“The rest is for you. It’ll be my last for a while. Promise.” I smiled and winked as swiped my finger over my heart in an X.
He poured me another drink, his mouth twisting with reluctance. I picked it up to sip when a hand skimmed over my shoulder. I tipped my head back farther, surprised by my lack of fear. I peered up into the perfect features of Matteo Cruz. Teo’s dark-lashed eyes studied my face, their typical hazel coloring shifted darker, filled with the same concern now etched into his forehead.
“Hello. Enjoying your freedom, I see.” I smiled.
“I suppose. But I like the kids. Their enthusiasm for the sport brings back some of mine.”
“I used to adore soccer.” I sighed, shaking off the memories once again. “The camps were fun.”
“You don’t appear to be drinking for pleasure, Preslee,” Teo said.
“I’m not.” I smirked at him.
His lips flipped down as his dark eyes flicked from the glass to my face. Heat suffused my cheeks as I wondered what he saw. Not the models he dated infrequently.
I was just a woman. Pale skin. Freckles across my nose. Eyes too big for my face. I knew every one of my flaws. Oren catalogued each for me over our three-year relationship.
I sat up straighter, trying to ignore Teo’s disappointed stare and my pounding heart. I poured the rest of the drink down my throat and set the glass on the bar. My head spun with the effort. I gripped the edge of the bar. “Brenna won’t let me come home until eleven.”
“You two fight?” I’d introduced him to my roommate and BFF when she brought some sandwiches and sports drinks I’d purchased from a nearby deli for all the kids and staff at camp. Those kids deserved more than they got.
“No, not really. That would require putting up any real resistance.”
Teo’s lips curled up in that smile I loved. It wasn’t his full one—just enough to let the person know he found the comments amusing—the same one he used during photo shoots. Noah mentioned Teo had two this weekend for different sports magazines.
“You’re a pacifist.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Just lazy.” I hiccupped. Thirty-two ounces in my stomach in under ten minutes. My stomach gurgled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten dinner. Too early, I’d said. Hell, it was still happy hour.
“Your friends are staring at you.” I waved my hand toward the booth he vacated. “I’m sure they want you to join them and their cute little blondes. I’ve got an agenda tonight.” I’d sit here for another couple of hours, then head home. I’d lie to Brenna, tell her I’d kissed a man. Not that I would because Teo didn’t seem into me now like he had at the soccer camps, and I was too nervous to attempt seduction. Not that I’d ever had to seduce anyone before.
Six years of not dating meant no seduction.
Teo glanced past me toward the bartender. “She’s done.” His tone turned implacable, the set of his jaw more so.
He ruined my image—the one I’d built up in my head and heart—of him. I’d expected kindness and patience like he gave the kids. That’s what drew me to him. We’d chatted amicably as I helped him set up the cones, clean up the goals. But we’d been working then. Now, he acted like a possessive date, and I didn’t like it.
“That’s not your decision to make.” I slid off the stool and managed to stay on my feet. I barely wobbled once I grabbed onto Teo’s shirt. God, he smelled fantastic.
He cupped my cheek, tilting my head up so that my eyes met his. My gaze tangled there, lost in something deeper and lovelier than I’d anticipated.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m drinking.” I smiled cheekily, but I dropped my gaze. I didn’t want him to see the secrets swirling in there tonight. One bubbled close to the surface: I wanted Teo. To touch me, hold me, love me. I wanted him to help me forget why I dreaded being in public, being near a man. I cleared my throat. “And forgetting.”
“If I ask you nicely, will you stop?”
His slight accent slid into his words, further fuzzing my brain. I shivered as heat sensitized my skin. The mere idea of him conversing in Spanish, murmuring soft words in my ear, caused my belly to clench with need.
“Why do you care?” I asked. He never sought me out during the clinics we worked together. He conversed with me while on the pitch, but I’d assumed I remained as invisible to him as I appeared to be to most people. He left the stadium with a date that first weekend; the next set of camps I darted off early to go to my mom’s house avoid seeing Teo with the petite redhead again. I hadn’t wanted to see them together, to let jealousy take hold of me.
But he didn’t leave with a woman this past weekend. I’d made a point to gather my belongings so that we walked from the arena at the same time.
Panic warred with excitement as Teo stepped just a little closer, his body blocking out all the other people in the bar.
“I’m worried about you. It’s barely past seven and you’ve tossed back two drinks. At this rate, you’ll end up on your back for some pendejo who’s not worried about anything other than an easy lay.”
Teo’s dark brows drew down into a scowl as he spoke, the lovely light in his eyes darkening to something hard and angry.
“Perhaps that’s the point.”
“You’re not that kind of woman.” Teo brought his hand up to brush my bangs back. “Who hurt you, Preslee?”
I eased back from his hand, biting my lip against the cry of disappointment when he dropped it and his other hand on my hip. For a moment, we’d almost shared an embrace.
“The better question is who hasn’t.” I tossed my head, wishing momentarily for the long, thick mane I took for granted in college to make the action seem more natural. I’d cut my hair into a pixie style years ago. While I loved that I could roll out of bed with my hair needing nothing but a light tousle to look good, I missed the reassuring weight on my shoulders and the high ponytails. I missed the soothing evening brushing ritual. I even missed the tangles.
I didn’t miss the way Oren held it in his long fingers, the first time to tilt my head to kiss me like he wanted—hard enough to draw a cry from my mouth that he cut off. But like everything with Oren, those first months faded into something darker and more painful, and my hair represented his ability to pin me in place, hold me helpless and pathetic while he raised his fist again. Cutting my hair severed me from the naïve girl Oren never actually loved.
My nostrils quivered as I clamped my lips together hard. No more thinking about Oren. He was in the past.
3
Teo
I studied Preslee’s tumbling bangs as they tangled in her lashes once again. She looked as though she considered blowing them away but managed to stop herself.
I reached up and brushed the hair from her eyes, my fingers settling once more on her cheek, sliding down to the corner of her mouth. The mouth I’d wanted to kiss for the past couple of weeks. No, kissing was too tame for what I desired. I wanted to plunder those pink, soft lips, delve deep into her mouth and learn her taste. Learn her secrets.
“I see it here.” I returned my thumb to the corner of her eye.
She flipped her lips up into a smirk, trying to hide the fear flooding her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
She slid back a little, wobbling as she let go of my shirt.
“Damn these heels and damn Brenna’s crazy, half-baked ideas. This is exactly what I deserve for stepping out of my shell.”
I was pretty certain she was unaware she’d spoken aloud; her voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard every word. She tightened the belt of her trench almost as if she didn’t want me to see her dress—at least I assumed she wore a dress. Her coat hit mid-thigh without so much as a peak of another color or fabric under the nubby white wool.
Oh, Santa Maria, Preslee better be wearing clothes. Not that I minded the idea of undoing the coat to see smooth, soft skin, but I didn’t want any of these other people to catch even a glimpse because…mierda!
The kid at the bar watched
our interplay, even as he opened beers and mixed drinks. I didn’t like the hungry look in his eyes each time his gaze drifted over Preslee just as I despised the latent desire in my teammates’ gazes.
I rocked back on my heels as possessive jealousy flooded my body, cranking up my adrenaline. Hell, I wanted this woman. The timing could not be worse, but there was no way I’d leave her to another man’s mercy.
With a negligent wave of her hand, she said, “Since you’re colluding against me, it’s time for me to leave. Enjoy your night.”
In an impressive move that few strikers pulled off, Preslee spun on those high-heels and disappeared into the still-growing crowd. Scowling, I walked back to the table with my teammates, intent to let them know I was leaving. Since they’d watched my interaction with Preslee, they were quick to wave me off.
“Make sure you get her home in one piece, Teo,” Kevin said. “None of us wants to face Noah’s wrath if something happens to his sister.”
Garland shuddered. “Better you than me. Not only will Noah be angry, but Preslee’s frigid. Barely looked at any of us.” The blonde on his arm snuggled in closer, giggling that she was hot. I left them to their new friends, tamping down the vicious anger Garland’s words evoked. Something about Preslee’s large, watchful eyes told me she had reasons for the standoffishness Garland had mentioned.
I found her outside the building, hand slapped flat against the cold, rough bricks, muttering about what torture devices her shoes were. When she wobbled, I slid my arm around her waist, steadying her. She started, a small yelp falling from her mouth. As she turned her head toward me, she snapped her mouth shut, but her brows pulled down in displeasure.
“I told you I don’t need your help.” She sighed. “I’m going home. I promise.”
I nodded as I lifted my far arm. “You might need your purse, though. I assume it has your keys.”
Her cheeks suffused with heat. “Yes. Thank you. You can get back to your fun.”
I should. My focus needed to be on my trade. That’s how I picked back up the tattered pieces of my career. Then Preslee glanced up. Just a peak of those big, watchful eyes, and I couldn’t leave her alone. “I’d prefer to see you home.”
I kept her purse in my far hand, not trusting the way her eyes darted toward it. I wrapped the strap tight around my wrist, just above the platinum Tag watch the company gave me three years ago in exchange for lots more money and the use of my image on multiple billboards and magazines throughout South America.
Her body coiled tighter, preparing to lunge, which would only end badly in those heels.
“You just said the heels hurt. Let me help.”
Preslee’s defiant gaze turned into one of longing, and she nodded, moving out from under my arm. Those stilts did do amazing things for her legs, turning her already supple muscles into tight, sleek calves. I wanted to run my fingertips over that soft skin. My tongue, too.
Damn my need to keep her brother happy and my trade options open. Because right now, the satisfaction derived from those reasons proved hollow.
“I don’t live far,” she said.
“Then let’s get you home.”
“I’m going.” She spoke to me over her shoulder, veering off to the left. I hurried up next to her then shortened my stride to match hers. I’m sure I looked ridiculous: my long legs taking short steps while her small, black handbag slapped into my other leg. Preslee stood five-seven without the heels, but I was over six-three in my bare feet. Even in the sexy footwear, the top of Preslee’s head only came to my nose.
Preslee’s heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. As she staggered, unbalanced, I yanked her upward, plastering her to my chest. Holding Preslee was a taste of joy I never expected.
“While I love how your legs look in those shoes, these heels aren’t the practical.”
Her chin wobbled. “Put me down. Please.”
I jerked my gaze from her mouth back up to her eyes. With great care, I set her on her one-heeled foot. I held her arm as I bent to pick up the other stiletto. Crouched at her feet, I guided her foot into the shoe. I couldn’t resist the temptation to run my palm up her calf. She hissed, her hands falling to my shoulders.
Glancing up at her from under my hooded lids, I smiled as the deep pull of the attraction raged between us. Giving in to my craving seemed smarter with each thick heartbeat.
Preslee shifted and her coat parted. My mouth turned drier than a desert.
“What are you wearing?”
She glanced down and groaned. Her bright red strapless dress—though dress might be a generous label—started low on her breasts and ended two, maybe three inches below her ass.
“Holy mother of…” I gasped. The dress she wore…. but, no, it wasn’t the dress that lit me up as much as the body in that dress. I choked, unable to get more words from my mouth.
She stiffened as I stood up in a smooth, lithe motion. I pulled the edges of Preslee’s coat together, my eyes drifting around to make sure no one else viewed my prize. A strange growling sound ripped from my throat.
Preslee stepped back. She stumbled again and before I considered the action, I ducked my shoulder, catching her low in her belly.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. Her shoe fell off again. “I’m burning the damn things. They’ve gotten me into more trouble than I can handle,” Preslee mumbled, her hands scrambling for purchase along my back.
“I’m taking you home. You can’t walk through Seattle like that. You’re barely dressed.” I winced at the pain in my hamstring as I bent and snagged her stiletto in the same hand as her purse, my other hand on the back of her thighs to keep her coat in place. She braced her hands on my back.
“Put me down.”
“No. Not until you’re safe, inside.”
“I don’t want to be on your shoulder.”
I’d damned us both to the fallout to come because no way—no way—anyone else would see Preslee in this getup. “Sweet Santa Maria, Preslee. Don’t argue with me. Not now.”
Her struggles yanked my shirt upward. She gasped.
“Are you wearing those Hugo Boss boxer briefs?” She whispered. “The ones that say BOSS across the tush in bright blue letters?”
I chuckled. “Ah, you saw the ad.”
“Everyone in the world saw the ad. There are at least three billboards here in Seattle with your rear end plastered across them.”
True. And since I didn’t particularly care for the ad or the fact that women eyed me as something delightful to lick, nibble, or devour, I ignored Preslee’s comments. But, part of me wished I hadn’t put on those boxer briefs tonight. They’d become my nemesis and, once again, I would not live that photo shoot down. Though, the global billboards did increase my popularity within the sport, something I needed right now.
My long stride ate up the distance, but Preslee grew quiet. Too quiet. I hoped she was thinking about how much she wanted to run her fingertips under the elastic of my underwear, how much she wanted to touch and taste my skin. Because that’s what I was thinking about her.
Even though I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t have her—in large part because of how much I wanted her. She divided my focus away from the pitch, which meant away from my trade to Milan. Another week, two at most, of negotiations and everyone should be satisfied.
And I’d be flying back to Europe. Where I belonged.
I crossed the street, stepping off the curb and then back up the other side, jostling Preslee in the process. When I adjusted her back onto my shoulder, she snapped the boxer’s elastic, eliciting a grunt from my chest as a delicious heat built in my belly.
“You’re not as sweet as your brother led me to believe,” I muttered, frustrated. “Do you do this every weekend?”
“No way. I haven’t been in a bar in years.”
“Glad to hear bars aren’t your scene.”
“Nope. I prefer watching Gilmore Girls reruns.”
“Now that I can believe,” I said, a
smile in my voice and plastered all over my face. “You and your girlfriend snuggle in close with a pint of ice cream, don’t you?”
She lifted her head from my back, but I couldn’t see her face. “You mean my roommate? We don’t snuggle.”
I stopped walking. This time, I craned my neck to look at her face. Preslee’s eyes were wide open, a little glassy but devoid of deception.
“She’s just your roommate?” I asked, desperate for the truth. Frustrated I’d thought otherwise.
“Yeah. I mean, Bren’s been my best friend since first grade.”
I licked my lips as another obstacle between my desire to have Preslee fell away. I needed more reasons to keep my distance, not less. My breath expanded my whole chest, causing Preslee to shift and squeal. Her arms flailed for a moment before her hand gripped my butt.
My mouth went dry with need. “Stop that,” I snapped.
“I need a place to rest my hand, what with your caveman behavior and all.” She tried to sound irritated but the extra squeeze gave away her game.
“I think hard cider makes you downright naughty, Preslee.”
“I think you’re right,” she said, the laughter escaping.
I remained quiet, considering my options. She needed to get home, give us both a chance to cool the sexual tension burning between us. But first, I must know why she waltzed into the bar in a sex-me-up dress.
“You going to tell me why you’re wearing that?”
“Nope.” She sighed, leaning her cheek against my back. Her neck probably had a crick from lifting it so long.
“I deserve to know, now that you’ve manhandled me.” I relished bantering with Preslee, enjoyed these moments with her more than I had the last hour with my teammates. Especially now that I knew she wanted me, too.
“You ogled me and your hand is next to my girlie parts, so we’re totally even.” If a voice could blush, Preslee’s just did. Oh, I liked her contradiction of bold yet shy. Part of it was the liquor, I knew, but the other part was Preslee stepping out of her self-imposed shyness.
Striker's Waltz (Seattle Sound Series Book 6) Page 3
