Chapter Seven
Val braced herself to sit. And to say what had to be said. “Let me up.”
He let her up. It was gratifying to hear his soft groan as he withdrew. It went well with the hitch in her breath as he slid from her body.
“There’s a bathroom out that way.” She tipped her chin in the direction of a door as she straightened her bra and pulled her T-shirt down. The door led outside to a private covered alcove that housed toilet facilities.
He nodded. “I’ll just go and clean up.”
He bent to pull up his shorts, and it was only then she realised he hadn’t been completely naked, that his pants had been down around his ankles all the time. A bird’s-eye view of what they must have looked like in their mad, desperate rush to be joined flashed on her inward eye, and she cringed a little, despite the extra little beat in her heart.
Still, she couldn’t help but laugh as he reefed his shorts up to his hips. It was more a holy shit what the hell just happened laugh than anything else, and he laughed, too, and shook his head, staring at their general dishevelment. “That was…”
She laughed again. “Yes. It was.” He held her gaze for a few more moments before striding to the door and exiting.
Val slowly slid off the bench top. It was fair to say she’d never look at this bench as a work space ever again. Hell, she’d probably never get anything done here again, with the ghost of their kitchen quickie a constant companion. She was certainly going to need to disinfect the fucker with industrial strength, hospital grade something. It’d be just her luck one of her clients would come down with some obscure illness caused from bacteria only found in spunk.
That’d be kinda hard to explain to the health department.
She glanced at the three dozen choc chip macadamia biscuits she’d cooked. They’d have to go, too. Nobody would know that they’d sat less than a metre from a fornicating baker and her off-limits lover, but she’d know.
And the health department did not screw around with hygiene.
Her legs wobbled precariously as her feet touched down. Obviously all the parts of her that had liquefied during her orgasm hadn’t yet decided to solidify enough to stand upright. She leaned on the bench for a moment, regaining her land legs, then bent to pick up her shoes and trousers discarded nearby.
By the time Kyle had returned, she was fully dressed and busying herself with packing the biscuits into a bag. “You might as well take these home with you,” she said briskly, determined to keep things normal with Kyle, to push him back behind that line they’d crossed.
Twice.
“Do you think you can eat three dozen choc chip biscuits?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I think I can manage.”
“You can always take them in to work. The guys’ll help you. They love my bickies.”
“I bet they do.” He scowled at her, but Val just smiled, ignoring his inference. “And how do I explain to them where I got a dozen of your biscuits? Because they’re sure as shit going to ask. Whilst they’re polishing their pitchforks. And I don’t want to throw Eve under a bus.”
Val doubted the guys would be annoyed at Eve. But her father might be. Damn. Every time he opened his mouth, she liked Kyle a little more.
That man sure knew how to use his mouth to good effect.
“Maybe you’re right. There’s nothing for it. You’re going to have to choke them all down.” She shoved them in a Sticky Fingers paper bag and passed them to him with a smile, her hip pressed into the bench.
“I think I can take one for the team.”
They stared at each other for long moments. She didn’t know if it was just her, or just her imagination, but there was a far earthier aroma to the kitchen right now. It smelled more like a boudoir than a bakery, an erotic reminder of their rather animalistic coming together.
She was going to need nuclear strength disinfectant.
Kyle inspected the contents of the bag before returning his gaze to her. “About before.”
“It’s okay, I know. You don’t have to say it. I understand.”
He frowned. “You do?”
“It was a mistake.”
His frown deepened. “Weeeell…I wouldn’t call it a mistake, exactly. Something that good could never be a mistake.”
Oh Lordy. More with the mouth. Val steeled herself against its panty-dropping effects. “You told my father you’d leave me alone. What would you call it?”
“A…slip.”
Val almost laughed. “As in, you tripped, and your dick slipped into me?”
He did laugh, but sobered quickly. “No. That was a hundred percent deliberate.”
Her heart leapt at the admission, but her more pragmatic angels prevailed. “But not what you came here for.”
He sighed. “No. I really did just come here to check on you. To talk about the night we met.”
“And we did. We agreed that I was all right and that night was great, but shouldn’t happen again because of your career, and then we blew it. We…slipped.” She smiled at the euphemism.
She’d slipped up a lot in life. Never had it resulted in a mind-blowing orgasm. Clearly she’d been doing it all wrong.
“But we really, really, really can’t let it happen again. I’ve seen my father bench players for far less provocation than you’ve just given him. He doesn’t believe in idle threats, Kyle.”
“Yeah.” He gave a half laugh. “I figured that one out already.”
“So this is it. Finito.” Val chopped her hand through the air to underscore her point. “The last time. We can’t do this again.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
But it was as reluctant as hell. He didn’t look that certain, and they both needed to be on the same page with this or it was never going to work. “Why do I sense a but there somewhere?”
His sigh whispered to all the parts of her that were still excitable from their last encounter. “I just wish I’d known it was going to be it, you know? I could have prepared mentally. Plus—” He took a step toward her, and Val’s senses, still in a state of alert, sizzled with awareness. “I could have made it really good for you.”
Really good? Christ, if he could do better than that, she was a bloody goner. “Did you hear me complaining?”
“No.”
Of course he didn’t. Because he’d rendered her speechless. “Then you can rest easy, big guy.” She patted him on the shoulder, an impulsive, affectionate gesture. Immediately she wished she hadn’t. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, as evidenced by the itch in her fingers. An itch demanding she curl said fingers into his shirt and drag him close.
She snatched her hand back. He noticed, but thankfully ignored it. “So we just carry on as normal? Like nothing ever happened between us?”
“Yep. It’s not like we’ll see each other that much, is it? The odd home game get-together at Tanner’s. The occasional official rugby function. Easy.”
His cocked eyebrow mocked her attempts at downplaying their crazy chemistry. “Easy?”
“Yes.” She doubled down, clinging desperately to her conviction. “I think perhaps it would be advisable for us not to ever be alone together, if it can be avoided.”
He chuckled. “You think?”
The chemistry flared between them, so did her temper. For the love of all that was holy, she was doing this for him. If he wasn’t Kyle-hotshot-Leighton, she’d be fucking him and flaunting it at every opportunity. And screw what her father said. “I’m trying to look out for your career, Kyle. Remember that?”
“What if I could have both? What if I told you I could handle my career and your father just fine without dancing around and pretending I’m not totally hot for his daughter?”
Val’s stomach did a three-sixty turn in her belly. Her heart did the same in her chest. “You’ve known me for two weeks.”
The whole thing was bloody preposterous.
“I was hot for you the moment I saw you sitting on that barstool all alone, murdering olives with a toothpick.”
God. She wished Kyle would stop saying all the right things. It made him very hard to resist. But she’d known her father for much longer than Kyle had. She knew how bloody minded he was, and Kyle damaging his career like this over some chick he picked up in a bar was monumentally stupid.
Nobody gave up the chance of a lifetime for a bit of tail.
She appreciated Kyle’s bravado, but her father couldn’t be handled. The only person who could really do that was Eve, and there were times when he sorely tested her calm, unflappable demeanour.
Val knew she’d never forgive herself for getting between Kyle and her father. The sex was good—incredibly good—but some things were bigger.
“Trust me, you’ll thank me for this one day.” He eyed her dubiously. “Rugby glory, Kyle. My dad can make that happen.”
His tawny gaze glittered at her, obviously torn between the temptation of the flesh and the temptation of the pitch. Of achieving his lifelong goal. No matter how much he wanted her, she knew he wanted that more.
She didn’t know Kyle very well, but she knew guys just like him. Driven. Focused. Ambitious. Every Smoke player, every pro rugby player was the same. They wanted to be the best. The top of their game. They wanted the glory. And they worked their asses off to get it.
She knew without having to even ask him that Kyle would have been working toward the glory all his life. He wouldn’t give it up. And she wouldn’t let him.
“Is this your way of wriggling out of your offer of free Chelsea buns for all eternity?”
Val laughed, a burst of noise to relieve the tension. He was finally thinking with his big head again. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m not going to stop coming here every morning to collect.”
Her stomach squirmed deliciously at his choice of words. Just as he’d no doubt intended. “As long as you stay out there”—she hooked her thumb over her shoulder—“we should be fine.”
“I don’t think you and I will ever be fine.”
Val nodded slightly, conceding his point. Maybe so. But that wasn’t important, and she was done talking about this.
Calling it quits was the right thing to do, and once he had some time and space that wasn’t soaked in hormones or vanilla, he’d see it, too.
He was twenty-four and a brilliant rugby player with a stellar future. He wasn’t some guy who was young and dumb and full of come. He just needed to start thinking with his balls—the rugby variety—not the ones dangling between his legs.
And in the meantime, she’d protect him from himself and the consequences of his baser urges.
“Time to go now. I have some more biscuits to bake.”
He took a step back. Resigned more than enthusiastic. “Fine. But I’ll see you in the morning.”
Val shook her head. “No. I’ll be in here, as always. And you’ll be out there. Neither of us will have time to chat. But I’ll probably see you at Tanner’s after the game in a fortnight if you’re going to be there.”
Tanner and Matilda always had a post-match pizza and beer night after every home game at their gorgeous harbourside apartment at Woolloomooloo.
“I’ll be there.”
Goose bumps pricked her skin at the illicit promise in his deep, growly voice. Her nipples stung as they tightened and rubbed again against her bra. At least they wouldn’t be alone, and she clung to that as Kyle left.
There was safety and sanity in numbers.
…
Kyle called into Sticky Fingers the next morning at his usual quarter to six. The sky had just started to lighten in what promised to be another beautiful, sunny, Sydney winter morning. It was nippy for now, though. Cool enough for track pants, but not enough to zip up his hoodie, and Griff would have them all sweating bullets soon enough.
A waft of sugar and spice and all things nice hit him as he opened the door to the bakery, and he was practically flattened by the potent memory of Val’s mouthwatering vanilla aroma. So potent his cock jumped to swift attention.
Kyle couldn’t recall ever having a stiffy in a bakery before, but he had a feeling it was about to become a regular thing. Considering how busy it was inside, including the presence of three old ladies and two senior girls from a posh city high school, that could be a problem.
He zipped up his hoodie and waited his turn, trying not to peer through the slats of the swing doors and failing miserably. Not that he could see a thing. Not above or below, either. Not even a glimpse. One lousy glimpse. Something to put a lift in his step and a smile on his face when Griff was pushing him to breaking point and all he wanted to do was die.
He knew what she said yesterday was right. That they needed to stop, draw a line. That he’d be throwing away years of hard work for sex. Really fucking good sex, but something ultimately frivolous, nonetheless. Something he could get elsewhere. Get anywhere. If he really wanted.
Except he didn’t. And sex had never felt less frivolous.
Suddenly it felt very fucking vital. Like oxygen.
And rugby.
Since yesterday, he’d gone over and over the arguments for leaving Val the fuck alone. Incessantly. He’d hardly thought of anything else, so he understood all the reasons he needed to stay away. But his body—the one he relied on, that had never let him down, that had never led him astray—just wasn’t on board.
And the funny little grip on his heart, the catch in his breath when he thought about her? That was even more worrying.
“Hi, Kyle.” The woman behind the counter smiled at him familiarly, the same way she’d been doing every morning since she started here about six months ago.
“Hey, Sandy.”
Val’s front woman was a pretty blonde in her thirties. She had a wedding ring, but she liked to flirt with her eyes a little. Not because she had any clue who he was, but because she did it with all the customers, young or old, male or female. She liked her job and she liked her customers, and the customers loved her. A great asset to any business. Val had chosen well.
“You’re in someone’s good books, I hear,” she said, her eyes dancing at him.
Kyle cocked an eyebrow, wondering just how much Sandy knew about what had gone down here yesterday. “Oh?”
“Val tells me you can have your heart’s—or should I say your stomach’s—desire for free from now until eternity.”
He grinned. “Lucky me.”
“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”
“We recently…” Hooked up. And had hot sex. On two different occasions. And now I can’t think of anything else and I’m destined to get a hard-on every time I pass within one city block of a bakery. “Met.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at his stumbling response. “Are you going to tell me what you did to warrant such special treatment, because Val wouldn’t say, which is rather mean of her, I think.”
He chuckled. Not mean—smart. He’d been with women who couldn’t wait to Facebook, tweet, or Instagram all about their apparent shenanigans. “Can she hear us back there?” The swing doors were directly behind Sandy’s head.
Sandy grinned. “I bloody hope so.” She folded her arms, obviously unconcerned by the waiting customers. As most of them seemed to be unashamedly listening into the conversation, he didn’t think any were going to complain. “Well?”
“It’s top secret, I’m afraid.” Kyle remembered how Val had pulled that one on him the night they met, and he smiled. He hoped like hell she was listening, too. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Sandy rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but didn’t push. She grabbed a pair of tongs with a flourish. “The usual?”
“You know it.”
She crossed to the section of the cabinet that housed the sweet buns. The croissants were next door and they were, as usual, rapidly dwindling.
“Actually. I’ll have two, thanks.”
“Of course you will,” Sandy said, shooting him a sassy smile as she grabbed another bun with some tongs. “They’re free, right? And you’re carb loading? Or something?” Her frank gaze swept over him, leaving him in no doubt she liked what she saw, but in that abstract way people admired movie stars or celebrities, enjoying the eye candy, happy and secure in the knowledge it could never be.
Kyle chuckled. “No. I owe somebody one.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Would this someone be of the female variety?”
“You think I’m going to get a dude a bun with pink icing on it?”
“I think it’s a little late for you to be worrying about manly buns,” she replied with a cheeky smile as she handed over the paper bags with the goods.
Kyle took them, his gaze flicking sideways to the swinging doors. “Could you give Val a message for me?”
“I can get her for you, if you like?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. Val was right—best she stay on one side of the door, and he firmly on the other. “Just tell her…nice buns.”
Sandy threw back her head and laughed, and, with one last look at the slatted doors, he ceded his place at the counter and went out into the cold.
Thirty minutes later he was at Henley, detouring to Eve’s office on his way to the locker room. She didn’t usually get in ’til after eight, but it wasn’t like Chelsea buns went off. He placed it in the middle of her spotless desk, still in its Sticky Fingers paper bag.
He owed her for the tip-off. He and Val had talked, cleared the air, and redrawn their boundaries. The fact they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other and gone for it on her kitchen bench had all been part of the process.
It was the end result that was the important thing.
It’d certainly been worth a Chelsea bun or two.