She reached for her sweater first—it was still bunched above her breasts—and pulled it up and over her head.
“I think it’s my turn now.” She placed her palms flat on his abs, adjusting herself on his lap and lightly grinding against his already very hard dick.
He swallowed, trying to restrain himself. He wanted to reach up and grab her hips, wanted to guide her into moving against him harder. But as much as he wanted to do that, he wanted to see what she was going to do more.
“I think that sounds perfect.”
She smiled as she ran her hands up his body. Her hair fell forward as she moved, the strands stretching down and tickling his skin. She hovered over him now, those blue eyes of hers focused on his.
“Good,” she said right before she lowered her mouth to his.
Words couldn’t express how much he loved the taste of her mouth. Warm and sweet and just the right amount of spice. And as she explored his mouth with hers, she obliterated his brain when she started moving her hips, grinding against him.
At least he’d thought she’d obliterated his brain. Because as she started to move her mouth down his torso, he realized he’d been wrong. Oh, so very wrong.
She started kissing down the trail of hair leading from his belly button and all the way past the waistband of his jeans. And then she was unfastening the button, pulling down the zipper, and shoving his pants down his thighs. She only got them far enough down his legs for his erection to spring free.
It took everything in him not to buck off the bed when her tongue darted out and wrapped around the tip of his cock.
“Holy hell, Abby!” he managed to get out. But the next string of words out of his mouth weren’t all that coherent, because her mouth covered the head while her hand worked the base.
This time his hands did come up, his fingers spearing in her hair, because he had to touch her. Had to feel her moving over him.
And that was how he stayed for the next few minutes, enjoying every single fucking second until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I…” He had to swallow hard, trying to find words. “I’m going to come.”
The warm wetness of her mouth disappeared and she looked up at him, grinning wide. “What are you waiting for?” she asked before her mouth returned to its earlier mission.
He let himself go over to it. All of it. Savoring the feel of her mouth on him. Savoring her touch.
It was then that her hand dropped for just a second, lightly squeezing his balls.
He lost it, unable to stop himself from arching off the bed. Abby’s mouth stayed on him till the end, sucking him dry.
And this time it was Logan sinking into the mattress trying to remember how to breathe.
* * *
Abby had never pictured Logan James as a snuggler, but here she was, wrapped in his arms and pressed up against his chest. His hand lazily trailed up and down her spine. She was good and thoroughly exhausted, but so content it was ridiculous.
Logan had needed a little bit of time to recuperate, but once he had, he didn’t hesitate to pin her down onto the mattress and make her lose her mind again.
And again.
And again.
She ran her hand up his chest as she tipped her head back to look at him. He moved, too, his mouth coming down on hers. He rolled her onto her back, giving her a slow kiss that curled her toes and threatened to set the sheets on fire.
Then he pulled away just far enough to focus those gold-green eyes of his on her. “You going to pull away from me again tomorrow morning?” he asked as he reached up and brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear.
“No.” She shook her head. “But how is this going to work?”
He shifted, rolling to his side and propping his head up on his arm. He ran his other hand down her neck, across her collarbone, and to her chest. He palmed one of her breasts as he traced her nipple with the pad of his thumb.
She was unable to stop the shiver of pleasure that ran through her… something that had happened for about the hundredth time that night.
“We just make it work.”
“Sneaking around?”
“I prefer to think of it as keeping things private,” he said as he dipped his head and kissed her collarbone.
“And what about the fact that you’re a client who despises what I do with every fiber of your being?”
He brought his gaze back up to her and grinned. “We’ll figure it out.”
“So we go into this with no plan?”
“We do have a plan. We keep your job and reputation intact, and my private life stays out of the news. Really this is the optimum situation. For once we have a common goal.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be all that simple.”
“Simple is entirely overrated.” His hand skimmed down her body. He paused at her belly for just a second before he continued south. When he got to her knees he pulled her legs apart and rolled, settling between her thighs. “I’ll take complicated any day.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, and all thoughts of anything besides his body moving over hers magically vacated her brain.
Chapter Five
Stampede Indeed
The sharp clip clip clip of Abby’s red high heels echoed off the concrete walls around her. The hallway leading to the Jacksonville Stampede locker room was more like a tunnel than anything else, and it amplified any and all noise. And, oh boy, was there some noise when all twenty-nine testosterone-filled men were coming down the passageway.
How appropriate that the team’s mascot was a raging bunch of wild animals.
It had been a month since Abby and Logan had returned from Mirabelle. A month since they’d embarked on their relationship, and they’d been pretty good at keeping it a secret.
As Logan had said, they’d figured it out.
They’d spent over half of those nights together, either at his house, her condo, or in various hotel rooms when they were on the road. She always had her own room, so he stayed in hers. Whenever she’d get her room keys, she’d just pass one off to him and he’d show up shortly after… and stay through the night.
Working and sleeping with Logan hadn’t been an issue… yet. Abby’s focus had been almost exclusively devoted on the charity dinner auction for St. Ignatius. The hospital was in the process of raising funds to rebuild their cancer wing, and they’d enlisted the help of the Stampede.
Much like going to visit Dale, the auction wasn’t something that Logan had fought her on when it came to his participation. His brother, Liam James, was an up and coming country musician, and Logan had snagged some backstage VIP tickets for the tour that Liam was opening for.
The headlining band was Isaac Hunter, a country duo that was currently tearing up the charts. It also didn’t hurt that both men were beyond handsome and looked so good in a pair of jeans and boots that it should be illegal.
Not only would the winners get to go to the concert the night the tour stopped through Jacksonville, but they’d also get to eat dinner with Logan, Liam, Isaac, and Hunter. It was guaranteed to be a lethal combination of attractive men around that table. She had no doubts that the women at the auction would be bidding on the four-ticket evening like crazy.
Abby had been more than surprised with the package that Logan had offered up. Not only did it involve him in the public eye, but it involved him being social. She knew he was more than capable of doing it, he just didn’t like to.
But she wasn’t getting used to his cooperation. She had no doubts on his earlier promise of being just as difficult as he’d always been when it came to things that he didn’t agree with. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to ride this wave for as long as possible, though.
But today Logan wasn’t her mission. Kent Proctor was the intended target, the only player who hadn’t put something up for the auction. If there was a bigger problem on the Stampede, she didn’t know. He’d been drafted to the NHL when he was eighteen, and the five years he’d been in the le
ague hadn’t improved his problem-child behavior.
He was excellent on the ice. Off of it? Not so much.
He was arrogant, immature, and beyond difficult to work with. He made Logan look like a freaking angel.
Abby took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before she pushed through the doors and walked into the locker room. A handful of players were standing in front of their lockers in varying stages of undress.
This wasn’t the optimum place to talk to anyone, but desperate times called for desperate measures and this was sometimes the only place she could corner a few of the players, especially the problem children.
After Abby got the job, she quickly had to get used to being around half-naked—or sometimes entirely naked—men. Being in a locker room was not always a pleasant experience. It was generally smelly and hot, and oh-so-very crowded. It was a bit of an obstacle course navigating through the tape, sweaty jerseys, and pads that littered the floor. Not to mention the massive human bodies that were either elated after their win, or pissed after their loss.
The guys were used to the varying forms of staff and reporters being in there. They weren’t exactly going to swing their junk, genitals or otherwise, at her. They had to work with her on a daily basis, not to mention Coach Anthony Bale wouldn’t put up with that for a second.
Besides, the only body that had ever really distracted her had been Logan’s… and that was both before and after things had started up. Being able to see him up close and personal when they were in private didn’t make it any easier when she was in the locker room with so many other eyes around. If anything, it was harder now.
When the two of them were alone together, they always had their hands on each other. When they were in public, she constantly had to keep herself in check. It was different, this feeling of always wanting to touch him. Of always wanting him to touch her. She’d never experienced it before. Not with any other guy.
Just the thought of his lips brushing across the back of her neck had the ability to make her shiver. And as her eyes landed on him, she did just that. The shiver was such a contrast to the fact that he simultaneously got her all hot and bothered.
Yup, she was so screwed.
He made it impossible to stay calm, cool, and collected when he was only wearing a pair of jeans. His light brown hair was sticking up from where he’d carelessly dried it with his towel, and his muscles rippled with every movement as he dug around in his bag.
One would think after the time they’d spent together she’d be a little bit more in control of herself.
They would be wrong. He made her palms sweaty.
Focus, woman!
He was talking to his teammate Jace Kilpatrick, who just so happened to be Logan’s best friend. Abby liked Jace. He was a sweet, good-natured guy and more than a bit of a playboy, not all that surprising with his shaggy dark blond hair, aquamarine eyes, and mischievous grin.
He was constantly on the front covers of tabloids with the newest leggy model or actress. His last girlfriend was a very famous singer, Veronica Trumbower. Before their breakup, which she hadn’t taken very well, there’d been an incident where the paparazzi had caught them in a less than delicate position in a private club. The thing was, no one should’ve known that they were there. The security on the place was ridiculous, so it appeared that someone had been tipped off.
Veronica wrote a song about the whole relationship, which had very little good and a ton of bad and ugly. It had stayed at number one for months.
That had been delightful to deal with.
Logan pulled a T-shirt out of his bag and as he straightened, his head came up and those green-gold eyes of his landed on her. His mouth quirked to the side as he did a quick scan of her body, landing on her heels.
They were the same red ones she’d worn the first night they had sex.
When he returned his gaze to hers, there was a heat in his eyes that made way more than her palms sweaty. She gave him a warning look, but it just made that quirk on his mouth turn into a grin.
“I haven’t seen you down here in a while, Red.” He started to pull his shirt up his arms. “You been busy?” he asked, his head disappearing into his shirt for just a second before it popped up through the neck hole and he adjusted the hem around his waist.
She immediately missed the sight of his muscles. But at least her brain started functioning again.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Trying to get the final details worked out for the St. Ignatius dinner.” Something that he knew as pretty much all of her spare time was spent with him. She’d had to work on it more than a few of the nights they’d been together.
“I hear it’s going to be a fancy event. Got to get my suit cleaned if I’m going to try and impress.” Jace waggled his eyebrows as he grinned at her.
He hadn’t given her any grief for the evening, either. His package up for bid was a brand-new surfboard and five surfing lessons with Jace himself. Not only was he a damn good hockey player, but he was a licensed surf instructor as well.
Who knew?
He’d grown up in LA, spending his time out on the ice rinks and the ocean in equal part. Needless to say he had superb balancing skills.
“You’re going to need a lot more than a suit to help you there, buddy.” Logan shook his head.
“Says the man with limited social skills.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head at Jace. “I have more skills than you could dream of, pal.”
“I’ll leave you two to work this little debate out on your own.” Abby smiled as she gestured between the two men. “Let me know who wins.”
“Will do,” Jace said.
But before Abby moved off, her gaze met Logan’s one last time, catching the longing that gleamed in his eyes. She forced herself to look away and move across the room, where Kent Proctor was talking to none other than Rodger Dingle.
Well, apparently this battle was going to be hard fought.
Abby was well used to being underestimated. It was something she’d constantly had to deal with before this job, and it hadn’t been any easier when walking into a testosterone-ridden environment.
Dingle also worked in the Stampede PR department, and he hadn’t been a fan of Abby since the moment she’d been hired, nor had he been quiet about his opinions, either. He hadn’t dealt well with the facts that she was seven years his junior, that he had been working with the Stampede for five years now, and that they pretty much had the exact same position. Not to mention the added bonus that she was a woman.
He constantly tried to undermine her no matter the audience. He would withhold information from her, giving her press releases at the last minute. Or somehow forgetting to mention a connection or important detail and making himself look like the hero when he “had to step up” to fix the situation. She’d put in all the effort and he would try to take the credit with one little detail.
Too bad it was going to take a lot more than that to throw her off. She’d dealt with bigger jerks than him. He couldn’t have forgotten that she’d worked in politics for years.
Really he could be considered attractive with his short black hair and strong jaw, but when he opened his mouth and actually spoke, any and all possibilities of attractiveness went out the window.
Plus his last name was Dingle.
“D.C.,” he said as he looked her up and down with that sneer of his. She tried not to flinch at the nickname. She knew what it meant. Had heard him mutter it under his breath many times. He played the whole thing off as her coming from Washington before she’d moved down here.
Too bad she knew it meant Damn Cunt.
“Rodger. Kent.” She smiled at both men politely.
“What brings you to the locker rooms? You know this isn’t any place for a lady.”
She again forced herself to ignore the fact that Dingle believed she wasn’t all that welcome in the locker room. It’s a man’s world, he’d said on multiple occasions. What the hell does she know ab
out this sport?
She actually knew a lot of things about the sport. She’d grown up watching it with her grandfather, had gone to more Philadelphia Flyers games than she could count.
“I needed to speak with Mr. Proctor here. I was wondering if you had a chance to decide what you wanted to do for the charity dinner. We need to get everything turned in by the end of the week so the hospital knows what to expect.”
“Waiting until the last minute I see?” Dingle asked, clicking his tongue as he shook his head.
“What charity dinner?” Proctor asked, his eyebrows bunching together.
“And not informing everyone who is supposed to be involved? Sounds like you’re on the ball.”
Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths.
“The St. Ignatius dinner at the end of the month. We’re doing an auction to raise money for the new cancer wing,” Abby explained patiently.
“We are? I don’t remember this.”
It took everything in Abby to keep her practiced smile plastered across her face. Not only had she had many, many, conversations with the team about this, but she’d also sent out multiple reminders. Not to mention the fact that she’d had her assistant Brooke talk to the players on numerous occasions. Proctor’s response of “I’ll deal with it later” was the only thing that Brooke could report back.
“You should,” came a voice from behind Abby.
She turned to the side as Captain Andre Fabian strolled toward her. He was a huge man. A good two hundred and fifteen pounds of what was probably solid muscle and standing tall at six-foot-five. He had thick dark brown hair, severe eyebrows that were currently turned down, and a frown that would make lesser men cower.
He was from Winnipeg, his time in the south not changing his accent at all. He wasn’t one of those apologetic Canadians, either. She’d never heard an unearned I’m sorry coming out of his mouth. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a good guy; he just didn’t mess around.
Undressed Page 5
