough to eat. I literally want to nibble on you.”

  She smelled good? The heady voodoo spice of his cologne was intoxicating this close, and Val fought the urge to drop her head to the side, stretch out her neck, and let him have at it.

  “Yes, it is.” She struggled to even out her breathing. She couldn’t let him know how much a little bit of nuzzling was affecting her. How turned on she was. How much she ached between her legs, or the sharp pleasure/pain sensation of her diamond-hard nipples rubbing against the fine lacy netting of her bra.

  He had to think of his career, and fooling around with her wouldn’t be a smart way to advance it.

  They couldn’t do this again.

  “It was something Mum used to always do whenever we baked together. She’d dab a little vanilla behind my ears and some behind hers, and off we’d go. It’s a hard habit to break.”

  “Christ,” he whispered, the hand on her arm slipping around to her back, urging her closer as he sucked in another breath, his lips brushing her skin.

  She might have moaned at that point. She couldn’t be sure. Her entire innards were in an uproar, blood rushing around her head, coursing through her breasts and her buttocks, pulsing low in her abdomen. His hot mouth closed over her earlobe, and there was no might this time. She definitely moaned.

  Hell, her eyes practically rolled all the way to the back of her head. She certainly felt the hot lash of his tongue as if he’d licked between her legs.

  Something which she already knew he excelled at.

  God. This was not good. They were crossing a line now. If they didn’t stop, they’d be too far gone to come back. Too far gone
to care.

  “Kyle.” She tried to pull out of the thick fog of pleasure tugging at her, threatening to drag her under where things like forbidden and responsibility had no place. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  He pulled away, the tawny highlights in his eyes blazing with passion. “Christ.” He was breathing hard as he dropped his hand from her jaw and shoved it through his hair. “I know. I know.”

  He stared at her mouth. She stared at his.

  The fog descended again, and she clung to her rapidly dwindling willpower, evaporating in a puff of warm, vanilla-scented air. “You shouldn’t even be here.” She shook her head to clear it. “You gave my father your word that you’d stay away.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze roved over her face before it came back to rest on her mouth. “I just…Christ. I just want to eat you.”

  And then his mouth was on hers, and she wanted him to eat her, too. Consume every millimetre of her. Revel in the pleasure of being devoured. His mouth was wide and hot and hungry, his tongue licking her up, swallowing her moans and gasps and giving her his own. Her heart belted against her rib cage. Belted against his rib cage. His own heart knocking hard and steady.

  “Fuck.” His voice was a ragged husk as he dragged his mouth from hers, his lips sliding to her ear, nuzzling again, his tongue dragging hot and delicious along the spot behind. “Tell me to stop.”

  Stop? Was he mad? “Not in a million years,” she whispered, her breathing thick in her throat, her nostrils full of his aroma—incense and bad ideas—her fingers sinking deeper into his shirt.

  She didn’t want him to stop. In fact, her body did the exact opposite, arching into him, rubbing against him, moaning something nonsensical as she slipped her hands around to his ass and pushed beneath the waistband of his shorts, the band of his underwear, to the firm, naked muscle beneath.

  She squeezed his buttocks hard and he groaned, her mouth seeking the wicked heat of his mouth to smother the noise, to swallow it up. Passion ignited like a flare and he kissed her hard, bending her back over the bench, ravaging her mouth, leaving her gasping and clinging, the steel of his erection pressed into the zipper of her pants, thick and solid.