Page 45 of Playing for Keeps

He doesn’t assume it’s my fault. He assumes—correctly—that they came here tonight of their own volition, not at my urging. Of course he gives me the benefit of the doubt. Tate’s a decent guy. That’s what decent guys do. Guys who trust you. Whether they should or not.

“This is a great place,” Foley says sliding his eyes to mine. “Look who’s here,” he says to me and then nods at Fontanna. “Chloe and Tate.” I can almost hear him singing the refrain. He’s put us together as a couple and I shoot him daggers.

“In the flesh,” Tate says. “Enjoying the best Italian in Boston.”

Max says, “Fontanna should know since his family’s in the restaurant business.”

“That right?” Foley says, though he probably already knows. I could kiss Max for trying to deflect attention away from me and Tate as a couple.

I take a step, moving for the exit. Tate holds me back and I look at him, surprised.

He leans in and whispers, “All my friends think I’m banging you. May as well give your friends the same idea.” Then he squeezes me in a tight hug telling the world I’m his and says loud enough for all the reporters at the bar to hear. “We’re taking off now. Better things to do than shoot the shit with a bunch of reporters.” He laughs and so do Foley and the others.

We head out the door and this time Max and his date are following us.

“You two have a good night,” Max says, taking Natalie in his arms. “See you tomorrow for films, Fontanna.”

We walk a few cars down the street in the opposite direction until we reach Tate’s car.

“My car is down further,” I say, “I’ll follow you.” He shakes his head no and my heart drops like an anvil.

“You come with me tonight. We’ll come back and get your car tomorrow.”

“You don’t trust me to follow you?”

“I don’t trust you about anything,” he says as he takes me in his arms.

“That’s not what it sounded like earlier. Now all our friends think we’re banging each other and it’s all a lie.”

“Why don’t we make it true?” He nuzzles my neck, but I’m feeling less romantic by the second.

“Is this a case of keeping your enemies close?”

He sighs and leans his forehead against mine, holding me close enough so that his scent, his hard muscles, sheer size, and sizzling heat all swirl around me, intoxicating me all over again.

“I honestly have no idea what this is all about, Chloe. I only know I’m having a hell of a time resisting you. I want you. Hard and bad and, like you said, the damage is done as far as gossip goes.”

“Oh, well, how can a girl resist a line like that?” I say, but my voice is too shaky with desire to carry off the smartass sentiment. His dimples show up under the street light and he lowers his mouth to mine, letting his kiss talk romance and seduction for him. That perfect match of his lips to mine, the soft and hard and hot moist feel, the taste of wine mingling between us sending me all the way to sold, forgetting all about whatever reservations I had.

By the time he ends the kiss, we’re both breathing heavily and he opens the door for me, helping me inside the low-slung car. We drive most of the way to his place, which isn’t far, in silence unless you count the wild beating of my heart, the anticipation barreling through my veins.

The tension thickens, my heart climbing into my throat with the edge I’m riding on ready to slice me down the middle, until we get in the elevator. As the doors slide closed, he takes me in his arms and I feel him simmering as he nibbles on my earlobe. I bite my lip to prevent a moan, though I don’t know why I bother since it’s late now and no one is around.

By the time we walk into his apartment or condo or whatever it is, I’m too worked up to be impressed with the walls of glass overlooking the water and the Boston skyline in the distance, lights glittering. The sight is worth no more than a glance and I barely register the slick new kitchen as he drags me by it and through the living room.

“This way. I’ll give you the tour in the morning.” His assumption that I’m staying without an invitation or a chance to say yes or no excites the fuck out of me. He’s wreckless and out of control and this is how I’ve wanted him all along, isn’t it? He lets go of me as soon as we step inside his room dominated by an enormous bed and he starts ripping off his shirt.

Of course I stop to watch because his body is more than drool-worthy. Tossing his shirt on the floor, he starts unzipping his pants. His shoes are already gone.

“Don’t just stare. Either help me or take off your own clothes,” he says.

“Back to the killer romantic. You make a girl’s head spin,” I say as I kick off my shoes and start unzipping my dress. It’s a more businesslike sheath than I would normally have worn for such an occasion, but I dressed for my job of getting comments on the sidelines at the game, not for a seduction scene. I manage to step from the dress while my eyes are riveted on him as he drops his jeans, his eyes on mine.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Chloe. How did you manage to stay out of trouble all these years with parades of professional athletes lusting after you?”

“Who says I stayed out of trouble?”

One devilish dimple shows on his face and his jaw tics with tension. I’ve thrown caution to the wind admitting to him I might have a past. In fact, I don’t even remember the meaning of the word caution. It’s as if the entire concept has been erased from my memory. Standing in my bra and panties, I watch him pull his cock, hard and swollen, free from his shorts.