Chapter Eleven
Juliet wasn’t aware of time or space as the last pulsing of her orgasm rippled away, receding to a faint glimmer, a tiny sizzle in her cells. Her brain was spinning and her eyelids and bones were far too heavy to lift. She didn’t move, neither did he. They just clung to each other, struggling to catch their breath.
He stirred first, pushing against her hips. Her leg dropped from his butt and he stepped back. She moaned a protest as he slid from her body, instantly feeling the loss. Fabric rustled and she roused herself enough to open her eyes. His jacket had slid to the ground.
“Well.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “That didn’t help.”
Juliet sagged against the wall and let out a breath. “Speak for yourself.” It had helped her—a lot. She sure as hell was feeling a lot less pissed off.
Even in the darkened hallway, she could see he was glaring. “Christ…” He shook his head. “Look at us.”
Juliet took them both in. She was standing with her thong shoved halfway down her thighs and nothing else, her feet still standing in the middle of her pooled dress. His jacket was on the floor next to his hat, the tails of his tie flapping, his fly undone, his dick sticking out.
They looked like a mini tornado had hit them, ruffling them up and stripping away clothes at random. She should be repulsed by their animalistic mating, but she wasn’t. She should be ashamed by her lack of clothes in the presence of his fully clad body. But she wasn’t. She should be embarrassed by his exposed genitals and his gaze raking over her like he wanted her all over again.
But she wasn’t that, either.
Because there was more going on here than just sex. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit it had always been more than just sex.
Crap. Juliet’s pulse spiked as panic welled like spilled ink inside her. “I think we should break up.”
His sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the sudden deafening silence. Even the distant pound of surf seemed to cease.
The idea of splitting had been playing through her mind as she’d silently stewed on the drive home. Most of the argument tonight had been rooted in the knowledge she was getting in too deep, so breaking it off had seemed a logical move.
Rip the sticking plaster off quick!
But she hadn’t counted on her weakness where he was concerned or the hot lick of his gaze on her breasts in the car or how sexy he was when he was angry. A wave of arousal had gripped her and weakened her resolve. The idea of fucking him one last time had taken hold and her anger—this irrational, intangible, very female rage—had fed it, turning desire into a DEFCON 5–level horniness.
A driving need to fuck.
It hadn’t seemed wrong at the time. But the suggestion that they split clearly was, as far as he was concerned.
“Oh no.” He shook his head, his mouth a grim slash. “No bloody way, Juliet.”
He took a step closer and, before she knew it, before she could protest or resist, he’d lifted her, upending her over his shoulder, her ass in the air, her breasts squashed against the starched fabric of his shirt, her hair brushing down his legs, her face level with his ass.
She opened her mouth to insist that he put her down, but he spun quickly around and she hung onto his waist for dear life.
“You’re leaving in a month.”
One hand pushed at the sling-back strap of her stiletto and it thunked to the ground. The other one followed suit. His hand slid to where her thong was anchored across the backs of her thighs and reefed it down her legs and off her toes as he strode into the bedroom.
“There will be no breaking up because I plan to have your nails raking down my back every night between now and then.”
Within two strides he’d reach the bed and tossed her on top of it. Her legs landed all akimbo, her breasts bouncing at the impact, his eyes eating the movement up. He cocked an arrogant eyebrow and quoted her back at her. “You got a problem with that?”
Tiny’s head poked up from his position at the foot of the bed and whined. Once again, without even sparing the animal a glance, Ryder said, “Outside.” The dog obeyed immediately.
Juliet’s gaze locked with Ryder’s as he pulled his shirttails out of his trousers and unbuttoned. He shucked it off with a shrug of his shoulders. His trousers and underwear followed next, the condom was yanked off and tossed in the bin.
“Well?” He leaned over and snapped on the bedside lamp. Soft, warm light bathed the symmetry of his chest, accentuating taut acres of skin, the softness of hair, and the smooth pucker of muscle. He opened the drawer, grabbed another condom, and threw it on the bed. “Do you have a problem with it?”
This was Juliet’s time to say yes. To back off. To make a clean break. But the fierce glow in his eyes held her pinned to the bed and the sheer beauty of his body had her fingers itching for contact.
He was so damn tactile and she wanted him.
It was selfish and reckless, but she wanted him for as long as she could have him.
If he kept to that promise in his eyes, she’d go from multiple rounds of sex every night to nothing as soon as she got on the plane. Surely that was ripping the sticking plaster off quickly enough for both of them?
“No.”
He sunk to his knees beside the bed, his hands sliding up the side of her legs. When he reached mid-thigh, his fingers tunnelled under and clamped on tight, yanking without any warning, pulling her toward him. Her hair streamed behind her, her breasts jiggling with the movement, her calves half hanging over the edge of the mattress.
His big body dominated the space between her legs.
“Good answer,” he muttered, his breath hot on her inner thighs as he leaned in, pushed her legs wide with his shoulders and fixed his mouth to her.
…
The following Tuesday night they were in an Uber on their way back to her place after karaoke. Juliet had initially resisted the invite, but Ryder had insisted it wasn’t a date, that she’d just be accompanying him to his regular Tuesday night haunt.
Because it was just them—not some social thing with his teammates and their partners—she’d agreed. And she was glad she’d gone, not just because she’d been curious about the drag club in Sydney’s infamous King’s Cross Bodie had mentioned that day on the balcony, but because she’d had so much fun.
He’d been greeted like a long-lost friend when they’d walked in, everyone demanding to know where he’d been, followed by a lot of bawdy jokes as Ryder had introduced her to about a dozen regulars. Being Dollywood night, there was a lot of big hair and even bigger cleavages and it was nice to go somewhere for once where no one was looking at her cleavage.
Except for Ryder, of course.
He’d taken her backstage after the show to meet some of the stars. Juliet was amused to see he received the same kind of treatment from the performers, teased mercilessly by bejewelled drag queens. Especially when she’d announced she was just using Ryder for sex.
“About time somebody did, love,” a performer called Paty Kerry had deadpanned.
She got the feeling that, long after she’d flown to Italy, they’d still be giving Ryder shit about it at The Cock and Bull.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
Goose bumps fanned down from the point where his lips met her skin. Anyone would think they were in some kind of posh limo with a privacy screen the way Ryder’s hand was sliding up her inner thigh.
“I had a good time.”
He chuckled low in her ear and she shut her eyes as she eased her legs apart to give him access. What was it about the man that made her toss discretion to the wind? Made her heedless of the damn taxi driver sitting less than a metre away?
Reluctantly, she grabbed his wrist and he withdrew.
“Spoilsport,” he whispered in her ear before ungluing himself from her side and settling back against the seat. “You must know by now it’s impossible for me to sit next to you and not want to touch you, right?”
He kept his voice low, for her ears only, and it was like they were in a cocoon together—just him and her. She wondered if he knew how seductive his inability to stop touching her was.
Her ex had never been a physically demonstrative guy and Juliet would have said she didn’t require that kind of flattery from a man.
Until now.
Now Ryder’s touch not only grounded her in his desire but spoke to her about her own desirability. Being with Ryder was a hell of an ego boost. The man had set the bar high.
“So distract yourself.”
“I’m pretty sure I can be arrested for masturbating in the back of a taxi.”
Juliet laughed. “Probably wouldn’t run so well in the morning papers, either.”
“Sydney Smoke sex scandal.” He lifted his hands in the air as if he was framing a newspaper headline. “Ryder Davis arrested for spanking the monkey in public.”
She laughed again. “Yeah. You probably want to avoid that. We could play eye spy?”
“Can it be strip eye spy?”
A smile hovered on her mouth. “That’s not a thing.”
“It could be.” He folded his arms, his fingers finding and deliberately brushing down the swell of her side boob. “It should be.”
Juliet’s breath hitched at the subversive caress. “How about you tell me about The Cock and Bull?”
“Ah well…” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and it went straight to Juliet’s belly. “I stumbled across it a few years ago. Went in, caught the show. I don’t think I’d ever laughed that hard. It turned out it was their last show because one of the backers had dropped out due to pressure from one of the local goody-two-shoes politicians. So I thought, fuck it, and bought in.”
Wait. What? She turned her head. “You own The Cock and Bull?”
“I own a stake in it.”
Juliet blinked. The only thing more surprising than seeing Ryder in a drag club was knowing he’d put money down to save it.
“Bodie never mentioned that.”
“Bodie doesn’t know. Nobody knows.”
“Because you don’t want anyone to know you own part of a drag club, or…”
“Because I don’t want it to become some place that people go to hoping they might catch a glimpse of me.”
“But wouldn’t that be good for their bottom line?”
“Undoubtedly. And I’m sure there are plenty of footy fans who’d enjoy the experience of the club, but there’s an element that’d just be rude and ignorant and disruptive and nobody’s got time for that bullshit.”
Juliet sighed. She wished like hell she didn’t like Ryder so much. Sure, she had to like someone to get into bed with them, but the more she learned about him the more she liked him. Walking away from physical attraction was relatively easy. She’d done that a lot during her revenge sex phase.
But turning her back on a guy who made her heart as well as her body happy was an entirely different prospect.
She should end it. She should end it now before her heart got any more involved, but there were only three more weeks and she was greedy for Ryder Davis.
“I still can’t quite believe you’re a part owner in a Sydney drag club.”
His fingers found hers, entwining them, their joined hands resting on the solid warmth of his thigh, his Akubra perched on the other.
“Neither can I half the time. But…I guess part of me is always thinking ahead. Thinking about what’s after rugby, you know? Maybe I get lucky and I play for another ten years. Maybe I go out on the field on Saturday and I take some kind of career-ending injury.”
The thought of that brought Juliet up short. She’d seen how physical rugby could be that day in the corporate box. Had winced at a variety of lacerations, strains, and bruises he’d come home with both from games and from training.
But he’d seemed invincible on the field, like nothing could touch him.
“I never really know for sure,” he continued, “which is why it pays to have a plan B, have a few irons in the fire.”
“So joining a drag show is plan B?” She injected a tease into her voice and he chuckled, but the idea of him being injured had rattled her.
“I doubt I’d look any good in platforms.”
Juliet begged to differ. “Oh I don’t know, I think seeing you in heels and women’s panties would be a huge turn on.”
He laughed but shook his head. “Never going to happen.”
“So owning a club is your post rugby plan?”
“No. It’s just one source of possible income.”
“What about becoming a commentator or something? Isn’t that what a lot of ex–footy players do?”
“Yeah they do, but nah…I can’t see myself doing that.”
“So what will you do?”
“I’ll go home. Back to the family, back to the cattle property. My parents aren’t getting any younger. There’s always something to do out there.”
Juliet glanced at him. The fact he was happy to disappear into relative obscurity at the end of his career surprised the hell out of her. She’d have thought celebrity was addictive.
“Oh. I figured you mustn’t have liked farm life very much.”
“No way. I love it out there.” His hand tightened a little in hers, his voice, already low, roughened with obvious emotion. “It’s in my blood as much as rugby. I had a chance to pursue my big dream in the city, but I miss home. A lot. The property, the town, the people. I have this dream about coaching at the local rugby club until I’m old and doddery.”
Juliet blinked. He just kept surprising her. She snuggled into his shoulder, watching the fascinating strobe of streetlights over their joined hands.
“You could coach at an elite level, couldn’t you?”
“Yeah…probably. But I’d rather go back to grass roots, you know? Sport forms so much of the backbone of small communities. The local cop used to coach out there when I first started. He believed footy was the answer to everything and I wouldn’t be where I am today without his absolute belief in me. I’d like to give some of that back.”
Absurd tears pricked the backs of Juliet’s eyes. The man ticked all of her boxes. Compassionate, kind, thoughtful. But he was alpha as fuck on a rugby field.
And in the bedroom.
Or on a balcony. Or in front of a mirror. Or up against a wall.
She really should walk away. Now. Right now.
Hell, she should run.
“What about you?” His head shifted and she could sense him looking down at her. “What are you going to do after Italy?”
Juliet blinked. What was she going to do after Italy? Good question. She lifted her head off his shoulder, her gaze meeting his. “To be honest, I haven’t really thought beyond go to Italy.”
“Really?” His smile was big and lazy. “You don’t have some list typed out somewhere with a five-year plan?”
Juliet returned his smile, it was impossible not to. “My plan had been to go to Italy for a year with my mother then come home and study. You could say I don’t have much faith in lists or plans anymore.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
He kissed her then, slow and gentle, his lips a gossamer touch on hers. It wasn’t sexual. It was soothing. Its effect wasn’t physical, it was emotional, touching her somewhere deep, deep inside. The urge to cry returned and she desperately wished her mother was still around to meet this man.
She would have loved Ryder.
Her pulse tapped crazily at her temple as he pulled away. She blinked rapidly, not wanting him to see her shiny-eyed. She’d been adamant about there being no emotion in their relationship, she was damned if she was going to break her own rules.
“I guess—” She cleared the huskiness from her voice. “A part of me is hoping that I’ll find a job in Italy which allows me to stay for several years. My fine arts degree stands a better chance of practical application over there than it ever will here.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I have enough savings to stay for a year if I’m careful with my money. After that…I guess I’ll come home and figure the rest out. I’m hoping Italy will give me some clarity.”
He nodded slowly and she slid her head back onto his shoulder, her gaze fixing on the play of light on their hands again as the taxi sped them home.
“Well…if you need a place to bunk when you return, you can always stay with me.”
A hand crept around her heart and squeezed. The thought of Ryder in her future had been one she’d refused to contemplate. They were a two-month thing. A two-month sex thing. A delicious never-to-be-repeated interlude.
And their time was nearly up.
“Like on the couch?” she teased.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she shut her eyes as his chin rubbed back and forth. Goose bumps prickled over her scalp. “No. Not the couch.”
Her lips curved despite the implication. Was he saying he wanted to pick up where they’d left off? Right. It’d probably take about as long as her plane disappearing into the wild blue yonder for some chick to be getting on her knees for him.
“I could be years. You’ll probably be married with babies.”
His chin stopped its caress. “No. I won’t.”
Juliet’s lungs suddenly felt too big for her chest. What did that mean? “I might have put on fifty kilos from all the pasta.” She had to try and keep it light. “That’s what happens when you travel.”
“More of you to love.”
Juliet’s breath cut out altogether. If she wasn’t very much mistaken, so had his. She knew he meant physical love but it was still the L word and it sat between them like a bloody great boulder. They froze in place as if they were both too scared to move in case it toppled and crushed one of them.
She really, really should call it quits.
His breath eased out in a slow, ragged sigh. “I’ll get the bed reinforced.”
Juliet blinked, a bubble of absurd laughter rising in her chest. Relief flooded her bone marrow. He hadn’t meant it.
It was going to be all right.
She could have kissed Ryder for pulling them back from the brink. In fact, she did, raising her face toward him, half turning, dragging his head down, her mouth meeting his, hot and hard and urgent, desperate to get lost in the one thing she was certain about.
Their overwhelming desire.