“I think you mean that,” Bruiser said.
“You know I mean that. You sure know how to take advantage of a situation.”
“Hey, I might be pretty, but I’m not stupid. Gorgeous night, great company, sexy little body plastered against me. What more could I want even if I’m concerned for the safety of my manhood?” No truer words were ever spoken.
“I am not plastered against you. You’re holding me there.” Her brown eyes flashed fire. Damn, he liked when she was all indignant and wallowing in denial.
He raised one eyebrow. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He owed her for all those times she kicked his ass at pool and took his money. Instead, he pulled her closer until their bodies meshed together.
He maneuvered her to a darker part of the patio, away from most of the dancers. She clung to him. Her incredible lips parted slightly, and she sighed the most provocative sigh he’d ever heard. He doubted she meant for it to be provocative, but pretty much any sound coming from those lips right now turned him on.
Their gazes locked, and Bruiser forgot everything he’d ever learned, including the ability to form simple words. Mac looked as dazed as he felt. He couldn’t look away, even as the alarm sounded in his head to get out and get out fast. He’d always paid heed to that alarm, but not tonight. Not with Mac. To hell with it. He silenced all his inner thoughts except the ones that swore this was a good idea.
Yeah, a very good idea.
His gaze slipped lower to those luscious lips of hers. Big, full, and absolutely feminine. Bruiser lowered his head. Her warm, minty breath feathered his lips. He wanted to kiss her, and she wanted him to. He knew the signs. Only an inch separated them. So close. So very close. Her pink tongue darted out, and she wet her lips. Heat rolled off him in waves, like a hot sidewalk on a hundred-degree day. Oh, God, his knees almost buckled. He tilted his head, just one more inch. One little inch between his lips and the Promised Land.
Then he remembered Brett.
Brett, his buddy. His fishing partner. The only guy who truly understood him. Loyal to a fault and always there when needed. And Bruiser, the asshole, was about to kiss the hell out of Brett’s love interest.
Friends were more important than a casual fuck. He could get a casual fuck anywhere. Right now, his actions affected two friends—Mac and Brett. He loosened his hold on Mac, allowing her to put a few inches between them. She stared at him, her lips still parted, and blinked several times, as if she couldn’t believe her bad luck. Neither could he. What a fine time for his sense of honor and decency to assert itself.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”
Mac’s disappointment was written all over her flushed face, which was out of character. She usually had a better poker face than that. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked beyond him. “You’re not, really. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. We’re friends, and I’m not the right guy for you.” Bruiser managed a half smile in an attempt to downplay what had just not happened. “Now, Brett—there’s a guy who could make a nice girl like you happy.”
“Brett?” She squinted at him, as if trying to process his words.
“Yeah, Brett’s kinda interested.” His statement had the desired effect of driving a wedge between them. Bruiser stepped back, putting more distance between them physically and emotionally. His arms dropped to his sides, feeling empty and aching for her. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“In me?” She pointed at her chest, right at her cleavage, and he bit back a groan.
“Sure is,” he managed, though he sounded strangled. “Has been for a long time.”
“Isn’t he your best buddy on the team?” She perched her cute ass on a rock wall and put her shoes back on, He gaped at her shapely legs until she gazed up at him. Oh, God, he wanted to bend her over the wall and kiss the hell out of her.
“Pretty much.”
“I know you can’t help but be your usual jackass self, but if Brett’s interested, why were you hitting on me?” Her accusation punched him below the belt, but his selfish dick refused to give up its quest.
“Because I’m truly an ass. I apologize. It won’t happen again. So will you?”
She stared up at him, hugging herself with her arms, as if she were cold. “Will I what?”
“Go out with Brett?”
“I can’t answer that, since he’s never asked me.”
An unexpected stab of jealousy caught Bruiser completely off guard. Jealous? He hadn’t been jealous since he caught CeCe flirting with the quarterback on his old college team. Damn. He needed to screw his head on straight, abandon his odd attraction to Mac, and go back to being a player, a role he’d starred in since puberty. Only hooking up with anonymous women didn’t hold its usual appeal.
And despite all his inner bullshit, he knew the exact reason why.
* * * * *
Mac pushed herself off the stone wall and ran for the bathroom in the pool house as fast as her killer shoes would carry her without breaking an ankle. She didn’t look back until she reached the bathroom door. A glance over her shoulder revealed Bruiser standing alone near the dance floor staring at her. Dang, uber-confident Bruiser looked adorably confused and uncertain—a lethal combination.
Pushing the bathroom door open, Mac shut and locked it. She rested her forehead against the cool tile wall until her breathing returned to somewhat normal and her heart ceased racing down the homestretch. Moving to the sink, she started to splash some cold water on her face, then remembered her eyeliner and mascara. Damn, but it sucked being a woman.
She stared at the stranger in the mirror and had to admit she did look pretty damn good, which explained Bruiser’s insane temporary infatuation with her. Kelsie and Co. were miracle workers, not to mention Shanna and Eunice. She might even ask Kelsie to show her how she applied Mac’s makeup earlier in the day. Not that Mac could duplicate the finesse of a master, but maybe she could manage without doing too much damage.
She was stalling. Applying makeup was the least of her problems.
Mac’s head pounded harder than a drummer in a hard-rock band.
Bruiser?
Brett?
First, Bruiser’s attention knocked her on her ass, then Brett wanted to ask her out? She’d suspected that the quiet backup quarterback might actually be interested in her even though he never showed any outward signs. Brett was a nice guy, a good-looking guy, the type of guy any decent woman with half a brain would love to date. So why wasn’t she excited? This stupid-assed crush she had on Bruiser would never amount to anything. Hell, she so didn’t even want it to go anywhere. It was just a safe, harmless crush.
Tonight something had changed between them, and she was afraid they’d never go back to being casual friends. Not that she had much time for even casual friends, not with her brother missing and her father on the verge of a breakdown.
Why did things have to be so complicated?
Steeling herself, Mac stood up straight and strolled out of the bathroom as if she hadn’t a care in the world, then stopped dead when she heard voices and her name was mentioned. Holding her breath for fear of being caught, she stood there, exposed to anyone who rounded the corner. Backpedalling, she plastered herself against the wall behind a large potted plant.
“Really, Bruce, a gardener?” Veronica’s bitchy voice dripped with disgust.
“She’s a groundskeeper and a damn good one. Plus she knows her plants.” Her heart warmed at Bruiser’s defense of her.
“If you needed a date for tonight, you could’ve asked me. I would’ve set you up with any number of appropriate females. She’s not in keeping with the image the team expects you to portray.”
“Not the team, the image you expect me to portray. Besides, I think she looks damn good.”
“That much was obvious. You were salivating after her like a teenage boy at the prom with the head cheerleader.” Veronica snickered. “She mows grass for a living
.”
“Seriously, Veronica, I can’t believe you’re being such a bitch about this.”
“Bruce, you’re the face of our team. Women worship you. Guys want to be you. You need to keep up that image.”
Bruiser snorted. “First of all, who I choose to spend time with is none of your business. Mac and I are friends. She wanted to come here to show you another side of herself.”
“Oh, now I understand. This is pity date.”
“I wanted to do this. Take some time to get to know Mac better. She’s a hard worker and dedicated her job.”
“What are you, her campaign manager?”
Mac closed her eyes. This was so not going well.
“She’s applying for the staff scholarship. I want you to consider her.”
“The facilities director is endorsing Vince. If he’s not convinced she’s the right choice, why would I override his decision?”
“Mac’s the best person for that scholarship. Her continued education would be a great benefit to the team.”
“And you know this how? It’s not like you’ve mowed one blade of grass in your life.”
“Maybe I have.”
“Bruce, drop it. Forget doing her any favors and go back to taking care of yourself. It’s what you do best.” Veronica’s laugh taunted Mac, and Mac flexed her fingers, engaging in a temporary fantasy involving wrapping them around Veronica’s blue-blood throat.
“Veronica, just give her a chance. She’s only a few years from her horticulture degree.”
“It might as well be light years. She’s too young and not a good risk for the investment. I think she’s a typical young woman looking to snag a rich, hot football player, have babies, and…” Veronica’s voice faded away.
Holding her breath, Mac waited until their voices blended with all the others. She rubbed a hand across her queasy stomach. The tantalizing smell of salmon and prime rib did nothing for her appetite. She was not a typical young woman, which should have been blatantly obvious to Veronica if she’d ever noticed Mac working at the facility. Obviously, she hadn’t.
Mac called for a taxi and started walking, meeting the driver a few blocks away. Once she was safely in the backseat, she tapped out a text message to Bruiser: Not feeling well. Didn’t want to ruin your night. I got a ride home. Please enjoy the evening.
Somebody should.
Chapter 7
Illegal Motion
Despite it being a very bad idea, Bruiser left the barbecue just before midnight and drove to Mac’s house. Probably a little late to be paying a visit, but good sense had deserted him for some damn reason.
Bruiser stepped out of his car and was on the front porch in six long strides. He pounded on the thick wooden door. “Come on, Mac, open the damn door.”
A few minutes later, Mac threw the door open, looking more than little pissed and sexily rumpled, reminding him of a woman who’d spent the night with her lover. Only she hadn’t. At least he didn’t think so. He looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone inside. Relief swept through him.
He liked her like this—not that he didn’t like her all dressed up, too. This was his Mac. The real Mac. Her face scrubbed free of makeup. Her flawless skin au naturel. Her golden hair in a haphazard ponytail. Unlike the beauty of earlier in the evening, he could handle this Mac. At least, he hoped he could.
“What the hell do you want?” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him.
He squinted into the bright porch light. “I came to see if you’re okay.” Lame, Mackey, really lame.
“Of course I’m okay. Now, good night.” She tried to push the door shut.
He stuck his foot in it. “If you’re okay, why did you leave the barbecue before dinner?”
“I wasn’t hungry.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Bruiser rolled his eyes, pushed his way inside, and plopped down the couch. He glanced around the cozy little living room and liked what he saw. Definitely a homey place, the kind a guy would look forward to coming home to after a long day at work. Neat and tidy without being overly so; the room didn’t fit his image of Mac. In fact, he saw a woman’s touch reflected in the attention to detail and the placement of the country-style accessories. But then Mac was a woman, a fact of which he’d been painfully reminded tonight.
Grabbing the remote, he switched to ESPN and made himself at home, even though he hadn’t a clue why he was doing it. He grinned, goaded by Mac’s annoyed expression. “Nice house.” He gave her the once over and his gaze stalled out in the vicinity of her tits. Holy fuck, she had a nice rack on her. Not that he hadn’t noticed earlier, but hell, she’d traded in her party clothes for a long, form-fitting tank top with no bra. Her nipples stood out against the thin material, like they were happy to see him. He sure as hell was happy to see them.
Catching him gawking, Mac quickly crossed her arms over her chest, which hiked up the bottom of her shirt. A nice pair of red lace panties peeked out from her jeans. Lace? Mac? Well, he’d be damned. Bruiser tried not to smirk but failed miserably, which seemed to piss her off even more. Pissed-off women possessed a lot of passion when channeled in the right direction, and a pissed-off Mac turned him on. Way too much.
Coming here had been a bad idea. He should just leave. A black cat that looked like a refugee from a losing battle sat on the arm of the couch and sized him up, cocking his head to see him out of his one good eye. Bruiser was pretty sure the cat found him lacking. He didn’t much like cats. His mother had had cats when he was growing up. The little shits made it their job to torture him every chance they got. He leveled the cat with a leave-me-the-fuck-alone glare. The cat glared back, as if to say, My house, buddy. Not yours.
Mac stood nearby, not seeming to care that she wasn’t exactly dressed for company. She propped her hands on her hips. Bruiser licked his lips as her chest rose and fell, mesmerizing him. He loved the challenge of a pissy woman, loved to cajole them into bed and turn them into putty in his experienced hands.
“You need to go.”
He shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “How about a pizza?” The cat crawled across the back of the couch and sat near his shoulder, switching its tail and swatting him on the cheek with each stroke. He scowled at the cat. The cat scowled right back.
“You don’t much like cats, do you?”
“What’s to like about them?”
She almost smiled but not quite. Instead she turned her belligerence up a notch, which only served to nudge his interest up a notch higher.
“How about you leave? Now.” Seeming to realize she might be showing a little too much, she tugged on her top, which off course pulled the material tight against her breasts. Bruiser drew in a sharp breath and cursed the powers that be, while at the same time thanking them for his good luck.
“Ah, come on, Mac. It’s Saturday night. I left the party early because you ran out on me. The least you could do is be a charming hostess.” He turned his practiced hundred-gigawatt smile on Mac, the one guaranteed to make a woman drop her panties.
Mac didn’t drop anything, least of all her annoyance. “If you hadn’t noticed, charming is not in my job description.”
He chuckled. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed.
“Bruise, I have to get up early, okay? So see ya.”
“Hey, it’s Sunday tomorrow. I never would’ve pegged you for the church-going type.”
“I’m not, but I have plans.”
A smart guy would take the hint and leave. Not Bruiser. Actually, he should’ve never come here in the first place. No good could come from him being in the company of a half-dressed Mac. Especially considering how much she’d turned him on earlier.
Remember Brett. His repressed conscience demanded to be heard, and he looked away from Mac, battling with himself. He should walk out this door. Right now.
Mac helped him out and walked to the door, yanking it open. “Thanks for dropping by.” She gestured toward the porch.
Bruiser balked, about to argue. With a heavy sigh, he
stood and walked to the door, feeling a bit like a whipped puppy with his tail between his legs.
He made the dumb-assed mistake of hesitating just a few feet from her. He should’ve kept going, but his feet wouldn’t move. His gaze met hers, and his world stood still. It was just like Bogie and Bacall—Bruiser was a sucker for old classic movies. He’d never had his world stand still. He’d always thought the romantic crap in those movies he loved was just a fantasy, especially when it came from a simple glance. But then his brain went into deep freeze, while his heart slipped out of its cage and sprouted wings.
The part of his brain that did function wanted to recite poetry.
Poetry? What the fuck?
He’d never been one to wax poetic unless said poetry got a woman naked. While his body definitely wanted Mac naked, surprisingly sex wasn’t his priority. His stomach did these weird-assed somersaults like it did before running onto the football field for the first play of each game. Only Mac’s house wasn’t a football field and Mac didn’t look a damn thing like his teammates.
The urge to taste her overwhelmed him, robbing him off his little remaining sense. He stepped closer, expecting her to retreat. But she stood her ground, neither of them apparently having the wherewithal to abandon ship.
Instead, this ship was gonna sail those rocky seas.
Bruiser raised his hand and cupped the back of her head, capturing the silky strands of her ponytail in his fingers. Angling his head, he lowered his mouth to hers. She looked up at him and the longing in her eyes drove him forward. He had to taste those lips, just once, just a sample, had to know if the effect she had on him extended to kissing. She parted her lips and a soft sigh escaped. That was the last invitation he needed.
His mouth touched hers, setting off a spark and igniting a fire that laid waste to his entire body. He forgot his name, rank, and jersey number.
God, she tasted good. So fucking good.
Bruiser applied more pressure and she met him halfway. Her lips sealed to his, and he slipped his tongue inside that sweet, wet cavern of pleasure. He pushed her against the open door, pressing his hips against her, while his rigid dick rubbed against her stomach. She groaned into his mouth and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her left leg wrapped around his thigh. Holy crap. He’d be taking her up against this wall any minute for all her neighbors to see.
Backfield in Motion Page 7
