I only have two bedrooms. “Where would you sleep?” Silly question, I know.
“With you, of course.”
Brock in my bed holding me, kissing me, making love to me every night. I’m not ready for this. “No.”
“Ellie, be reasonable.”
I can’t imagine how Kaylee will react to Brock in our home. I’ve never, ever brought a man to the house. “It’s not right. I have a daughter.”
“We have a daughter.”
“We’re not married.”
“Yet.”
“But. But.”
“It’ll be fine, sweetheart, you’ll see.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Yes. You are.” Crooking a finger, he lifts my chin and brushes his lips against mine. He nibbles the corners of my mouth, suckles my lower lip, and everything in me goes liquid. Our mouths, tongues, teeth tangle in a frenzy of lust. His hand climbs down to the hem of my skirt. Before I know it, his fingers are brushing my thighs, pushing my panties aside, teasing my pussy. Silently begging for more, I push against his fingers, until he thrusts one inside. I ride him until another finger and a third join the first. I want to come. I need to come.
“I want to taste you.”
Oh, God. He is a devil. “Here?”
“Back seat.” He barely waits for my ‘Yes,” before helping me to the rear. He opens his driver’s door and crawls in with me. The panties come off and his mouth covers my pussy. His fingers continue what they started, while he slicks his tongue over me. I clutch his hair, as he tongues me, bites me, drives me wild. With such expert handling, it takes me no time to come.
Gulping in air, I slick sweaty hair off my face. That’s when I catch the time. “We have to stop. Kaylee.” That’s all I can manage.
Breathing hard, he rests his forehead on mine, as he brushes his hard-on against me. “Of course.”
I know what he wants, and I’d love to return the favor, but we have to get home. Our daughter’s needs come first.
At his condo, he spends little time filling his suitcase. But then, as many away games as he’s played, packing must be second nature to him.
We arrive home to find no paparazzi at our door. Maybe they got their fill at the press conference. Yeah, right. They’ll probably be back the next day.
Inside, Kaylee’s seated by the kitchen island eating a bowl of something with Butch at her feet.
“Did Grandma leave?”
“She headed out as soon as I got home. She had some food shopping to do.” She squints at Brock. “What’s he doing here?”
After the press conference and sex in Brock’s car, I find myself lacking in parental patience. “He is your father, and he’s moving in.”
Frowning, she awkwardly comes to her feet. “It would have been nice to have gotten some notice.”
I start to respond, but Brock gets there before I do. “If you want someone to blame, that would be me. I sprung this on your mother.”
I can’t allow him to take all of the responsibility for this decision. That would only make Kaylee dislike him more. “And I agreed.” I walk up, put my arms around her. “Honey. You’re right. We should have told you. But things are moving kind of fast. I hope you can accept them when they do.”
Staring at the floor, she shrugs.
Not really a response, but at the moment, it’s the best I can hope for. In time, I pray she’ll accept Brock’s presence in our lives.
After rinsing and dropping her dish in the dishwasher, she turns back to us, “I saw your press conference.”
“How on earth did you do that?” As far as I know, the press conference was not live.
“A YouTube channel showed the whole thing.”
Brock’s gaze seems to say ‘Told you so.’
“Thank you for not bringing me into it. It’s bad enough at school as it is.”
“What’s happening at school?” Brock asks, his Papa Bear instincts seemingly kicking in. Who knew?
“Nothing,” Kaylee says. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it. Well, I better leave you alone. I’m sure you have wedding plans to discuss.” And with that, she rolls out of the kitchen and disappears into the hallway that leads to her room.
Brock’s worried gaze follows her. “Is she going to be all right?”
“Yeah. She will. She’s a strong kid.”
He tangles a hand through his hair. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, talk to her or something?”
“I will, later on. But right now, she needs some space.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” More than likely, she doesn’t want to air her feelings in front of Brock. It’ll take time for her to come to terms with him.
After dinner, I knock on her door. “Kaylee? May I come in?”
“Okay.”
She’s sitting up on her bed, laptop on her lap, and Butch next to her. “He’s not coming in too, is he?”
“No. He’s watching a football tape to prepare for Sunday’s game.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is that all he can think about?”
“It’s his job, honey. And he’s very good at it precisely because, among other things, he studies game tapes.”
“Oh.”
I drop on the corner of her bed. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss things since Sunday. Anything you want to talk about?”
She doesn’t respond right away. But then, “I was wondering . . .”
“Yes.”
“Well, you and Brock hadn’t seen each other for years, right?”
“Yes.”
“So when did you. I mean, how did you . . .”
She can’t quite figure out how to ask, but having anticipated the question, I’m prepared with a response. “After he arrived in Chicago, we discovered sparks were still there.”
“Ookayyy. But when exactly did you discover this?”
This is the tricky part, but I figured out an answer that should work out. “You remember that dinner he invited me to?”
“Yes.”
“It happened that night.” Since she was at a sleepover, she wouldn’t know I hadn’t spent the night at the hotel with Brock.
“So, why didn’t you tell him about me then?”
There’s no good answer to that, so I can only go with the truth. “Our reconnection was so fragile, it didn’t seem the right time.”
“Aha.”
She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, and who can blame her?
“You want to know what I think?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I do.”
“You’re getting married because it got out he’s my father, and he got into trouble with his football team.”
I can’t disagree. That’s exactly why we’re getting married. Well, that, and the fact I’d probably get canned from my job.
“But—” she adds.
“But what?”
“You’re happy when he’s around.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. Your face lights up, and you smile more.”
Huh? Somehow I thought we were always arguing. Except for the times he teases me about something, and I laugh. Maybe Kaylee has a point.
“So, I’m willing to go along with the flow. Just don’t ask me to smile pretty for the cameras.”
“I won’t.” That much I can promise her.
With our wedding in two weeks, I throw myself full tilt at the planning. Marty encourages me to take whatever time I need, but I don’t want to abuse the privilege. So I try to arrange for everything after hours. The church is easy. Kaylee and I are regular attendees. The reception, however, is another matter. You just don’t snag a reception hall that will hold 350 guests on two weeks’ notice.
But a couple of days after we announced our engagement, the Outlaws’ Event Coordinator calls to offer her services. I’m no fool. Knowing a lifeline when I see it, I clutch it desperately to my chest. Before I know it, she’s booked the Chicago Hilton which is more than glad to host our reception. Guess when a w
edding comes with all kinds of free publicity, you tend to say yes. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that the Outlaws regularly drop a small fortune at that place.
Not only does she take care of the reception, but everything else as well. So in the end all I have to worry about are my wedding gown and Kaylee’s bridesmaid dress. You’d think with practically every detail taken off my hands, I’d just lay back and chill. But the opposite happens. The closer the wedding day gets, the more jittery I become. And then People magazine calls, asking if they can feature our fairytale wedding in their weekly spread.
Kaylee’s reaction is predictable. “Fairytale wedding? Honestly, Mom.”
“Yeah, I know, honey.” I agree, trying to keep my objections at bay. The whole thing is ludicrous. But what choice do I have? His team and my sports agency are loving all the publicity.
Finally, the wedding day arrives, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of my priest.
“Dearly Beloved, we’re gathered here today . . .” Father Sullivan’s voice fades away as he speaks the words that will unite Brock and me in holy matrimony.
How on earth did I get here? One minute I’m kissing Brock, the next I’m getting married. Well, it’s too late to back out now even if I wanted to. Which I mostly don’t.
I glance back toward the congregants. His entire football’s team is here with their wives or significant others. We’d made it a kid-friendly wedding so some brought their children as well. Kaylee is my maid of honor and Trevor, Brock’s center, is his best man. The height differential is ludicrous. Kaylee comes up to his middle of his chest. But both of them, thank God, are taking it in stride.
At least Kaylee and her best friend made up after Meghan came over to apologize. She said she was sorry, that she shouldn’t have yelled. And that’s all that matters. With everything that’s going on, Kaylee needs someone her own age in her life.
“Eleanor Ruth Adams, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”
This is really real, isn’t it? “I will.”
“Brock James Parker, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”
Someone in the audience snickers, probably at the faithful line. But Brock ignores it.
“With all my heart, I will.”
Oh, geez. He didn’t have to add that, did he? It’s not in the script.
Before I know it, Brock’s taking my hand in his. “In the name of God, I, Brock James Parker, take you, Eleanor Ruth Adams, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.” He sounds so sure of himself, so sure of me, so sure of this marriage. How could he? It’s going to last all of five minutes.
When I repeat the same vow and get to the love and cherish part, he squeezes my hand. He’s pretty thrilled to be getting me out of this deal. No clue why. It’s a mystery to me.
“Eleanor Ruth Adams and Brock James Parker, having witnessed your vows of love to one another, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as husband and wife.” He turns to Brock. “You may kiss your bride.”
Brock’s arm slides around my waist and pulls me to him. Rather than a chaste kiss, he full out frenches me. Right in front of God and everyone. I fight with every cell in my body not to respond. We need to keep this somewhat PG-rated, after all.
Only when Father Sullivan whispers, “You’ll have enough time for that later, son,” does Brock let go.
He turns and whoops, punches his arm in the air. And then he strides up the aisle so fast I have a hard time keeping up with him.
The Outlaws’ event manager booked a pretty good band for the reception. For our first song, we dance to “The Way You Look Tonight.” As he gazes into my eyes with his full of love, tears spring to mine. Who knew Brock was such a good actor?
The buffet tables practically groan with the mountains of food on them. When it’s time for the toast, Trevor makes a surprisingly sweet one. But when it’s Brock’s turn to say a few words, he floors me.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
He gets an enthusiastic round of applause for his ditty, though I doubt most of them understood it. “That was beautiful. Where on earth did you find that poem?”
“Ben Johnson. A contemporary of Shakespeare, I believe.” And he winks.
Close to midnight, we make our getaway. Mama, Steve, and Kaylee already retired to the two-bedroom suite that Brock booked for them, but the party’s in full swing doing a conga line.
When we get to our suite, he carries me over the threshold before dropping me back on my feet and kissing me. “All alone. Finally.”
“Yes.” No idea why I’m so nervous. It isn’t like it’s the first time we’ve had sex.
“Do you need help getting out of your gown?”
“Please.” Although I’d removed the train after the ceremony, I’m still in the silk organza gown. As beautiful as it is, I don’t want to damage it. Maybe Kaylee would like to wear it on her wedding day someday.
He slowly, methodically unhooks the dress. After he’s released the last prong, I lean on his arm and step out of it. And then I lay it across the sofa in the front room of our suite.
“You don’t want to hang it?”
“No. The weight of the gown will damage the lace.”
“You looked very beautiful today.”
“So did you.” The black tuxedo suits his blond hair and green eyes.
He cups the back of my neck and kisses me. I’m surprised not by the hunger or passion but by the trembling of his lips. He’s as nervous as I am.
“Can you unhook the corset too?” I whisper against his mouth.
“You’re so slender. Why would you strap yourself into this thing?”
“So the gown would look better. I only intend to marry this one time, so I wanted to look perfect.”
His hands pause. “I never thought about that.”
“About what?”
“That you would marry only once. You’re a great mom. Don’t you want more children?”
“Babies demand a lot of attention, Brock. With my career, I can’t afford the time.”
“You could hire a nanny.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Take a sabbatical then. I’m sure they’d hold the job for you.”
“Yeah, right! You know what happens to agents who go on the mommy track? They get relegated to the back office to do grunt work when they return. I didn’t sweat over three years of law school to work at a lower pay. I have school loans and a mortgage to pay.”
“No, you don’t.”
I twist around and face him. “What do you mean?”
He retrieves an envelope from his jacket and hands it to me. “My wedding present. One of them, anyway.”
I open it to find two sheets of paper, both marked “Paid in Full.”
“You paid off my mortgage and my school loans?”
“Surprise!” He grins.
“How could you?”
His happy smile crumbles. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I’m not. We never agreed to this.”
“Of course, we didn’t. You never asked for a dime. Ellie, I make millions playing football. Contrary to popular opinion, I haven’t
spent that much. On top of that, I have a really good investment manager who’s more than tripled my income. I can afford a few measly dollars for you to be debt free.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
“If I had, it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?”
“I can’t accept this.” I hand the papers back to him.
But he won’t take them. “Yes, you can. If not for yourself, for Kaylee. You’ll have more money to spend on her.”
A sore point with me. There have been times when I hadn’t been able to get something she wanted. “She has everything she needs.”
“I’m sure she does, but wouldn’t it be nice to afford it when she asks for something.”
“Like what?”
“Well, in four years, she’ll be sixteen. I’m sure she’ll want a car. Oh, by the way.” He dangles a key fob in front of me.
“What’s that?”
“Your other wedding present.”
“What is it?”
“A silver Mercedes Benz with all the bells and whistles.”
I’d been drooling over one for the longest time. Wishful thinking on my part because I’d never be able to afford one. “How did you know?”
“Your mother.”
Of course, Mama would have told him. “Thank you.” I take the fob from his hand. He’s given me these extravagant thoughtful gifts, and I have nothing for him. I turn my head to the side to keep him from seeing my tears.
Crooking a finger, he turns my chin to face him. “Ellie, what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t get you anything.”
Shaking his head, he cups my jaw in his hand. “Of course, you did. You gave me a beautiful daughter.”
A watery grin slips out. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Not quite done with my tears, I sniff.
He cocks his head to the side and flashes that devil-may-care grin of his. “I know what you need.”
“What?”
“Us naked on that bed.”
“Doing naughty things, I suppose?”
“Very naughty.”
When I laugh, he picks me up by my ass and walks toward the bed. “We’ve only got twenty-four hours before I have to report back to camp, and I mean to spend every last minute worshipping this hot little body of yours.”
Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2) Page 15
