Chapter 21

After the embarrassing hanging from the chandelier sex discussion, Marabelle and Nick settled into a comfortable conversation about music, food, travel, sports, and more sports.

Curious, Marabelle asked him questions about his football and coaching career. “Do you think you’ll ever retire from coaching?”

“Sure. It’s grueling and demanding, and if you don’t win a few championships, then you’re shit out of luck and shit out of a job.”

From her playing days in college, Marabelle understood the inordinate amount of pressure all professional athletes felt, and that pressure tripled as a coach in the pros. “You’ll win a championship. The Cherokees are tough and getting stronger, especially with you as their leader.”

He gave her a half smile. “And you know this how?”

Because she’d done some snooping on the Internet and read what the sports analysts were predicting. Racy photos involving another coach’s wife and Nick on some island also popped up. But for all his celebrity status and fame, he really was a decent guy. Marabelle’s heart tripped over how he’d treated her family and how supportive he’d been all weekend.

“I just do. You have that leadership thing going. Men, especially young men, will want to follow you. That’s not something that can be taught. You come by it naturally. But you don’t lord it over people. You use it in a good way.”

Nick reached for her hand and brushed the back with the softest kiss. Marabelle’s hand tingled from his warm lips.

“Thanks. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I speak the truth. I wish I had half your confidence and natural talent.”

“Baby girl, you do just fine. I’d pick you for my team any day.” Marabelle’s heart smiled. Coming from Nick, that was one of the best compliments ever.

They arrived back at Nick’s house around six that evening. After the seven-hour drive, they decided to get some exercise before grabbing dinner. Marabelle jogged on a regular basis, but her short legs were no competition for Nick’s long, effortless strides. She huffed, disgusted that she couldn’t keep up. After jogging a three-mile loop, they finished at the end of Nick’s street.

“Remind me never to exercise with you again,” Marabelle panted on her cooldown. “You don’t even sweat. That’s not normal.”

“Sure I do. You forget I already put in a five-mile run this morning while you were still dreaming about me in bed,” he replied with cheerful arrogance.

“Don’t your shoulders get tired, carrying around that huge ego all the time?”

“Nah. What do you want for dinner? I know a great Thai place that delivers.”

“Sounds good. Do I have time for a quick shower?”

Nick opened the kitchen door from the garage. “Sure.” He handed her a water bottle from his beverage refrigerator. “Hey, I’ll race ya. Last one showered and dressed pays for dinner.”

Marabelle studied him over the top of the bottle. A strange ripple started in her chest, causing all sorts of hot images of Nick to flash through her mind. She deliberately ran the tip of her tongue over the top of the bottle, catching his undivided attention.

“As much as I love a challenge, I have an even better idea,” she said in a sultry voice she never knew she possessed.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, his voice husky.

“How about that shower sex you were boasting about earlier?” She shrugged. “For the sake of the affair.”

Marabelle’s heart raced at his wicked grin. “That’s pretty advanced stuff. Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll be with a professional, won’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

The minute Marabelle arrived home from work on Monday afternoon, she kicked off her shoes and dove straight for bed, exhausted. She had no idea how long she’d been out, when pounding on her front door woke her.

“Hold your horses, I’m coming,” she called out in a groggy voice as she stumbled down the hallway.

“Open up. It’s me, Paula.”

Marabelle pulled the door open. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I tried texting, but you didn’t ans—YOU’VE HAD SEX!” Paula said loud enough to wake the dead.

“What? Am I wearing a sign or something?” Marabelle shuffled back to her bedroom to look in the mirror.

Paula followed on her heels. “I can just tell. YOU’VE HAD A LOT OF SEX!”

“Yes, and now the entire neighborhood knows. Please stop proclaiming it for all the world to hear.” Marabelle ran a brush through her messy hair.

“Holy shitski. I can’t believe you finally broke down.”

Marabelle dropped the brush with a thud. “I’m only human, you know.”

“Good for you. This calls for alcohol.” Paula held up a six-pack of Coronas and a bag of limes. “You better start from the beginning,” Paula said, marching to the kitchen. Marabelle quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt and joined her.

Paula supplied the beer, and Marabelle offered the chips and salsa and her accounting of the weekend.

“You mean to tell me Coach Gorgeous gave you that incredible ring you can’t get off your finger, and he says this is only an affair? Am I missing something?”

Marabelle hedged. “Not exactly. We came to a mutual agreement after I told him we should call it off. He pointed out that I still needed him for the auction.” She gave a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“I swear, girl, sometimes you’re thicker than a concrete block.”

“Thanks. What makes me so thick?” Marabelle dipped her chip in the spicy salsa.

“A man like him does not buy a diamond you can see from space, fly to Atlanta to be with his fake fiancée’s weirdo family, charm your doodle of a mother, give gobs of money to her charity, have smokin’ sex with you, and drive seven hours back in your wind-up car because he’s only having an affair.”

“Why not?” Marabelle said around a mouthful of salsa. “Men do all kinds of things for the sake of an affair. Cheat on their wives, dye their hair, lose thirty pounds—”

“Uh-huh. Are you blind? Are you forgetting who he is and how he looks? Nick doesn’t have to do any of those things to have an affair. Women probably pay him.” And didn’t that reality smack Marabelle in the face. Why exactly was he with her?

Paula pointed a salty chip at her. “Stop your belittling thoughts.”

Marabelle cut her gaze to Paula’s knowing face. Paula understood all about her dysfunctional relationship with her mother.

“Face it, he’s not going to all this trouble to get in your pants. He could’ve had you up against your whiteboard the first time you clapped eyes on him.”

Sad but true. “Okay, why is he doing it?” Maybe Paula could shed some light on a very confusing situation that had Marabelle’s heart soaring and stomach doing cartwheels.

Paula slapped herself in the forehead. “Wooing you, of course. Don’t you see?”

Paula voiced what Marabelle had been too afraid to whisper inside her head, let alone her heart. She didn’t dare. Years of competition taught Marabelle how to lock down distracting thoughts and stay focused on her goal. Keep my eye on the ball—my promotion—and anticipate my opponent’s—the committee’s—next shot.

Marabelle chugged her beer. “No. Don’t start spinning this. I’m using him to rock that auction. That’s it.”

Paula chewed, giving Marabelle her I-can’t-believe-we’re-friends look. “Okay. Then what’s in it for him?”

“That’s easy. Um, well. He wants me to scare off those gold-digging women who only want to be Mrs. Nick Frasier.”

Paula smirked, “And how’s that working out?”

Every woman who had blatantly flirted with Nick this past weekend popped into Marabelle’s head. And then there was perfect Ginger with her designer clothes and bony ass. And yet, Nick had been with Marabelle.

Paula rolled her eyes. “Fine. Have it your way.”

“Can we change the subject?” Marabelle needed time to process this information on her own.

“Yeah. Just one more question.” Paula tipped the beer to her lips.

Marabelle hesitated at the calculated expression on her friend’s face. “What?”

“Can I be a bridesmaid?” Paula fell back hooting with laughter.

Marabelle threw a chip at Paula’s head. “You’re sick. You and Big Edna should get together.”

Paula grabbed Marabelle’s hand to examine the engagement ring more closely, whistling low. “I’d love to see what he’d buy if this was a real engagement.”

Yeah, so would Marabelle. But this ring was growing on her. It was real to her, and she wanted to savor it as long as she could. Her heart cartwheeled smack into a brick wall just as she heard a knock at her door. Good thing. Marabelle’s thoughts would lead to nothing but trouble. Beau Quinton stood on her front porch, not looking particularly contrite.

“Hey, Mary-bell. You still speaking to me?”

“Well, well, well, look who’s here. Brutus. Here to stab me in the back or dig for more secrets?” Marabelle turned, shutting the door on Beau’s cocky grin, except, being a sneak, he’d stuck his foot out to prevent it from closing.

“I brought a peace offering.” He held a bouquet of fresh spring flowers and a bucket of fried chicken. Pushing his way inside, Beau followed her to the kitchen.

Marabelle snorted. “Paula Carver, meet the infamous Beau Quinton. Quarterback for the Carolina Cherokees and professional snitch. He brought you flowers.”

“Hello there, beautiful.” Beau laid on the charm thick as Crisco. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” For someone who wouldn’t shut up only moments ago, Paula appeared dumbstruck.

Beau’s good looks tied a lot of tongues, and Marabelle would’ve laughed except she was still hurt—no, furious—with his underhandedness.

“Don’t let her dumb-ass expression fool you. When she snaps to, she’ll be the most intelligent person you converse with for the next month.”

“I deserve all this shit you’re throwing at me, huh?” He smiled, unflustered as usual.

“Where do you find these guys?” Paula asked after several hard gulps.

Marabelle put water in a bright-yellow Fiestaware vase for the flowers. “This one crawled out from under a rock. But they’re around. All you have to do is cook something, and they’ll swarm you like flies at a picnic,” she said, arranging the spring flowers. “Be careful what you say, Paula. Q here is a known narc.” She placed the flowers on her windowsill next to the sink. “Thanks for the flowers and the food. You can leave now.” Marabelle glared at Beau.

Beau casually opened a Corona and straddled a kitchen chair, dangling the beer from his long fingers. Paula sat across from him for an unobstructed view and openly gawked.

“Look, I’m sorry I let Coach in on your half-baked plan. And before you go all schoolteacher on me and rap my knuckles with a ruler, Coach seemed pretty pleased with himself this morning. You could say I did you a favor. I didn’t get all the details, but it sounds as if the weekend wasn’t a disaster.” Beau shrugged his broad shoulders.

“How would you know? Were you there?” Marabelle slapped silverware and plates on the table. “Crossing a minefield is less stressful. Between Nick bossing me around and my mother, well, being herself, I came this close to losing it.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

“And yet, it worked out.” Beau tipped the beer to his lips.

Did it? Marabelle wasn’t sure of anything. “How do you think I felt when he showed up with a diamond ring?”

“Happy. Ecstatic. Elated.” Beau didn’t disguise the interest lighting his dark eyes.

“More like shocked, stunned, and speechless.” Marabelle dumped the chicken on a platter, and Paula and Beau pounced on the food like hungry puppies.

“You’re right. Diamond rings piss off most women,” Beau said between bites.

“Talk about a suck-up,” Marabelle muttered under her breath, suddenly not feeling the love. And she wasn’t only referring to Beau winking at Paula. Nick sucked up better than her Dyson vacuum cleaner. “You know what he did at the live auction?” Marabelle pointed a drumstick at Beau.

“No, but I’m sure—”

“He bid twenty-five hundred dollars to dance with my mother.”

Beau paused, wiping his hands on a napkin, and then whistled low. “Damn. He’s got it bad.”

Marabelle sniffed. “Then he spent tons of money on the silent auction, endearing him to my mother for life.”

“That bastard,” Paula said in mock outrage.

“Oh, you don’t understand.” Marabelle pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. The more she recapped the weekend, the sicker she felt. Because she’d fallen hopelessly in love with the unattainable man. How could she explain that to Paula and Beau?

“Mary-bell, what are you really trying to say? None of this sounds like a nightmare to me,” Beau said patiently.

Marabelle plopped her elbows on the table. “Don’t you see? Because of his convincing performance, everyone thinks he’s wonderful and I couldn’t do better for myself.”

“So?” Beau and Paula said in unison.

“So? Hello, people. There’s not going to be a wedding. Fake engagement, remember? Which means I’m left to clean up the mess when he finally dumps me.” God, she sounded whiny and pathetic.

Wordlessly, Beau and Paula stared at her.

After a few beats, Beau hopped up and carried his plate to the sink. “Let me explain something to you about guys. No guy goes to all the trouble pretending to be engaged, buying expensive jewelry, and sucking up to his girlfriend’s family if he isn’t in a serious, committed relationship.”

“That’s what I said,” Paula added.

Beau worked his strong fingers into Marabelle’s tense shoulders. “I don’t see much of a downside. From where I’m standing, this fake engagement looks pretty real.”

Holy Serena Williams. Marabelle twisted in her chair and glared at Beau. “You’re still in the doghouse. Because of you, I’m in a freakin’ hot mess.”

Beau raised his hands in surrender. “I had nothing to do with your fake engagement. That was between you and Coach.”

Paula jabbed her finger at Marabelle. “Yeah, don’t be blaming Beau.”

Marabelle rolled her eyes. “Sure. Take the hot guy’s side.”

“Hey, I like you, Paula Carver. How ’bout hanging out with me tonight?”

Beau could tempt cloistered nuns with his sexy smile, the wily fox.

“I’d love to.” Paula reached for Beau’s outstretched hand, and they both bolted for the door. Marabelle followed. “Go. Have fun. Leave me here to wallow—” She froze. Another car sat parked in front of her house.

“Nick.” She pushed past Paula and Beau and raced down the steps. Nick closed the door to his Porsche just in time as she flung herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips, and hugging him around the neck.

“Hey there, baby girl.” He smiled, giving her a tight squeeze.

“I missed you,” she breathed, pressing her lips against his for a long, deep kiss.

“You’d think they hadn’t seen each other in months,” Paula said with a sigh.

Beau smirked. “Yeah, it’s obvious she can’t stand the guy.”

* * *

Marabelle clung to Nick and kissed him in front of her house for all her nosy neighbors to see, and she didn’t care. She was in his strong, supportive arms, and that was all that mattered.

Still holding her in place, Nick said in his dark-velvet voice, “Invite me in.”

“So, no hood-of-the-car sex?” Marabelle sounded breathy, and she never did breathy.

Nick gave a wicked smile. “Sure. We can ask Lilah Dawkins to score our performance.”

Carrying Marabelle inside her small foyer, he released her legs slowly. Marabelle buried her nose in his chest, inhaling his signature scent.

“You hungry? T-there’s food in the kitchen.”

Nick walked her backward down the hallway; his hands never left her body. “No. I’m more interested in your bedroom, Tinker Bell. More specifically, your bed.”

They made quick work of removing all their clothing. Nick tossed Marabelle on her bed and followed her down, covering her with his body.

He kissed and stroked until she was mindless with need. Marabelle delighted in his warm, muscular body beneath her palms. She loved how he made her feel and how he made her forget. Forget this wasn’t real. And he wasn’t hers. And she wasn’t worthy.

“We should slow down. I’m going too fast.” He rained kisses over her face and chest. But Marabelle didn’t want slow. She wanted fast and hard, and she wanted Nick more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. And for this moment, he was hers, and that would have to be enough.

She rubbed against him, reveling in his moan of pleasure. “I need you now,” she breathed. Emotions she couldn’t name unfurled inside her chest, but she treasured their intensity. Impatient, she pulled him down and stole another kiss, opening her legs to cradle him. Nick prodded the entrance to her body and gently rocked.

Marabelle wanted all of him…now. She clasped her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips, sheathing him completely inside her body. Pleasure spread like a liquid inferno. Nick stroked slow and deep.

“More. Faster. Harder.” She locked gazes with him.

Suddenly her urgency became his. Nick thrust, and Marabelle clung to him, digging her nails into his back. Small cries broke from her throat, and her hips rose convulsively against him.

Mindless with need, Nick’s breathing grew more labored. Until—

“Fuck!” Suddenly he stopped.

“W-what?” Marabelle’s eyes flew open.

His arms shook from holding all his weight. “No condom,” he rasped.

Marabelle gasped.

“Say the word, babe, but hurry,” he growled in frustration with sweat beading his brow.

The ramifications of what they were doing didn’t go unnoticed. Marabelle watched the tension in his neck and corded muscles. But she never felt panic. She felt right. She felt loved.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

That’s all it took.

Nick slammed into her. She felt him all the way to the core of her heart, climaxing on the third deep thrust. She bucked against him, his name exploding from her lips.

Nick barely held on, making a guttural sound and shuddering his release only moments later.