Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  But of course we can, and I keep thrusting into her, finally sliding a finger inside, then two, then, just to see if I can, three. It’s tight, but she’s so slick it barely matters. And while I’m shoving into her with damn near my whole hand, I stroke my tongue up her cunt, over her clit, and she falls to pieces under me.

  Her panting gasps are loud and stuttery, and I resist the urge to lay a hand over her mouth. Okay, yes, part of me is a little worried somebody will walk in. Not because I’m afraid anybody will say anything to me, but because I know Chloe’s worried about it. Instead I lean up and kiss her, deep and hard, stroking my tongue into her mouth, letting her taste her own arousal.

  She’s still shaking with the aftershocks of her orgasm; I can feel it as I slide a hand over the curve of her hip. Suddenly she stiffens against me. I hear it at the same time—the sound of voices rising in the hallway that leads to the locker room. The guys are coming in from practice.

  I grab her pants for her, drawing them back up into place. I get her sorted, but I don’t bother about myself. As long as she’s dressed, we’re good. Nobody’s going to think twice about me being naked in the locker room. Besides, I’ve got my shorts on. And if they look a little wet—well, I was just in the ice bath, right?

  Still, I glance down, hoping there’s no cum clinging to the fabric. The voices are getting closer. Glancing at Chloe, I realize there’s no disguising the mussed hair, the kiss-swollen lips. I wipe my own mouth with the back of my hand. I’m probably visibly wet from her juices.

  Dammit.

  I remind myself I don’t care. Except I do. A little. But just for Chloe.

  I hear the guys coming into the locker room, but we’re still okay back here in the training area. Until one guy wanders in, glancing around. He’s in a button-down shirt and slacks, and I vaguely recognize him as the PT who’s working with one of the defensemen. Chloe stiffens next to me, and I know this is Very Much Not Good.

  “Shit. It’s Roger,” she mutters. So he’s the one who’s gunning for her. I scrape him with a look. He’s not so much. I could take him. If he gives Chloe any shit, I probably will.

  Roger returns my look with a smirk, and then glances at Chloe. Automatically, without thinking about it, I touch her arm reassuringly. Roger notices, and his smirk deepens. I do not like this man. In fact, I dislike him intensely.

  His attention returns to me, and I stiffen. He leers.

  “So. You pay extra for that, or is she including it in the base fees?”

  Fury rises so fast I can’t stop it, and for a second my vision turns red. I’m not even sure what I’m doing until Chloe grabs my arm, jerking me back. I’m at least a full step closer to Roger the Sleazeball. Only her small fingers on my biceps are stopping me.

  “Don’t,” she says in a low voice. “He’s not worth it.”

  Roger’s eyes narrow. “Not worth it, huh?” There’s a genuine rage behind his words.

  What is this guy’s problem?

  “At least now I know why you get the choice assignments. Cause you’re sucking everybody’s dick.”

  “Roger—” Her tone is conciliatory, but I know already that’s not going to work with this asshole. He’s not the type to be placated.

  “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  “Why? Because she’s fucking you? Everybody knows the only way she even got back into the business was by showing her tits and getting on her knees for anybody she had to.”

  Now Chloe’s getting angry. Those bright red spots have risen on her face, and her mouth is a tight, hard line. “That’s not true—”

  Again, I cut her off. “You apologize. Right now.”

  “Or what?” He’s mocking me now, like he really thinks I won’t pound him into a pile of squishy red sludge if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth. “You’re going to hit me? Huh? You really think you can get away with that?”

  I lunge another step forward, but again Chloe’s small hand holds me back. I could break free of her in a hot second if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. Instead I glare down at Roger and grate between clenched teeth, “I can get away with anything I damn well please. Who the fuck are you, anyway? Who do you think the rest of the team is going to believe if something happens right now? Who do you think the press is going to believe?”

  He actually looks vaguely deflated at this. I can see him swallow a couple of times. “You lay one finger on me, and I guess we’ll find out.”

  I’m about ready to lay a whole lot more than one finger on him, Chloe be damned, when a few of my teammates meander in, ready to hit the bikes for post-practice cool down. A few guys give him a look like they know he’s trouble. Some of my teammates grew up in not-so-great neighborhoods—they can tell when a guy’s just itching to start something.

  One of them—Peterson, the guy Roger’s been working on, I’m pretty sure—gives Roger a look, then glances at me. “Everything okay here?”

  Roger spins, stabbing backward toward me with a finger. “She’s sucking his cock.”

  Peterson looks taken aback. He looks at me, at Chloe, then back at Roger. His posture shifts, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. Roger has picked the wrong guy to try to win over to his side.

  “Looks to me like they’re both just standing there,” Peterson says.

  Roger’s face starts to go red and pale at the same time, which is interesting to say the least. He’s got high scarlet patches on his cheekbones and grey shadows just under them.

  “Is that what you want?” He glances around, trying to draw in other members of the team. Several more have wandered in, and most of them are standing with their arms crossed, looking at him like he’s a cockroach who just slithered in off the street.

  “What the fuck you talking about?” Peterson asks.

  “You want a talentless bitch like her working on your star receiver? You really think for a half-second she knows anything about getting him in shape in time for the championship?”

  Peterson takes a single step forward. Roger has the good sense to move backward. “You want to take that back, you little punk?”

  Roger swallows. Peterson’s just staring at him. The other guys are like a wall behind him, wide and solid. The arms crossed over their chests are the size of Roger’s waist. Roger’s eyes get crazy, like he’s desperate to get someone to back him up. Nobody seems to be taking him up on the offer.

  “You really think—” he starts, and Peterson reaches out and grabs him by the collar.

  “No!” says Chloe, but I reach back to block her. She stops, but I can feel her shaking against my forearm.

  “What I think is that you need to shut the fuck up,” Peterson snarls. He glances over his shoulder. “Am I right, guys?”

  “Yep.” There’s a staggered chorus of voices, a unanimous series of nods.

  “What I also think,” Peterson continues, “is that you’re going to apologize right now to Doc Chloe and to Sherwood, and then I’m going to call your boss and ask for a PT who isn’t a little bitch. That sound like a plan?”

  “What the fuck are you—” Roger starts, but Peterson’s fist tightens on his collar.

  “Do you know what apologize means?”

  Roger is silent. After a long exchange of glares, Peterson lets him go. Roger still doesn’t say anything.

  “Apologize means say you’re fucking sorry,” someone pipes up from the group in the back.

  “How stupid are you?” another voice adds.

  I can see Roger’s closed fists shaking. He clenches his teeth. Finally, he turns partially toward me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Damn fucking straight you are,” I snap back. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  He looks like he has more to say, but for once he exhibits some intelligence and doesn’t say it. Instead he turns and leaves the room.

  Immediately, the tension in the room disappears. A couple of guys, including Peterson, step toward Chloe and me and ask if we’re okay. Peterson makes an extra effort to check on Chloe, which I
appreciate even while it sends a stab of jealousy through me.

  “It’s okay, Doc,” he tells her.

  I turn back toward her. “Damn straight it’ll be okay. We’ll take this guy down. No way I’m letting him fuck with you.”

  Chloe nods, but her face is tight. Abruptly, it crumples. She’s on the verge of tears.

  Shit.

  “No, it won’t, Austin. It really won’t.”

  She brushes past me and walks the gauntlet of half-naked football players back outside.

  9

  Chloe

  I’m so fired.

  It’s inevitable at this point, but I keep my phone off. I can’t bear hearing the disappointment in Dr. Richard’s voice. Especially since it is all my fault.

  Seriously, what did I expect would happen?

  My hands ball the tissue paper into a fist as I imagine Roger’s gloating smile. See? I told you she was unprofessional. I can picture him leaning against the wall, a thin-lipped smirk carved into his fat cheeks, his beady eyes narrowed in malevolence. He’ll probably break into applause when I clean out my desk.

  Fuck him. If he thinks I’m going to lie down and make it easy for him, he better think again.

  The bathroom door opens. I freeze as footsteps enter the room. Then I see shoes under the stall door—men’s shoes—and there’s a gentle knock.

  “Chloe? You in there?”

  The cockiness is gone from Austin’s voice. Instead, it’s filled with concern.

  “Austin, please leave me alone.” Great. I sound nasally and phlegmy. So attractive.

  “Jesus. Are you crying?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just need to cry for about five hours.”

  “I’m not leaving until you open the door.”

  A huge sigh shakes out of my chest. I can either sit in here until he goes away or just face him. And I seriously doubt he’s going to go away. He’s like that.

  I open the door and come out. Austin is dressed in a fitted black suit that hugs every inch of his powerful frame. For a moment, I’m speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything but gym clothes. Damn, he’s stunning in a suit. He touches my shoulder gently, taking in my face with a look that’s equally gentle. I suddenly realize something important—I feel safe with him.

  He steers me toward the lounge area at the front of the restroom. Once there, he sits on the couch, drawing me down next to him. The pain in my chest throbs as he pulls me into his chest. He’s so warm.

  “You okay?”

  “No. He’s going to get me fired. He’s been working on it for a while, and now I’ve given him plenty of rope to hang me with.”

  A sob catches in my throat, and he curls an arm around my waist.

  “I won’t let him do that to you.”

  “It’s not really up to you, is it?”

  “If I say I want to keep you, then I get to keep you.”

  A flutter of warmth spreads over my skin when he kisses my head. Could it really be that simple? Austin laces his fingers with mine. The warmth behind his smile tugs at my heart.

  “Besides, I’m going to get this Roger guy hung up by his heels.”

  “Austin, no.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to white-knight that prick.”

  “I just think it’ll make things worse.”

  “How would getting rid of him make things worse?”

  My eyes fly open. “You can’t do that!”

  “Why not? That piece of shit reeks of desperation. He wants to hurt you.” There’s anger rising in his voice, and I start tensing up again.

  “No. If you stand up for me—”

  “Let me tell you what happens if I don’t stand up for you. I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

  My mouth goes dry, and I feel tears welling up again.

  “The guys would never let me hear the end of it.”

  “I’m sure they’d move on.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They’d probably beat me with bars of soap wrapped in towels if they knew I let you get fired.” He tacks on a grin. “Anyway, this isn’t about them. This is about some asshole trying to hurt my woman.”

  “Your woman? Did you fall out of a tree and hit a couple caveman branches?”

  Turning to face me fully, he takes my shoulders in his big hands. “Look, Chloe. Maybe I asked for you at first because I was hoping I could fuck you”—I start to jerk away, but he holds me still—“but I’m not joking when I say you’re the best damn PT I’ve ever had. That’s just the plain truth.”

  I can’t look at him. If I do, I’m going to start crying again. He shakes me a little.

  “You believe me, right?”

  I nod, though I’m not sure I do. What I went through with Mason knocked a giant hole in my self-esteem, both on a personal and professional level. Austin has been repairing that damage, but it doesn’t take much for me to relapse.

  “I believe you,” I say finally, making my voice firm so maybe I’ll believe myself. “But still. Please. Don’t go after Roger.”

  He frowns. “If it’s that important to you, I won’t do it.”

  “Thank—”

  “But you’re going on a date with me right now.”

  “What?” My heart hammers against my ribs. He can’t be serious.

  His fingers slid from my hand to grip the muscles of my waist. His gritty voice throbs somewhere between my legs.

  “You. Me. A nice restaurant. Conversation. Wine.”

  Tempting. So fucking tempting. I’ve already been caught with my pants down. Literally. What’s the harm in letting him wine and dine me? The thought of going on a date with him makes my stomach clench. Sitting across from him in some fancy restaurant is somehow more intimidating than being naked with him in a dark room.

  “We never said anything about dating.”

  “I’d be more than happy to drag you to my place and fuck the shit out of you after our date.”

  “You’re not telling me why.”

  “You’re starting to make me feel like you’re only interested in my cock.”

  Wasn’t that the basic idea? I start to feel bad before a grin hitches on his face. “Um, well, casual sex was the arrangement.”

  “Doesn’t defending your honor get me any points?”

  Yes. I won’t lie that watching Austin threaten to lay out Roger was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

  “Yes, I want to fuck you, but I also want to take you out on a date. I don’t need a reason for wanting that.” He touches my chin and leans in close enough for me to feel the warmth of his words. “Then again, maybe I’m just an asshole. Maybe I just want to show you off.”

  He’s getting under my skin, damn him. I shake my head and let it fall against his chest. “What am I supposed to wear? All I’ve got are these gym clothes.”

  “I think you’re gorgeous enough to get away with that.” He kisses my lips very softly. “And I’m famous. I could show up in a hoodie-footie to the Ritz, and they’d probably let me in.”

  I snigger at the image of Austin wrapped up in a onesie. “I really doubt it.”

  Not that it really matters. When I get fired, nobody’s going to care that I went out with him.

  Austin tugs me upright and we leave the bathroom together, heading out into the parking lot. A group of microphone-bearing beat reporters and photograph-bearing fans converge on us only a few yards from the building. I duck behind Austin, but he looks over his shoulder to be sure I’m there and gives me a reassuring smile.

  The reporters start peppering him with questions. “How’s your recovery going?” “Are you going to be playing again before the playoffs are over?” “How bad is the injury exactly?”

  Austin waves them quiet, and then leans in to answer so most of them will be able to pick up his voice on their recorders. “I’m doing well. My recovery is progressing well thanks to Chloe.” He pulls me by the hand to stand next to him. “She’s the best PT I’ve ever had the p
leasure of working with.”

  One of the reporters—I recognize him from his videos on the team’s website, but I can’t remember his name—pushes his recorder a little closer. “Are you going to be ready to play for the championship game?”

  “I don’t know yet. We have a ways to go before we make that decision. I certainly hope I will be. And I know with Chloe here working with me, I’ve got the best possible chances of being ready on time.”

  My face burns as he praises me in front of all these people. Does he really mean it? He gives me a sweet smile. One that really makes me feel confused and happy at the same time.

  I’ve read about this restaurant. Drooled over its haute cuisine and ridiculously expensive, locally-sourced filet mignon and house-made cheeses. The three-dollar signs on the Yelp page meant I’d never be able to afford it. The dress code, according to the page, is dressy. Here I am in my gym clothes.

  Austin leads me to the table on his arm, beaming at me as though I’m Marilyn Monroe and not the most unglamorous women in the room. The old me would’ve found it embarrassing. Especially when the waiter approaches Austin with a distinctly uncomfortable look.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the waiter’s voice rings out clearly.

  Austin stops in his tracks. The waiter gives me a scathing once-over that makes my cheeks burn.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We have a strict dress code in this restaurant.”

  I swallow my laughter as Austin frowns, glancing down at himself. “Is there something wrong with my suit?”

  The waiter’s mouth works silently before glancing at me, almost as though for help. “The problem is with your date.”

  Austin plays the complete fool, frowning at him. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Is she dressed inappropriately?”

  “She is wearing sneakers.” He says the word as though it did him personal harm.

  “No sneakers?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He lifts his shoulder in a shrug and continues in a deadpan tone. “All right. You heard the man, Chloe. Take off your shoes.”

  My ribs are going to crack from holding back laughter. I bend over and reach for my shoes as the waiter looks on, horrified.