by Jill Shalvis
“Thanks.” He pointed to an envelope of photos lying on the coffee table. “Cole was kind enough to take pictures of me falling all over myself learning to surf, and then even kinder to give them to me.” Opening the envelope, he flipped through the humiliating shots of him tumbling into the water, being tortured by the waves, and pulled out the one he loved. “This one is going on the wall soon as I get it enlarged.”
She stared up at him and then took the picture. “It’s of us.”
“Yep.” It’d been taken after surfing, so he wore only his swimming trunks, and Sam was in that black bikini he had an extremely soft—make that hard—spot for. When Cole had lifted the camera, Sam had started to pull away, but he’d slipped his arm around her. Turning back to him, she’d offered such a sweet, beautifully affectionate smile his heart had melted, and he’d offered her one back. Cole had snapped the shot.
“You’re going to put us on your wall with all your friends and family?”
“What, you’re not my friend?”
Her mouth shut, and with a frown, she stared down at the picture. “I thought…”
“What?”
She handed him back the picture, and turned her back. “Playing. We’re playing. I taught you to surf, now we’re going to play ball. Where’s the hoop? I’m sure you’ve got a state-of-the-art one somewhere in here.”
So she wanted to go at it like that, like they had nothing going on here, nothing at all. Fine. But suddenly he was far less happy with this no-commitment thing than he’d imagined. “Out here.” Through the kitchen, the laundry room and outside to the backyard, where beyond the Olympic-size pool was a basketball court.
She stared at the asphalt, which had cracked last year and now had a few daisies popping up here and there. Then she looked at the regulation-height hoops draped with baskets, one of which had torn in his last fierce battle with some friends. “This is like…street ball.”
He grinned broadly. “Yeah. Don’t you love it?”
“But…where’s the expensive wood floor, the custom paint job, the fancy baskets and hoops?”
He stepped close, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and then cupped his fingers around her jaw until she looked at him. “I didn’t grow up in a house like this, you know. I grew up in a regular neighborhood, playing basketball in the street. I like to play it that way. This way.”
“Oh.” She smiled, but it slowly faded. “Jack…”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not changing your mind.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t want this to end. But if I stay, if we play, we’re not going to stop there. And then tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”
“I’m confused.” He ran a finger over her creamy shoulder. “How will it be over?”
“Because I’ll be tired of you. I’m always tired of a guy after sex.”
He grinned, and shook his head. “But you haven’t had sex with me.”
“Jack—”
His grin faded. “You’re serious. You want to leave now so that we won’t have sex and you can keep seeing me.”
She nodded miserably.
“We each have a past,” he said slowly. “A lot of yours is tragic, and I wish I could change it for you, but as far as past relationships, none of them should factor here. This thing between us is different. Original.”
“And scary.”
“And scary,” he agreed. “But I don’t care, and I’m surprised you do.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I thought you had guts and determination and grit, from that first night. I looked at you and saw—”
“A beach bum?”
“A woman I wanted to get to know more, and as I did, I learned how strong you were, what a beautiful outlook you had after that crappy hand Fate dealt you. You played anyway, and won.” Stepping close, he put his hands on her arms and ran them slowly up and down as if he could warm her, soften her. Make her see what he saw. “You won. I love that about you, Sam. You live as you are, as you want. Damn, if that isn’t one of the hottest things about you. You bid on lessons with me because you wanted it. You wanted me. If you’ve changed your mind because you’ve lost your nerve, then I don’t know you at all.”
That got a rise out of her. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. Now are you in or not?”
She took a long look around and then met his challenging gaze. An ironic smile touched her lips. “You have a way of putting things.”
“Don’t I?”
“Well, it would be stupid to waste all that money.”
He smiled. “Yep.”
“Besides…” Now she stepped away from him, rolling her head on her shoulders, warming up. “I’m going to kick your ass.”
“I thought this was a lesson.”
“How about a game, instead?”
“But…” He had to laugh. “I’m a pro.”
“Ex-pro.” She unzipped her sweatshirt, and let it fall. “And not in street ball.”
She wore two tank tops, a light blue one over a white one, both thin enough that her breasts were perfectly outlined. Perfect handfuls.
His palms suddenly itched.
She put on her socks, then took her shoes from him and slipped into them. She stood, her hands on the hips of her surfer shorts, which cracked him up. She lifted a brow. “Bring it on.”
“Some fighting words right there.”
She let out a slow smile that just about did him in. “Yep.”
“Half-court?”
A sound of irritation sounded from her. “Full.”
“Single point baskets to five?”
“Eleven. And we’ll call our own fouls.”
Fouls. So this was going to get rough, was it? “Don’t you want a handicap?”
“Well, if you’re offering.” She shot him a smile that fried his brain cells. “I go to five, you to eleven?”
Her fingers were playing with the tiny little straps on one shoulder, almost nudging them off, and he lost his train of thought.
“Jack?”
“Sure.” How hard would it be to beat her? He grabbed a ball from his ball stand, but she snagged it out of his hands and started dribbling down the court away from him.
And then executed the most out-of-step, awkward layup he’d ever seen…and made the shot.
Twirling around she shot him a cocky grin.
He laughed. “I guess we’ve started.”
“Yeah. One zip. Want to up the stakes?”
She was hot as hell, standing on the court with that sexy little smile. He’d probably trip over his own tongue playing her, but she couldn’t possibly beat him. “Sure.”
“Winner picks their prize.”
He was going to trip over his own tongue right this second. “Anything?”
She batted her lashes, and a groaning laugh escaped him because she was teasing him; she couldn’t be serious—
“Anything,” she said.
“You’re on.” Whether it was taking advantage or not, he would win, and he would claim his prize. In his bed.
“Ready?” She dribbled slowly and easily, making a classic rookie mistake by letting the ball get too far away from her body.
An entire night with her…
The steal was easy, and he jogged down the court away from her, making a layup that would have had any basketball fan sighing in pure pleasure.
Then turned to face her as he tossed her the ball. “One all. Your ball.”
SAM TOOK THE BALL and, being the fast study she was, dribbled closer to her body this time, eyeing her opponent carefully. He looked so fierce standing there blocking her, so intense.
He wanted to win, badly. Hmm, Sam thought, wonder what he has in mind for a prize?
The thought made her want to grin, but she held it in. Because she wanted to win, too. Yes, she’d had a moment when she’d wanted to back out and run like hell, but he’d been right. She needed to see this out, at least for the night. She owed that to bot
h of them.
Feigning right, then left, she had to pull back when he didn’t give an inch. Twice he reached out and nearly snagged the ball from in front of her nose. He was right, he was a pro. But she had something he didn’t, and she planned to use it. Make that “them.” She supposed the feminist in her would never ever consider using her breasts to win a basketball game, but she really, really wanted to win.
Backing up a step, she shot him the best come-hither smile she had. Turning in a circle, she ran around him, dropping her left shoulder so that the straps of her tank tops, thin and inconsequential, slipped off.
As Jack passed her and then faced her, blocking her in, she straightened again.
Her breasts, full and unencumbered by a bra, were held in by only the right straps.
Jack didn’t miss the show; in fact, he executed an almost comical double take and then tripped over his own two feet. Taking full advantage of that, she took off toward her basket.
And made the shot.
“Foul.”
“Was not,” she said, and tossed the ball at his chest. “Two one. Your ball.”
He eyed her good and long, a sparkle of heat in that gaze that made her want to jump him. He’d begun to sweat, just a little, and he looked like one tall, sinful treat.
She left the two straps hanging down on her biceps.
“So this is how you want to play it,” he said very softly.
She just lifted a brow.
“Well, then, understand this. I could look at you all day, and I will, but you’re still going down.” With that statement, he easily got past her, loped down the court with the confidence of a man not being guarded, and made his shot, a beautifully impressive slam dunk. “Two–two.”
She smiled. “Don’t take your victory lap yet.”
“No?”
“Oh, no.” Breasts straining against the thin material of the tank tops, jiggling with her every movement, she dribbled, eyeing him. She could feel the breeze on the exposed skin above the tops, and also below, where she had a good three or four inches of flesh showing between the low slung surfer shorts and the hem of the tanks.
Still dribbling, still smiling, she stopped shifting around and looked right at him. She could tell he was torn between playing the game and lusting after her. He wanted to win, badly, but he wanted to toss the ball away and grab her as well, and it made the amusement drain right out of her as she went into her own lust mode.
When he caught the look in her eyes, he groaned. “You are killing me.”
“I plan to,” she purred, and blew right by him.
But when she tossed up the ball toward the basket, she missed. She heard him coming after her and grabbed the ball again, putting it back up.
She knew he could have deflected it from going in, but instead he caught her around the waist and hauled her close.
The ball sank in the basket.
“Foul!” she cried anyway, laughing, but again the chuckle faded away when she caught the utter intense, serious, almost terrified look in his eyes. “What?” She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her fingers. “Jack? What is it?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s you.”
She let his mouth close on hers, allowing herself to fall into the kiss for a long, wet, deep, hot moment. Then she pulled back and licked her lips. “Three two. My ball.” She grabbed it and felt it was a testament to the power of the kiss they’d just shared that she made it all the way to her basket and shot before he even blinked and looked in her direction. “Four two,” she said, and smiled. “Game point.”
But she’d unleashed the beast with both her actions and that kiss, and for the next few moments he played like…well, like the former NBA superstar he was, racking up the score until it was at nine four.
Damn, he was good. But she had plans for him, and they included him losing so she could claim her prize. Him. All night long. “Man, I’m hot.” And with that, she peeled off the light blue tank top, leaving her in just the thin white one.
While his tongue was still hanging out, she made her shot. And missed, damn it.
He came up behind her, making sure his chest and thighs and everything in between brushed against her back when he reached in front of her to commandeer the ball.
With a screech, she hugged it to her chest and ran around him, forgetting to dribble.
“Travel,” he called, but she didn’t slow down.
She didn’t stop until she’d shot. And missed.
“That’s what you get for cheating.”
She took another shot and made it. With a whoop, she whirled around, doing a little victory dance. “I won.”
“Oh, please, you—”
She took another victory dance lap around him, tracing her finger over his damp, gleaming skin as she did.
“—totally cheated—”
She danced backwards, away from him, and scooped up her discarded top. “I’ll expect you tonight, Jack.”
“You didn’t even try to—Huh?” He blinked as her words sank in. “What?”
“I said I’ll expect you tonight. I won, not exactly fair and square maybe, but don’t worry, I won’t cheat you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yep.” Feeling quite pleased with herself, enjoying the shock and confusion on his gorgeous face, she smiled. “I get to claim the prize,” she reminded him gently. “And Jack, my prize is you.”
“Me.”
“That’s right.” She laughed at his expression. Poor, poor baby. He hadn’t expected to lose. “You. For tonight, our first night. We’ll make it count, just in case.”
“In case what?”
In case it’s also our last. But she just smiled and waved, and took off.
Stunned, Jack could only watch her go. No one had ever walked away from him before. No one.
In fact, it was the first time a woman had wanted absolutely nothing from him—not a promise, not a diamond, not a single damn thing.
Except his body, and quite possibly only for tonight.
Even more unbelievably, that wasn’t good enough for him.
JACK PACED most of the afternoon. There was no denying the odd sliver of fear, because he felt this overwhelming pressure to make sure tonight was so good she’d want him again. And again. Because he really didn’t think he could walk away from her. He’d walked away plenty of times in the past and never given it another thought.
And, yet, today he thought about little else.
He was determined to change her mind, determined to make her want him as badly as he’d come to want her. He really had no idea how to do that, only that he had to manage it.
That, or be able to say goodbye to her tonight.
Anyone he knew would probably fall over in shock, but the truth was, for the first time in his adult life, he’d become attached to a woman. To the most amazing woman he’d ever met.
Finally, he headed over to Sam’s at dusk. He had a bottle of wine under his arm and a foolish hitch in his heart. It should be all about anticipation, and a good amount of it was.
When he pulled into the parking lot, the café was dark, not a single light. She’d closed up.
Perfect.
He opened his door, and an odd scent registered in his brain at the exact moment he saw a plume of smoke coming out the front window of the café.
Squinting, he moved closer. If she’d closed up the café, then there shouldn’t be—
Then he saw a flash of orange—a flame—and, with a sinking deep in his belly, started running.
11
SAM’S NOSE twitched at the distinct stench of burning brownies.
Impossible. It hadn’t been long enough—only ten minutes or so. She went still and sniffed again, but it was unmistakable now. “Damn it.”
She’d had tonight planned down to the last detail. First, bake brilliant brownies, then make herself irresistible-looking and last, but not least, greet that gorgeous hunk of man.
Seduce h
im.
Then—holding her breath—see what happened afterwards.
Perfect plan.
Until now. She hadn’t used her upstairs oven because, besides the timer not working, it didn’t cook evenly. Now, she’d just gotten out of the shower and had put on her favorite black lace panties and matching bra when the smell had reached her. With a groan, she grabbed her old, ratty, favorite bathrobe and started running down the stairs.
But when she tore into the café kitchen, her robe flying out behind her, she skidded to a halt and stared at the oven in horror.
She hadn’t burned the brownies; her oven had. Flames licked at them from beneath, curled round the edges of the stove, and licked the cabinets on either side.
“Damn, damn.” Whirling, she headed to the counter, and the phone. Yanking up the receiver, she dialed 911, then put the phone in the crook of her neck and spun around again, this time toward the closet, and the fire extinguisher she kept there.
She couldn’t believe how hot it’d gotten already, and she glanced over her shoulder, nearly screaming as the dispatcher answered, because the fire was right there, right in front of her now, where it hadn’t been seconds ago.
A window exploded, and she dropped to the floor. “Oh God, oh God.” Tripping over her robe, she fumbled with the extinguisher. But flames leaped to the ceiling, and suddenly the rest of the cabinets had caught fire. So had the counter. “Got a kitchen fire,” she yelled into the phone, and gave the address.
The dispatcher took the info with quick professionalism. “Ma’am, I hear the flames. You’re too close.”
“I’m leaving right now.” As soon as she figured out exactly how to do that.
“The trucks are on their way.”
“They’d better hurry.”
“They are,” he assured her. “Are you outside yet?”
“Going.”
“Seriously, ma’am. Don’t try to save anything but yourself.”
She wasn’t stupid, she knew better. But it wasn’t just smoke clogging her throat and making her hesitate as she took a good look around. So much of her life was here, right here. And before her very eyes it was going…
