An After-Hours Affair

by Barbara Dunlop

  Mitch glanced around, then headed for the stairs that led down to the gardens and manicured lawn of the River Bend Club.

  Clouds had obscured the moon, and the only illumination came from the windows of the club behind them, discrete pot lighting in the gardens and the residential buildings far across the river.

  At the bottom of the stairs, her heels sank into the soft grass. “Wait,” she gasped.

  He abruptly stopped, turning.

  “My—” She shook her hand free from his, lifting her feet one at a time and peeling off her sandals and dangling them from one hand. “How far are we going?”

  He gazed out ahead of them. “I don’t know. Until we’re away.” His voice was stark, his jaw clenched, his eyes slate gray.

  “Mitch, what’s wrong?” She was getting worried.

  “Do you mind if we walk?”

  “Of course not.” She fell into step, glancing up at his profile every few feet, wondering if he was going to tell her why he was upset.

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’s going on, Mitch. Has somebody been hurt?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was flat.

  Oh, no. “Who?”

  “Me.”

  “What?” She froze. “How?”

  He halted and turned back to face her, voice hoarse. “I spoke to the team doctor today. It’s official. I’m never going to play football again.”

  Jenny’s stomach sank. “No,” she rasped.

  It wasn’t possible. He’d worked so hard. He’d done everything they’d told him to do. He had the best physiotherapist, the best surgeons. He was young and fit and incredibly healthy.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, is there—”

  His voice went raw. “You don’t think I asked them to double-check? To triple-check? To call Sweden and see if there was a new procedure or a miracle cure?”

  Of course he’d done all that. What a stupid, stupid question.

  “It’s done, Jenny.” Now, his voice was devoid of emotion. “It’s over. I’m thirty years old, and my career is finished.”

  “Oh, Mitch.” She blinked back the sting of tears, swallowing hard as her throat closed in.

  Mitch’s gaze went to the brightly lit castlelike building behind her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be selfish and drag you into this. You should get back inside.”

  “But—”

  “Jeffrey’s waiting.”

  “Jeffrey will understand.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  She stepped boldly forward. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “I don’t deserve that.”

  It didn’t matter what he deserved or didn’t deserve. There was no way she was leaving him right now. “Do you need to yell? Scream? Get it out of your system?”

  “I’m not going to yell at you.”

  “You can,” she offered.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “That doesn’t matter. If you need to—”

  He reached out to her, gently grasping her upper arm. “Stop. You are not going to be my whipping post.”

  “I am so sorry, Mitch.” She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, wishing there was something she could do to help.

  “Jenny, don’t.”

  But she stepped into the touch and pressed more firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Mitch.”

  He gave a weak laugh. “And you don’t deserve the likes of me.”

  “I don’t have you,” she pointed out.

  “Don’t you?” His deep gaze bore into hers.

  He trapped her hand, squeezing it tight against his hard chest, his voice hollow and haunted. “I try and I try. But I can’t seem to stay away.”

  The shoes slipped from her fingertips, landing softly on the lawn below. Before she could censor them, her feelings whispered out. “Then stop trying.”

  Her voice was deep and throaty. And she realized she didn’t want to censor the words. She meant them with all her heart.

  She shifted closer still, her breasts brushing the back of his hand. If there was a small measure of comfort she could give him, even if it was only temporary, she was willing.

  His chest heaved.

  She walked her fingers up the front of his dress shirt, stopping at the black bow tie.

  “We can’t,” he strained.

  “We can,” she countered. “In fact, we already have.”

  He trapped her wandering hand once more. “This will only make it worse.”

  She swore she could feel his hurt throbbing tight in his chest. She couldn’t bear to leave him. “Or, it might make it better.”

  “And if it ends?” he rasped. “When it ends?”

  “When it ends, I’ll survive. You said it yourself, Mitch. Everything in my life doesn’t have to be planned, controlled and logical. Deep down inside, I’m impulsive and wild.”

  He groaned her name.

  “Let me be impulsive and wild.”

  His hand convulsed over hers, tugging it tight against his chest, the blue flame of his gaze heating her through to the core.

  “I wish I could make a guarantee,” he rasped.

  She smiled serenely, certain of her decision. “I don’t want a guarantee.”

  All the way back to his hotel suite, Mitch expected Jenny to change her mind, or else to evaporate from his dream, leaving him to wake up alone, sweating and frustrated in a tangle of sheets.

  But she didn’t.

  And he closed the suite door behind them, leaning back against it as the latch clicked into place. He watched her walk across the plush carpet, into the dimly lit sitting area.

  “You forgot your shoes,” he pointed out.

  She turned. “You want to go back?”

  He shook his head, stepping forward, tugging the loose end of his bow tie and tossing it on a chair. His tux jacket followed as he moved toward her. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too raw with emotional pain, too tired of fighting his feelings for Jenny. He didn’t have it in him to be strong. Reality would to have to wait for tomorrow.

  He reached out to touch her face, stroking his rough fingertips along the smooth satin of her cheek. “How is it possible for you to be so beautiful?”

  Her smile widened, green eyes glowing jade.

  He cupped her ear, the back of her neck, bending and drawing her close. His lips touched hers, and his eyes closed shut in response to her sweet taste, the moist heat of her mouth.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close and feeling her lithe curves mold against him. She fit so perfectly. Though he fought for control, and he strained to take this slow, raw desire throbbed its way insistently into his system. His kisses grew harder, longer, deeper. His skin caught fire, and his muscles turned to tempered steel.

  She met his tongue, and he bent her backward, his hand roaming from her neck, to her shoulder, along the side of her breast, whispering over the thin silk that covered her body. From the second he saw her in this dress, he’d longed to feel her heat through the gossamer fabric.

  His palm rounded her buttocks, pressing her against his taut thighs. He groaned as the soft curve of her belly came up against him.

  She clung to his shoulders, while he kissed her temple, her ear, her neck, skipping over the jeweled trim of her dress to press his hot lips against the smooth honey-tone of her shoulder.

  Her lips touched his chest, kissing him through the pressed fabric of his shirt. For some reason, the gesture seemed intensely erotic, and he threw back his head to savor the sensation. Her fingers fumbled with his buttons then. She kissed his bare chest, and lust ricocheted from his brain to his toes and all points in between.

  He scooped her into his arms, capturing her swollen mouth with his own, kissing her hard while she cradled his head, curling her body against him. He strode for the bedroom, ignoring the light switch, navigating by the dim glow o
f the city lights that filtered through the gauzy curtains.

  He lowered himself to the bed, falling backward onto the thick quilt, pulling her down on top of him and running his hands up the back of her thighs, finding the lace of her tiny panties, then drawing her softness more solidly against him.

  Between hot kisses, she pushed off his shirt. He pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress. But she drew back and shook her head, catching her bottom lip with her white teeth. Her hair had come loose from the braids, and her eyes simmered with deep desire.

  He forced his hands to still. He’d be as patient as she needed, even though it might kill him. To his surprise, she rolled the lace panties down the length of her legs, tossing them aside. Then she pulled upright, sitting astride him.

  “Is this what you pictured?” she asked in a throaty voice. “Was this your fantasy?”

  The dress had fallen off one shoulder, and her messy strawberry blond hair framed her face in the fragile light.

  “It’s better than the fantasy,” he whispered. “You’re better than the fantasy.” He traced his thumbs along the inside of her thighs. Her dress whispered out of the way, and his thumbs met in the middle, sliding slick while her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back.

  The strap of the dress slipped farther down her arm, the fabric sliding over one breast, revealing her pert pink nipple.

  “Much better,” he rasped, drawing her down to take the nipple into his mouth.

  He was rewarded with her gasp. She rocked forward, bracing herself with her hands in his hair, kneading his scalp while her thighs twitched under his hands.

  The dress fell to her waist, and her writhing movements brought him close to the edge of control. He swiftly unfastened his pants, shoving them out of the way after retrieving a condom from his pocket.

  He shifted to move on top, but she pinned down his shoulders, thighs bracing his.

  “Remember,” she whispered, bending to kiss him, her breasts brushing the bare skin of his chest. “You told me how this goes when you described your fantasy.”

  She sat up straight, trapping his gaze with her own, lowering herself onto him, smooth and slow, until his hips bucked to meet her. His hands twisted in the quilt in a desperate attempt to keep hold of control. But there was no turning back. She was too sexy, too sweet, too passionately perfect.

  He grasped her hips, holding her firm, matching her movements, and nearly dislodging them from the bed with the force of his thrusts.

  She leaned forward to kiss him, and he flipped them both over, adjusting his angle and covering her with kisses, while she curled herself around him.

  His brain roared for release, but he held on to paradise just as long as he could. When her cries found his ears, and her body arched high, he let the world melt around them in waves.

  She was heat and sweat and scent in his arms. Her breathing was raspy, and her heart pounded hard against his own.

  He smoothed back her hair, kissing her temple, then her cheek, then her hot, moist lips. He smoothed her hair again, pulling back to gaze at her exquisite face. Her eyes were closed, cheeks flushed, lips abraded in a way that made him twinge with guilt.

  He wanted to say something. There had to be the perfect words for this perfect moment. But he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound trite.

  He settled on, “You’re beautiful,” and kissed her again.

  She blinked open her eyes, her voice sleepy. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Thank you.” He couldn’t help but smile. “I was really hoping for ‘not so bad.’”

  She cocked her head, and her smile turned impish. “Do you need me to tell you you’re the best I ever had?”

  “Only if it’s true.”

  “You’re the best I ever had.”

  He searched her expression, hoping against hope that it wasn’t a joke. He’d rather be the only one she’d ever had. But he knew that was ridiculous.

  “I lost my virginity in college.”

  “So did everybody else.”

  “It really wasn’t that great.”

  “It never is.”

  She smirked. “My point is, you didn’t have much competition.”

  He paused, her words filling him with some unnamed emotion. “Just the one guy in college?”

  She nodded.

  “And it wasn’t very good?” He felt a smile of pride grow on his face.

  “It was terrible. Quit laughing.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  He hugged her close, savoring the feel of her naked body, the curl of her limbs, the softness of her breasts. “You’re a treasure.”

  “Can you put that on my next performance evaluation?”

  “Absolutely. You want me to include the rationale?”

  She playfully smacked him on the arm. “I want you to approve a raise.”

  “You need money?” He found himself ready to step in if she did.

  “I’ve developed expensive taste in clothes. And you just ruined a three thousand dollar dress.”

  He reached to where the dress was bunched at her waist and ran the filmy fabric through his fingers. “It was so worth it.”

  Ten

  Jenny awoke cocooned in Mitch’s arms. Sunlight was streaming through the big bedroom window, the split beam catching on the rumple of her dress discarded on an armchair beside them. A cool breeze wafted lazily down from the ceiling fan.

  Mitch’s body was warm where he curled around her back, one arm draped across her stomach. She shifted experimentally, stretching sore muscles.

  He nuzzled her neck with a whisker-roughened face, kissing his way to the tip of her shoulder. “You okay?” he asked gently, voice morning-husky.

  She shifted onto her back, taking in his sleep-crinkled eyes and beard-shadowed chin. “I’m fine.” She gently touched his bare chest, concern growing as she recalled the terrible news he’d received yesterday. “You?”

  “Fine,” he responded, dipping to kiss her gently on the lips.

  “You know what I mean,” she pressed.

  He slipped an arm beneath the small of her back, drawing her naked body against his own, kissing her again. “I think I’m in denial. Or maybe you’re just too distracting for me to dwell on anything else.” He pressed himself meaningfully against her.

  “Again?” She quirked a brow, shifting one more time to test the extent of her soreness.

  “Always,” he muttered, his hand closing over her breast.

  Her nipple instantly peaked, and desire flooded her system. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t that sore.

  Surprisingly, he drew back. “But you’re not ready.”

  “I could—”

  He put a finger across her lips, trailing it downward. “You’ve been out of practice since college.”

  “I was never in practice in college.”

  His grin looked decidedly possessive. “Hungry?”

  She nodded, touched by his tender consideration. “Famished. And I’d kill for some coffee.”

  “Regular? Latte?”

  “Whatever you’ve got.”

  He reached for the bedside phone. “What I’ve got is room service. Name your pleasure.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say him.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolded. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

  “Croissants, strawberries and regular coffee.”

  “You never used to play with fire,” he mumbled.

  “You never used to look so sexy.”

  He punched a button on the phone. “Tell me what’s different, and I’ll do it all the time.”

  “You’re going to stay sleep-rumpled, unshaven and naked?”

  “Yes,” he said, staring straight at her, even though he spoke into the phone. “We’d like some croissants, some fresh strawberries and a pot of coffee.”

  She scooted close and whispered in his ear. “That’s impractical.”<
br />
  His arm closed around her, and he shifted the mouthpiece to beneath his chin. “It’s okay. I think they’re in season.” Then he spoke into the phone again. “Thank you.” And he hung it up, turning back to her, grinning. “Or did you mean the naked part?”

  “I meant the naked part.”

  “You like me naked?” he confirmed.

  Jenny made a show of pulling up the sheet to peep underneath, gazing unabashedly at his sleekly muscled, magnificent body. Oh, yes. She liked him naked.

  “That’s it.” He shifted abruptly to the edge of the bed. “I’m outta here.”

  She felt a jolt of unease, and pushed up on an elbow. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” He slid his legs into last night’s pants. “You’re doing everything absolutely right. And if I don’t leave now, I’ll be all over you again.”

  She felt a satisfied smile grow on her face, and she let her head fall back on the pillow.

  He hesitated for a split second. “You’re a dangerous woman, Jenny Watson.”

  “Nobody’s ever called me dangerous before.”

  “That’s because they didn’t see you in that dress.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And I guess they never will, since you tore it.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “I loved you in that dress.”

  “You loved me out of it more,” she singsonged.

  He pointed through the doorway to the living room. “I’m getting the room service now, and then I’ll meet you on the deck for breakfast.”

  Breakfast. With Mitch. After a long night of…

  An unsettling thought raced into her mind, and she sat upright. She hadn’t meant to ditch Jeffrey, but that had been the upshot of her behavior. “Do you think Jeffrey’s mad at me?” she called out.

  Mitch paused in the doorway. “I think Jeffrey’s laughing at me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He turned. “He all but dared me…in fact, he did dare me to dance with you.”

  She still didn’t understand.

  “He’s not mad,” said Mitch. “Trust me on that.”

  There was a knock on the suite’s outer door.

  “Meet me on the balcony?” Mitch repeated.