The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2)

by Nancy Herkness

  Was he falling asleep? Did he expect her to stay here all night?

  “You comfortable, sugar?” His voice seemed to vibrate through her where his chest was fitted to her back.

  “Comfortable might not be quite the right word.”

  “Give me the right word so I know if it’s good or bad.”

  “I might need several words.” She took an inventory of the happy glow still radiating through her insides, the warmth of him infusing her skin, the feel of his cock nestled against her bottom, and the solidness of his long legs intertwined with hers.

  “Would three do it?”

  “I’ll try.” She hummed for a few seconds before going with honesty. “Blown away. Amazed. Uncertain. I guess that’s four.”

  His arm had tightened when she said uncertain.

  “I’ll go with the first three,” he said, “but I’m certain this is a good thing.”

  “What do we do next?”

  “Well, sugar, we take a little rest, and then we find a better use for these machines than weight training.”

  She glanced at the nearest contraption. It sported a padded seat with two upright cylinders attached to either side. She was pretty sure you were supposed to put your knees outside the cylinders and squeeze them together to lift the weights cabled behind it. The thought of herself in that position made liquid pool between her thighs. She shifted her gaze away.

  His breathing slowed, and she found her eyelids drifting closed, her sated body dragging her down into sleep like an exhausted swimmer.

  She came awake to the feel of his cock hard against her bottom. “Am I dreaming?” she asked as her nipples went tight and sent an arrow of arousal zinging downward.

  He skimmed one hand over her stomach to where her thighs began, sliding his fingers between them. “If you are, it’s the best dream I’ve ever been in.”

  He hooked his fingers inward so he could push two partway inside her. His touch against her clit made her gasp and twist in his arms. His cock jerked between the cheeks of her behind. That sent more liquid to bathe his probing fingers, and he pushed farther into her. She lifted her thigh to give him more space.

  “You see that weight bench over by the mirror?” His voice rasped in her ear.

  She nodded and moaned as he worked his fingers in and out.

  “You see that cylindrical cushion at one end? I can adjust it higher, so the bench slants down from it.” He flicked her clit with his thumb.

  She gasped and jolted against him, tension winding tight, low, and sizzling.

  His voice dropped low. “I would sure love to bend you over that headrest and come into you from behind. The padding is thick and cushiony, so you’ll be comfortable, I promise. But you can say no and it will be fine.”

  He slid his fingers inside her and stopped.

  She imagined the bench tilted and herself folded over the end of it, feeling the power of Luke driving into her. Nerves sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach. She would be completely exposed and at his mercy. Her body clenched around his fingers.

  She nodded.

  “I need you to say it, sugar.”

  She could barely find the breath to speak. “Yes, I want that.”

  He withdrew his hand. She found herself propelled upward as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the bench. He leaned down to give her a long kiss, their bodies pressed skin to skin from knee to shoulder.

  “Hold that thought,” he said before he bent to move various pins. She watched the ripple of his back muscles as he changed the position of the bench, and thought again of the sculptures in the museum. Except this one moved from one pose to the next with a gorgeous fluidity that made her toes curl.

  When he straightened, his face was incandescent with desire, and he wove his fingers into her hair to give her another slow, sensual kiss. Then he turned her so the tops of her thighs brushed the rounded cushion at the end of the bench. He skimmed his hands around to knead her breasts, snugging himself up to her back. His mouth was on the side of her neck, gently sucking, and his cock was once again nestled against her behind. There was nothing for her to do but dissolve into desire under his hands.

  And then he began to press her forward, his chest hard against her back. The nervous butterflies gave a few more flutters as he used his body to bend her over the bench so her bottom curved farther and farther up. But when his cock dragged across the swollen, aching spot at her center, a sun flare of yearning ripped through her, and all reservations evaporated. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Like that.”

  He kept going until her face was turned and resting against the heavy padding that cradled her like a pillow. He gave her breasts a last squeeze and pulled his hands away, his callused palms abrading her nipples with delicious friction.

  He swore. “Have to get a condom.”

  She closed her eyes to shut out her surroundings, listening to Luke’s bare feet pad away and the clink of his belt buckle when he found his jeans. His feet thudded on the wooden floor, so she could tell he was jogging back to her.

  A smile of gratification curled her lips. Then his hands wrapped around her hips, and the smile turned to an oh of shocked pleasure as he entered her without any prelude.

  He also made a guttural sound of satisfaction as he seated himself within her. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “Seeing you like this, feeling you so wet, it’s going to make me come faster than I want to.”

  He released her hips to stroke his hands over her back, the erotic massage making her inner muscles ripple around his cock. “So hot,” he growled.

  He started slowly, but she could feel his control break, and then he was driving into her—his breath rasping, the bench shaking, and her own climax building and building as the base of his cock slammed into her over and over again. It was brutal and primitive and perfect.

  And it came to a climax as he thrust into her so hard the bench scooted forward. He howled his release, his fingers like a vise on her hips. He stayed buried inside her, throbbing for a long time, before he folded down over her, sandwiching her between his big body and the bench’s cushion. His breath was coming in gulps, his chest heaving against her back.

  She mewed a complaint as he slid out of her, driving her to the edge of orgasm without taking her over. She felt him work his hand between her thighs. He slid one finger inside her and used another to circle her clit. It took about three rotations to detonate the explosion in her gut. Held between Luke and the bench, she couldn’t move, only feel, as her orgasm wrung her muscles into a final delirious release.

  Drifting down from the high, she became aware of his forearms braced alongside her shoulders on the bench. He was blanketing her with his warmth but not crushing her with his bulk.

  She shuddered through a few more aftershocks, soaking up the full-body contact with him. When she began to feel guilty about the position he had to hold, she said, “I could stay like this all night, but you’re doing all the work.”

  He cupped his hands under her shoulders and unfolded both of them from the bench. Turning her to face him, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “You trusted me.”

  Miranda laid her hand against his cheek, feeling the prickle of stubble on her palm. “Because you can be trusted.”

  He moved to close his lips over her fingertip, applying the tiniest bit of suction. “I want to devour you,” he said, his voice rough like gravel.

  “And I want to touch every inch of you.” She pulled her finger away from his mouth to follow a tendon in his neck down to the hollow at the base of his throat and then across his clavicle. That’s when she noticed an array of scars on his shoulder. “What are these?”

  “Surgical scars. Minor stuff to fix up my throwing arm.” He took her wandering hand in his and started toward the makeshift bed. “You collect those over time.”

  She hated to think what a toll the violence of football took on his magnificent body.

  He helped her down onto the piled mats and pul
led the blanket over them. She snuggled against his chest, facing him this time. “How many times have you been sacked in your career?”

  “That’s too much math for me to do when you’ve reduced my brain to pulp.”

  A glow of satisfaction blossomed in her. She’d had as powerful an effect on him as he’d had on her.

  He resettled them so his arm pillowed her head and one of his legs lay crooked over her hip. “I’m feeling mellow enough for another nap,” he said, closing his eyes.

  Freed of his gaze, she let her eyes roam over the perfection of his face. This close she noticed small scars there, too: one cutting through the outer end of his eyebrow, one at the jut of his chin, and one near his ear. Instead of marring his beauty, they gave it a sexy edge.

  In one day Luke Archer had gone from being a giant icon she admired on a billboard to a living, breathing human being. And the truth was, she was lying here naked with him after one day together because she knew this would be her only chance to be so close to him. He would go back to his fame and wealth and football, and she would go back to being an assistant concierge.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.

  His eyelids snapped open.

  “It’s nothing bad.” She stroked her hand down his suddenly tense back.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I didn’t do, er, this because you’re a famous quarterback,” she said. “I did it because after spending the day with you, I liked you as a person. Well, more than liked.” She took a breath. “I don’t expect anything more, and I won’t tell anyone this happened.”

  Ice formed in his eyes, and his smile turned hard. “So we’re back to the concierge code.”

  Luke knew he should be grateful. The woman in his arms had just said everything he usually wanted to hear. Instead, he was pissed off that she thought he’d screwed her because he was a famous athlete. Or that she’d screwed him because he was a famous athlete. Or whatever she’d just said.

  Because she gave him a sense of himself as something other than a football player. She’d said it: she made him feel appreciated as a person. But now she was treating him as the quarterback again.

  This was ridiculous. Why was he getting bent out of shape because Miranda was making valid assumptions about his intentions? No rings, no strings. She was being realistic, and he was being an asshole.

  “What if I expect something more?” he asked, using the leverage of his leg to pull her in closer to him.

  “You want more from me?” The astonishment in her voice fanned the flames of his anger.

  He slid his hand down to the luscious curve of her behind and squeezed lightly. “I’ve made it clear that I’ve enjoyed today. All of it.”

  “Yes, but you could have any . . . well, I’m just . . .”

  He let her stammer to a halt. “Do you think because you’re a concierge I would just screw you and send you home?”

  He felt her flinch as though he had smacked her. He who prided himself on never hitting a woman had just lashed out at her verbally.

  “I’m trying to manage my own expectations.”

  “Which are not very high.” He moved his hand up her back to twirl a strand of her thick shiny hair around his finger because he couldn’t resist.

  “I was afraid you might have the wrong idea about me,” she said. “I don’t usually jump into bed—or onto a weight bench—the first time I go out with a man. You could easily think I was just a—a football groupie.”

  That defused some of his anger. “Not a chance of that, sugar. No self-respecting football groupie would turn down tickets on the fifty-yard line.”

  He felt her breasts press against his chest as she sighed.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he said, before all the reasons he shouldn’t ask her stopped him.

  “Seriously?”

  He couldn’t decide if happy or astonished described her tone better. “Yes.” He tried to see her expression, but she’d angled her head downward on his arm.

  “Shouldn’t you spend some time with your brother?” Her voice was heavy with regret.

  He thought of Trevor’s response when he’d invited him to DaShawn’s retirement party—I have nothing to talk about with a bunch of jocks.

  “Trevor’s here on business. He’s got other things to do,” Luke said.

  Her softly curved body shifted against him, making his cock start to harden. “Thank you, but it’s not a good idea,” she said.

  That killed his arousal. “Why not?”

  He put his fingers under her chin and tipped her head up so he could see her face. Her velvet brown eyes held guilt. “I work here.”

  “We went out to dinner tonight.” He’d been able to just talk, no editing, no worrying about whether it would find its way onto the Internet tomorrow. Not to mention how the candlelight made her lips look full and kissable, while he’d pictured her silky dark hair cascading over her naked breasts.

  She lifted her chin out of his grasp but kept her gaze on him. “That was part of the tour.”

  “I’ll get a private room at the restaurant. No one will know.” And afterward, well, he had a limo.

  He saw longing weaken her resolve and applied more leverage. “Any restaurant in the city. Your choice.”

  She still hesitated, so he used his final weapon. He leaned in and devoured her mouth in a hot, sensual kiss.

  When he finally released her, her fingers were digging into his shoulders, and her eyes were closed. He allowed himself a satisfied smile as he felt how hard her nipples were.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, so he could see the haze of desire in her eyes. “You’re used to getting what you want.”

  “Is that a yes?” He waited.

  She inhaled, pressing those tight nipples more firmly against him. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow.” She gave him a seductive smile. “But you have to make the reservations.”

  Chapter 13

  Trevor shuffled into the kitchen wearing flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. “You were out late last night,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Yeah.” Luke took a sip of his protein shake. He had already showered and dressed in his film-watching outfit of navy blazer, khakis, and a blue button-down shirt with well-shined loafers. As he’d pulled on his clothes, he’d been relieved to find that his night with Miranda had not aggravated his injuries. In the throes of lovemaking, the bruises had been forgotten, which meant he hadn’t been careful about how he moved. Truth was, his body felt more fluid today, so maybe the sex had been good for him. He’d go with that.

  Trevor persisted. “I guess your tour went beyond the cultural.”

  “I went to the ballet.” Luke figured that would throw Trevor off the scent.

  His brother froze for a moment and then started to laugh. “No, seriously. Where did you go last night?”

  “The New York City Ballet. An all-Balanchine program. Those dancers are in shape, man.”

  Trevor choked on his coffee. “Okay. Say I buy that. The ballet is over at ten thirty, max. You didn’t stroll in until way later than that.”

  “All that dancing made me want to do the same, so I went to Cleats.”

  “You could have called me.”

  Luke thought of Miranda having an orgasm in his arms on the dance floor, one of the most intense things he’d experienced sexually, which was saying something considering that he hadn’t been involved. That made his cock hard all over again. And made him glad he hadn’t called his brother.

  “Next time, Trev.” Luke took another swallow of the protein shake. “How’d your meetings go?”

  His brother looked out the windows toward the Verrazano Bridge. “Not so great.”

  “Academia is a tough field.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” Trevor snapped.

  “I was stating a fact. Lots of candidates, few job openings.”

  “Tell me about it.” His brother transferred his gaze to his coffee mug befo
re he looked up. “I know I was supposed to leave Friday, but I need to stay a little longer, bro.”

  Luke cursed inwardly as he thought of his big, comfortable bed and what he wanted to do with Miranda in it. But he didn’t trust Trevor to keep his mouth shut, so he wasn’t going to let the two of them get near each other. “Mi casa es su casa.”

  Trevor stared back into his coffee cup. “Jodie told me not to come home until I had a tenure-track job offer. She said she didn’t care where it was, but she wasn’t going to wait any longer to have children.” He plunked down on a kitchen stool. “With my lack of publications, no one is going to hire me at that level.”

  A bad feeling hit the pit of Luke’s stomach. “Not to kick a man when he’s down, but why don’t you finish that book you’ve been working on? You’ve done the research.” Maybe his brother had writer’s block like that asshole Miller.

  “It’s not good enough.”

  “You don’t know that.” One thing about Luke’s career—it was easy to measure it in wins and losses.

  “Yeah, I do. Wilson at Art Forum Press says it’s publishable, but not groundbreaking.”

  “You don’t need groundbreaking. You just need publishing credit.”

  Trevor stood up. “Really? You would be happy with an adequate career in the NFL? No, you had to be the best goddamned quarterback in the history of the sport. Shit, Luke, don’t be such a hypocrite.”

  “What you do and what I do are totally different.” Luke kept his voice level, the way he did when tempers flared in the locker room. “There’s no comparison.”

  “Damn straight there isn’t. You make hundreds of millions of dollars, and I make peanuts. Even if I got tenure at Harvard, I’d still make peanuts compared to you.”