Playing By Her Rules (Sydney Smoke Rugby Series)

by Amy Andrews

  But those fiery sparks still sizzled in Tilly’s eyes, and he could tell she was mentally shrugging off the sticky tendrils of the moment.

  “More,” she urged, squeezing her thighs around his waist, undulating her hips, trying to buck and ride him with what little space she had available sandwiched between him and the wall.

  The buzz in his balls demanded he move, too, demanded he pound into her just the way she wanted it, but his head wanted to stay in the moment for just a bit longer.

  “Tanner,” she moaned, nails raking down his shoulder blades now, shredding the skin.

  He sucked in a breath at the pain, hot and searing. Adrenaline shot into his system, a well of anger rising like a hot geyser. “God-fucking-damn it, Matilda,” he grunted through gritted teeth, staring deep into her eyes as he slid out of her and thrust back in again, rocking her head harder this time, her teeth shutting with a snap.

  “Yes,” she gasped triumphantly. “Yes.”

  And then she was incapable of forming any kind of words. He made sure of it. The only sounds coming from her mouth were insensible gasps and pants and whimpers as he pistoned his hips, rocking her higher and higher. Their gazes were locked, their breathing was tight, and their jaws were clenched as he put his shoulder into every flex of his hips, leaning heavily into the arm anchored near her head to push himself deep and hard inside her with every thrust.

  She broke before he did, but just barely, finally shutting her eyes as her orgasm claimed her, the tight walls of her sex clamping down hard on his cock as she came, milking him to his own climax, sending him into the abyss with her.

  Tanner barely had a chance to catch his breath before she was pushing against him. “Let me down,” she said.

  He roused himself, pulling his forehead off the wall, his pulse still thrumming through his ears. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, easing away, his hands gentle on her hips as she slid down the wall until her feet touched the ground.

  “Don’t,” she said, stepping around him as he tucked his dick back in his underwear. She stepped into her jeans, her back to him. “I’m not seventeen anymore. I wanted that as much as you did.”

  “I didn’t even use a condom.”

  “I have an implant.” She dismissed the matter, turning to face him as she zipped up her fly. “And I swear if you lie to me about having some nasty communicable disease I’m going to put that in my next feature.”

  Tanner’s lips rose in a pained half smile. He could see the headline now. Playboy Saint Clap King. The rugby suits would just love that. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good,” Tilly nodded, looking over his shoulder, clearly planning her escape.

  “Could we please talk before you leave? About us?”

  “No, Tanner,” she said, her expression determined but her voice sounding sad. Or maybe just tired. “There is no us. I can’t forget or forgive what you did. I thought it was bad enough that you did it, but discovering that you did it deliberately, that you hurt me deliberately, that it was pre-meditated to take my choices away?” Her voice was husky and tremulous now, and she sucked in a breath. “I can’t be with someone who could hurt me like that and seem perfectly fine about it afterward. Could just walk away and forget everything we’d had. Did you ever lose any sleep over it, Tanner?”

  He couldn’t bear that she thought him so callous, that it was a decision he’d made lightly. He had hated himself. He took a step toward her, but she took a quick one back, holding up a hand to ward him off.

  “Of course I did.” He halted, shoving a hand through his hair. “I loathed myself for what I’d done.”

  “And yet you moved on pretty damn quickly, from what I heard. And it sure didn’t seem to affect any of the rest of your life. Not the way it did me. I didn’t have sex for two years—”

  Her voice cracked and she broke off, shaking her head, her eyes big blue puddles as she stared at him. Her anguish tore at his heart. “And I’ve sabotaged every relationship I’ve ever had, before anyone could get too close. You’ve shaped me into this woman I never wanted to be. There are bits of myself I don’t even like, while you just moved effortlessly on, swanning around with a different woman on your arm every bloody week, with clearly none of the baggage from that night.”

  God. He’d been such a dick—immature and rash—and he’d hurt the only woman he’d ever truly loved. “Tilly—”

  She shook her head interrupting him, dashing a tear that had spilled over. “There’s no us, Tanner. And if you ever had an ounce of compassion for me, I’m begging you to just please leave it the fuck alone.”

  She strode out of his room, dragging his beaten and bloody heart with her, and Tanner didn’t do a damn thing to stop her. She was right. He’d hurt her, deeper than he’d known or imagined. In his eighteen-year-old brain, he’d convinced himself that she’d get over it quickly and move on, have her life, find someone else.

  He’d sold her short. Sold the depth of her feelings short. And he didn’t deserve her forgiveness or her love.

  …

  The fifth feature article was probably the hardest one Matilda had tackled. Had she written it before they’d gotten naked and done the wild thing—three times—she could have been more objective about how well-loved and respected he was by everybody. About his beautiful bromance with his teammates. About how he was cherished and doted on by the WAGS. About his generosity of spirit. But every word was coloured by what had happened that night at his apartment after everyone had gone home.

  The sex. And the argument.

  Objectivity was hard when so much of what she knew about Tanner Stone was viewed through the prism of her own experiences.

  She must have done something right, though, because newspaper sales had spiked on the Friday of its release and it seemed everyone, everywhere, was talking about it both in the traditional media and online.

  It probably had a lot to do with speculation over her and Tanner’s personal relationship since his Twitter antics and that very public pash at the game last week. But even hard-as-nails Imelda Herron had stopped by her desk for some personally delivered congratulations—a damn good story, young woman—all but assuring Matilda she’d be moving to features permanently.

  So at least something had worked out.

  It was rather harder for her to shrug it all off, though, as just a damn good story. Beneath all the words, the subtext was written in tears. Her tears. And blood. If it took opening a vein and bleeding all over the page to get her where she wanted to be, she was okay with that.

  But it was a double-edged sword.

  Her body yearned for Tanner with the fierceness of a woman who was in tune with her needs. Not the girl she’d been, still learning and experimenting, still hesitant and unsure of herself and her body, slow to find her way, to be comfortable with her sexuality.

  Her passion was a roaring beast inside her, sprung from its cage. But her heart was still trapped, wrapped in thorny brambles like Tanner’s biceps.

  Impenetrable.

  She watched his next game at home alone in her pajamas, drinking beer and eating an entire large packet of salt and vinegar chips all to herself.

  The WAGS wouldn’t have been impressed.

  She’d told herself she wasn’t going to. But that was the thing with Tanner—he was addictive. And she’d just gone and overdosed on him in the worst possible way, despite warning herself from the very beginning that he was her own personal crack.

  Monday morning when she reached her desk, she checked her Twitter stream to find a tweet from Tanner. He’d been quiet on social media, not entering into the speculation raging all around him and dominating his feed.

  I have perfect location for final “interview” with @MatildaK. Will text you time and place.

  The tweet was depressingly void of hashtags. No #mightbelove teaser. Matilda felt curiously flat after reading it. Which was totally crazy. She didn’t want his dumb hashtags, she didn’t want to be at the centre of speculation, she didn�
�t want there to be any implication they were an item.

  Because they weren’t. Nor were they going to be, either.

  So she needed to snap the hell out of it.

  She rifled through her bag for her phone. She usually had it on silent at work so she wouldn’t have heard a text. But sure enough his name was on her screen.

  Meet you at Burnside Art Collective. 5.30pm tonight.

  Matilda frowned. The name was familiar because it was one of the charities she’d discovered he supported when she’d been doing her research for the article that had caused him so much consternation.

  The thought of seeing him again fluttered frantically like the beating wings of a scared little bird inside her chest. She didn’t want to see him again.

  Surely it would be better not to put herself in the way of temptation?

  But this was work. And it was their last time. After this she need never see him again. She was going to have to suck it up and just get it done already.

  She typed quickly and hit send.

  See you then.

  Matilda didn’t know what to expect when she arrived, but it wasn’t this. The large warehouse-like structure was situated in an inner city suburb caught in that halfway stage between blatant neglect and early gentrification. In a decade, it’d be one of those trendy neighbourhoods where no one could afford to live anymore, but now it was in a state of flux.

  Tanner’s car was already there when she pulled up, and she hurried inside. A very Zen-looking dude with tie-died pants and a grey beard so long he could plait it greeted her with clasped hands and a solemn, “Namaste.”

  Artwork of all varieties—from paintings, sculptures and pottery, to wind chimes, gothic-looking tapestries, and large dream catchers—adorned the walls and any available surface in the large, open space. Halfway down the warehouse, a wide corridor split it in two, dividing off a series of semi-private rooms. Semi-private because there was no practical way for the walls to reach the towering roof leaving them open at the top.

  Zen guy pointed down the corridor when she asked for Tanner. “Last door on the left,” he murmured.

  Matilda headed down the corridor, her curiosity well and truly piqued. She hadn’t looked into the specifics of Tanner’s involvement with this particular not-for-profit when she’d been investigating his charity works. She’d mainly focused on the big name ones. The fact that he was supporting the arts, the opposite end of the spectrum to rugby, was very interesting indeed.

  When she reached the room, she was surprised to read the sign on the door announcing it to be the Matilda’s Muse literacy programme for girls. The sign also said it had been established five years ago.

  Matilda blinked, her heart squeezing in her chest.

  She opened the door, and about two-dozen faces turned to check out the intruder. The girls, who all looked to be about eleven or twelve, sat around desks that accommodated four or five. Each participant had paper and pens in front of them.

  Tanner glanced at her from his position lounging against the back wall. He smiled at her, then at the twenty-something young woman in front, who’d paused mid-sentence, waving at her to continue.

  “Hey,” he whispered as he drew closer and the speaker picked up her thread. He was in jeans again, with a T-shirt that showed off his muscular physique to perfection. Something stirred deep in her belly. Some kind of primal recognition. Some weird wild pheromone thing.

  As if he’d imprinted himself on her when he’d been deep inside her the other night.

  “Come stand at the back.”

  Confused, Matilda followed him. They lounged against the wall again, and it took her a moment to realise the identity of the woman who was talking.

  “That’s Andrea Willoughby,” Matilda whispered.

  Andrea was an up and coming YA writer whose book about a teenage girl who saves the human race had just been optioned for a movie. Her audience was listening with rapt attention.

  “Yes,” he agreed, dropping the whisper but keeping his voice low. “Thought she might be a hit with the class.”

  She absorbed the information and the scene for a while. “This is your baby?” she asked eventually, also dropping to a whisper, glancing at his profile for confirmation.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t look at her or bother to elaborate. Yet there was pride in his voice. He’d established this? “Why?”

  He shrugged, rolling his head to the side, their gazes meeting. “Because I remember how much you were into reading and writing, and how much you would have killed to have access to writing classes and mentoring opportunities. I wanted to try and foster the kind of talent you always had. To inspire and nurture it.”

  A rush of emotion bubbled in her chest. “Matilda’s Muse,” she uttered.

  He rolled his head back to the midline, returning his attention to the guest speaker now. “How could I call it anything else?”

  The quiet sincerity of his voice hit her hard, and a block of sudden emotion in her chest balled into a big fat lump, threatening to crush her ribs and cut off the breath in her throat.

  He’d established a literacy programme for talented young women. In her honour? That was about the nicest, sweetest, most awesome thing any guy had ever done.

  He rolled his head to the side again, leaning in, their arms brushing, his mouth close to her ear, his voice low. “I never forgot you, Tilly. I never just walked away. You were always on my mind.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I never stopped loving you.”

  A tear Matilda didn’t even know had been building slid down her face. He loved her. Those words should be joyful, but all she felt was pain. Him loving her didn’t matter. He took her choice away, and she couldn’t forgive him for that. Maybe she’d have followed him, maybe she wouldn’t have.

  But it had been her decision to make—not his.

  There may have been a lot of good in the way things had panned out and in Tanner’s reasoning, but right now it just felt like she’d been punished. For loving him too much. For wanting too much.

  And it hurt.

  “But I stopped loving you,” she whispered.

  And she had. It had been the hardest thing she’d done, but she’d excised him from her life. Or so she’d thought. Already she could feel the rekindling of old emotions and she couldn’t go there again. She had to deal them a swift blow—for both their sakes.

  If his slumped shoulders and the disbelief in his eyes were anything to go by, her mission was accomplished.

  Good. It was imperative she destroyed any hopes he might have that she felt something for him, that they might get back together.

  Destroy them as he had destroyed her hopes all those years ago.

  What had he said? Smash a gulf so wide…

  She locked her gaze with his. “Good-bye, Tanner.”

  She pushed off the wall and headed for the door, her hands shaking as she escaped into the corridor, tears streaming down her face as she hurried from the building, dashed to her car, and locked herself inside. She gripped the steering wheel hard, staring through the windscreen at the front door, willing it to open, willing Tanner to appear. Her foolish, contrary heart hoping desperately that he’d seen through her bravado and would refuse to take no for an answer.

  If he came for her now, with the heavy dread of finality sitting like an elephant on her chest, she wouldn’t have the power to resist.

  She waited for fifteen minutes, tears falling freely, but he didn’t appear. She guessed there were only so many times she could push him away before he stopped pushing back.

  She started the car and slowly drove away, her head stoic, her heart a mess.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So then, out with it,” Hannah Kent said as Matilda handed her a coffee and sat on the chair next to hers on the back porch.

  There were damn reminders of Tanner everywhere.

  Matilda frowned. “What?”

  Hannah shot her an incredulous look. “I’m old, not stupid, girli
e. You know how much I love seeing you, but it’s Wednesday. You never come on Wednesday. And you’re moping around here like you just lost your best friend.”

  Matilda’s stomach lurched. It felt like she had. “I’m just preoccupied,” she evaded. “With work.”

  There was an elegant snort to her left. “With Tanner, you mean?”

  Well, yes. Tanner was work. “Kind of,” she evaded. “I’ve started the last feature article half a dozen times. I just can’t seem to get it right.”

  “And is there a particular reason why you’re not at his place discussing this? Drinking coffee with him? In his bed maybe? You know, like naked? Making me great-grandbabies?”

  “Gran.” Matilda didn’t think that the warning note in her voice would be paid much heed but she injected it anyway.

  “He’s always been the one for you, Matilda. So, it didn’t work out when you’re younger.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it won’t now. I could tell with my own two eyes he’s still carrying a torch for you. Blind Freddy can see that.”

  A spike of annoyance flushed through Matilda veins. Her grandmother had always had a soft spot for Tanner. “And do you know why it didn’t work out?” she demanded.

  Her grandmother didn’t seem too perturbed by Matilda’s crankiness. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  So she did. She told her grandmother everything. About that night and the kiss and how she’d just learned it was a deliberate action by Tanner to break them up. About how hurt she’d been then and how betrayed she felt now.

  Hannah waited for her to finally come to a halt and calmly asked, “So?”

  Matilda blinked. “What do you mean, so?”

  “If he hadn’t broken up with you, would you have knocked back your scholarship?”