Thrown By Love (14 page)

She laughed. The little curve of her lips called to him to explore her mouth, but this wasn’t the time or place. Still he stepped toward her and couldn’t resist brushing a kiss to her cheek.

“The show’s starting,” he said as he straightened. The warmth of her, the scent of her had him thinking that there might be a much better way to spend the morning than in a crowded auditorium. “Want to skip out and walk instead?”

“Royce is narrating this show. I’ve been hoping to see him in action.”

Royce. Not Scotty’s idea of a perfect first date. But when he saw the excitement in Chloe’s eyes, he bit back the stab of jealousy and offered her his arm.

“Better hurry or you might have to pull rank and boot an old lady out of her seat,” he said as she laid her fingers in the crook of his arm. “They told me this show’s sold out.”

The usher guided them with her flashlight to the last seats in the back row.

Royce’s smooth English accent was a perfect complement to the spectacular show. But more marvelous were the hushed insights that Chloe whispered in Scotty’s ear. She added poetry to fact and brought the story alive. Her passion for the intricacies of the universe almost eclipsed his pulsing awareness of her every move and his nearly uncontrollable urge to steal a kiss in the darkness. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She stiffened at first, perhaps surprised. But when she softened against him and leaned her head against his shoulder, he could think of nothing but getting her alone someplace where they could do more than cuddle in the dark, a thought he’d best put out of his mind. Though he loved being near her, he knew he needed to keep it casual, go slow. Of course, he was doing a damn poor job of that so far.

He lost himself in thoughts of her, in images of them together, so that when the lights blazed on, he was shocked. He’d been so distracted by his imagination that he’d lost all awareness of the program. The chattering crowd began to filter out, and he rose from his seat as Chloe stood.

She looked at her watch. “I wanted to stay and talk with Royce, but I have to get back.”

“No time for a coffee?” Scotty tried to sound casual, but the urge pounding in him made that impossible. “What about our talk? You were going to explain something to me.”

She raised her hand to her collarbone and tilted her head, apparently considering his proposal. Then she stroked her fingertips from his elbow to his wrist.

“Would you like to come out to Woodlands on Thursday?”

Thursday was a rare day off, but she’d know that.

“Woodlands?” He wasn’t big on restaurants—conversations were stilted and the places were never private.

“I have to deal with some things on my dad’s estate. It’ll be quiet there. We can talk.”

He wasn’t big on estates either. The flip in his gut told him to stay out of territory so far out of his class. But though his mind said absolutely not, he pulled out his phone and tapped in the address as his voice said yes.

Chapter Eleven

On Thursday Scotty turned off the freeway and navigated the country roads and rolling hills that led toward the Santa Cruz Mountains. He passed a couple of gated estates that looked like settings out of a movie. He hadn’t known there were so many estates in the hills, but what he could see impressed him. When his GPS barked at him to turn left, he nosed his car up a tree-lined lane.

He stopped at a forged-iron gate flanked by two huge lions. Why was it that fancy estates always had lions guarding their high-tech gates? He looked closer. And then he chuckled. The guardians weren’t lions, they were saber-toothed tigers, expertly sculpted. Old Man McNalley had a sense of humor. Scotty wished he’d known the guy.

He pushed the button on the gate security box. Chloe answered and told him to park in the front drive. He’d imagined a housekeeper answering, not Chloe. And he hadn’t anticipated the waver in her voice. But it matched the rip of nerves in his chest. They were both nervous, and that agitated him even more. She obviously recognized a connection between them, just as he did.

He relaxed his hold on the steering wheel, telling himself they were only going to talk.

Sunlight speared through the towering cottonwoods arching over the drive. The setup reminded him of Alex’s place up in Sonoma, but the countryside was different here. The chatter of birds pierced the quiet as he rounded a bend. He was prepared to see a big house, but he wasn’t prepared for the massive mansion and outbuildings of Woodlands.

The main house loomed three stories high, with a center structure flanked by enormous wings. Along the roof, multiple chimneys rose high and at the front of the main house, marble columns curved around the center portico. He was vaguely aware of lush gardens and landscaping, of the vista that rolled on and on beyond the house to the hills along the horizon. His family’s farm at Sunridge was big—the house at the heart of it was the grandest place in southeast Nebraska—but this place was over the top.

If he hadn’t been driving a sports car, he might’ve imagined he’d been whisked back in time. It was like one of those places featured in the BBC shows his sister loved to watch, where servants lived downstairs and the family of the house lived above them.

He knew there was a gap between his life and Chloe’s, but he’d never fathomed just how yawning that gap actually was. Class and status were rarely talked about in Nebraska and never discussed in the sports world. In sports, performance dictated your life. Your future was your own to carve with discipline and determination.

He pulled up in front of the house. Chloe stood on the steps, framed by stone columns and an arched doorway. She raised her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. A light breeze lifted the hem of her dress, curving it to her legs. Was there some damn store that made dresses do that on purpose, dresses that set off a woman’s every curve so a man saw more than if there’d been no cloth there in the first place? He knew he was being irrational and childish, blaming his desire on a dress, but his attempt to maintain control made him cranky. It wasn’t a mood he liked.

“Traffic?” she asked as he closed his car door.

“Not really.” He leaned against the car. “Not too bad,” he amended, trying to lighten up.

He decided to ignore her dress and focused on her face. The gentle smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes was even more distracting. He felt his body tighten and wasn’t sure if suppressing his emotions was the right choice for the circumstances.

She didn’t move toward him. “It can be awful. It’s why we have the place in San Jose near the ballpark. For game days.”

She looked uncomfortable, and Scotty noticed she still said
we
. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get used to losing a parent. Especially if it was the last family you had. He’d read Peter McNalley’s obituary; Chloe was alone.

“Want to stretch your legs?” She motioned toward the side of the house. “The back gardens have some lovely summer blooms.”

Summer blooms were not front and center in his mind, but he joined her near the bottom of the steps. She lifted her head and met his gaze. He moved one hand to her arm, stroked up and then down. He hadn’t planned to do it, to touch her. This was to be a talk.

Her skin was warm and soft beneath his fingertips. She lowered her hand from her eyes and tilted her head, studying him. She bit her lower lip, and her pulse throbbed in her throat, just below her jawline. He was a pitcher; he read bodies for a living. Hers was screaming at him. It lit a fire he had no interest in extinguishing. He slid his hand up the back of her neck. When she didn’t move away, he burrowed his fingers into her hair, as if sliding them into the softest and most well-worn glove, and lowered his lips to hers. She gasped against his mouth, and he thought she was going to protest. He steeled himself to pull away, but she opened her lips and all thought about gaps and class and baseball, all the carefully rehearsed lines he’d prepared, vanished, and he let himself dive into the raw passion that her kiss seared through him. Though he’d imagined being tender, being gentle, he pulled her against him and plundered her lips with a passion that was nearly beyond his control. He knew what a pounding pulse felt like, but this pounding struck him as a force that came from the center of the earth—powerful and unrelenting and raw. The kiss went on and on, until they were both breathing hard and their hands began exploring. His body throbbed as he swept her into his arms. With her cradled against his chest, he could see the curve of her breast rising above the open neck of her dress. He couldn’t curse the dressmakers now.

She’d left the front door ajar. He shouldered it open and carried her inside. He released her onto the surface of a round table in the middle of the dimly lit hall. She wrapped her legs around his hips and tugged him to her.

A door banged down the hall, startling him.

“Your staff?” He stepped back, but kept his arms curved around her shoulders. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Day off.” She ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. “Must be the wind.”

He didn’t wait for more talk. He tangled his fingers in her hair and dipped down to her lips. She met his mouth in a deep, pulsing kiss that kindled a wanting he couldn’t hold back. He skimmed his hand down her body and cupped her breast, felt her nipple harden under the thin fabric. He’d imagined touching her like this since the day he’d met her, but the tantalizing sensations that touching her fired in him were beyond any he could’ve conjured.

She nipped at his lips and then pressed him away and tugged his polo shirt out of his jeans. He stepped back and pulled it off in a single motion.

Knowing how to change uniforms on the run had its advantages.

Eyeing Chloe’s dress, he shook his head. It had a tiny belt and even tinier buttons, way too many buttons. He fumbled with the top one, but she closed her fingers over his hand and moved it aside. Without taking her eyes off him, she undid the belt and let it fall against the table. With a smile that nearly made him come, she slowly undid the hidden zipper that ran down the front of her dress.

At night, when he’d lain awake picturing this moment, he’d imagined the slow journey he’d take exploring her body, the patient tenderness he’d share as he pleasured her. But when she pushed the dress off her shoulders and it fell, revealing the curves of her breasts covered by a white lace bra, he knew he’d imagined wrong. Though part of him wanted to simply admire her dazzling beauty, the passionate fury she’d fired in him wouldn’t stand for that. He pulled the lacy bra to her waist and took her already bud-hard nipple into his mouth.

God, she tasted like heaven.

She shivered and whispered something, but he couldn’t hear, could only feel. He slid his hand under the hem of her dress and along the smooth skin of her thigh. When he reached her panties, he skimmed his fingers along the silky fabric, feeling her wetness through it. She gripped her hands in his hair and moaned, the sound low and throaty, causing him to harden, to buck against her. He thumbed the fabric aside, and she arched toward him as he stroked her.

She was hot, hot and wet. And he was on fire.

She shifted her legs and he took advantage, sliding one finger inside her, stroking rhythmically, steadily.

“
Ohh
. . . ”

He released her breast, angled his head to watch his stroking fingers and her restless hips. She was beautiful, her skin flushed, her body open to him. He added his thumb, circling her clit, rubbing, almost preening in satisfaction when her hips rocked against his hand.

She was so responsive, and she smelled so good. His mouth watered for another taste. But not only of her skin. This time he wanted to taste her essence.

He pressed his palm flat against the curve of her belly and eased her back onto the table. Then he bent down and tasted her, using his tongue to trace the same slow circling patterns that his fingers had. She bucked against him with a muffled cry. He traced the pattern again and then again, knowing he’d found her sweet spot. Her body shook, and she cried out his name as her ankles gripped hard around his hips. Then, after she gave herself over to the power of her orgasm, she went limp.

For a moment he didn’t move, just rested his cheek against her thigh and watched her breasts rise and fall as breath came back to her.
Beautiful
.

When she shuddered and opened her eyes, he straightened and ran his hands along the curve of her hips. Lying flushed and sated against the gleaming wood, she looked like a nymph sent by the gods to torture him with her beauty. She met his gaze, and a roguish light entered her eyes. She pressed herself up and wriggled a few inches away from him, her breasts swaying, drawing his attention again, and then she bent forward to finger the waist of his jeans.

“Take these off,” she said, nearly breathless.

He suddenly felt exposed in the vast hallway “Here?”

“Unless you prefer the library.”

He looked to where she nodded. The room had a door.

He scooped her up off the table, with her laughing, and carried her into the book-lined room, easing her to her feet in the middle of a plush carpet. Her hands pressed against his chest, and she steadied against him. Her muscles quivered under his fingers when he tugged her dress down. She stepped out of it and undid her bra and tossed it to the floor. He knelt before her and pressed his mouth to the wet silk of her panties. She shivered as he dragged his fingers along the edge and pulled them down her thighs. She gripped his hair tight—and God, he loved it—as he tracked his lips and hands up the creamy skin of her leg. When he stroked his tongue between her folds and thrust into her salty-sweet wetness, her knees buckled. He eased her to the carpet.