Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Bridget wished she could just melt into the soft leather of the heated seat. Just disappear. Had she really grunted out loud? Of course she had. She didn’t answer him, just shook her head as she looked down at her ankle, pretending to study it. Let him think the indelicate noise was because she was in pain.

  Yeah, she definitely should have driven herself, no matter how much it hurt. At least they were almost to her place.

  He eased the expensive SUV to the curb, right in front of the fire hydrant. Bridget wanted to tell him he could have just pulled in front of her building and not worried about parking, but he was already turning off the engine and climbing out. She had her hand on the door handle, ready to let herself out, but he beat her to it.

  “Here, take my hand. No, don’t jump. Just slide out, slowly. Yeah, like that.”

  She wanted to tell him she could figure it out and do it on her own, but her mouth was suddenly too dry. His hand was warm and large around hers, surprisingly comforting. She slid out of the seat, trying not wince when her ankle jarred against the curb. His arm came around her shoulders, pulling her against him, supporting her as she tried to hop and wobble along the sidewalk. Standing next to him, practically leaning on him, made her feel small, fragile. She hadn’t realized how tall he was, a little over six feet. And his body was hard, warm.

  Well of course he was hard and warm. He was a professional athlete. And very much alive and breathing. And no, she absolutely could not be thinking like this. Not about Derek Caulton.

  Attractive? Yes. But that was the problem: he was too attractive, and he knew it. She wasn’t usually attracted to guys like him.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that she rarely attracted guys like him. None whatsoever.

  No, she had to stop thinking like that. Isn’t that what William kept telling her? Stop selling herself short, have more confidence. Act the part.

  Sure, no problem. Except she was pretty sure even William would be a little flustered around an Adonis like Derek Caulton.

  Bridget stopped in front of the heavy wooden door that led into her building. “Um, this is it. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate it.”

  She tried to pull away but Derek’s arm tightened, holding her in place. His blue eyes were too clear, too bright, as he looked down at her.

  “Keys?”

  “What?”

  “Your keys. Let me get the door for you.”

  “Oh. Right.” Gah. Why was she acting like a complete moron all of a sudden? She dug her hand into the jacket pocket and pulled out her small keyring, thumbing through the small assortment until separating the right one. She handed the key ring to Derek, still feeling like an idiot as he opened the door and pushed it in. He paused, his gaze narrowing as he looked around.

  The old rowhome had been converted years ago into two spacious apartments, one upstairs and one down. The gleaming entranceway opened onto a small hallway with a single door at the end that led to the downstairs apartment—William’s apartment. A stairwell sat to the right, polished wooden steps leading up to her own place.

  Derek turned back to her, his brows raised in question. “Which one’s yours?”

  “Um, the upstairs.”

  The expression on his face clearly screamed his lack of surprise, like he was saying of course it was. Bridget bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue and pushed away from him, hopping over to the stairwell. She heard his exasperated sigh, the soft echo of his footsteps as he followed her inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  Bridget glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Going upstairs. Thanks for the lift.”

  “Just how do you think you’re going to manage getting up there?”

  “One step at a time.” She hoped. Looking up, she started to have doubts. Funny, but she hadn’t realized quite how many steps there were before. Or how steep the staircase was.

  She gritted her teeth and closed her hand over the railing. She could do this. Although it would be so much easier if William was actually home. If he was, she could just crash on his sofa while he and Mitchell took care of her. But they were both gone, away for the weekend on a small skiing trip in the Poconos. Which meant she was on her own.

  She took a deep breath, working up her courage, then hopped up the first step. The movement jarred her ankle, tearing a hiss of pain from her before she could stop it.

  “Oh for shit’s sake.” She heard Derek’s impatient exclamation and the click of the door shutting through the clearing haze of pain. Before she could turn to look, before she could say anything, he was right there, pulling her into his arms.

  Picking her up.

  And holy shit, he was carrying her. Up the stairs. She wrapped one arm around his neck and fisted the other hand into the lapel of his coat, holding on in case he dropped her.

  “You don’t have to carry—”

  “How else are you going to get upstairs?”

  “But I don’t want you to hurt yourself!” He didn’t reply to that, just gave her a funny little look. Then a corner of his mouth turned up in a small grin and amusement flashed in his eyes.

  “Trust me, I’m not going to hurt myself. But if it makes you feel better, I can pretend to groan and be out of breath.”

  Oh crap. Crap, crap, shit. Why did her stomach clench and shift at that tiny little comeback? No, not just the comeback. He was teasing her, that tiny little smile doing things to her insides that should definitely not be happening. No, no, no—

  And then he was at the top of the stairs, on the small landing in front of her door. She waited for him to put her down but no, that would be too easy. Instead he jammed the key into the door and unlocked it, his strong arms still tight around her.

  And crap, was he really going to carry her into her apartment?

  She tried to remember if the place was a mess, if she had remembered to pick up all the books scattered on the floor and straighten everything. But he was already carrying her through the door, his hand automatically searching the wall for a light switch.

  She blinked against the flare of light and held her breath, looking around. It would never win a housekeeping award, but at least the place was relatively neat.

  He stepped inside and closed the door with his foot, then stopped in the middle of the room, looking around. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Excuse me?” No, her pulse did not just speed up. It couldn’t. But yeah, it did. And not just from his question, either. No, it sped up because of the sudden visual of their naked bodies writhing together. And crap, he was looking at her again with that killer grin and smiling eyes, like he knew exactly what she was thinking—and liking the idea.

  Oh God, she was officially in trouble. Because instead of being mortified, instead of demanding he put her down, she was suddenly warm. No, not warm. A volcano was warm. She was burning up.

  It had to be stress. Stress and her crazy schedule and lack of sleep. It had nothing to do with his strong arms and full mouth and heated eyes. And oh crap, when had his eyes turned from laughing to heated?

  Not good. So not good.

  She couldn’t answer him, not when he was looking at her like that, not when the air around them was so suddenly thick and sizzling, when her body was suddenly hyper-aware.

  He didn’t wait for her to answer him, just tightened his hold on her and walked through the apartment, past the eat-in kitchen, the bathroom, to the open door at the end of the small hallway.

  Straight into her bedroom.

  He stopped at the edge of the bed and slowly lowered her, his body hard and hot against hers. His hands, so large, so masculine, tightened around her waist. She needed to step away, needed to let go of him and put some distance between them.

  She didn’t want to, not when he was looking at her like that, like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. It had been too long since any man had looked at her like that. At least, any man she was interested in. The feeling was powerful. Liberating. Intoxicating.

  D
angerous.

  “Ice.”

  “Hm?”

  Derek cleared his throat and stepped away, just a few inches. Cool air swept over her, a sharp contrast to the fire licking her skin where his body had touched just a minute ago.

  “You need ice. For your ankle. I’ll go get it for you.”

  He walked out of the room, leaving her staring after him. Oh my God, she was such an idiot. She had been this close to embarrassing herself, to making a fool of herself. The last few minutes had been nothing more than her imagination. Of course Derek wasn’t interested in her. Why would he be?

  And she wasn’t even interested in him! The man was too arrogant, too egotistical, too full of himself. Too bad that hadn’t stopped her from practically drooling over him, from throwing herself at him. Gah, no wonder he was in such a hurry to get out of here.

  Bridget hopped over to the dresser, wincing each time she jarred her ankle. She pulled the elastic band from her hair and ran her fingers through it, massaging her scalp and turning the curls into loose waves, each swipe of her fingers hard, angry.

  Yeah, because taking her stupidity out on her hair made so much sense.

  She turned away from the dresser and shrugged out of the jacket then tossed it onto the overstuffed chair in the corner. Her sweatshirt was next, followed by the t-shirt underneath that. As much as she’d love to ditch the sport tank, too, she couldn’t. At least, not yet, not until he left.

  The pants were a little harder to get out of, since she couldn’t just step out of them and kick them away like she usually did. She managed to hop back to the bed then leaned against the edge of the mattress, shimmying out of the nylon track pants. She balled them up and tossed them in the general direction of the chair, then pushed the sweatpants down past her hips. The left leg came out with no problem, but the right was a little harder to manage, especially with the elastic of the leg catching on her ankle.

  After a swift intake of breath and some muttered swearing, Bridget just flopped back onto the bed and stretched her leg over her, turning the pants inside out until they hung off her right foot. One tug should do the trick, a quick one so it wouldn’t hurt quite so much—

  “Holy shit.”

  The loud words startled her and she jerked her leg, tangling the sweatpants around her ankle instead of pulling them off. She bolted upright with a hiss of pain. “Ouch! Dammit!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Derek came into the room then stopped, his eyes raking her from the top of her head all the way down to her feet. His hands tightened around the plastic bag full of ice in his hands as his gaze zeroed in on her chest.

  Bridget crossed her arms in front of her, suddenly aware of the fact that her nipples had turned to hard points—and that they must be clearly visible, pushed against the snug material of her tank top.

  “I was trying to get my pants off.” And crap, that so didn’t come out right. Was her face turning red? If the heat in her cheeks was any indication, she was definitely blushing. With her fair coloring and red hair, she probably looked like an overripe tomato.

  And why was he looking at her like that? It wasn’t like she was naked. She had on a tank top and sport shorts, designed for ease of movement and comfort. They weren’t underwear. Not really.

  But looking at Derek’s expression, you’d think she was lying there in a lacy bra and matching thong.

  He narrowed his gaze and stalked—yes, stalked—toward her bed. “Are you trying to make it worse?”

  “No. I was just trying—”

  “Slide over.” He waved at the bed with his free hand then, without waiting, sat down next to her. The mattress dipped under his weight, rolling her closer to him before she could move away. The material of his dress pants was soft against her skin, the heat of his leg warm beneath it.

  His coat was gone. And so was his sport jacket. At some point he had loosened the silk tie around his neck and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. She looked down at his arms, his strong wrists and muscled forearms and long fingers.

  How could a man’s forearms be so sexy?

  No, no, no. She had to stop thinking like that. It was ridiculous. Crazy. Completely unlike her. But she couldn’t stop looking, not when he was leaning over her, those strong capable hands easing the leg of her sweatpants over her ankle.

  And yeah, okay, that still hurt, no matter how gentle he was trying to be. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed with concern when she sucked in her breath. He draped a kitchen towel over her ankle then placed the bag of ice over that.

  “Better?”

  “Uh. Sure.” Except no, not really. She wasn’t far enough against the headboard to sit up comfortably, or far enough down on the bed to lie completely down. But she wasn’t going to tell him that, not when it would be easier for her to move when he left.

  But he didn’t leave. He didn’t even get up from the bed, just turned around so he was completely facing her, one leg propped on the bed, the other braced on the floor. His hip pressed against hers, warm, comforting. Tempting.

  Why wasn’t he leaving?

  “Uh, thanks. For your help.”

  Derek chuckled, the warm sound totally unexpected and completely dangerous. “Considering it’s my fault you got hurt, it’s the least I can do.”

  Bridget nodded, not sure what to say. It had been an accident. A fluke. If he hadn’t yanked on the cable the way he had…Okay, so yeah. It kind of was his fault. “Do you really not know how to jump start a car?”

  What was wrong with her? Did she really just ask him that? No, not ask. Insult. Just how did she expect him to answer that? Something flashed in his eyes and he leaned forward, his hand coming down on the other side of her, trapping her between his arm and his hip. Heat rolled off him, warming her as he leaned even closer, the edge of his tie brushing across her chest.

  “A car? No.” His voice was deeper, softer. Threatening? No, not with the heat flaring in his eyes, holding her immobile, burning her. “Your name is Bridget, right?”

  She tried to push herself up, put a little distance between them as he hovered over her. The question stopped her, confusing her. “Uh, Bridget, yeah. Bridget Lloyd. Why?”

  “Because I like to at least know the name of the woman I’m getting ready to kiss.”

  Chapter Three

  Christ, that was ballsy, even for him. Derek didn’t know where the words came from or why they even came out like that. But it was the truth.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  No, he wanted to do more than just kiss her.

  Where the fuck was this coming from? She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t like Melanie or any of the puck bunnies. She wasn’t even like a bar pick-up. Hell, she wasn’t even uptight, like he first thought. There was a funny edge to her, hiding just beneath the surface.

  His eyes raked over her again, from the thick wavy hair that would wrap around a man’s body when they were together to the small firm breasts outlined under the tight material of her tank top.

  She sure as hell wasn’t thick and lumpy, either. Why the hell had she been hiding her body all under those layers of clothes? Christ, when he walked in and saw her flat on her back on the mattress, her leg raised high above her, her firm ass outlined in those skin-hugging undershorts…yeah, instant hard-on. She was sleek, firm, tight, with an athletic body he would have never guessed at. And that hair. Christ. Thick, long, wavy, spread out around her like she was some fiery Celtic goddess.

  He watched her, wondering if she was going to slap him. Hit him. Tell him to leave. It wouldn’t surprise him if she did. But she just stared up at him, her eyes wide behind her glasses, her lips parted. Her tongue darted out and licked the fullness of her bottom lip then disappeared again. There was nothing coy or calculated about the move, either. Just an honest reaction—which only made his reaction stronger.

  He wanted to feel that tongue run across his cock, feel her hot mouth close over him.

  But first he wanted to kiss her.


  He reached down and tugged at her glasses, easing them off her face and setting them on the small table next to the bed. Green eyes, the color of glittering emeralds, stared up at him. No, not emeralds. Emeralds were nothing more than cold stones—and her eyes were anything but cold.

  Derek leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers, the light touch, gentle. Giving her time to push him away, time to say no. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. His next kiss was firmer, deeper, coaxing until her mouth opened under his with a tiny little groan.

  Christ, she was hot. So hot. Her tongue darted out, met his. Shy at first, then bolder, sweeping into his mouth. She sucked the tip of his tongue, nibbled on his lower lip, delved back into the recesses of his mouth. She tasted like cherries. And chocolate. Sweet, dark, enticing.

  Lust. Searing, instant, insane. Derek groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her halfway up from the mattress so he could feel her against him, the firm points of her nipples pressing into his chest.

  When had his cock ever raged so much just from a single kiss? He couldn’t remember. And then he didn’t care. He just wanted to lose himself in the kiss, in her taste, in the sweet sensation of her mouth.

  She groaned, a tiny little sound that turned him on even more. Her hands traveled along his neck, down to his chest where her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t wait for her, couldn’t. He brushed her hands away and pulled his tie loose, throwing it behind him. His hands made quick work of the buttons even as she reached in, rubbing her palms along his skin, his chest hitching at each touch, each caress.

  He pulled back, ending the kiss, smiling at the desire glazing her eyes, at the moist fullness of her lips, swollen from his kisses. “My turn.”

  Derek grabbed the hem of her tank top and eased the material up, his thumbs grazing her sides as he lifted it up and over her head. He looked down at the swell of her firm breasts, at the rosy nipples pulled into tight peaks, pebbling even more under his stare. Her skin was smooth, pale, soft; her stomach flat and tight, the edges of her muscles smooth ridges beneath her skin. He looked up at her, saw her watching him, uncertainty in her eyes.