Crossing Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  “She is. We are.”

  Four. Tomorrow’s match was against the Memphis Bluffs and their midfielders were huge. In the footage he’d watched they looked like a bunch of refrigerators jogging up and down the center of the pitch.

  Five. Weight training had never been his strong suit, but he had to bulk up if he was going to make his mark in the Championship League. Thank God Hector had built this gym in the basement. In Chile he’d lifted weights to resist dirty tackles. In America, he needed extra muscle mass just to stay on his feet.

  “Rio?”

  “Sorry. She are, we are.”

  “She is.”

  Six. “She is, we are.” There was a lot riding on tomorrow’s game. There was a lot riding on every game these days. No more snoozing against bottom-of-the-league clubs, no more showboating and walking off the pitch five goals to the good. The skill level in the CSL was higher than he ever imagined.

  “I was. You were.”

  Seven. His arms trembled with exertion. His lungs burned, his chest ached. He’d had a nagging pain in his calf since Monday and his knee hadn’t felt quite right since Phoenix, but he hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t want to give Roland any reason to sit him out tomorrow.

  Eight. Would the Bluffs play their new defender, the young guy from Ghana? They’d only just begun to pluck him from the subs’ bench, but he’d made a good showing against Pittsburgh last week. Maybe they’d start him tomorrow. If they did, Skyline was in trouble. Deon was powerful up front but he was carrying all the goal-scoring expectations, and if—

  “Rio,” Eva snapped, slapping her papers onto the floor beside her. “You’re not listening to a word I say.”

  Nine. “Sorry. I were?”

  She huffed exasperatedly. “Not even close.”

  Ten. He used all his remaining strength to rack the bar, then pulled himself into a sitting position on the bench, blinking away a wave of dizziness as he grabbed a bottle of water. “Okay. I’m paying attention.”

  “What you’re doing is wasting my time.”

  “I told you, I’m listening.”

  “You shouldn’t be training anyway, and you know it,” she grumbled, shuffling the papers. “If Roland knew I was sitting here watching you lift weights, I’d probably get fired.”

  “Then quit,” he shot back, storming to his feet. He’d had it. He got plenty of aggravation from his manager, he didn’t need it from her too.

  Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Quit or let him fire you, because I’m sick of you holding your job over my head and making it my responsibility.”

  “How do I make it your responsibility?” she demanded, scrambling up from her place on the floor.

  “You know how,” he muttered, snatching up his towel and heading toward the door.

  She ducked in front of him, barring his exit. “No, I don’t. Tell me.”

  “You’re too smart to play dumb, Eva. Are you going to pretend you don’t remember what happened on Saturday night?”

  Her stare hardened, and his groin twitched unhelpfully. He’d always had a thing for fierce women, and she’d worn that extra-sexy dress for the Junior Skyline event...

  Head in the game, Vidal. She rejected you, remember?

  “First I can’t ask you out because you’d lose your job. Now I can’t train because you’ll lose your job. Fuck your job,” he seethed. “My job keeps us both employed, and if I don’t train, we’re screwed.”

  She blinked, and he couldn’t tell whether she was shocked or hurt or both. His resolve faltered. He hardly ever lost his temper, and when he did it usually only took a couple minutes for him to feel sheepish at overreacting. His posture softened, and the apology was forming on his tongue when she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

  “I don’t think Roland will fire you if I tell him you’re training on your rest day. He’ll just stick you on the bench for two weeks and give Brian his shot on the wing.” She tilted her head to one side. “Shall we call him and find out?”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he scoffed, shoving past her and slamming into the laundry room. He tugged his shirt over his head and flung it in the washing machine, then banged through the door to the home theatre to take a shortcut to the stairs.

  “Tell that to your manager. Call him right now and tell him you want someone else.” She followed him into the theatre, her eyes so bright with challenge they were practically glowing despite the ambient lighting. “Oh, wait. You keep blowing off my English lessons, so you can’t tell him shit.”

  He came to an abrupt halt in front of the screen, clenching his hands as he absorbed her words. His back was turned but he heard her stop behind him, heard her short, angry breaths.

  He loosened his fists, pulling his temper under control. “That was low.”

  For what felt like several minutes they stood there in silence, neither one moving, neither one speaking. He stared at the plush, cream-colored carpet beneath his bare feet and wondered how everything had gone so wrong.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft and contrite. “You’re right, that was uncalled for.”

  “It’s okay. We’re both frustrated.” He turned, and his heart skipped when he caught sight of her under the dim lights. The filtered bulbs found a multitude of new shades in her dark hair, and her heavy-lidded eyes wouldn’t have been out of place in a stained-glass window.

  He swallowed hard as he approached her. He knew his loose gym shorts didn’t conceal his burgeoning erection. He didn’t care.

  He brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Tell me why you don’t want me.”

  “Rio, it’s not—”

  “Tell me.” He stepped closer, crowding her backward.

  “It’s not a question of what I want. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She met the wall, flattening her palms against it.

  “I’m an adult, I can handle it.” He raised one hand to her waist. She put hers over it, her thumb smoothing his knuckles.

  He angled his face toward her, fixating on her slightly-parted lips. “I just want to know why.”

  “I do want you, Rio,” she murmured, tilting up her chin. “But only if you really want me, too.”

  He frowned. “Of course I do. Why else would I go to all this trouble?”

  “Trouble?” She smiled coyly. “Who’re you calling trouble?”

  Her words lingered in his mind, unsettling him, but as soon as he saw that sly curve of her lips he had to act. He shoved his unease to the back of his thoughts and kissed her like he’d wanted to for days.

  * * * *

  Eva didn’t bother fretting over the situation, worrying about her job, her promises to herself, or second-guessing Rio’s motives. She was tired of thinking and analyzing and questioning everything she said or did around him. She wanted to put her brain on hold and let her libido take the reins for a while.

  Not to mention the last hour spent watching him lift weights had ground her self-control into dust.

  She luxuriated in his kiss, cracking her jaw to let his tongue find hers, savoring the taste of salt on his lips, inhaling the scents of sweat and aftershave and unadulterated male.

  She’d never been one for the pretty-boy celebrities and pop stars filling the pages of women’s magazines. She liked muscles defined by purpose, men whose good looks were secondary to their abilities to run and kick and win. As she raised her hands to Rio’s arms and traced the definition in his triceps her heart thudded, and air stalled in her lungs when his rock-hard thighs knocked against hers.

  These legs were the quickest on the pitch, these arms chiseled to resist tackles. It had only been a minute since he first touched her but already her panties were soaked. She had a flash of embarrassment as she hoped he didn’t notice—then a flash of arousal as she hoped he did.

  He reduced the space between them, tightening one arm around her waist as his other hand slip
ped into the hair at her nape. Her nipples pressed against the unyielding plane of his chest, and she moaned inadvertently, prompting him to break the kiss and look down at her.

  His smile was bemused. “Good?”

  She nodded. “Very good.”

  He trailed his tongue along her lower lip, then resumed his exploration of her mouth. Her eyes drifted shut as she gave over to sensation, to the smooth skin of his chest, the thick hair at the back of his head, the erection threatening to rip a hole in his shorts.

  He’d asked why she didn’t want him and she hadn’t known what to say. She’d never wanted anyone so badly, or had to fight so hard to keep herself in check in his presence. There had been times during his English lesson she’d had to literally bite her tongue to quell the urge to throw herself across the room and drag it over his six-pack.

  She found those abs now, running the heel of her hand over his taut muscles. A sound of approval rumbled deep inside his chest and she slid her hand lower, following the southbound trail of hair beneath his belly button, peeking her fingertips below the elastic waistband of his shorts.

  He swore in his delicious, street-roughened dialect, and then in a series of movements so quick she barely registered them he shoved her into one of the leather-upholstered cinema chairs and dragged her leg over the armrest, splaying her thighs wide.

  She opened her mouth to protest, then wondered why on earth she would ever stop what was about to happen.

  With visibly trembling fingers Rio flung her skirt up over her waist, yanked her sodden thong down to her knees and put his mouth between her legs.

  Eva didn’t have time to worry about how long it had been since her last wax, whether she’d shaved her legs thoroughly that morning, or if a month from now Rio would still be this enthusiastic about her. Her rational mind took a long-term hiatus as she closed her eyes, clutched the armrests on either side, and sank into the moment.

  The man was a pro. His creativity on the pitch barely touched the sides of the rhythms and patterns he weaved with his tongue.

  She abandoned all self-awareness, losing track of time, of place—at some point she wasn’t even sure she was still human. She moaned and bucked and begged in two languages, but she couldn’t escape the insistent ministrations of Rio’s tongue, and then his lips, and then his fingers, until she thought she might sob with delight.

  He moved one hand to grasp her hip, and as soon as his fingers closed around the joint she knew she was finished. The possessiveness in his grip, the certainty and self-assurance—whatever shreds remained of her consciousness dissolved. Her ears hummed, her back arched, and she fell hard beneath a crushing wave of ecstasy.

  Just like when she’d been knocked down by a wave at the beach, it took some time for her to right herself. She had to find her balance on the sandy bottom, figure out which way was up, break the surface of the water and trudge back out of the ocean.

  When she did Rio was lounging in the seat beside hers, grin stretching from ear to ear.

  He propped his head on his hand, his elbow against the back of the seat. “Are you all right?”

  “No, but I will be. Maybe. Someday. Ask me again in ten years.”

  “Is that a promise that I’ll still know you in ten years?”

  She shook her head, nowhere near stabilized enough to face that particular angle on reality. She wanted to stay in this hazy, sexy, sensation-blurred world just a bit longer before returning to the real one. She clambered onto the floor and positioned herself between his knees.

  His eyes widened with excitement but he put a stalling hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure, because—”

  “Hush,” she instructed, yanking down his shorts and the boxers he wore beneath in one fluid motion.

  Her breathing, so recently returned to something resembling normal, became tight and frantic. On the pitch surrounded by six-foot-tall giants Rio didn’t look like a large man, but he was, in fact, plenty big where it mattered.

  She murmured in blasphemous Spanish as she stroked his thighs, licking her lips. She rarely deemed men worthy of her much-complimented oral talents, but Rio had earned it. And, frankly, she might enjoy this more than he did.

  She started at the tip, relishing the soft, uncircumcised flesh. Then she slowly worked her way down, leading with her hands, stroking him firmly while her mouth followed suit.

  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the clean taste of his skin, the way his erection throbbed against her tongue, the raw, strangled moan that was doubly erotic in its contrast to his normally smooth manner.

  How many women would kill to trade places with her right now? Rio was Chile’s favorite son, tabloid darling, and national sex symbol. A quick Internet search pulled up hundreds of photos of him posing with model ex-girlfriends, being mobbed at airports, standing in the middle of stadiums with his hands raised in victory as ten thousand fans chanted his name.

  But today he’d chosen her. He could have almost anyone, and she was the one he wanted.

  She increased the pace, rewarding his decision, validating his choice. She would show him he was right, no one suited him better, out of all those screaming fans she was the best woman for him.

  And all he had to do was stay.

  He shifted restlessly beneath her, signaling the nearness of the end. He fidgeted and groaned and muttered filthy things in the working-class accent that never failed to turn her on. She sucked him harder, moved her hands faster, savored her power over him and pushed away the intrusive thought that they may never be this intimate again.

  He jerked forward, shouting her name as he tried to push her back, but she held fast. His release spilled into her mouth and she swallowed it deftly, tenderly holding him through the aftershocks. Finally he sagged against the chair and she released him, and flopped onto her back on the floor.

  She exhaled, staring at the ceiling. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed.

  She pulled herself into a sitting position. Rio reclined languidly in the chair, a fine sheen of sweat covering his bare chest, which rose and fell rapidly with his panting breaths. His legs were splayed wide, his shorts bunched above his knees, and his still semi-erect manhood lay across one of his muscular thighs.

  He was the sexiest thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

  He smiled lazily. “Where were we? I am, you are, they was?”

  “They were,” she corrected. She tried to return his grin, but a sobering rush of reality was seeping into her bones like a cold draught on a damp winter evening. She had to look away, clearing her throat as she took stock of her disheveled appearance.

  Some of the confidence drained from his face as he watched her tug her thong back into place, then rearrange her skirt over her thighs.

  He yanked his shorts up over his narrow hips. “That was an unexpected turn of events. Do I owe you an apology?”

  She frowned up at him, shaking her head. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

  “I didn’t rush you into…whatever that was? I know we were still talking about—”

  “You were fine,” she interrupted, skirting around a flicker of anxiety as he raised their still undefined relationship. “Great, actually.”

  His smile held palpable relief, yet she still sensed his hesitation. He rocked forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

  “I know you’re a grown woman and you know what you’re doing, but I just wanted to make it clear that…” He glanced down at his clasped hands, then back at her. “I don’t expect anything. Now. Because of that.”

  “You’re right. I do know what I’m doing.” Most of the time. With everyone except you. “And I know I’m not ready to have sex with you.”

  He nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s what I meant, you don’t have to—”

  “I mean, I may not ever be ready.” She drew a deep breath. The happy, sensual fog had definitely dissipated and the promise she’d made to herself throbbed heavy and insistent at th
e front of her mind.

  Might as well get this out there.

  “I can’t do the casual sex thing, not anymore. I want a relationship. And unless I know you want that too, this—we—can’t work.”

  She hadn’t thought about his reaction before she said it, but now that her words hung between them, loud and irreversible, she realized how badly she wanted him to say yes.

  Yes, of course I want us to have a relationship, he’d tell her with that charming smile. Didn’t you realize that’s what I meant all along?

  Or his expression would turn serious and he’d say, yes, I’m in exactly the same place and casual sex holds no appeal for me. Let’s get serious. When can you move in?

  No—he’d drop to one knee. Take her hand in his. Yes, Eva, I want to be with you, and only you. Will you marry me?

  Instead he said nothing, and stared at the carpet between his feet.

  She examined her thumbnail, her hope depleting with each passing second. The usually-dominant realist in her figured he would balk, but her oft-silenced inner optimist had been in charge for the last hour, and had filled her brain with the belief that an encounter that hot couldn’t be possible without a real, underlying, mutual connection.

  As Rio’s silence stretched on, she felt like smothering her inner optimist with a pillow and dumping her into a river.

  When he finally looked up at her his smile was apologetic. Her heart sank faster than a lead weight.

  “My head’s all over the place today, with the event this morning, the match tomorrow, not to mention…” He gestured between the two of them. “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Of course,” she insisted way too cheerfully. “I didn’t mean to give you an ultimatum or anything. I just wanted you to know where I am.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m not saying I’m not—I mean, you know I wanted us to—I just need time.”

  “Totally get it,” she replied brightly, even though she totally didn’t. He’d pursued her to this point and now he was backing off? Maybe it really was all a front for getting her into bed.