Stealing Home

  Luke’s chuckle came from low in his chest. “You won’t have to. But you do owe me something”—his eyes darted to his rock-hard dick—“and it’s time to pay up.”

  Heat coiled up my body, pulsing between my legs. “Time to make good on my promise.”

  I lowered onto my knees in front of him, my hands skimming down his chest. When I wound a hand around him, he flinched.

  “Fuck, and now I’m about to come like some lovesick kid too.” His eyes sealed closed when I glided my hand along him a few times, groaning when my grip tightened.

  Fanning my hair over one shoulder, I lowered my head between his legs.

  Before my lips could wrap around him, his hands flew to my shoulders, stalling me. “Allie, I didn’t mean this . . . I just meant I wanted to have sex with you.”

  His grip tightened when I blew a warm breath over his skin. “And I’m about to have sex with you.” My eyebrow lifted at him. “With my mouth.”

  His breathing was faster as his hold on my shoulders loosened. His fingers brushed across my lips. “And what a beautiful mouth it is.”

  Letting my head drop between his legs again, I wrapped my hand around his base and parted my lips to take him inside my mouth. A breath hissed from his mouth when I moved down him. His hand fisted in my hair, lightly massaging my head as I struck a slow rhythm.

  “Your head between my legs. My name on your back. Coming to this view,” he rasped, starting to pump his hips toward my mouth. “My life could go to shit after this, and I would still die a happy man fifty years from now.”

  I’D SPENT THE night at Luke’s. That was the thought I woke with the next morning. More of the night had been filled with love making than actual sleeping, but still, I’d spent the night at his place. I hadn’t done that since Ben, the guy who’d taught me what trust was—and what it wasn’t.

  As I rolled over, I found Luke missing from the bed. Nothing but the dent from his head on his pillow and a few torn condom wrappers on his nightstand to prove he’d been there. Well, and the sting of the red handprint he hadn’t been able to resist leaving on my ass last night.

  It wasn’t quite six yet, but I felt like I could have stayed in bed until lunch. My body was a spent mess. Muscles ached in places I didn’t know I had that many muscles to ache. My knees burned from rug burn—for multiple reasons—and the spot between my legs was throbbing from multiple rounds of vigorous sex.

  Last night had been about more than sex though. We’d defined our relationship in no questionable terms. We might not have been able to tell anyone else about it, but we knew, and for me, that was the most important thing. I might have wanted to think I could do open-ended and give-and-take intimacy without commitment, but I couldn’t. At least not for long.

  Of course a designation didn’t come with any guarantees regarding the duration of our relationship. It might last another year, or maybe one more day, but for today, Luke was committed to me and I was committed to him.

  For today, that was enough.

  Forcing myself out of bed, I grabbed the abandoned jersey from the floor to button it back on. It had lasted through one round of head and Luke bending me over the sofa and taking me that way right after. For as instantly as he’d come both times, I knew his name on my back did more to him than garner a wicked smile.

  “Luke?” I called as I padded down the hall.

  “Kitchen!” he answered.

  As I wandered past the living room, I took in the scene of last night’s crimes. It looked like a scene out of Animal House—lamps spilled over, clothes hanging from the ceiling fan, more condom wrappers littered around the floor—fitting, since he’d behaved more like an animal than man most of the night.

  When I broke into the kitchen, I rolled to a stop when I took in the view. He was standing behind the island, a mess of egg shells and dry pancake mix dusting everything, including his face.

  “Damn, that’s hot,” he said around a whistle as his eyes roamed me.

  “My bedhead?”

  “The way you look all freshly fucked and beat from what I did to you last night.” His hands braced across the counter, his expression a gloat.

  “The male species really never evolved from their cave dweller roots, did they?”

  “Other than exchanging grunts for words and clothes for loincloths, no, not really.”

  I bit at the smile pulling at my mouth, remembering last night—he’d communicated in far more grunts than words—and this morning, he was in nothing more than his loincloth. Or in present day translation—his underwear. Well that, and his Shock ball cap on backward.

  “I’d ask if you’re hungry, but after what we spent the night doing, I already know your answer.” He picked up the spatula and flipped a few pancakes sizzling on a skillet. There was already a foot-high stack of them.

  “Luke Archer cooks,” I said, trying to make that fit with the image I already had of him.

  “With the proper motivation, I’ve been known to put up a decent meal.”

  “Proper motivation?”

  Luke held out his spatula with a fresh pancake. “Food is calories. Calories are energy.” He tore off a piece of pancake and stuffed it into his mouth. “Sex requires energy. So eat up.” He slid a plate across the island with a wink.

  Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. My chest tightened. He’d made breakfast for me, but not just any breakfast. My favorite breakfast.

  Seeing the food made my stomach grumble loud enough for Luke to hear and say, “Refuel. You’re going to need it for what I have planned.”

  Picking up a piece of bacon from my plate, I waved it at him. “You’ve got practice this morning, PT this afternoon, and a charity ball tonight. Your schedule is already packed, so you’ll have to just make it through the day on the half dozen rounds from last night.”

  Luke grimaced as I bit into the bacon. “I forgot about the charity ball tonight. Dammit.”

  “How very charitable of you,” I teased.

  “If I write a big check, do you think they’d let me out of it?”

  I peaked an eyebrow at him. “The main reason most of those people bought one-thousand-dollar tickets was for the privilege of mingling with the San Diego Shock. Since you’re kind of the face of the team, I don’t think a check of any size will get you out of it.”

  He glared at the skillet like those pancakes were to blame. Then his face lit up. “Will you go with me?”

  “I’m part of the team. I’ll already be there.”

  His head shook. “Will you go with me?”

  “Oh,” I said, looking away. “If I show up with you and hang off your arm all night, won’t that kind of ruin our plan of keeping us a secret?”

  His shoulders fell. “Maybe?” When I sighed, he added, “Probably. But I don’t care. I want you to show up with me, and I want you to hang off my arm all night. We don’t need to explain anything to anyone.”

  “We won’t need to if we do that, Luke,” I whispered.

  “I want to be with you, Allie. Not just behind a locked door. Not just in private. I want to be with you. Seen with you. With you, not without you like we’ll have to be everywhere we go in public.” He dropped the spatula, his hands going to his hips. After a minute of what looked to be deep thought, he sighed. “But I made you a promise. I’ll keep this a secret for as long as you want. If that’s what it takes to be with you, I’ll do it. I might hate every minute of it, but I’ll do it.”

  “I thought you wanted to be discreet about this too?”

  “I did, at least until I confirmed that the woman I thought you were is the same one you really are. I know who you are now, and I know I want you. There’s nothing discreet about that.” Rolling his head a few times, he went back to ladling pancake batter into the skillet. From the size of the batch he’d made, it looked like he was planning on keeping my “energy levels” up into the next decade.

  “I love that you feel that way, Luke, I really do.” I leaned into the counter as I conti
nued, “But us getting to know each other wasn’t the only reason for keeping this quiet.”

  His jaw tightened for a moment. “I know.”

  “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’ve put up with jerks hinting to downright claiming I screwed my way to the top, and if it gets out that I’m screwing Luke Archer, all of the credibility I’ve worked so hard for will be gone. And I’ll never be able to get it back. People will always see me as a joke. As someone who does her best work on her back. I can’t let that happen.”

  He came around the counter and pulled me into his arms. I didn’t know I’d been so close to crying until I felt his comfort. “I’d never let that happen.” He rubbed circles into my back, holding me with both a strength and gentleness I’d never known. “I’m sorry. I’m just whining. Pouting because I want people to know that you’re mine.” He kissed the top of my head. “It’s the cave dweller ancestry in me.”

  I laughed quietly against him, letting him soothe me for another minute. “Having you this close is reminding me of that affliction known as morning breath, and since I wasn’t planning on spending the night with you, I failed to bring my toothbrush. You might want to keep your distance.” Giving him a final squeeze, I wove out of his embrace.

  “Lucky for you your ‘boyfriend’ just so happens to have a stockpile of new toothbrushes.”

  “A stockpile?” I backed up a few steps because seeing him a few feet in front of me in nothing but his underwear, with that freshly fucked face he was such a fan of, was firing certain desires I should have chased into submission last night back to life.

  “Zombie apocalypse planning. You never know when you might need a few dozen new toothbrushes.”

  “Because who cares if droves of flesh-eating beings are trying to eat your brains? At least you’ll have clean teeth.”

  “See? You get me.” He laughed. “That’s why I’ll share my toothbrushes with you.”

  “I feel honored.” I patted his chest as I moved out of the kitchen. “Where can I find this toothbrush stockpile?”

  “My bathroom. Lower right drawer below the sink.”

  The way he was looking at me almost made me go back to him, but first, I reminded myself, fresh breath. “Be right back. Save some pancakes for me.”

  He wandered back over to skillet. “That won’t be a problem.”

  Wandering through his bedroom, I turned into the bathroom. It was clean. Really clean. The toilet lid was even down. So he was a caveman with a penchant for cleanliness—I could work with that.

  Pulling open the drawer he’d mentioned, I found he really did have a stockpile of toothbrushes. And little toothpastes. And baby bottles of mouthwash. The guy almost had his own travel-sized store of oral hygiene products. Selecting a blue toothbrush, I ripped it open and squeezed a blob of toothpaste on it from the tube resting on the sink.

  After giving my teeth an extra good brush, I rinsed and wandered back out into his room with my new toothbrush still in hand. We’d both been a little busy and distracted last night, and I hadn’t noticed much more than his body and my proximity to it. I took a minute to explore his room in the light of day.

  It was a man’s room, hues of gray and blue running throughout. Signed baseballs and wooden bats were propped on shelves, photos of baseball legends scattered in the mix. There was a whole wall of photos of Luke’s old teams, from his T-ball team to the Shock. He was easy to spot in each team photo. That smile hadn’t changed from the time he was five.

  When I got to his dresser on the wall across from his bed, I stopped. At first I thought the photo I was staring at was one of him as a baby. Same big hazel eyes, same honey hair, same smile. It was baby Luke.

  But then I noticed what the baby was wearing—a little Shock romper. With the number eleven stitched onto the chest.

  My heart stalled for a moment. The Shock had never had a number eleven until Luke Archer joined the ranks three years ago and wanted to keep the number he’d had stamped on his back since he was nine. I’d read the article in the newspaper a while ago, and even though I remembered thinking how silly it was that a grown man would place such an importance on his number, I knew athletes, ball players especially, were superstitious as a breed.

  “If you want something to change into, I’ve got some new clothes in my dresser that should fit you.” Luke’s voice echoed down the hall before it erupted into the bedroom. “Oh, did you already find them?” he asked when he noticed me in front of his dresser.

  “Who’s this?”

  When Luke’s eyes fell on the photo, the skin between his brows creased just enough for me to notice. He didn’t say anything at first, letting a storm of emotions thunder across his face.

  “Just an old friend’s son,” he said, looking away.

  “An old friend’s son you keep a picture of on the dresser in your bedroom . . .”

  His shoulders tensed. “If you have a question you want me to answer, ask it. Otherwise breakfast is getting cold and I’ve got to get to practice.” He waited for me to voice whatever questions he thought I had.

  My head was too busy spinning to form any though.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said quietly, turning to leave.

  After Luke left the room, I stood there another minute, studying the baby in the picture. I wouldn’t let my assumptions take root. It was a picture of a baby. An old friend’s baby. That was it.

  Realizing I was still clutching my toothbrush, I headed into the bathroom to drop it off. I paused at the sink, not sure where to put it. There was a toothbrush holder, which seemed like the obvious choice, but it was already holding two toothbrushes. Ignoring the swirl in my stomach wondering why one person had two toothbrushes in their bathroom, I set my toothbrush on the counter, but that didn’t look right either.

  In the end, I dropped it in the trashcan on my way out.

  MY MIND HAD been racing all day. Circling between toothbrushes and trust— baby pictures and trust. Trust.

  A touchy subject for most people—a volatile one for me.

  Deep down, I knew I trusted Luke. It was the surface layer that wondered why I did and if I should. I was at war with myself, no sooner settling the dispute before having it crop up again with renewed vengeance.

  Maybe I should have taken a pass on the charity ball. As a member of the support staff, my presence wasn’t required. Expected and implied, yes, but I wasn’t a player—no one had bought a ticket to rub elbows with the newest athletic trainer on the team.

  As soon as I passed through the doors of the ballroom, I knew I shouldn’t have come. My head was a mess, and having to be in the same room with him without acknowledging each other as anything more than professional acquaintances was going to be a challenge. For both of us.

  The room was already buzzing. Less than an hour into the event, people were milling about the silent auction tables, sipping champagne, and huddling around the Shock players.

  I wasn’t looking for him, at least not exactly, but it was almost like I knew right where he was. The crowd of people clustered around him may have helped with his location. Or maybe it had more to do with the way he was already looking at me when I found him.

  Our eyes locked, and the room revolved around me. Number eleven in his baseball uniform at the end of a hard-won game was the sexiest thing in the world—but Luke Archer in a tux was a close second.

  He was the first to tame his stare, but I stood in place for another minute, reeling. I wasn’t trying to look at him, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Especially with the frequent looks he kept sending in my direction. We were fools to think we could be around each other like this without being together.

  In an effort to ease the mounting tension, I wandered to the far side of the room, away from him. It didn’t seem to help with the looks, but at least I couldn’t make out his laugh or voice from this distance.

  A few members of the medical staff waved at me as I milled through the room in search of a drink, but most were there with
their spouses or significant others. A few days at home were not to be wasted when we spent as much time on the road as we did. Everyone had someone it felt like—Luke Archer had the whole damn room—except for me.

  I had no one. Self-pity. It wasn’t a position I liked to find myself in, and if I couldn’t chase it away with force of will, I’d try chasing it away with something stronger.

  The first glass of champagne went down in two swallows. The second one I was just finishing when someone also on their own wandered up to the bar beside me. Noting my vanishing drink, Shepherd lifted two fingers at the bartender.

  “I’m here for the free booze too.” Shepherd held out a glass for me, waiting.

  “I’m not here for the free booze,” I replied before draining what was left in my second glass before accepting the fresh glass from him.

  A smirk settled on his face. “No? Then what are you here for? Because Uncle Sam knows neither of us make enough to put a down payment on the items being auctioned off tonight to benefit some country that’s going to be renamed and run by some other dickface in a year.”

  Shepherd wasn’t my favorite person to be around. Actually, he might have been one of my least favorite, but as the crowd around Archer continued to grow, Shepherd’s company became more desirable. I’d rather be talking to him than no one.

  “I’m here to support the team,” I said right before I hiccupped. The champagne had gone straight to my head, which was a welcome relief since alcohol was clouding my Luke Archer Rubik’s cube of confusion.

  “And support the team you do.” Shepherd followed where my gaze had moved to. That same person stationed in the center of the room, holding a room full of people in his hand. “So very, very well.”

  “What does that mean?” My eyes narrowed from his tone or from what he was alluding to with his tone.

  “This is Archer’s best season. And it’s not like his three prior seasons were shit, if you know what I mean.”