Rough & Ready

by Tracy Wolff

  “Shit happens.” I shrug it off, because what am I going to say? That losing my pro career threw me into an emotional tailspin that took me too long to recover from? No one wants to hear that shit, certainly not a bunch of ballers for whom it’s a constant fear. “Besides, I love what I’m doing now.”

  “What are you doing now?” Shawn Wilson asks. He’s at the back of the group, his arm around a willowy blonde who’s almost as tall as I am.

  “I run a rec center in Southeast San Diego. It’s called Rebound, because that’s what I try to do for the kids. Show them that they don’t have to be stuck in their mistakes or the mistakes of their family members. That no one’s perfect but they can rebound and go at it again and again, until they get it right.”

  “Jesus. Everybody needs that, don’t they, honey?” Hunter looks at the pixie-sized redhead who’s been watching him with affection ever since his fanboy moment.

  “They absolutely do.” She holds her hand out to me. “I’m Emerson Browning, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “She’s actually here looking for donations to Rebound,” Tanner cuts in smoothly. “I made one yesterday, but there’s always room for more.” He eyes his friends meaningfully.

  “There certainly is,” Emerson agrees, even as she reaches into her purse for her checkbook. “Why don’t you tell us a little more about the center while I write out a check?”

  “Please, don’t feel pressured,” I tell her, glaring at Tanner, who gives me what I can only assume is his choirboy look. “Each organization has a box in the other room. You can just drop your check in there, if, at the end of the night, you decide you still want to donate.”

  “I don’t need to wait until the end of the night,” she tells me. “In case you didn’t know, my husband makes an obscene amount of money and I get to spend a significant portion of it any way I want.” She clicks her pen. “So, about Rebound?”

  I end up talking her ear off, not just because I love the chance to talk about my kids, but because Tanner’s friends keep asking questions. About what kind of programs we have, sports and otherwise. About how many kids we see on a weekly basis. Shawn even asks if we’re looking to take on a couple of celebrity big brothers, an offer I jump on so fast that I’m pretty sure I make his head spin.

  And if the conversation also gets around to the fact that I’m the blonde who went off on Tanner in the locker room a few days ago…well, it’s hard to stay embarrassed about it when I keep getting high fives from his friends.

  When Tanner finally leads me away forty-five minutes later, Rebound is more than four hundred thousand dollars richer. And I can’t feel my fingers or my toes.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” I tell him, using every ounce of decorum I have not to jump up and down. In a good year, Rebound brings home fifty thousand dollars from this gala. The fact that I have not just pledges but actual checks in my purse totaling four hundred grand is almost more than I can wrap my head around.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he says, guiding me through the throngs of people to one of the doors that leads outside to the hotel’s famed gardens. “That was all you, Elara.”

  “You gave me the opportunity—”

  “And you ran with it. I wish you could have seen your face. Your whole body lit up when you were talking about your kids.”

  “I told you, they’re great kids.”

  “They are.” He agrees. “And you’re a great mentor. Seriously, the programs you’ve implemented at Rebound are absolutely amazing. I was so impressed listening to you talk about them. I had no idea you did all that.”

  “The center does all that, and more.”

  “Because you demand it. And work tirelessly for it.” He grins. “And still manage to find time to dunk a few balls in the tightest skirt I’ve ever seen.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “You’re never going to let me forget that skirt, are you?”

  “Considering the image is forever emblazoned on the back of my eyelids? Hell no, I’m not.” He moves closer, takes my hand in his. “But I like the way you think.”

  “Oh, yeah? Anything specific or just like my brain in general?”

  “I do like your brain in general,” he says as he uses his grip on my hand to tug me closer, until our bodies are almost touching. “But I also like the way you just said I’d never let you forget it. That implies that you plan on seeing me again. I like that a lot.”

  “Do you?” I reach up with my free hand, toy with one of the silver studs on his shirt. It’s an openly flirtatious move, and the exact opposite of what I should do if I want to keep myself safe. But I’m beginning to think it’s too late for that, because I’ve already started to fall for Tanner Green, whether I wanted to or not.

  “So, do we need to schmooze some more people or are you good for now?”

  I think about the checks in my purse, about his friends’ offers to pitch in at the center, about Rebound’s new workout room. “I think I’m good.”

  “Excellent.” His grin is slow this time, and sexy as hell. “Then what do you say we blow this pop stand?”

  I think about all the reasons I should say no, about all the ways this could—probably will—go bad. And then I forget them all, at least for tonight. Because sometimes, you just have to enjoy the fall and say to hell with the landing.

  “I say that’s a really, really, really great idea.”

  Chapter 13

  Tanner

  The second Elara says yes, those insane violet eyes of hers looking straight into mine, I feel my stomach drop. That’s how I know I’m in trouble. Because one look from this woman, one touch of her hand on mine, makes me weak in a way I’ve never felt before.

  In a way I can’t get enough of.

  I wrap my arm around her waist, pull her into my side, and revel in the way her curves fit so perfectly against me. Then I start moving, guiding her out the doors of the ballroom and into the garden I know is right beyond the patio.

  We stop at the first bench we come to, and I get her settled on it before I say, “I’ll be right back.”

  “What? Where are you going?”

  I bend down, press a quick, hard kiss to her lips. “You’ll see.”

  She narrows those glorious eyes of her at me. “It’d better be good.”

  “It will be.”

  I give her another kiss, then take off toward the ballroom. One quick conversation with a waiter (where money may or may not have changed hands along with a tray of mixed hors d’oeuvres) and a quicker stop at the bar for a bottle of champagne, and I’m out the door.

  Thirty seconds later, I’m back at the bench where I left Elara, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I glance around, feeling like an idiot even as I wonder if I’ve got the wrong bench, when two hands wrap around my eyes from behind.

  I know it’s her by the spicy cinnamon scent of her perfume, but I still freeze. Still whisper her name.

  She laughs then, a low, throaty sound that gets me all kinds of revved up. Then leans forward until I can feel her breath against my ear. “Gotcha.”

  “You really did,” I say, turning to face her as soon as she steps back. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  “And miss out on a moonlit picnic?” she asks, eyeing my full hands. “Not a chance.”

  “I’m glad.” I hand her the bottle of champagne so I can wrap my free arm around her waist and guide her farther down the path and away from the ballroom.

  She goes along with me, her body flowing like silk against my own as we take several twists and turns. We don’t stop until we get to the far end of the garden—and the vine-shrouded gazebo that is just sitting there, waiting for us.

  Elara turns astonished eyes on me as I steer her gently toward it. “Did you know this was here?”

 
“I did a shoot here several years ago. It was a summer sportswear spread, so we did most of it on the beach and tennis courts, but the stylist wanted a few shots of me in the garden.”

  “GQ, right?” she asks, a wicked smile on her face. “I saw the pics when I was looking for your address. I especially liked the pink sweater.”

  I love that she’s teasing me, love even more the way she leans into me as we walk up the steps into the gazebo. “Pink is one of my best colors.”

  “And your modesty is definitely one of your best traits,” she answer, tongue in cheek.

  “I know, right?” I guide her to the wrought-iron bench to the side of the entrance, get her settled there before plopping the tray of food down on a table and carrying it over to the bench. “I’m a wonder.”

  “You really are.” There’s no sarcasm in her voice this time, nothing there at all but a soft affection that makes my heart stutter a little in my chest as our gazes lock.

  “I think you’re confused,” I tell her as I settle down on the bench beside her. “You’re the wonder.”

  Her smile is as soft as her voice when she says, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree.” Then she holds up the bottle of Cristal. “Shall I open this?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  She laughs, then starts ripping the foil off the top of the Cristal as I pull out my phone and open Spotify. Bruno Mars starts crooning about talking to the moon right around the time Elara pops the cork on the champagne.

  “You don’t miss a trick, do you?” she asks as she holds the bottle out for me to take the first sip.

  “I try not to,” I answer, even as I shake my head. “Ladies first.”

  Gaze locked to mine, she lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a long, slow swallow that turns my throat desert dry in an instant.

  This time when she offers me the champagne, I take it.

  We settle back against the bench, trading the champagne back and forth between us as we scarf down the hors d’oeuvres and talk about anything and everything.

  “So, what else did you learn about me when you were checking me out today?”

  “I wasn’t checking you out,” she answers primly. “I was looking for an address.”

  “Okay, girl, we’ll go with that.”

  “It’s true!” She narrows her eyes at me when I laugh. “Why would I want to google you, anyway?”

  “Why wouldn’t you google me? A single woman can’t be too careful these days.”

  “Spoken like a man who has four sisters.”

  “Damn straight,” I tell her before taking another swig of champagne. “Every time one of them goes on a date with a new guy, it freaks me the fuck out.”

  “You’re a good brother.”

  “I don’t know about that. If one of my sisters isn’t fussing at me about something, then another one is. But I try.”

  “I’m pretty sure you do more than try.” She puts a hand over mine, squeezes. “I learned that you’ve been on your own, taking care of them, since your dad died when you were twenty.”

  I don’t like the tone she’s using, all soft and impressed. “You make it sound like it was a sacrifice. It wasn’t. It’s what family does.”

  She corrects me. “It’s what a guy like you does. Not all families are the same.”

  It rankles that she’s right. “They should be.”

  “Yeah, they should.”

  “So what’s your family like? They must be so proud of you for playing pro ball.”

  She laughs, and there’s a bitterness to it that I’m not used to hearing from her. “Not quite. I’m the youngest, the only girl after three boys—so pretty much the opposite of you.”

  “Pretty much,” I agree. I don’t like the sudden distance in her eyes, the way she seems to be pulling in on herself. But something tells me this is important so I keep pushing, even though all I really want to do is pull her onto my lap and hold her for a while. “So what was that like?”

  She shrugs. “My mom had waited a long time for a girl and she wanted a dainty, petite little thing that she could dress up in pretty dresses and lacy skirts. But all I wanted to do was play ball with the boys.”

  “So, not good then.”

  She shoots me a look, takes another sip of champagne. “What do you think?”

  “I think that I’m really lucky that you’re not a—how did you say it—‘dainty, petite little thing’? Because I’m pretty sure this”—I gesture between us—“would be a disaster if you were.”

  “Maybe not this,” Elara says with a laugh, mimicking the gesture I just made. “But yes, what comes next would definitely be a disaster.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My brows hit my hairline. “What comes next?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I would, actually. Very much.”

  Before I can say anything else—and in what can only be described as really fortuitous timing—the opening notes of Sade’s very sexy “By Your Side” fill the air. Taking it as a sign, I push off the bench, then reach a hand out to Elara.

  “Dance with me?”

  Her eyes go wide. “What, here?” She looks around, like she thinks a crew of paparazzi might jump out of the lush, tropical foliage at any second.

  “Yes, here.” I pull her to her feet. “I’ve wanted to dance with you from the moment I first met you.”

  “You mean when I was yelling at you?”

  “I think you underestimate just how good you look when you’re yelling.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “I am,” I agree, pulling her close. “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Tanner—” She breaks off, shakes her head, even as she melts against me, all those luscious curves of hers hitting my body in all the right places.

  “What, baby?” I hold her right hand in mind, stroking my thumb across the back of her hand as I bring it up to shoulder level. My other hand goes to her lower back and I press her even closer, desperate to get as close to her as I can.

  “I’m in so much trouble.”

  Her admission melts something inside me, relaxes the tight ball of tension that settled at the base of my spine right around the time I realized that this woman was going to matter to me. “Me, too, baby,” I tell her. “Me, too.”

  Then I spin us across the floor.

  She gasps, holds on tighter. And when her eyes meet mine, they’re glistening with an emotion that takes my breath away—even before she slides her hand from my shoulder to the back of my neck.

  Even before she pulls me down, pulls me forward, until my lips meet hers.

  Chapter 14

  Elara is delicious.

  It’s the first thing I think—the only thing I can think—as she finally takes my mouth in the kiss I’ve been wanting from the moment I turned around in the middle of that locker room.

  Warm and soft and sweet, she’s everything I knew she would be, and I want nothing more than to stand here in this gazebo and kiss her forever as I revel in the feel of her soft hands on my neck and her strong, lush body pressed so tightly against my own.

  But no matter how secluded this gazebo is, we’re in public and I need to remember that, need to keep us from getting lost completely in all the heat flowing between us like lava.

  It’s harder than it should be, harder than it’s ever been for me before. I’ve been with a lot of women in my life, especially after Allison died and I was desperate to forget her, but never have I been so obsessed with one particular woman. Never have I been so wrapped up in her, so desperate to know everything about her body…and her soul.

  It’s a driving need inside me, making it harder and harder for me to hold on to sanity—and control. And when Elara presses closer, so close that I can feel the hard beads of her nipples against my chest, I de
cide that sanity is overrated. Everything is that stops me from holding and touching and having her.

  I tighten my arm around her, hold her even closer, as I nip gently at her lower lip. She moans a little at the contact, her mouth opening with the sound, and I take instant advantage. I dart my tongue out, lick my way across the little dip in her upper lip, then across the soft fullness of her lower one before nipping at it again.

  She gasps at the small bite of pain, her hands sliding between us to clutch at my shirt even as her legs part just enough for me to slide my thigh in between them.

  It’s all the invitation I need.

  Delving inside her then, I sweep my tongue along her own. Once, twice, then again and again. Teasing, touching, tasting her. Learning her flavors and the secrets she doesn’t even know she has.

  Despite her sharp, cool looks—all platinum-blond hair and violet-blue eyes, razor-sharp cheekbones and long, powerful body—Elara is anything but cold. She’s heat and spice, cinnamon and cloves, overlaid by just a hint of the crisp, sweet champagne we’ve been passing between us for the last hour.

  It’s the warmth of her that seduces me, the warmth of her that draws me in, draws me under, until she’s all I can think of. All I can ever imagine wanting.

  Sliding my other hand into her hair—she left it down tonight, thank God—I tangle my fingers in the silky curls and tug gently. She tilts her head back in response, giving me better access to her mouth. And I take it without a thought to anything but how good she tastes and how much I want her.

  She whimpers at the contact and I soothe her with soft strokes against the soft bare skin of her back. Right before I suck her lower lip between my teeth and bite down gently. I soothe the small hurt with a stroke of my tongue before licking my way inside her mouth. This time, I slide my tongue along her upper lip, toy gently with the sensitive skin there before delving deep into her mouth.