An After-Hours Affair

Nine

The awards had been handed out by the governor, the speeches made, dinner was finished and Mitch’s distinguished plaque for the Youth Outreach Award was parked with the others on a table for attendees to admire. As the best days in Mitch’s life went, this would probably rank as the worst.

He’d made it through his short speech, thanking all the right people, but all he could see was that Jenny was with Jeffrey instead of him. And echoing inside his brain were his doctor’s words from earlier this morning. His worst fear had been realized today. Mitch was never going to play football again.

He hadn’t said a word to anyone, and now he was standing on the sidelines as the dancing began, accepting congratulations from friends, acquaintances and strangers while watching Jenny in Jeffrey’s arms.

He should have talked her into the gray wool blend instead of the rainbow silk after all. He resented the way the delicate dress flowed around her sexy legs, a splash of color in a sea of monochrome. Her hair was styled in a crown of braids, wisps flowing free over her temples and along her neck. And she’d found a pair of white silk sandals. The heels were higher than he’d pictured, but they were strappy and delicate, rhinestones winking around her slim ankles.

She was perfect, and it was all for another man.

He took a deep drink of his single malt.

She disappeared from his view, and he reflexively shifted, nearly knocking into an older gentleman in a tux, who scowled at Mitch, his bushy brows drawing together. Mitch gave a perfunctory apology, not particularly caring that the man might be someone important.

He wove his way through the crowd, trying to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t a pro football player anymore. What was he now? Just a guy with a nest egg and no career, whose services would soon not even be required at the TCC. They’d have a new president, and Mitch would have little to do and nothing of value to contribute to the community.

He came closer to the edge of the dance floor, telling himself to stop wallowing in self-pity. But watching Jenny laugh in Jeffrey’s arms made everything that much worse. Jeffrey should let go of her. He needed to let go of her right now. In Mitch’s raw, emotional state, he needed Jenny in his arms, not in his teammate’s.

Scratch that. He and Jeffrey weren’t teammates anymore.

Mitch stuck his glass on an empty tray stand as the music changed from one song to the next. The band was sticking to classics, with the occasional jazz tune tossed in. No pop and no rock, and apparently no country, even though this was Texas.

When the floral arrangements were two feet high, the main course was Kobe beef and Newfoundland lobster, and the average carat weight per woman was in the low double digits, he supposed Keith Urban was out of the question. Still, he had an urge to scoop Jenny up, get rid of his bow tie and jacket, and head for the nearest honky-tonk where they could kick back.

He craned his neck, scanning the floor. Where had she gone?

“Having a good time so far?” came Jeffrey’s deep voice.

“A blast,” Mitch responded drily, determinedly swallowing his misery, bracing himself for an up close view of Jenny in the dress. But when he turned his head, she wasn’t with Jeffrey.

“She’s out on the dance floor.” Jeffrey had correctly interpreted Mitch’s expression.

“You left her there alone?” That was even worse.

“She’s got a new partner.”

“Who?” Mitch demanded.

Jeffrey chuckled. “I didn’t get his name.”

Mitch strained to look, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of her dress. “You didn’t tell her I was going to be here, did you?”

“Was I supposed to tell her that?” Jeffrey accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter.

Mitch declined another drink. “I saw her expression of shock when my name was called at the podium.”

“Yet she wasn’t sitting anywhere close to you.”

“Don’t get cute. I thought you would have given her a heads-up is all.” Mitch took a step back to get out of the line of circulation around the dance floor.

“Why didn’t you tell her yourself?”

“I barely saw her this week.” Except in the office. And in the office, they were being careful to stick to business.

“She told me about the dress,” said Jeffrey.

“That was Cole.”

“Cole said it was you.”

“Cole has a big mouth.” Mitch changed his mind about the wine and caught the next waiter who came by.

“So, why are you turning yourself inside out watching me dance with her?”

Mitch grunted a noncommittal answer. So he didn’t want Jenny at the mercy of a player like Jeffrey. That was simply good taste.

“You don’t want to date her,” Jeffrey pointed out, watching Mitch a little too closely.

“Of course I don’t want to date her. But I don’t want you to date her, either.”

“Noble sentiment. If you were her father, and if this was the nineteenth century.”

“Ha, ha,” Mitch mocked.

“Seriously, Mitch. Am I making my point out there?” He cocked his head to the dance floor. “You need to either start dating her yourself or step aside.”

“I already stepped aside.”

“The hell you did. You haven’t taken your eyes off her all night.”

“I can’t see her now.”

“She’s to the left of the band.”

Mitch zeroed in. He felt a little buzz of relief at seeing her proper stance with her dance partner. He could live with those six inches of airspace between them. But he wasn’t so crazy about the guy’s expression, nor about the way he kept glancing at her cleavage.

“Tell me something, Mitch.”

“Yeah?”

“That guy she’s dancing with? What do you want to do to him?”

“Rip his head off and kick it through the uprights.”

“I rest my case.”

“You have no case.”

“You can’t take out every guy who wants to sleep with her. Because take a good look at her, Mitch, lots of guys are going to want to sleep with her.”

“It better not frickin’ be you.”

“It’ll never be me.”

Mitch didn’t trust that promise, not one little bit. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my friend, and because I know what’s going on here.”

For a split second, Mitch thought Jeffrey meant his shoulder injury. But he quickly realized it was impossible for Jeffrey to know what the doctor had said.

“What’s going on here?” Mitch asked.

“What’s going on here is that you’ve been sacked one too many times behind the line of scrimmage, and it’s resulted in serious brain damage. Otherwise, you’d be out there on that dance floor with Jenny. She’s incredible, Mitch. And she said she wants to date you. But, oh, no, you’re so busy protecting your dating future with generic blonde bombshells, that you-”

“That’s not what this is about,” Mitch growled.

Jeffrey snorted. “The hell it’s not.”

“Give me one reason why I should take advice from you.”

“Because I screwed up. I had my chance with Celeste, and I blew it. I have to start all over again.” His voice went lower. “You watched me screw up, so now you don’t have to.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Mitch, even as his thigh muscles quivered with the need to cross the hall to Jenny. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t fair to Jenny to date her. But a growing chorus in his brain kept telling him he wouldn’t hurt her. He liked her too much to ever let himself hurt her. He honestly didn’t know which side of the argument to believe anymore.

“Song’s about to change,” Jeffrey warned.

Mitch swore under his breath. Giving in, he took the first few steps toward the dance floor.

Mitch was heading her way. Jenny watched him weave through the crowd on the dance floor. His gaze had locked on hers, and his jaw was set to a determined angle, shoulders square, stride eating up the distance between them. Judging by the flare in his blue eyes, he was either going to ask her to dance or have her arrested.

The strains of the music faded around her, and she relaxed her hold on her partner, stepping away.

“Thank you.” She smiled and nodded to the man she’d just met, drawing away and switching her attention back to Mitch.

She drew a little hitch of a breath, letting her arms fall to her sides and reflexively moistening her lips. She felt pretty tonight in a way she never had before. It was the dress, the hairstyle, the subtle makeup and the delicate shoes. And there was no denying, it was also the way men regarded her.

Normally, she caught very few eyes. At the wedding and the football party, when she’d been dressed in such sophisticated clothes, their interest had been frankly sexual. But tonight was different. There was respect in their eyes, a deference in their tone when they asked for a dance.

Jenny smiled to herself, thinking she could get used to this.

Mitch was thirty feet away now. She definitely wasn’t seeing deference in his expression. Still, she found herself eagerly anticipating his arrival.

Would he ask her to dance? Would she say yes? What would happen when she was in his arms again? Would all her well-laid plans fly out the window? Because the one thing she definitely could not achieve with Mitch was equanimity.

He came to a halt in front of her.

Neither of them spoke, but his expression softened.

“I like your dress,” he finally spoke. “Thank you.”

The music came up again, and she felt self-conscious standing still in the middle of the swaying couples.

“Did you want to dance?” she asked him, taking away her option to say no. Not that she realistically thought she’d say no to him.

“No,” he told her, making her feel more self-conscious than ever. “I want to get out of here,” he finished.

She wasn’t sure how to take that. Was he saying goodbye? She couldn’t control a wash of disappointment.

He steadily held her gaze. “Come with me.”

Yes, yes, yes. “I came here with Jeffrey,” she reluctantly replied. “I can’t just leave him.”

But Mitch took her hand, something that looked like pain filtering through his eyes. “Only as far as the grounds. I’ve got to get away from this crowd for a few minutes.”

“Is something wrong?” She couldn’t imagine why Mitch would feel a need to leave. He was a celebrity tonight. She’d been surreptitiously watching him while she danced, and he’d had a steady stream of congratulations, everyone from the governor to movie stars.

“Yeah,” he told her, towing her along. “Something’s wrong.”

He shouldered his way through the crowd, her hand still firmly clasped in his as he cleared a path to the bank of French doors that led to a huge concrete veranda.

It was a warm, humid night, and a few couples were engaged in conversation around the lighted deck, drinks in hand, dresses sparkling along with the laughter.

Mitch glanced around, then headed for the stairs that led down to the gardens and manicured lawn of the River Bend Club.

Clouds had obscured the moon, and the only illumination came from the windows of the club behind them, discrete pot lighting in the gardens and the residential buildings far across the river.

At the bottom of the stairs, her heels sank into the soft grass. “Wait,” she gasped.

He abruptly stopped, turning.

“My-” She shook her hand free from his, lifting her feet one at a time and peeling off her sandals and dangling them from one hand. “How far are we going?”

He gazed out ahead of them. “I don’t know. Until we’re away.” His voice was stark, his jaw clenched, his eyes slate gray.

“Mitch, what’s wrong?” She was getting worried.

“Do you mind if we walk?”

“Of course not.” She fell into step, glancing up at his profile every few feet, wondering if he was going to tell her why he was upset.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’s going on, Mitch. Has somebody been hurt?”

“Yeah.” His voice was flat.

Oh, no. “Who?”

“Me.”

“What?” She froze. “How?”

He halted and turned back to face her, voice hoarse. “I spoke to the team doctor today. It’s official. I’m never going to play football again.”

Jenny’s stomach sank. “No,” she rasped.

It wasn’t possible. He’d worked so hard. He’d done everything they’d told him to do. He had the best physiotherapist, the best surgeons. He was young and fit and incredibly healthy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, is there-”

His voice went raw. “You don’t think I asked them to double-check? To triple-check? To call Sweden and see if there was a new procedure or a miracle cure?”

Of course he’d done all that. What a stupid, stupid question.

“It’s done, Jenny.” Now, his voice was devoid of emotion. “It’s over. I’m thirty years old, and my career is finished.”

“Oh, Mitch.” She blinked back the sting of tears, swallowing hard as her throat closed in.

Mitch’s gaze went to the brightly lit castlelike building behind her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be selfish and drag you into this. You should get back inside.”

“But-”

“Jeffrey’s waiting.”

“Jeffrey will understand.”

“I wouldn’t.”

She stepped boldly forward. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

It didn’t matter what he deserved or didn’t deserve. There was no way she was leaving him right now. “Do you need to yell? Scream? Get it out of your system?”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

“You can,” she offered.

“It’s not your fault.”

“That doesn’t matter. If you need to-”

He reached out to her, gently grasping her upper arm. “Stop. You are not going to be my whipping post.”

“I am so sorry, Mitch.” She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, wishing there was something she could do to help.

“Jenny, don’t.”

But she stepped into the touch and pressed more firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Mitch.”

He gave a weak laugh. “And you don’t deserve the likes of me.”

“I don’t have you,” she pointed out.

“Don’t you?” His deep gaze bore into hers.

He trapped her hand, squeezing it tight against his hard chest, his voice hollow and haunted. “I try and I try. But I can’t seem to stay away.”

The shoes slipped from her fingertips, landing softly on the lawn below. Before she could censor them, her feelings whispered out. “Then stop trying.”

Her voice was deep and throaty. And she realized she didn’t want to censor the words. She meant them with all her heart.

She shifted closer still, her breasts brushing the back of his hand. If there was a small measure of comfort she could give him, even if it was only temporary, she was willing.

His chest heaved.

She walked her fingers up the front of his dress shirt, stopping at the black bow tie.

“We can’t,” he strained.

“We can,” she countered. “In fact, we already have.”

He trapped her wandering hand once more. “This will only make it worse.”

She swore she could feel his hurt throbbing tight in his chest. She couldn’t bear to leave him. “Or, it might make it better.”

“And if it ends?” he rasped. “When it ends?”

“When it ends, I’ll survive. You said it yourself, Mitch. Everything in my life doesn’t have to be planned, controlled and logical. Deep down inside, I’m impulsive and wild.”

He groaned her name.

“Let me be impulsive and wild.”

His hand convulsed over hers, tugging it tight against his chest, the blue flame of his gaze heating her through to the core.

“I wish I could make a guarantee,” he rasped.

She smiled serenely, certain of her decision. “I don’t want a guarantee.”

All the way back to his hotel suite, Mitch expected Jenny to change her mind, or else to evaporate from his dream, leaving him to wake up alone, sweating and frustrated in a tangle of sheets.

But she didn’t.

And he closed the suite door behind them, leaning back against it as the latch clicked into place. He watched her walk across the plush carpet, into the dimly lit sitting area.

“You forgot your shoes,” he pointed out.

She turned. “You want to go back?”

He shook his head, stepping forward, tugging the loose end of his bow tie and tossing it on a chair. His tux jacket followed as he moved toward her. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too raw with emotional pain, too tired of fighting his feelings for Jenny. He didn’t have it in him to be strong. Reality would to have to wait for tomorrow.

He reached out to touch her face, stroking his rough fingertips along the smooth satin of her cheek. “How is it possible for you to be so beautiful?”

Her smile widened, green eyes glowing jade.

He cupped her ear, the back of her neck, bending and drawing her close. His lips touched hers, and his eyes closed shut in response to her sweet taste, the moist heat of her mouth.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close and feeling her lithe curves mold against him. She fit so perfectly. Though he fought for control, and he strained to take this slow, raw desire throbbed its way insistently into his system. His kisses grew harder, longer, deeper. His skin caught fire, and his muscles turned to tempered steel.

She met his tongue, and he bent her backward, his hand roaming from her neck, to her shoulder, along the side of her breast, whispering over the thin silk that covered her body. From the second he saw her in this dress, he’d longed to feel her heat through the gossamer fabric.

His palm rounded her buttocks, pressing her against his taut thighs. He groaned as the soft curve of her belly came up against him.

She clung to his shoulders, while he kissed her temple, her ear, her neck, skipping over the jeweled trim of her dress to press his hot lips against the smooth honey-tone of her shoulder.

Her lips touched his chest, kissing him through the pressed fabric of his shirt. For some reason, the gesture seemed intensely erotic, and he threw back his head to savor the sensation. Her fingers fumbled with his buttons then. She kissed his bare chest, and lust ricocheted from his brain to his toes and all points in between.

He scooped her into his arms, capturing her swollen mouth with his own, kissing her hard while she cradled his head, curling her body against him. He strode for the bedroom, ignoring the light switch, navigating by the dim glow of the city lights that filtered through the gauzy curtains.

He lowered himself to the bed, falling backward onto the thick quilt, pulling her down on top of him and running his hands up the back of her thighs, finding the lace of her tiny panties, then drawing her softness more solidly against him.

Between hot kisses, she pushed off his shirt. He pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress. But she drew back and shook her head, catching her bottom lip with her white teeth. Her hair had come loose from the braids, and her eyes simmered with deep desire.

He forced his hands to still. He’d be as patient as she needed, even though it might kill him. To his surprise, she rolled the lace panties down the length of her legs, tossing them aside. Then she pulled upright, sitting astride him.

“Is this what you pictured?” she asked in a throaty voice. “Was this your fantasy?”

The dress had fallen off one shoulder, and her messy strawberry blond hair framed her face in the fragile light.

“It’s better than the fantasy,” he whispered. “You’re better than the fantasy.” He traced his thumbs along the inside of her thighs. Her dress whispered out of the way, and his thumbs met in the middle, sliding slick while her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back.

The strap of the dress slipped farther down her arm, the fabric sliding over one breast, revealing her pert pink nipple.

“Much better,” he rasped, drawing her down to take the nipple into his mouth.

He was rewarded with her gasp. She rocked forward, bracing herself with her hands in his hair, kneading his scalp while her thighs twitched under his hands.

The dress fell to her waist, and her writhing movements brought him close to the edge of control. He swiftly unfastened his pants, shoving them out of the way after retrieving a condom from his pocket.

He shifted to move on top, but she pinned down his shoulders, thighs bracing his.

“Remember,” she whispered, bending to kiss him, her breasts brushing the bare skin of his chest. “You told me how this goes when you described your fantasy.”

She sat up straight, trapping his gaze with her own, lowering herself onto him, smooth and slow, until his hips bucked to meet her. His hands twisted in the quilt in a desperate attempt to keep hold of control. But there was no turning back. She was too sexy, too sweet, too passionately perfect.

He grasped her hips, holding her firm, matching her movements, and nearly dislodging them from the bed with the force of his thrusts.

She leaned forward to kiss him, and he flipped them both over, adjusting his angle and covering her with kisses, while she curled herself around him.

His brain roared for release, but he held on to paradise just as long as he could. When her cries found his ears, and her body arched high, he let the world melt around them in waves.

She was heat and sweat and scent in his arms. Her breathing was raspy, and her heart pounded hard against his own.

He smoothed back her hair, kissing her temple, then her cheek, then her hot, moist lips. He smoothed her hair again, pulling back to gaze at her exquisite face. Her eyes were closed, cheeks flushed, lips abraded in a way that made him twinge with guilt.

He wanted to say something. There had to be the perfect words for this perfect moment. But he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound trite.

He settled on, “You’re beautiful,” and kissed her again.

She blinked open her eyes, her voice sleepy. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t help but smile. “I was really hoping for ‘not so bad.’”

She cocked her head, and her smile turned impish. “Do you need me to tell you you’re the best I ever had?”

“Only if it’s true.”

“You’re the best I ever had.”

He searched her expression, hoping against hope that it wasn’t a joke. He’d rather be the only one she’d ever had. But he knew that was ridiculous.

“I lost my virginity in college.”

“So did everybody else.”

“It really wasn’t that great.”

“It never is.”

She smirked. “My point is, you didn’t have much competition.”

He paused, her words filling him with some unnamed emotion. “Just the one guy in college?”

She nodded.

“And it wasn’t very good?” He felt a smile of pride grow on his face.

“It was terrible. Quit laughing.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He hugged her close, savoring the feel of her naked body, the curl of her limbs, the softness of her breasts. “You’re a treasure.”

“Can you put that on my next performance evaluation?”

“Absolutely. You want me to include the rationale?”

She playfully smacked him on the arm. “I want you to approve a raise.”

“You need money?” He found himself ready to step in if she did.

“I’ve developed expensive taste in clothes. And you just ruined a three thousand dollar dress.”

He reached to where the dress was bunched at her waist and ran the filmy fabric through his fingers. “It was so worth it.”