The Trouble With Quarterbacks(61)

He smiles like a deviant then steps back to walk out before me. I’m trailing after him, thinking of ways to do his head in like he’s just done to me. He opens his door and reaches back to take my hand, and then we’re inside. Alone. His place is dark and quiet, a backdrop to all the things I think we should do together. Let’s have sex in this foyer, right on this cold tile. And there, against that wall. My head might hit that lovely picture, but who cares? It’s probably only worth, oh, a couple thousand.

“Well, strip down then,” I tease as he kicks off his shoes.

He looks back at me with a smile. “We aren’t going to have sex, Candace.”

My jaw drops. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe because the last time we were intimate, you freaked out and ran off on me.”

“Well that was bloody complicated! Or have you forgotten about your psycho ex-lover cornering me in the loo?”

“I haven’t forgotten, which is why I think we should take things slow.”

“SLOW?”

Oh now he’s done it. This is going to be the end of me. I haven’t had a proper lay in months—more than that, probably, if I actually tallied the days. I’ve been careful not to so I could preserve some sort of facade that I am, in fact, a sexual creature unable to be tamed. In reality, I might just be Ms. Candace the preschool teacher, good for making a bunch of slimy goo for children but not much else.

“What a sad turn of events! I suppose you’re going to suggest we watch a movie or something?”

He shrugs. “We could.”

I toss my hands up. “Oh bore! Well why don’t you just get me a nun’s habit and I’ll slip that on. Have you got a chastity belt lying around here anywhere? Might as well put that on too.”

He laughs and comes toward me, taking my purse from my shoulder and dropping it on the little table in his foyer. Then he comes back over and kneels down in front of me so he can help me take my shoes off. Meanwhile, I’m moaning on and on about how he’s ruining my life.

“I don’t think I’m ruining it.”

“You are. This is actual real torture, the sort that makes people go mad.”

“You’re already mad, so we don’t have a problem there.”

“Oh, ha. You are one of the funniest blokes I’ve ever met. Remind me to put that in my diary alongside the entry where I write about how you won’t sleep with me because you’re worried I’m too fragile. Dear Diary, me again, the loneliest girl in New York—the one who hasn’t had a man between her legs in nearly a century.”

“A century, huh?”

“Feels that way sometimes.”

“Do you really keep a diary?”

“No! Can you imagine?! The entries would be crude, to say the least. I couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Tomorrow, if I died and the police went round to my flat to round up my things, one of them would find that diary and think I’m the perviest perv he’s ever met. He’d think, Jeez, this poor girl. If only her boyfriend had given her a proper lay, she wouldn’t have died in that horrific ice cream accident.”

“Ice cream accident?”

“Yes. Kat once dragged me with her to a psychic, and the lady sort of hinted that I should stay away from soft serve. At least…I think that’s what she said. Her accent was quite thick. Ever since then, I’ve been very careful around the stuff so as to prevent my death. What are you doing unbuttoning my jeans like that for?”

“I’m trying to get you out of them.”

“Well you’ve already taken off my blouse, and I was joking about the nun’s habit. I didn’t think I needed to point that out, but well, I suppose men can be quite dim sometimes.”

“Step out,” he says, before tugging the denim material off my legs.

I’m standing in my knickers and my bra in his foyer, and he’s already starting to undress himself. His tuxedo jacket goes first, strewn on the floor beside us. Then he goes after his cufflinks.

“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips. “Let me see the goods but not taste them sort of thing?”

“If you’d stop talking for five seconds, you would understand that I’m giving in. You’re getting your way.”

He unbuttons his shirt and lets it drop onto his jacket. His blessedly tan and toned chest is just there, right in front of me, like one of those neon signs on the Vegas strip. I’m a sad little gnat drawn right to it. My hands reach out and I smooth my palms over the rigid planes.

“You’re going to do me?” I sound more than slightly amazed by the prospect.

“Could you not say it like that?”

“Oh right. Are we going to make love? I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

He laughs and shakes his head then he reaches down, no pretense, no proper warning, and kisses me full-on. His mouth is so good at getting what it wants. I shut right up and let him continue the kiss. My insides turn into jelly, and that’s okay because Logan reaches out to grab hold of me and we do this perfectly synchronized move where he lifts and I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s so bloody strong I don’t even worry about him dropping me. I guess his career in football is good for something.