Play Dates

by Maggie Wells

  Monica’s breath had caught as she read the magic words: I didn’t get enough of you last weekend. Seconds later, another message popped up. No kid talk. No pressure. I want to see you again. Free tomorrow?

  She’d responded in an instant. Her thumb moved over the Y, E, and S keys without a single thought for the plans she already had in place. The hottest revival to come out of Broadway was in town for three nights only, but she didn’t think twice about ditching the sort-of date she’d arranged with a fellow broker. There was no way she was missing out on a revival of the Colm Cleary bedroom floorshow.

  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him all week. His hands. His magical mouth. The feel of his broad, strong body braced over hers. This was the only encore she wanted, and, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she’d thought meeting him at the bar where she arranged to hand off the tickets would get him into her bed any faster. She should have met him at her place. They could be halfway naked by now. But no. She had to try to get the upper hand. And why? All she wanted was to be under him again.

  When he talked like that, any thoughts she had of calling the shots flew right out of her head. When he looked at her like he was, heat prickled her skin and the tips of her ears burned. No games. No dances. When she looked into those startlingly clear eyes, she saw only pure, naked want.

  He wanted her and nothing else.

  Monica shifted on the tall stool but purposefully did not look at her phone again. Or her watch. Or the clock behind the bar. The last time she checked, he was five minutes late, and that had been at least five minutes ago. Was this tardiness some kind of karmic payback? Would he show at all? Why would he bother asking her out again if all he was planning to do was stand her up?

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The rushed apology came complete with a broad, strong chest heaving—actually heaving—with exertion.

  “I couldn’t find parking, so I had to use a deck a couple blocks over...”

  He moved in closer, his magnetic gaze locked on her and lines of sincere concern bracketing his handsome mouth. God, she couldn’t wait to have his mouth on her again.

  “…Apparently there’s something going on down here. I think I got the last spot on the top level, and it was marked for a compact car.”

  Monica smiled, delighted by his befuddlement. “Theater district.” His expression melted from perplexed concern to utter blankness. “This is the theater district. Parking is tight this time of night.” Cocking her head, she watched in awed wonder as her explanation bounced right off him. “Curtains go up in about an hour.”

  “Oh.” He slid onto the stool beside hers but didn’t signal for the bartender.

  Her smile widened. Usually she dated men who felt the need to draw attention to themselves, but Colm seemed utterly unconcerned about his surroundings. His attention was focused solely on her. A sensation she recognized from their previous encounter and welcomed like an old friend. He smiled and her insides melted. She’d forgotten about the dimple. And the way his eyes crinkled with laugh lines. Until she saw him live and in person again, she didn’t know it was possible to miss the twinkle in someone’s eyes. But she had. Everything about this guy called to her without any extra effort on his part.

  Animal attraction. Had to be the answer. The reason why she almost purred when his hand brushed hers. He slid the pad of his thumb across her knuckles and she wanted to pounce. A low hum of approval rattled in her chest when he pulled her hand to his mouth and marked her with a lingering kiss. She could feel the imprint of his smile on her skin after he let her go.

  He was a man with a mission, and she was ready, willing, and chomping at the bit to be conquered.

  Swallowing a sigh, she gestured toward the backlit bar. There was a dance to be done, and this time she was going to lead. “Do you want a drink?”

  He stared straight at her. “There’s only one thing I want, but if you want another drink, we can stay.”

  “No.”

  He smiled a smile so wide and happy and boyishly charming it almost knocked her off the stool. All pretense of playing cool was gone. They were absolutely on the same page, even if she’d hesitated when he messaged to see if she could be free for drinks or “something” that evening.

  Afraid she’d combust on the spot if she didn’t look away, she fumbled for her purse. By the time she managed to extract some cash from her wallet, Colm had snagged the bartender’s attention and slid a twenty into the bar’s gutter to cover her tab. He wrapped his hand around hers, crushing the money into her palm as he rose, pulling her off her stool and straight into him. The bills crinkled, the creased paper biting into soft flesh as his grip tightened.

  “I’ve thought about you all week. I swear I could taste you all week.”

  The rough rasp of his confession twisted her insides into knots and woke every chill-bump on her body. Wetting her lips, she gazed up into those mesmerizing eyes. “I’ve thought about you, too.”

  “I know we said one night, but we didn’t have a whole night, so I’m calling this one on a technicality.”

  “Okay by me.”

  They stared at one another, paralyzed by the inevitability of what was about to happen. There’d be no charming dinner tucked away in a bustling kitchen. No more getting-to-know-you conversation. This would simply be a continuation of their first night. The same rules applied. She wouldn’t be guilty of a fresh lie of omission; she’d just be letting the original one ride. Though she felt a twinge of guilt, Monica found the justification shockingly easy to live with. God, she wanted this man. She wanted him bad.

  “We’re either going to have to get out of here, or run the risk of getting arrested for indecent exposure,” she whispered.

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door, pulling her along behind him like a caveman dragging his conquest to his cave. Though she knew she should have found the thought offensive, she didn’t. In fact, his take-charge attitude was incredibly arousing. She’d made her choice, and he was going to make sure she saw the night through. Was there anything sexier than a man with a plan?

  Out on the sidewalk, she trotted to keep up as he wove his way through the knots of people snagging a pre-curtain smoke. Wrinkling her nose as they passed a particularly prolific group of puffers, she grabbed the hem of his sweater to capture his attention. “Colm?”

  He pushed through to the corner. “You okay?”

  “I just…” She gave her hand an experimental tug, but his grip remained firm as ever. “I need my hand for a second.”

  “Oh!” Eyes widening, he released her immediately. “Sorry.”

  Forcing herself to smile rather than wince, she uncurled her fingers to reveal the wad of cash balled in the center. Colm took one look at the lines cut into her palm and groaned.

  “Crap. I’m sorry.” He reclaimed her hand the second she tucked the money away, but this time his hold on her fingers was infinitely more gentle. He pressed his lips to the center, his mouth soft and tender, and released her with another gruff, “I’m sorry.”

  Instead of letting her hand fall to her side, she cupped his cheek with stiff fingers. “I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Well, if you think that was enthusiastic, you’re gonna love the rest of the evening.”

  Her breath caught as the possibilities sifted through her mind. “We could get to my place faster if we took a cab.”

  Colm turned his head toward the grimy parking garages lining the block. “I can’t leave my car here. What if Aiden—”

  She cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. “Right. You’re right.” Taking his hand again, she gave it a tug when the light turned green and the walk signal appeared. “Which garage?”

  “Another block.”

  Glad she’d chosen to wear her cute ballet flats with her sk
inny jeans, Monica took off at a determined clip. “Come on, big guy. We’ve got places to go and things to do.”

  Monica had to admit, there was a lot to be said for delayed gratification. And for being courted a little bit. She liked the protective warmth of his hand on her back. And the urgency in his long strides. Opening the passenger door of his SUV was probably more a matter of expedience than gallantry, but the hand he offered as she stepped up into the vehicle unleashed a flutter of girly anticipation low in her belly. She also liked the way he glanced over to make sure she was buckled in. Probably some kind of dad instinct, but the spot check played well in other contexts as well.

  The man even drove sexy. She spent the entire trip to her brownstone torn between staring at the fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel and the hot hand planted high on her thigh. He stared straight ahead the entire time, his focus homed in on getting them to their goal, and she stared straight at him, drinking in the details of his chiseled profile.

  “I wasn’t going to call,” she said, feeling the need to goad him into conversation.

  “I know.”

  “I’m not surprised you did, though.”

  She got his attention. Slowing as they approached an intersection, he spared her a quick glance. “You’re not?”

  “Well, the way we left things…We were a little rushed.”

  His jaw tightened. The muscle there ticked off a couple of beats.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said in a rush.

  His Adam’s apple dipped, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road again. “To be honest, I felt bad.”

  “Did you?” The hand resting on her thigh slid higher. Her heart skipped a beat, then rushed to play catch-up with itself.

  “Sure.”

  “Most guys would consider it the perfect escape.” Covering his hand, she let her fingers slip between his. There she discovered the skin between each strong, masculine digit was indescribably soft. Vulnerable. A shiver ran through him as she stroked the newly uncovered pleasure point. She let the tips of her fingernails tease the tender skin with each pass. “I might have, if…” She coughed slightly to get his attention, sliding him a devilish look. “…we’d been at your place.”

  He laughed, and a heady rush of adrenaline pulsed through her. As if she’d cornered the market on the sound of happiness. Colm Cleary laughed out loud and that gorgeous sound was hers. All hers.

  “Good to know.” He slid her a sidelong smile as he turned onto her street. “What were you doing downtown?”

  “I was dropping off some tickets for a friend to use.”

  His brow buckled slightly. “Tickets?”

  “Theater tickets. I was going to see a show tonight, but a better offer came along.”

  The frown dropped into a full-out scowl as he made a beeline toward an open parking spot toward the end of her block. “A show? You were going to a show?”

  “No big deal.”

  He whipped the SUV into the snug space in three jerky maneuvers. Jerking to a stop, he turned to look at her, his arm hooked over the steering wheel. “Was it a date?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Were you going to the show alone, or did you have a date?”

  “Why do you care? I’m here and not there, aren’t I?”

  “You’re here with me, but were you planning to spend the evening with some other guy?”

  She blinked, thrown by the mixture of arrogance and anger in his tone. Monica didn’t care much for being off-balance. Clenching her abs like she was preparing to do one of those crazy stork-like yoga poses Melody loved so much, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The second her heart rate started to slow, she opened her eyes and let her indignation go with the stale air. “Does it matter?”

  Colm started to say something, then clammed up. His teeth clacked when he snapped his jaw shut. The muscle beneath his ear jumped again. Silence hung taut between them as he inhaled through his nose and touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

  “No,” he said at last. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Nodding her approval, she gave him a tentative smile. “It wasn’t a date-date. Just a…I didn’t think twice about changing plans.” She raised both eyebrows as testament to the sincerity of her statement. “Not for one second.”

  “Poor guy.”

  She grinned, wrinkling her nose with pleasure at the implied compliment. “Not sure he cared much, either, but thank you.” The keys dangled from the ignition. The engine purred right along with the tension humming between them. She tipped her head toward the window. “The sooner we get inside, the sooner we can work off a little of this awkwardness.”

  He rewarded her candor with another one of those deep, rumbling laughs. “God, I love the way you think.”

  * * * *

  He did. He loved the way her mind worked. Colm was sure if he stared good and hard, he’d actually see gears turning. And since he was a guy, and therefore attracted to all things mechanical, he was every bit as attracted to her brain as he was her body. He wanted to kiss her into submission, take her apart with his hands, drive her to the very edge with his mouth, and then…then he wanted to have her. Bury himself inside her. Feel her fall to pieces all around him. After, he’d watch as she pulled herself together, because he found every bit of her fascinating. Even her control-freak tendencies.

  When it was all said and done, he’d take her again.

  By the time he crept out of her bed in the morning, he wanted there to be nothing left of the maddening ache he’d suffered all week. He’d use her and let her use him. They’d sweat this attraction out and get back to reality. Hamburger Helper and stain sticks. Pre-school musical programs and after-school snacks. Gold stars, frowny faces, and the occasional watercolor masterpiece. Parenting.

  Colm released her hand to let her unlock the door to her brownstone and disarm the alarm. They stepped inside, and once again he was struck by the difference in her lifestyle and his own. Not the comparative real estate values, but the utter lack of chaos in her foyer. His own was a jumble of shoes and toys, discarded outerwear, and the occasional shopping bag tossed aside the moment he crossed the threshold. Monica had a coat rack, which held exactly one lightweight jacket and a hall table with a small stack of mail and a delicate-looking glass bowl.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from the gleaming table. “No. Thank you.”

  As she locked the door behind them, he mentally sentenced the bowl to a three-minute lifespan in his house. The glass was too delicate, temptingly shiny, and practically screamed “Don’t touch me!” In other words, decorative catnip to a five-year-old boy.

  Hell, there wasn’t even a speck of dust on the gleaming glass. Or the table. The woman had no clutter. He found the lack of dust was almost disturbing. How could a person raise a child in a clutter-free, dust-free environment? Her cleanliness was downright unnatural. Or supernatural. Maybe she was some kind of witch.

  Taking in the sleek fall of light brown hair and creamy complexion, he dismissed the last thought. She was no witch. She was a woman in strict control of her life. Most likely her kid’s life, too.

  But, who was he to judge? Maybe she was as good a mother as she was an organizer. Maybe those skills made her the best mother ever. Probably awesome. Perhaps he was an extremely crappy dad. He grimaced as he scrawled one more item on his list of shortcomings—selfish bastard. He hadn’t asked her who was watching Emma. Hadn’t wanted to know. As if having intimate knowledge of the childcare arrangements she had at her disposal might change this into something different. Something more. Something he wasn’t prepared for and not entirely sure he wanted. He couldn’t exactly say he didn’t want to learn more about the mysterious life of Monica Rayburn. When she turned to look at him, her eyebrows lifted and her gaze expectant, he blurted the
safest question that came to mind.

  “How do you keep your place so clean?”

  She cocked her head, a smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “I have a service. They come on Fridays. Check me on a Thursday and see what you think.”

  Her crooked smile and an admission of slobbishness shattered the awkwardness. Hooking a hand around her waist, he pulled her to him. She came with the right amount of resistance. The kind that said, “I let you in the front door, buster, but you’re going to have to work your way in from here.” And if there was one thing he’d never been afraid to do, it was jump in and get dirty when he had to.

  Anchoring her to him hip-to-hip, he gazed down into those vibrant eyes. “Makes me feel much better.”

  He slid his hand up her back and pressed her chest to his. The ends of her hair tickled his knuckles. Unable to resist, he slid his fingers into the silky strands. The base of her skull fit his palm to perfection. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. A blatant invitation—one he planned to take her up on—but he wanted to savor this a little first.

  Given the abrupt end to their activities the previous week, there was a distinct possibility he’d regret slowing things down this time. He’d extracted Aiden’s solemn vow to stay the whole night with his grandparents, but he knew the kid was a promise breaker when it came to things like cleaning his room, eating broccoli, and giving in to nightmares. And he also knew he’d be off like a shot if his boy called for him again.

  But last weekend, he’d been too caught in the rush of discovery and the heat of lust to absorb the details of the time they spent together. Though he’d replayed their bedroom antics time and again over the past few days, he wanted to soak up the details this time.

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  The question cut through his internal debate like a hot knife through butter. It also awakened a perverse need to keep her waiting a bit longer. Running his fingertips down her cheek, he took his time tracing her jaw. “Yeah, I’m gonna kiss you.”