Penalty Play Page 7

  See his piano? Really? As in see his piano, like, come up for coffee? That was a pretty unique line—if that was what he meant. Again, she was stumped for words.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching before they dropped back down. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  Would he bring his grandmother into the conversation if he was just trying to get her to his house to have sex?

  “Did she play?”

  “Yes.”

  And that was it. He shut down so quickly she could almost see the shutters snapping closed. Why? What were his secrets, and why did she want to know them?

  If she said no, would she regret it? Here was a chance to take what she’d been trying so hard not to want. It’d be impulsive and wild and bold—exactly what she wouldn’t let herself be for fear of hurting her family. And December was so dang close…

  “When should I come over?” she shot back before she changed her mind. Maybe it wasn’t a booty call, but if it was, one with Henrik would be hot and hopefully as sweaty and dirty as she’d been imagining.

  Yes, seriously hot.

  All that power beneath her… Her sex clenched just thinking about grinding down on top of him. Playing with his balls as she rode him long and slow. She cleared her throat, heat rushing up her neck to warm her cheeks. Yeah, she would definitely love to get wild with him at least once.

  Of course, actually seeing his piano would also be amazing—in a very different way.

  “How about now?” His shoulders had shifted back just enough to widen his chest and return the confidence to his presence. His hair ruffled with the wind, feathered across his forehead in a dance she wanted to catch.

  She shoved her hair away from her face again, caution warring with want. How about now? Why not? Why? Because he asked, and I want to say yes.

  “Okay,” she said, the word dragging out on a hitched syllable. Okay. Yes. She wanted to see his “piano.” This was good.

  His grin broke out, wide yet hesitant. “Cool.”

  She ignored the thumping in her chest and dug her phone out of her pocket. “Give me your address. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I can drive you.”

  “I have to work later, so it’s fine.” She opened the navigation app, ready to add his information. It was several moments before he gave her his address. So he was north of her parents’ house. “That’d be a long way to bring me back anyway. So this works.”

  “I drive it all the time. It’s not bad.”

  “It’ll save you some gas.” And allow her to leave when she wanted. She was being impetuous, not stupid. She tucked her phone away and motioned behind her. “I’m parked that way.”

  “I can walk you.” He took a step in that direction before she grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “It’s okay.” Chivalry had its limits.

  “But—”

  “It’s fine. I can walk there by myself. I do it every day.”

  Indecision warred on his face before he nodded. “Call if you get lost.”

  “I will.” She squeezed his arm, just now remembering she still held it. Getting out of there before she said something stupid seemed like a really smart idea. She turned and walked away, the wind gusting a refreshing blast of cold air onto her heated face.

  Was she really ready for this? A possible hookup with Henrik?

  They were two consenting adults. There was nothing wrong with dropping by his house for a round of afternoon sex—or playing the piano. Lord knew she couldn’t bring him back to “her place.” Just the thought of sneaking him through the kitchen past her mother had her snorting.

  Seven more months, that was all. She’d get her degree…and then what? Almost eight years later, and her medical bills still hung over her family. Add in her school loans that’d kick in after she graduated, and she’d be lucky if she could afford to move out before she was forty—if she made it to forty.

  No. She had better things to think about right now. Like what she was going to do with Henrik when she got to his house.

  She was probably crazy to be doing this, but she was tired of second-guessing herself and living with doubts. Hadn’t she’d learned early and hard to grab what she wanted while she could? Yet here she was living the life of a good little girl.

  She wanted Henrik Grenick and she was going to have him.

  Even if it was just for the afternoon.

  Chapter Seven

  Henrik stood in the middle of his living room and simply breathed. In and out. In and out. His clenched fists, shoved deep in his pockets, slowly loosened. In and out. He opened his eyes, the woods greeting him. The wind beat at the windows in increasingly stronger gusts that worked the leaves from the trees in a swirling confusion of color.

  Jacqui was coming over. She’d fill up the space and make the silence go away.

  What if she wanted to play the piano? It was what he’d invited her over to see and do.

  The beautiful clear notes his sister had coached from it floated into his mind, both soothing and damning. Could he handle hearing it played again?

  He paid to have it played—when he wasn’t home—tuned and generally maintained. He knew it was still in perfect condition, even if he hadn’t played it himself. Jacqui would treasure its grace and musical quality, he sensed that. She appreciated music too much not to.

  Where was she?

  He checked his phone, but he hadn’t missed a text or call. Maybe she’d changed her mind.

  Another long breath, forced in through his nose, out through his mouth. That would be fine too. Better. He’d only mess this up, eventually.

  He turned to the piano, the haunting symbol of his past mistakes. Of soured dreams and broken promises. Emma was supposed to have that piano, not him.

  Stupid fucking drugs. Everything would be so different if she hadn’t overdosed on a fishbowl of stolen pills and teenage invincibility.

  The doorbell shot out a three-note melody, the last chime echoing through the high ceiling before it crashed down on him.

  Jacqui was here.

  In and out. One last deep breath that he held until the ghosts were gone. Like that ever truly happened.

  Jacqui could play the piano. His piano. He’d let her. Maybe it’d help.

  Her back was to him when he opened the door, brown hair twisting about in the wind. Her backpack was gripped in her hand, dangling at her side. “Is that an ice rink?”

  He looked over her head to the platforms erected in an oval on the other side of his driveway. “It will be. Once it freezes.”

  “You have your own rink.” There was a bit of sarcastic awe in her voice, but her crooked smile took the bite out of it when she turned around. “My brothers would be so envious.”

  He stood aside so she could enter. “They’re welcome to use it.” The neighborhood kids used it more than he did. That was who he really built it for.

  She laughed. “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Then they’d know I was here.” She flashed a smile and breezed past him. Stunned, he watched her stride into his open living room until she slowly stalled in the center. “That’s a nice view.”

  He closed the door, still puzzled over her brother comment. Was she embarrassed to be here? Of him?

  It wouldn’t be the first time that’d happened. But with her… He rubbed the ache that cramped his chest and shoved the thought aside. She was only here to see his piano.

  She transferred her gaze to take in the rest of his place as she turned and was now staring back at him. “You have a very nice home.” Her face was serious, no joking left.

  “Thank you.” Pleasure eased in to soothe the sore spot in his chest. “Can I take your coat?” He stepped forward, catching her little smile.

  Her scent flowed up when she shifted out of her coat, the lingering fresh air filled with a softer floral mix to tempt him closer. The faded light of the cloud-covered day lent a darker hue to everything but her. Her cheeks still glowed again
st creamy skin, and her lips were red and shiny. Had she just licked them? Were they as welcoming as they looked?

  His blood rushed south to perk up his dick and leave a flash of heat simmering in his groin. He couldn’t remember ever being this attracted to a woman.

  He shifted, cleared his throat and motioned toward the far corner. “Here’s the piano. But then, you can see that.”

  Her frown lined her brow before it leveled out, eyes widening. “Oh.” She swallowed, wet her lips in a way that drew his eyes and hardened his dick more. “So you really did want to show me your piano.”

  “Well, yeah.” Now he was frowning, lost.

  Her laughter bubbled light and flowing across the space. “Okay,” she said around another soft chuckle, head swiveling.

  His stomach sank, mouth going dry. He’d missed something. She wasn’t being exactly subtle, but at least she hadn’t called him stupid yet. He ran a hand over his nape and tried to figure out what she was laughing at then gave up.

  “What’d I miss?” Asking was always the fastest route. It was better than being poked at with small digs for the next hour.

  She flattened her lips, assessing him, a curious expression puzzling her face. “I can’t figure you out.”

  Her jacket crinkled in his fist before he forced himself to loosen his hold. “Is that good or bad?” Most people didn’t bother to try. It was probably better not to hear her response. He hung her coat in the closet, took a long breath and headed back into the room.

  She hadn’t moved from her spot. The baggy sweatshirt hid her curves, but it was somehow more appealing than the clingy, plunging garments his usual girlfriends wore. He actually knew how to get Jacqui out of her sweatshirt, unlike some of the outfits he’d tried to navigate.

  A smile popped to his lips before he could stop it.

  “That’s good,” she said, and it took him a second to pick up their conversation. “I like puzzles.” Oh. Him. She was talking about him. Not a good thing, usually.

  “Didn’t you want to see the piano?”

  Her head dropped back, and her low laughter filled the room again. She was grinning when she lifted her head and strolled toward him. “Well, we could look at the piano. Play it, even.”

  He blinked just to be sure he was seeing her clearly. Yup. The heat in her gaze was definitely there. Smoldering with the same intensity he’d seen in the practice room. Just as passionate too.

  Fuck me.

  That was exactly what she looked like she wanted to do. He’d seen that look often enough to know it instantly.

  His pulse accelerated with each step closer she took. Anticipation prickled over his skin before it hunkered down with his desire to flush him with longing.

  She stopped inches before him, head tilting back to stare up at him. “I suck at seduction, so I won’t even try. But I thought you invited me here to have sex.”

  Was there a right way to answer that? One that didn’t blow the moment and every chance he had with her?

  “Sex is good,” he finally said, fists clenching tighter to keep from reaching out for her. “But that’s not all I want.”

  “No?” Her brow rose. “What else do you want?”

  Awareness hummed between them in a frequency too high to hear. She made him hunger for things he didn’t understand. Dream of things that were impossible for him to obtain. Yet with her…

  “More.” That was all he knew. Whatever it meant or was, that was what he wanted. “You’re more than sex.”

  Her nose wrinkled before she bit her lip, hesitation rushing over her face. “How about we start with sex and see how that goes?”

  The glimmer of hope he’d held disappeared with those words. Sex was where all his relationships started. “More” never turned into the right “more” after that. But if this was all he could have with Jacqui, he wasn’t saying no.

  This was his normal, and he was a guy.

  One with a stirring dick and a beautiful, fascinating woman offering to take care of it for him.

  “My bedroom’s over there.” He nodded behind her before finally reaching out to brush her hair over her shoulder. It was as silky as it looked.

  Her eyes drifted closed, lips parting on an inhale. Red and natural. Inviting. He gave in to the desire that’d simmered for days and stooped to taste them. Sweet. Soft. Untainted by chemicals or covering.

  He savored the uniqueness, his tongue flicking out to capture her taste on his own lips. It wasn’t even close to enough. More. The word reverberated in his mind. Begged and screamed for it.

  If this was his only shot with her, he wasn’t going to rush it.

  He grazed the back of his fingers down her jaw, so soft. Her eyelids slowly lifted to reveal brown pools of intent.

  She brushed a kiss over his knuckles that shot right up his arm to steal his breath. “Do you have surround sound with Bluetooth or a docking station?”

  His brain stuttered to a halt, snapped then reengaged on the tangent. “Yes. Bluetooth.”

  “Turn it on.” She ducked out of his touch to dig in her backpack.

  What the hell? He found the remote and turned the system on.

  She clicked around on her phone, and a few moments later music filled the room. The beginning notes of an alternative song flowed out, and he recognized it immediately.

  “We The Kings?”

  Her grin stole whatever doubts he had. She could listen to anything she wanted if it got that reaction from her. “It’s a playlist.”

  “A…” He fumbled for the word. “Sex playlist?” He finally went with that. “Fuck list” sounded too crude. Did she do this often enough to have a playlist for it?

  Her laugh was teasing but not bad. “No.” Nothing further came before she retrieved a plastic grocery store bag from her backpack. “Do we need this?”

  He frowned. “What’s that?” The sense that he was once again missing something rose up to band around his chest. Sex wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. Was it?

  They kissed, groped and ended up with his dick in her. He could do that.

  “Condoms. Lube.”

  “Lube?” What was she planning?

  She shrugged. “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “We need it.”

  For what?

  She said it all with a straight face. Nothing coy or embarrassed about it. Hell, the heat was creeping up his neck the longer he stared at the bag. He shifted again. Swallowed. “Right.” This was either going to be the best or worst sex ever.

  “So. Do we?” The plastic crinkled when she shook it. “Need this?”

  The song changed, a variation of the same beat with a different tune. It hummed over him, shoved at him to respond. Move. Do something.

  “I have them,” he mumbled and motioned toward his bedroom. But the lube had always been for solo use. Did girls need it? Had he missed something important on that?

  Entirely new nerves rushed up to press on his chest. He’d been having sex since he was sixteen, and absolutely no one had bothered to tell him girls needed lube? Where?

  His eyes sprang open. Did she want anal sex?

  Blood rushed to his dick at the inviting idea.

  “Hey.” She was moving to him, concern clear. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” He curled his fingers in tighter, hands still buried in his pockets.

  She was close enough to kiss again. To examine the varying shades of brown in her eyes as she studied him. Chin lifted, brows lowered. So focused on him.

  What did she see?

  He didn’t dare move.

  This had quickly become her show. Hell, it’d been her show since he’d met her. That was good though. It was better that way. Easier.

  She lifted a hand to smooth a finger over his forehead. “Here.” She tapped lightly on his temple. “What’s going on in here?”

  In his head? Fuck. She didn’t really want to know the answer to that. No one ever cared about what he was thin
king. Not for real. They saw his size, what he did and dismissed his brain.

  And he propagated their assumptions.

  “I can see the tangents racing everywhere.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, curled them around his ear before trailing down his jaw.

  Shivers followed in her wake, cascading down his neck to fade into his chest. Was he that transparent? If so, then how come no one else ever saw through him like she did?

  She urged his hand out of his pocket, then laced her fingers with his. He should answer her. Say something, anything, yet he couldn’t form the words. They were all stuck in his chest behind the rock that’d settled there.

  She backed up, her smile so gentle he gasped, a huge inhalation that filled his lungs and lifted the weight away. A quick glance around had her leading him to the open door of his bedroom. He followed her, his relief so big he almost stumbled over it.

  The music trailed after them, filtering into his bedroom to cover the silence. The bass strummed a rhythm with the drums that supported the vocals, and he focused on the solid consistency. That was good. Nice. Had she known how much he hated the quiet?

  She turned when she reached his bed, her smile still in place. “Is this okay?”

  “Perfect.” He meant it too. Despite his fumbling reception, this was absolutely perfect. “Whatever you want.”

  Her smile widened, a devious glint lighting her eyes. “Whatever I want?”

  His dick twitched and his breath caught. “Absolutely.”

  She dropped his hand to run her palms up his hips and glide under the hem of his sweater. “Then I want this off.”

  He moved automatically, jerking his sweater over his head to toss it aside. The appreciation in her gaze wasn’t exactly new. Others had praised his body, but her lingering touch took the approval further.

  She grazed her fingers down the bulge of his obliques then up his abdomen, which clenched and rippled at the delicate sensation. She spread her palms over his ribs, raised them up to glide across his chest, eyes never wavering in their focus.

  “Smooth.” The soft comment was spoken more to herself than him, but he followed it.

  “Scandinavian heritage.” His heavier beard led most to think his chest hair would be just as thick.