Page 39 of Playing for Keeps

Letting out a long breath, I turn away from her and clear my throat, try not to laugh.

“This was a great dinner, Cat,” I say. “You really impressed me.”

“How about my matchmaking? Are you impressed with that too?”

I laugh along with everyone else. Everyone but Chloe.

“Frankly, Cat. I think your matchmaking is a home run,” she says. That stops everyone’s laughter. Shit. Everything in me tenses up, including and especially my cock, but I keep my smile in place. What the fuck, Chloe?

“Is that right?” Cat prompts, and I want to drag Chloe from the table now and get her out of here before another outrageous word comes from her mouth. But I don’t because I haven’t lost my mind completely, although it’s more than halfway gone.

“Yes.” Chloe turns to me. “Except for the fact that we’re mortal enemies, Fontanna and I are a perfect match.” She smiles and winks, lifting our joined hands in the air. I think everyone gets the picture. They all know we want to fuck around even though we hate each other—not exactly, but it’s a good shorthand for whatever the fuck antagonism we have going on.

“On that note.” I stand, pulling her with me. She aims her sizzling eyes at me and doesn’t hold back, throwing her napkin on her plate.

Gabe claps his hands and Sean and Hunter join in, then the women, and Cat takes a bow.

“Whatever,” Cat says, “I’ll take it.”

Sean grins and is about to say something and I know it’s about the bet so I say to him, “Shut up, Sean. Don’t say another word.”

He cracks up and Chloe looks suspicious but I lead her from the dining room through the kitchen and out the back door, not stopping to say goodbye as they all shout their good-nights and good-lucks and wolf whistles and who the fuck knows what other bawdy comments they’re bellowing in between laughs and snickers.

I take her to my car, holding on to her hand in an iron grip as if I’m afraid she’s going to escape. I don’t know what I’m worried about. Except everything because she’s a fucking reporter. But that doesn’t explain my nerves, my need, my irrational desire to get between her legs and eat her out until I own her and she cries my name and swears undying loyalty forever. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the whiskey, because I’m out of my mind and I hope to God it’s the whiskey and not her.

“Where’s your car?” I belatedly realize that if I drive her home she’ll have to leave her car here, but I don’t trust her to go in separate cars. She might take me anywhere if I follow her.

“I took an Uber here.” She smiles and leans against me as we stand at the passenger door. I wrap my arms around her because it’s inevitable, and press her into my flaming erection. She wriggles, positioning her hips just so, making us fit together in a way that makes me want to stand there like that with her all night long.

Except I want more, so much more from her, want to give her the wildest orgasm, multiple times so that she never wants another man ever again. What the fuck am I thinking?

“I was hoping to get lucky tonight,” she says, grinding against me. “What do you think my chances are?”

“Oh, you’ll get lucky. More than once. You might even lose count.” I turn her around and open the door, let her go so she can slide into my car. I want to be inside her so fucking much.

But as I go around and get in, I promise myself not to let that happen. I need to draw the line. I can’t sell myself so cheaply. If we’re going to explore our chemistry, then I need to do it on my terms and she has to break down first, she has to lose control, get all kinds of vulnerable and at my mercy until she wouldn’t dream of ever betraying me. I need to own her, or at least own her pussy, before I bury myself in her and get lost.

She’s strangely silent on the ride to her house as she clutches my thigh, not moving except for the vibration of excitement I can feel in her hand. Her address is in my car’s navigator, but I have it memorized and I know the way there. Everything about her is emblazoned in my memory in neon lights, with bold underlining and super emojis of skulls and crossbones and pulsating lips.

Pulling into her driveway behind the car with Georgia plates I assume is hers, I shut the engine and pop my door open without even looking at her. I don’t even want to take an extra second, no pausing for thinking about what I’m doing, not that my cock brain would let me back out now.

Of course she jumps from the car before I have a chance to open her door, but I make up for it by taking her hand.

“You in a hurry, Fontanna?” There’s a slight tremor in her cocksure voice that could be fear, but most likely it’s excitement.

“You have a problem with that, Smitty?” She laughs and it sends a nerve-jangling shot straight to my dick, tensing me more than I already am. Taking the keys from her hand, I put my super dexterity and quickness to good use and open the door before she takes her next breath on a big inhale.

“Show me the way,” I say. She doesn’t let go of my hand as she quicksteps up the narrow stairs and I follow behind, her sweet ass in my face so I can barely refrain from sinking my teeth in to test it. Instead, I put a hand on her, caressing her bottom and around to her hip until we get to her apartment door two floors up. She pulls out a second set of keys and opens it before I have a chance, faster than I could. A blip of admiration automatically registers as if she were a teammate whose quickness I value.

But she’s not my teammate. She’s on an opposing team in a whole other league and I’m walking into her apartment, which I could argue is like walking into the spider’s web, but I shut down the negative thoughts because my desire is far outweighing my overabundant media caution right now.

She leads me into a surprisingly airy room for an attic with a view of the industrial waterway known as the Chelsea Creek. “Lovely view,” I say. She lets go of my hand instantly and pulls her dress over her head in such a slick motion I should accuse her of moonlighting as a stripper.

My mouth drops open as she spins around once in front of me and before I have a chance to reach for her, to touch the gleaming lush skin, feel the dark nipples standing out on her breasts or rip the panties down her thighs, she moves to the wall and pulls a bed out of what looks like a closet.

“Damn, Chloe,” I whisper as I come up behind her, reaching around, helping her lower the bed to the floor. But I’m done talking when she turns in my arms and her bare breasts are crushed against me because I tighten my hold on her. Instead, I lower my mouth to her upturned face and take her lips in mine, the sensual feel of her fleshy lower lip as my tongue explores making me groan low.

Kicking off my shoes, there’s only one thing on my mind and I push her back onto the bed. She’s still wearing her heels and that’s all right with me. But—