Face-Off

by Nancy Warren

  She kissed him again, rolling on top of him and straddling him. He felt her shift, lean up and flip on a light.

  He blinked, and blinked again as the black-and-white photo became woman.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said, gazing up at her, her hair spilling around her face.

  “Stay there. I forgot the condoms.” He knew she kept them in the bathroom. He watched her, reminding himself of all the parts of her body he liked so much. The sweet round ass, the thighs that were muscular and sexy from all the running she did, as he was reminded every time they gripped him.

  The long line of her back, and the strong shoulders.

  Hair, eyes, lips, breasts, belly, hips, all of her added up to such an amazing package. No wonder he couldn’t seem to stay away.

  She returned with a couple of condoms, ripped one open with her teeth and sheathed him with her own hands. She took her time about it, sneaking in a caress or two, as though she was enjoying learning his body again as much as he was enjoying relearning hers. He tried to stay cool, but it was tough feeling her magic touch, oh, she knew him so well. Knew exactly what he liked. He stayed where he was, on his back, trying to hold himself in check, feeling the soft wool of the carpet rubbing his spine.

  She straddled him slowly, and he watched intently as she gripped him in her hand and guided him to the entrance to her body. He barely breathed as she lowered herself slowly onto him, inching him slowly into paradise.

  When she’d settled all the way, and he was as deep inside her as he could go, he gripped her hips, holding her against him so he could savor that first moment of complete connection.

  He felt her heat, her snug, wet heat and the connection running between them that was so much more than physical. Their gazes caught and held, and he saw vulnerability flash. Something pulled, deep inside him as he realized that he hadn’t ever connected so deeply with anyone. Ever.

  And then she closed her eyes against him. He felt a slight shudder run through her body, and she was moving, riding him. He caught her rhythm and stayed with her, touching her as she rode him, touching her everywhere, her breasts, her hips, and, when he saw her eyes start to lose their focus, he touched her clit, rubbing it the way he knew she liked. When her head fell back on a cry, he thrust up, up and up inside her, pushing her over the edge, and then following in a spurt of intense pleasure that seemed to get stronger every time.

  “Wow,” Sam panted as she slumped in a heap on top of Greg, her silk nightie bunched between them. She felt his heart thud beneath her breast. “Wow, wow, wow.”

  She was usually good with words, but right now, Wow seemed to express everything she felt.

  Greg drew idle patterns on her back with his fingertips and she let herself enjoy the sensation and the utter relaxation in her body at this moment.

  “You know what I want?” he mumbled against her hair.

  “You want more?” She raised her head to glare down at him.

  He grinned slowly, showing more of his teeth by the second. “I want to try that again with you naked.”

  The relaxation that had enveloped her a moment past was gone as a familiar tension in her lower body built again.

  “And this time,” he said, rising to his feet and taking her hand to pull her up with him, “I think we should give the big soft bed a try.”

  “You getting old?” she teased.

  “Definitely.” And he pushed her back until she was lying on the bed gazing up at him.

  Then he kissed her as though they were sharing their first-ever kiss. He touched her lips gently with his own, moving his mouth over hers, warming her lips before touching her tongue lightly with his. His restraint and sweetness charmed her and she followed his lead, licking at him slowly, kissing as though they weren’t going any further than a kiss.

  Oh, she’d forgotten how kissing could turn her on. Soon, the restless energy was pulsing through her again. She wanted more. More of his mouth, more of his body, more of the friction that would send her flying.

  Her breathing grew heavy, her body restless, and still he kissed only her mouth in that soft, teasing way. After a long, long time, he kissed his way to her breasts, kissing the slopes, the undersides and finally the sensitive tips. His tongue flicked over her nipple and she felt the charge right to her toes. While his mouth was busy at her breasts, his hands stroked her sides, her belly, her thighs and then settled between her legs.

  He followed the path of his hands with his mouth until he was settled between her parted legs and his mouth hovered over her. His moist breath stirred her curls.

  Then she didn’t think anything at all because he put his mouth on her and put the same slow, restrained patience into licking her as he’d put into kissing her.

  With the first rush of passion spent, she could enjoy a slower build, feel the pressure and moisture of his tongue, the way he explored even as he excited. She built slowly, and then faster, until her hips were gyrating and her hands fisting against the bedclothes.

  So close.

  He moved up her body and she would have begged him to take her if she didn’t feel him already there, not so lazy now, not so slow. But he still took the time to look deeply into her eyes as he entered her slowly and completely.

  Lust, passion, memory—love. The strong emotions all came together in a kind of bittersweet pleasure as he moved inside her. His palms cupped her face and he kissed her over and over again even as their breath grew ragged.

  She tasted herself on his lips.

  I love you. She wanted so badly to voice the phrase that was filling every part of her, but she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take the chance he wouldn’t say the words back to her. So, she shut her eyes, wrapped her legs around him and gripped the firm muscles of his butt, kneading, pulling him deeper, grinding up to meet him.

  Before her own cries had quieted, she heard him cry out his own release.

  How could he be both so mysterious and so familiar? she wondered, as he rolled to his back, bringing her with him so she ended up snuggled against him, her head pillowed on his chest.

  SHE THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT Sierra had said. She had to be willing to apologize. Maybe she could start by having the discussion they should have had ten years ago.

  She rolled over and kissed his damp chest. “That was amazing.”

  He put an arm around her to pull her in closer. “It’s always amazing with us.”

  “Always has been.” She shifted, laid her hand over his heart, and wrapped an arm around him.

  “I—I’m…” She could do this, she told herself. She could apologize. Maybe she could even tell him she loved him. It wouldn’t kill her. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Greg, I’m sorry.”

  He turned his head to squint at her. “What for?”

  As if he didn’t know. He was going to make her crawl. Annoyance spurted through her, but then she remembered Sierra’s advice. If she wanted this man, she had to be willing to face her part in their breakup.

  She rubbed her cheek against his chest. They were connected still, he loved her still, she had to believe that. “I’m sorry I reacted so badly ten years ago.”

  “Me, too.”

  He didn’t move a muscle and yet she felt him pulling away from her. She held on to him. “I was scared. I panicked.”

  “You told me I didn’t trust you. That I was trying to control you.”

  She heard the bitterness in the words and realized he still hadn’t forgiven her.

  Ouch.

  “I was wrong to say those things. I wish I could go back and do it over.”

  “We’d have a house by now, maybe a couple of kids. Instead, we’re sneaking around having an illicit affair. I hate this. I thought I could do it, I really did. Have some fun, great sex, and get you out of my system. But I can’t.”

  Her heart was beginning to pound. She realized that she was frightened on some psychic level that wasn’t a place she peeked into too often.

  “Please, Greg. Let’s give this
thing another chance. A real chance. We’ve both changed. We’re older, more stable, maybe we understand now that what we had was too special to lose.”

  “I always knew it. You made a fool of me once,” he said. “I can’t let you do it again.” He removed her head from his chest gently but firmly and unwrapped her arm from his middle. Then he got out of bed.

  She could only stare at him, at a loss for words.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I tell myself I’ll stop, but then I show up. You’re like a drug I can’t get out of my system, but I know there’s only one way. Cold turkey.”

  He leaned over the bed and she saw a range of emotions struggling for supremacy. Frustration, bitterness, a little anger, but mostly she saw the sadness.

  He kissed her and then pulled away with a crooked smile. “You take care of yourself.”

  And he gathered his clothes and left the room.

  She jumped up and followed him. “Wait. Let’s talk about this.”

  He dressed swiftly with no wasted movements. “It’s too late.” He opened the door. Glanced over his shoulder once, and she imagined him imprinting a last image of her. “I won’t be back,” he said and closed the door behind him.

  “But I love you,” she told the door.

  She stared at the closed door for a long minute while grief built in a wave. It seemed to start in the soles of her feet and work its way up.

  She didn’t bother with running clothes. This wasn’t something that could be pounded out of her with a few miles.

  This was more important than that.

  She’d lost him. He’d pretty much told her as much. But Sam had never been a quitter. And she wasn’t about to give up now on the most important thing in her life.

  She brewed a pot of coffee and sat in her favorite chair by the window, drinking cup after cup and planning.

  When she was certain she had her idea all worked out, she called Jarrad.

  “I need your help,” she told him. “Yours and Sierra’s.”

  “What with?”

  “Project Romeo and Juliet.”

  9

  THE RINK WAS BUZZING. Sam hadn’t had a clue that the police and firefighter tourney would fill the Portland rink to the rafters. She’d counted on a much smaller crowd.

  There must be ten thousand people here. Maybe more.

  Worse, she knew some of them.

  She leaned over and whispered to Sierra, sitting beside her in the section reserved for spouses and girlfriends. “I’m having second thoughts.”

  The woman beside her leaned over and murmured. “When you get scared, think, ‘What would Juliet do?’”

  “Well, killing myself on a sword seems like an easier choice than this.”

  “Suck it up,” was the wisdom from her school-teaching mentor.

  “You’re a big help.”

  “Okay. Here. Maybe this will help bring out your inner tragic heroine.” Sierra reached around her own neck and unhooked the necklace she had on. Sam had admired it earlier. An oval of pink crystal on a chain of similar crystals. Sierra leaned over and placed the necklace around Sam’s neck explaining as she did so, “This is pink quartz. It symbolizes female power, healing and the heart Chakra.”

  She touched her fingers to the stone and found it warm from Sierra’s body.

  “Will it help?” She thought maybe some of Sierra’s good luck in landing a great guy might at least rub off.

  The woman beside her smiled mysteriously. “I don’t know, but if it does I’ll lend it to you again the day you marry Greg. This can be your ‘something borrowed.’”

  “I am so scared,” Sam said in a shaking voice.

  A hand reached out and clasped her own. “I know.”

  “I’ve faced misogynistic judges, crazed clients, once a cougar when I was trail running, and none of them scared me the way this does.”

  “It’s good to be scared sometimes. It means you’re out of your comfort zone.”

  She snorted. “I am so far out of my comfort zone I’d need a GPS to find it again.”

  “I have faith in you.”

  Sam put her hand on the female power crystal and hoped that faith and guts were enough.

  Normally, she was an avid hockey fan but all she could see was a blur of bodies on the ice. Greg was there wearing his number 88 jersey, but with his helmet on he seemed more mysterious than usual. It seemed as though she’d already lost him.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” she wailed as the first period was about to end.

  “Take off your coat and stop being a weenie,” Sierra commanded.

  Sam was so scared her hands were clumsy and Sierra had to undo her coat for her. Under it she wore a black cashmere sweater and her best jeans. Her makeup was flawless, her hair actually having a good-hair day and the necklace, warm against her skin, reminded her of all she had to offer Greg as a woman, as a lover, as the one person who was so deeply connected to him that she felt it would physically break her to lose him again.

  She hoped he felt the same way in spite of his protests the other night.

  Because she had everything riding on it.

  The period ended. She couldn’t have said what the score was, she’d been too nervous to keep track. The players were starting to file off the ice.

  “Go!” Sierra said to her, giving her a push toward the edge of the rink.

  Sam stumbled forward, realizing her hands were trembling, her knees, no doubt her inner organs were all aquiver. She was a wreck.

  She wondered if the single red rose might be too much, but it was too late now. The thing was clutched in her hand and her fingers were welded shut with sweat.

  She saw Greg, watched him with her whole heart. She loved everything about him. The shape of his head, the way he skated, a little bow legged, the way he smiled at her in that intimate way as though no one else in the world mattered.

  The scoreboard started to flash. Jarrad had come through. Instead of a silly message to support the team or an ad, the scoreboard flashed her message.

  She’d hoped that all the spectators would have bolted out of their seats to get pop or beer or take bathroom breaks by now, but it seemed as if even more people packed the rink now than when she’d first arrived.

  A buzz went through the audience as people looked at the screen and then began nudging each other, whispering, settling in for a little more entertainment.

  The huge screen said this:

  Greg Olsen. I love you. I’ll always love you. I’m ten years late, but will you marry me? I can’t live without you. Samantha.

  She kept reading those ridiculously huge neon words as though the message might mysteriously change. She didn’t know what else to do. As a nice extra-humiliating touch, a camera had now found her, and she could see herself projected on the big screen looking like the most desperate single woman in history. She wanted to flee so badly she thought she would have if her feet didn’t feel frozen to the ground. She had never, ever been so nervous in her life.

  Maybe because she’d never done anything that meant more to her.

  She felt like the entire world was staring at her.

  Except Greg.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that the players would be too busy thinking about taking a break, guzzling water and doing whatever players do between periods to check out the scoreboard.

  What if she’d done all this for nothing?

  Then one of the fans leaned over and shouted something to the exiting players. One guy glanced up. Read the screen. Laughed. Nudged another player. More laughter.

  Oh, good. She was going to be a locker-room joke. She’d never live this down. Never ever. She’d have to quit law. Move to a country where no one watched hockey, spoke English or had internet access since she could feel the number of cameras pointed her way and felt her YouTube rating going up by the nanosecond.

  At last, the pushing and laughing reached Greg. She watched him turn. Felt the moment he read her words.

 
; And then absolutely nothing happened.

  He didn’t rush forward onto the ice looking for her. He didn’t bolt for the locker room.

  He stood stock-still.

  Like a rock cairn in the middle of the ice. As though he was as frozen in place, and maybe in time, as she was.

  The blinking scoreboard began to look foolish. The murmurs grew sympathetic. She squeezed her eyes shut. For the first time in her life fully comprehending the meaning of the expression, she wished the floor would open and swallow her.

  And then almost in slow motion, she saw Greg turn. Scan the crowd. Jarrad had appeared from somewhere and pointed to where she stood wondering if any man was really worth humiliating herself like this.

  He skated slowly toward her and though she’d been frozen a moment ago, she grew hot, so hot that she thought she’d melt the ice if she stepped on it.

  He stopped and removed his helmet. He was two feet away from her, the boards between them along with a decade of misunderstanding.

  She waited anxiously for what he’d say. He gazed at her face with an inscrutable expression. Finally, he said, “What are you doing?”

  She swallowed hard. Now was the time for the truth in her heart. “I’m putting it all on the line. Giving you my life if you want it.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down past his hairline and he wiped at it. “You really want to marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at her. She’d never heard a rink full of people so quiet. “Is that rose for me?”

  Oh, God, he was torturing her. “Yes.” And what a stupid idea that had been.

  He sniffed. “You got a ring? I bought you a ring when I asked you.”

  She swore silently. She’d never thought that a woman provided an engagement ring when she did the asking. But then she’d never expected to be in this position.

  She tugged the old school ring she always wore off her finger. Glared at him. Enough was enough. She held it out. “And if you expect me to go down on bended knee, you can kiss my—”

  She never got the last word out. He pulled her to him so hard she lost her balance. He kissed her as though he’d been waiting ten years to kiss her exactly like this.