T H E N
Six Months Ago
If my mum were still alive—Jesus, the Saints and Mother Mary preserve her soul—then she would have smarted my ears had she known what I’d gotten up to. I hadn’t meant to be an arsehole, but then, that’s what you get with too much drink.
So, there I was, standing outside that classroom door on campus, shifting on my feet, heel to heel, waiting for that wanker Tucker Morrison to call me in and apologize for attempting a drunken snog on a fit little angel the night before.
My fecking head wouldn’t stop pounding.
I could hear them in there, him and the girl. Mumbled words really and I wouldn’t have been the least surprised if that eegit was trying to chat her up. He thought a lot of himself, did Morrison, and it’s all undeserved. But, as captain of our squad, I reckon it was his place. Making me be there, not the chatting up the girl bit.
I wasn’t sure what I’d say to her. Let’s be honest, I had only vague recollections of her. I knew she was ginger. I knew her arse was round. I knew that because I seem to recall watching that arse bouncing as she ran, as I ran after her. But I didn’t even know her name, though I thought Morrison said it was Amy or Audrey or some such. McShane. That was it. Last name was McShane. That one stuck.
My fecking head, blimey.
“Fraser,” Morrison said, his body leaning out of the doorway. I didn’t like the smug fecking grin on his face or the way he snapped his fingers like I was some panting mutt. When I only managed to stare at him, quirking up one eyebrow, he returned my hesitation with a pathetic glare. “Take your medicine, dude. She’s waiting.”
Really, all I was keen to do was knock him around. It seemed to me no one’s done that enough to that wanker, but I was at the university to play, as my da constantly reminded me. Not to get into tussles with my entitled, subpar captain.
I cracked my neck, set back my shoulders knowing I was likely entering a fecking lion’s den. I don’t do apologies, normally, but Morrison threatened suspension if I didn’t, and if I couldn’t play in matches then there was little point to sticking around this God-forsaken place.
Our captain was shorter than me, but then I’m taller than most. Still, because he was, I was able to see over his head, to the gorgeous creature leaning on the desk at the front of the classroom. She was frowning and a hard line pulled along the sides of her full, pink mouth. Still looked fecking beautiful. But then she noticed me and that adorable scowl transformed to a look of outright rage.
“What the hell do you want?” she said, standing straight.
Jaysus. If looks could kill…
I couldn’t help it. This girl pulled the “condescending bastard” right out of me and I felt my cheek dent with a smirk. She was prettier than I remembered with that long, ginger hair falling behind her back and those gorgeous gray eyes shining with anger. And her tits? Feck me, they were perfect.
She looked me over, her eyes lowering over my chest, down to my arms and I wondered if she thought me ridiculous with all the artwork I’ve covered my body with. For some reason I seemed to care, but then Morrison stepped forward and her angry frown deepened. This was bloody embarrassing, and I suddenly didn’t give a shite what either one of them thought.
Best to be done with this whole bloody mess. Right, apologize, go home, have a nap.
Then the wanker Morrison opened his mouth. “Autumn, I wanted to make sure Fraser apologized for last night.” I hadn’t asked him to speak for me and so I didn’t disguise the look of disgust that told this bollocks he annoyed me. He was speaking to this McShane girl like he was the conquering fecking hero and I was the idiot cabin boy come to collect the rubbish. Arsehole. He returned my scowl with one of his own, wiping away that stupid smile I’m sure he reserved just for this girl. “Anyway, Fraser, don’t you have something to say to Miss McShane?”
Damn. Right. My mouth should have been opening, should have been saying something like “apologies” or “I was an arse,” but Morrison’s narrowed, beady eyes were glistening and I had to pull my hands into fists to keep from throttling him. Finally, I looked at McShane and some of the tension left me. Just some, mind. She watched me too closely and I had to thrust my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts to keep my fisted hands still. I didn’t like her scrutiny, the hard glower of her eyes fanning over me like she was considering slapping me.
“I’m meant to say I’m sorry for maulin’ you last night and I shouldn’t have been so rude.” She lost the frown and I did my best not to smile. It’s amazing what a bit of an accent and mild tongue rolling does to American girls. No, seriously, it’s fecking amazing. It had been a good, active summer. The frown completely left her face and her cheeks flushed. Yeah, I knew what she was thinking, but then Morrison crossed his arms and I shoved any ideas I had about McShane away. Still, she had to know that I’m harmless, really. Except for the summer. No bloody excuses for that. “Also, I was an arsehole, but in my defense, I was pie-eyed as shite.” I had to fist my hands again when Morrison slapped the back of my head. That arsehole, I swear. Right, okay, dammit, he’s the captain. Be calm, Fraser. “That is to say, I’m sorry, miss. Won’t happen again.”
She made me stew a bit, rested back on her desk, those big, gray eyes again moving over me like she thought I was either an utter arsehole or some addled simpleton. I don’t make a habit of being uncomfortable, certainly not around women, but the way McShane watched me had my back up. What was she thinking? Why wasn’t she saying anything? I needed a quick “Sure, mate, fine, no problem,” and I was out of there quick and sudden. But she kept staring and it began to hack me off. My trainers squeaked against the floor when I rubbed them. Why the hell wasn’t she saying anything?
“You’re new here?” she asked, as though it wasn’t abundantly clear that I was an expat.
“Nah, born and raised in bleeding Texas. What do you think?” Another slap to the head from Morrison and that time I had to stretch my shoulders to keep from throttling him.
“Fine. Whatever. I’ve heard your apology.”
Great. So much for making amends. McShane rustled about in her bag and then Morrison launched into a tirade right in my fecking ear.
“You better fix this, asshole or I swear…”
“You’ll do what, exactly? Besides, it’s not my fault she’s pigheaded,” I whispered back to Morrison when he jabbed my arm.
“Go fucking apologize. If she tells the president…”
I jerked away from the captain, tired of his bossing. “Look, are you gonna go tell that president lady about last night because that would really fuck us over for the season and—” This time I caught the movement of Morrison’s hand moving, backed up, squared my shoulders. “Captain or no, do that again and I’ll fecking end you.”
His reaction was immediate and I matched him, looked down at this bollocks like he was a pouncy git. Which he was. My fingers itched for him to touch me. One shove and I’d have him, and this McShane girl would be my witness. I would have liked nothing more than to take Morrison down. Besides, no way was I backing down when there was a gorgeous girl in the room.
She stepped between us and I felt my knob twitch when she put her small fingers on my chest. My eyes, though, hadn’t left Morrison’s stupid face, and I was thinking of where the best place was to land my knuckles on his nose when McShane spoke, pulling my attention away.
“Okay, enough with the alpha male crap. I get it,” she said. “You were a drunken jackass and it’s not even a little okay what you did. Seriously, what were you thinking?” The thing about gingers that I loved is how easy it is to measure when they’re hacked off or turned on. From the pink blush that ran up McShane’s neck, right between those glorious tits, I could tell touching me did something to her, too. I couldn’t help it. I liked how her hand felt on me, how she smelled all girl-like and sweet. Just looking down at her had me forgetting my anger for a moment, forgetting that Morrison was in dire need of a throttling.
Honestly, I couldn’t help but feel like a slimy shite about what I had done on the pitch. That’s not me. I don’t grab girls, even drunk I’m well behaved—for the most part. So when she continued to stare at me, expecting what, I’m not sure, I looked down at the floor first before I could look at her face again. “I wasn’t. I’m not normally like that.”
“If Winchell finds out that could screw up our chances at regionals. We can’t have that. Just so we’re clear: you can’t go around attacking unsuspecting women.”
She had the smallest little twitch working under her eyelid. I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or whether she liked or loathed being close to me, having me stand so close that my breath moved her hair off her face. One dip of my eyes and I had a perfect view of her cleavage. Her bra was lace and the necklace she wore disappeared into the crease. There were freckles every bleeding where. I wanted to count them. With my tongue.
“And the suspecting ones?”
“No,” she said, moving away from me, bumping into Morrison. “Not unless they want you to.”
“Like that then?”
She moved her sharp chin up like she was bold, like I wasn’t making her nervous in the least. “Yes, it’s exactly like that.”
I liked that she tried to act brave. I liked that she thought I couldn’t tell by the pinking of her face that I was doing things to her, making her just a bit hot. “So, McShane, are you unsuspecting?” Looking at her, watching her small nervousness had me licking my lip at just the idea of how delicious I bet she tasted.
“Knock it off.” It was just like Morrison to ruin the mood, to break the small connection I saw forming in McShane’s eyes.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, didn’t bother looking behind me as I left, which suited me just fine. But a part of me knew, as I zipped through the lobby and out into the courtyard, that my apology wasn’t the only thing I had given to that ginger angel that morning.
Within the next few days, I discovered that Autumn McShane had a bit more fire in her than I first imagined.
My “punishment” as Morrison called it, for groping McShane and giving her a half-assed apology was to “volunteer” at the library, preparing for the yearly book sale. But I was still annoyed that Morrison didn’t buy the apology I gave McShane and when I made it to the library, my attitude was a bit less than cordial. Alright, I was an arsehole to her and her best friend Sayo and I teased her about her mum before I realized that she’s dead. Just like mine.
Yep. Definitely an arsehole.
Minutes after my insult, we chatted about her injuries and she showed me what was left from the wreck that took her mum.
The scar was vicious. A red, jagged line that swept across her stomach, dipped in the center where I thought the stitches must have been. It was fierce-looking, and the only thing that disturbed the perfect contours of her creamy skin. Her stomach was tight, toned, and I couldn’t help my bleeding fingers as they descended on her skin, my hand as it rested above her hip or my thumb as it rubbed against that scar.
I wanted to kiss it, lick it, make this gorgeous girl see I wasn’t fussed by the mark. It was part of her, wasn’t it? And even though I had wanted to throttle her just an hour before, I couldn’t lie and say I hadn’t wanted her from that first chat in her classroom. She was smart. Funny. And blimey was she fecking gorgeous.
I touched her, my thumbnail running along that pink, angry gash and her stomach muscles twitched and the faint, nearly translucent hairs on her stomach stood on end.
She liked that. She liked me touching her.
Well, shite, mate, that was excellent, wasn’t it now?
But I couldn’t let her see that I liked it too, the touching her bit. I pulled back, straightened, and my first thought was to show her just how marked up I was as well.
I showed her my shoulder, where I’d had a particularly nasty scar since I was a kid, the one Rory McDonald gave me when he pushed me onto some broken equipment. Her face went nearly blank, those beautiful gray eyes skimming all over my skin.
Dismissing the way she stared at me, I showed her another one just below my belly button. “Mickey Douglas forgot to ditch his watch during a practice match when I was eighteen. Fecking thing nearly ripped me in half when he lined me up and smashed me as I went for a try-scoring pass.”
Then it was my stomach tightening, working the muscles hard as she stared. Autumn swallowed and her full, pink lips moved as though they wouldn’t let whatever was trying to come out her mouth, leave.
“That’s um, yeah.”
I took a step toward her, liking the way she stared, liking that her eyes weren’t on my scar, but stared down at the lines in my stomach, at the thin hair above my belt. I hoped she didn’t notice how hard I was getting. I hoped she wouldn’t see that my body liked her eyes on my skin.
She went rigid when I dropped my shirt. I had stopped smiling. Sudden thoughts of that expression, of others I thought she could make, came to me. Thoughts of her staring at me with that same look as she rubbed her tight body against mine, as the smooth feel of her nakedness worked over me. She was soft everywhere with dips and curves that waited for my hands, for my lips. And freckles? Fuck me, I betted there were freckles over every inch of her body. I wanted to kiss each one.
Her eyes flicked to my face. All sudden like, I had this fecking compulsion to touch her, feel just how soft that skin was, touch her face and those high cheekbones, that plump mouth. I moved my thumbnail across her bottom lip, smoothing it there just like she did mine the other night on the sidewalk. She had no clue what that did to me. We’d been barking at each other and I had been so hacked off by her sneaking off to have a chat with the president. I had figured that she’d backed out on her promise to keep my attack to herself. But all my anger had disappeared when she touched me, when her eyes went all soft like and her long fingernail moved across my bottom lip.
I wanted her. Right then, on the street that night. I wanted to take her against the brick building behind us and kiss her soundly. I wanted to press her tiny, hard body against me, to grip her round arse, to show her what one bitty touch from her clever fingers had done to me.
But then, she had fucked with me, was having me on and I had to hurry home, ignoring my da’s curious frown and dive into my shower with thoughts of those nimble fingers and full lips attacking my mind.
All of that came back to me and I wondered if she was as affected by how much I wanted her as I was, wanting her, then and now. By the wide, gaping stretch of her eyes and how she ogled, I thought she was.
She smelled like fecking heaven when I inched closer and I couldn’t help but inhale deeply, took in that flowery girl smell. I could feel her shaking, her hair moving when I reached the curve of her ear. “Like what you see, love?”
She didn’t speak at first, seemed in fact, quite incapable of doing much more than biting her bottom lip and wetting it with her tongue. I had to hold back the moan that vibrated in my throat. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of what lingered between us. Desire, the promise of passion, the fecking desperate need to touch, to claim. It hung in the air, covered us like a cloud.
“Yes….um, no…it’s not like that.”
I smiled to myself, knew what she wanted, knew that she was likely the sort to deny herself to the last. Fecking stubborn arse.
“Liar.”
“McShane, please calm down.”
The woman was absolutely barmy. We were locked in the basement of the library, a lightning strike having fried the electric locks, and she was going crazy. We had been so close to something, but then.... this.
Her friend Sayo had warned me over the phone: watch out for panic attacks. Doctors thought they were a result of being trapped in a wrecked car for hours in the dark, during a storm, while her mother lay dead next to her. Just before, when the lights above flickered and the generators crashed, McShane’s bitty attack turned this calm, collected girl raving bonkers.
She wouldn’t be still and there was little I could do. What the feck was I supposed to do with her? Sayo said that she’d try to escape. Asked that I keep her calm. Fat lot chance of me doing that.
She made for the window just above a row of shelves, like a bee closing in on a succulent flower. “No, McShane, don’t you dare.” Books fell everywhere as this mad woman climbed the shelves, spilling them onto the already untidy floor. I was right behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, fighting against her as she struggled. “Calm yourself,” I said. I tried to keep my voice level, to shush her and not let her see how helpless I felt.
She fought me, wiggled against my body as I struggled with her and it did nothing but muddle my mind, fill it with ridiculous images of her naked against me, of my mouth on her pale, creamy skin. Jaysus, this wasn’t good. I breathed out through my nose and thought of unpleasant things—Morrison mouthing off, toddlers with snotty noses…American football. It helped, somewhat, I was at least less anxious, but she was still shaking, still moving against me, turning around and slapping my chest.
I had a good, firm hold on her, but I hated how scared she looked. I hated how her eyes were squinted in anger, or was that fear? I couldn’t really tell which. My mind buzzed trying to figure out what I could do to keep her from hurting herself, but then those plump, pink lips quivered, and I saw no other option. I told myself it was for her benefit, that desperate times needed desperate measures, so I pulled her hard against me and slammed my mouth over hers.
Dear God.
Sweet Lord.
She tasted fecking glorious.
She made little noises against my mouth, small sounds that hummed through my body. I kept my tongue behind my closed lips, but only just managed. I wanted so badly to pin her to the floor. I wanted to devour her mouth, lick her neck, nibble on the small, soft parts of her tender skin.
I felt like a complete wanker. I had kissed this girl to calm her but now my body was betraying me, had me acting like I was just hitting puberty. But just then, miraculously, McShane did something that completely unhinged me: she grabbed my collar, gripped it tight and I loved how aggressive she became. I couldn’t help the pathetic moan that lifted from my throat or the jackhammer rhythm that overtook my heart. Jaysus, she was lovely; all curves and soft, soft skin, smelling like pure heaven, and all I wanted to do at that moment was to deepen the kiss, to taste more of her.
I couldn’t help my hands smoothing over her back, her neck, when I felt her body calming, the frantic shudders leaving her completely, as she melted into me. I nearly whined when she opened her mouth, when she flicked her tongue past my lips. How my heart didn’t fly from my chest, I’ll never know. I reacted, gave back to her what she offered, slowly, but tenderly, forcing myself to take it easy, to not get caught up and maybe have her get frantic again.
I broke away from her, eager for a breath, for just a second to clear my mind. I wanted to speak, but words became twisted in my throat. I could only stare at her, marvel at the freckles over her cheeks, watch the drop of her eyelids as though she was high, as though I’d somehow rendered her incapable of clear thought. She was fecking gorgeous and she tasted so damn good.
“Not exactly the first kiss I was expecting,” I finally managed. I knew what hid behind my small confession, but just then, I didn’t bleeding care. She could think me weak, that I was fecking putty in her hands. I bleeding well was.
“That…that was the second.”
“Me molesting you while pie-eyed doesn’t count.” I tried not to wince thinking about that night on the pitch. God, if I’d only held off, acted like I had any sense a’tall, maybe I could have had this sooner, and more of it. I released a breath, sure that another apology was weighted in my throat. “Just now, that was really the first.” I paused, watched her face to see if she would push me away, if there was any resistance at all to how close I held her. If she had any clue of just how fecking much I wanted to kiss her again. When she didn’t pull away, I went for it. “And here’s another.”
McShane became pliant, and it was so bleeding brilliant. I liked the soft curves of her body, how she molded to me, how I felt every inch of her skin working over me, against me.
I was rock fecking hard.
Unless you’re a bloke, you’ve no clue what it’s like when you’re kissing a gorgeous girl and your body betrays you, wants you to forego common logic and respond to the primal, base instincts fueling your body. It’s difficult. It’s frustrating, but there is something that happens when a man is aroused. We forget our good sense. We forget that we should do anything but grab, pull, thrust, want. It took all my control to not revert to Primal Declan when I kissed McShane.
Really, I wanted her naked beneath me. Or on top of me. I wasn’t fussed and didn’t have a preference. I wanted to feel the weight of her glorious tits in my hands, my thumbs running over her (I’m guessin’) perfect, pink nipples.
Primal Declan won.
I slipped my tongue into her waiting mouth, loving the small, barely noticeable sounds she made. My hands moved over her again and, with the last shreds of rational thought, was able to gently touch and not grope and tug like I so wanted to do.
My mind warred between taking things further, kissing her more deeply, grabbing her arse and grinding myself against her, but before I could make any decisions, her cell phone chirped from my pocket and she jerked her body away from me, the moment broken.
She felt over me, dug into my pocket to retrieve her phone which I’d kept on me during her melt down, her fingers coming perilously close to my throbbing knob. She smirked as I watched her speaking to Sayo with those plump pink lips moving in her speech; the quick smile, the soft features as she spoke. The smooth sound of her chuckle moved in my ear like a song. I never wanted to stop hearing it. In fact, I wanted to hear it more often, to feel more of her, to smell her sweet scent on my pillow; to feel her warm, fit body against mine. Every morning.
This girl made me think impossible things. Wish for something I never knew I wanted.
Bugger me. I was in trouble.