Hard Hitter

  She wanted more, and she wanted it right away. With hands made shaky by eagerness, she tugged at the knot of his necktie, loosening it. When it went slack, she went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

  He broke their kiss to help her. And those icy blue eyes bored into her own as he whipped the tie off, then wrestled the shirt off of giant shoulder muscles.

  Wow. Patrick O’Doul removing his suit, ladies and gentlemen. It was not a sight to be missed. She stared at his eight-pack as thick fingers flicked the shirt to her bedroom floor then moved to his belt buckle. Slowly he unhooked it. His gaze was weighty on hers, asking for her permission. But there was no way in hell she was going to change her mind. She wanted that body on top of hers. Right now. And if tomorrow it all seemed like an awful idea, she’d just deal with the consequences then.

  The sound of his zipper lowering sent a fresh zing of excitement fizzing through her belly. And when the trousers fell away, all that was left was a pair of black boxer briefs, stretched to their limits by a generous erection straining against the cotton. He reached one weather-beaten hand into his briefs just to adjust himself, straightening the thick column until the tip was visible above the elastic.

  It was as good as an invitation. Ari leaned forward, her nose brushing the surprisingly soft skin of his belly. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of him, filling her senses with the scent of recently showered skin, tinged with the salty tang of desire. Nuzzling in, she brought her lips to his tip and kissed him softly. He tasted as good as he looked.

  “Fuck.” The contact made his breath hitch, and one big hand came around to the back of her head, tangling in her hair. She leaned in for another kiss, but two hands scooped her under the arms and tossed her backward on the bed instead. “Lie down,” he ordered, and she rushed to comply, scooting backward on the bed.

  Then his body was on hers, his knees forcing hers apart. His eagerness was like gasoline on flames, spiking her arousal again. His mouth covered hers, firm and demanding, and she opened for him right away. It had been so long since she’d felt like this—ready to make an offering of herself, willing to submit to something they both craved.

  Their tongues tangled, and she let her hands wander over his muscular back. He yanked her tights down on one side, and cool air met her bottom. There were too many clothes between them still. Her breasts felt full and achy. She reached between their bodies to fiddle with the center clasp on her bra, but couldn’t get to it until Patrick pressed up on his elbows, nudging her hands out of the way and then nosing along the lace cups. A hungry sound emerging from his throat. He unhooked the bra and then groaned, leaning down to pull her nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh,” she gasped, arching her back. She could hear her own ragged breathing, each shaky exhale a mockery of all those times she’d ever counted out a breathing exercise in a yoga studio. But it couldn’t be helped. His mouth on her breast sent a rush of slickness between her legs. He shaped her nipple into a slick point with his lips and then bent over to repeat the torture on the other side.

  She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his thick, short hair, its texture unfamiliar against her palms. It had been eight years since she’d had a first time with anyone. She wished she could slow down time and appreciate each new sensation.

  Slowing down wasn’t really an option, though. The scent of need in the room was too strong. And she craved his weight on her body—all his muscular bulk pressing her down into the bed. So she lifted her feet to his waist. Using her toes, she caught the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down his hips.

  With a groan, he raised himself above her, then yanked her tights down and off her body. That was it—the last scrap of clothing vanquished. Cool air prickled her heated skin while he just stood there for a moment, looking down at her, his gaze landing everywhere.

  “What?” she asked suddenly.

  He grinned. “Just enjoying the view. Is that so wrong?” He turned away from her, showing her his magnificent ass, and bent down toward his duffel bag on the floor. She heard a zipper and the crinkle of a wrapper. Then he stalked toward her again, powerful muscles popping as he moved, and it was her turn to stare, especially at the thick erection pointing straight up in front of him. A quiver of nervous excitement ran through her core. Were they really going through with this?

  While she watched, wide-eyed, he put a condom in her hand and then positioned himself right in front of her on the bed. Maybe he sensed her split-second of indecision, because he dropped a hand to her chin and tilted her face up to meet his gaze. He didn’t say anything, but his cool eyes asked her which way it was gonna be.

  She swallowed roughly, then tore open the packet. He hissed when she curved her hand around his shaft and rolled down the condom. When she was done, he put one of his big knees on the bed and nudged her back. She lay down against the pillows again, and he came down on top of her, his mouth just beside her ear. “You ready? Because you are going to get it so good.”

  The moan she let out could probably be heard all over Vinegar Hill.

  He began to kiss his way down her neck, and she squirmed under his ministrations. The anticipation was killing her now. He propped his elbows on the bed, kissing his way down her chest, her stomach. As he neared her sex, goosebumps broke out on her chest. And then his mouth was right there, his lips skimming her mound, his big hands wrapped around her thighs. He spread her legs wide and flattened his tongue right where it counted.

  Ari couldn’t help it. She let out a happy cry, which was answered by a deep moan from Patrick. And the vibration of his voice against her body only intensified the sensation. “So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her clit. The sight of his strong neck bent in concentration over her body gave her shivers. And then he lifted his eyes to hers while dragging his tongue right down the center of her.

  Just like that, he had her hovering on the precipice. She gripped the quilt with two hands as his tongue continued its wicked work. Someone was begging, and she was pretty sure it was her.

  For a split second everything paused. Ari sucked in a much needed deep breath. But when she bore down again, seeking release, exquisite resistance was provided by a thick cock filling her in one smooth stroke. His name flew from her lips as his big body came down over hers, his hips pumping in time to her own desperation.

  His tongue filled her mouth and his big hands gripped her own and everything was fast and rhythmic and head-spinning. She moved in time to the wicked pace he’d set, while her heart thumped out a mantra: oh yes oh yes oh yes.

  Release came like water overflowing a pool—first a shimmer hovering at the edge, and then a flood. She sobbed into his mouth, tightening her legs around his body, tightening everything.

  Before it was even over, Patrick began to curse. Then he moaned and then flattened her into the bed, his big body shuddering against her.

  Silence descended a moment later. Patrick rolled to the side, taking her with him. Then he took a very deep breath and eased himself out, shivering once more as he left her. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Now I know how people get religion.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “What religion is this?”

  He pulled her against his chest and buried his face in her hair. “Dunno. Can’t string a sentence together right now.”

  Ari couldn’t either. She’d thought sexual energy was a concept she’d already understood. But what had happened on her bed just now was more like combustion.

  They lay there breathing hard, their limbs entwined. Ari let her thoughts drift out over the Brooklyn skyline, away from the madness of the last week. She relaxed in Patrick’s giant arms and refused to think about anything important.

  “So this is a problem,” he mumbled eventually.

  The first prickle of reality trickled down her back. “Can’t we put off the regrets until daylight at least?”

  “What regrets? I have none
,” he rumbled. “The problem is that I already get boned up on your massage table. Next time you put your hands on me at work I’m gonna start moaning like a porn star.”

  “Might have to get out a gag for you,” she teased.

  He let out a sleepy groan. “Doubt it’ll work. Probably just turn me into a submissive.”

  Now there was a giggleworthy idea. And since when was Patrick O’Doul funny? Note to self—give a man an orgasm and learn his secrets. She ran her fingers down his spectacular chest and smiled.

  ELEVEN

  Patrick was not usually a cuddler. At all. But it was surprisingly comfortable to lie with Ari’s head on his shoulder, letting his fingers sift through her soft hair. It didn’t hurt matters that they’d just had spectacular sex. He felt both relaxed and spent in the best possible way.

  This was the first time in years that he’d gotten naked with someone he’d known for more than an hour. Note to self: Fucking someone you actually like is fun. He already trusted Ari, and didn’t feel as though he needed to live up to any weird celebrity expectations with her.

  No wonder he didn’t have the usual urge to make an excuse to bolt for the door.

  Eventually he had to get up and deal with the condom, though. So he kissed Ari on the forehead and took his tired body into her bathroom for a few minutes. Washing up, he took a look at his bruise in the mirror. A big greenish blotch was already spreading across his eye socket.

  Just another day at the office.

  When he walked back into Ari’s bedroom, she was sitting up, one hand clutching the sheet at her kissable breasts, watching him warily. “You can stay.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, if you want to. It’s pretty late . . .”

  He settled the question by flipping down the covers on one side of her bed. “Not leaving you here alone, sweetheart. You don’t know if dumbass is going to try to break in again, and it’s too late to talk to the cops.” He climbed in. “So it’s your place or mine. And yours is closer.” He stretched out on his back and closed his eyes. The second he got horizontal again, the exhaustion returned. It had been a long fucking day.

  Ari got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He heard the water running and a toilet flush. Then she tiptoed to her side of the bed and slid in. The bed rustled as she arranged the covers. But she didn’t come closer.

  Sleepy now, he reached for her hand, finding it on the sheet beside him. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he fell asleep.

  * * *

  “Patrick.”

  “Mmh.”

  “Patrick.” A warm hand rubbed his chest.

  “Mmh?”

  “There are cops at my front door.”

  His eyes flew open. “Really?”

  “Someone’s knocking, and there’s a cruiser out in front.”

  “Fuck.” He woke up fast, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at Ari and found her looking back at him. They were both still stark naked, and after last night’s festivities, their clothes were still strewn everywhere around the room.

  And there were cops knocking on the door.

  He grinned suddenly, and she laughed. “Good morning. Welcome to chaos.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll tell them I need a minute to get dressed.” She threw on a bathrobe and ran downstairs to deliver this message through the door, while he dug a rumpled T-shirt and a pair of athletic pants out of his suitcase. Then he went down to let them in while Ari went back upstairs to change.

  “Good morning,” he said to one uniformed and one plainclothes officer on the doorstep.

  Mr. Plainclothes showed his badge. “I’m Detective Miller of the eighty-fourth precinct. Looking to speak to a Mr. Alberto Bettini.” The dectective squinted at him. “But that’s not you. Hey—aren’t you Patrick O’Doul? Am I crazy?”

  “Couldn’t say if you’re crazy, man,” Patrick said, trying to keep it casual. “I’m O’Doul, though.”

  The detective barked out a laugh, then extended a hand. “Nice to meet you. Saw the Rangers game last month.”

  “Patrick?” Ari said from behind him. “Is everything okay?”

  Detective Miller looked past him to Ari, who was now dressed in jeans and a sweater. “I need to speak with the owner. Is Alberto here?”

  “I’m his niece, and I look after the house. Uncle Alberto lives in West Palm.”

  “Ah. Well, we have a warrant to search the property, miss.” He passed her a sheet of paper.

  “Search it? For what?”

  “Your neighbor who called in the B&E—she identified the burglar as Vincent Giardi. He’s under investigation by law enforcement, and this is his last known address.”

  Ari clutched the sheet of paper, her eyes bugging out. “Investigation for what?”

  “We can’t disclose the details of our investigation. But we believe—and the judge believes—that Mr. Giardi was conducting illegal business activities from this property.”

  O’Doul’s gut clenched. He had a pretty good idea of those illegal activities.

  “He doesn’t live here now,” Ari spat. “I’ve been trying to get rid of his stuff in my basement for weeks.”

  “I hear you,” the detective said apologetically. “But the warrant is valid. Do you mind answering some questions while Officer Brock takes a look around?”

  Ari scanned the sheet of paper in her hand, then lifted frightened eyes to Patrick’s. “So I just have to let them in? That’s it?”

  He put a hand to her lower back and rubbed. “Sweetheart, I know I’m supposed to be the heavy in this relationship. But I’ve only seen warrants on television.”

  The detective laughed, but Ari only gave him a look intended to demonstrate just how unhelpful he was.

  “Call Rebecca,” he suggested. “Tell her that you need to talk to a lawyer, stat.”

  She turned away and ran upstairs.

  The detective watched her go, shifting his feet, looking uncomfortable. “She’s not supposed to leave my sight. I was trying to be helpful by not asking you two to leave.”

  “Ari!” Patrick called up the stairs. “Can you make your call down here?”

  She reappeared, Katt Phone in hand. Giving the cop a dirty look, she walked past them both to the sofa and sat down. “Becca! I’ve got a situation. Can you pull out whatever file you keep lawyers in? The douchewhistle has struck again. There are cops searching my house for unlawful activities.” She paused to let Becca express some outrage. “I appreciate it. You, too, honey. Later.” Ari hung up, looking miserable. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?” she asked him.

  O’Doul pointed to the big bruise on his temple. “They weren’t going to let me skate this morning anyway. I’ll check in a bit later.” He crossed to the sofa and sat down beside her. “How about I order some egg sandwiches and coffee? We might as well eat while you wait out the long arm of the law.”

  She rubbed her temples. “Okay. I mean, you probably need to get going. So I’m good either way.”

  He squeezed her knee, aware that the policeman was watching them. “I’m going to call the deli.”

  He took her Katt Phone out of her hand, because his was still upstairs. “Unlock this for me?”

  She did, handing it to him with a briskness that bordered on pissed-off. Hell, maybe she hoped he’d just get lost. But he wasn’t going to leave until he heard what the detective wanted from her. And having your house searched by the cops was a pretty fucked-up way to start the day. She probably wasn’t thinking straight. So Ari would be enjoying just a little more of his company, whether she wanted it or not.

  He ordered food and watched the uniformed cop make a cursory sweep of the home’s interior. “When was the last time Mr. Giardi was inside this portion of the house?” the detective asked.

  “January 28th,” she said immediately. “I threw him out th
at night, with my tenant’s help. We moved all his possessions into the storage room, because it has separate access. I changed my locks that day, but not on the basement.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was not going to put his fancy clothes on the curb! I was trying to be civilized. But he didn’t get lost like I asked him to. Instead of just removing his stuff, he kept hanging around the place. These past few weeks I kept seeing him out the window, more times than you’d need to take care of some clothes.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him go in there?”

  “Last Thursday. I was on my way to the stadium for the game against D.C. I saw him out the window, and there was another man, too. They were talking. The other guy left first, and then Vince left. On my way to the stadium that afternoon I went outside to try to figure out what he was up to. And I saw that he’d locked me out.”

  The agent raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then why did he have to saw open the door last night?”

  “Because I retaliated!” Ari was all fired up now, her cheeks pink. “I had the locksmith remove his locks and add mine. I knew he’d be pissed off, but I didn’t know how else to make my point. He doesn’t answer my e-mails. I’ve asked him to get his things out of there for weeks.”

  “Would you show me those emails?”

  O’Doul didn’t like the direction this was taking. Maybe he’d watched too much TV, but he had to say something. “Do you want to wait and talk to a lawyer?”

  She gave him a glare. “I don’t have anything to hide. I just want this cleared up. And I need a restraining order against him.”

  “Now there’s an idea I can get behind,” he said.

  The agent grinned at him, so he put a protective hand on Ari’s knee. Maybe she’d be pissed off later, but this cop liked him. The whole fame thing was pretty useless most of the time, and if it helped Ari get out of this mess, he didn’t mind exaggerating their relationship.