“Ah, come on, Mac. It’s Saturday night. I left the party early because you ran out on me. The least you could do is be a charming hostess.” He turned his practiced hundred-gigawatt smile on Mac, the one guaranteed to make a woman drop her panties.
Mac didn’t drop anything, least of all her annoyance. “If you hadn’t noticed, charming is not in my job description.”
He chuckled. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed.
“Bruise, I have to get up early, okay? So, see ya.”
“Hey, it’s Sunday tomorrow. I never would’ve pegged you for the church-going type.”
“I’m not, but I have plans.”
A smart guy would take the hint and leave. Not Bruiser. Actually, he should’ve never come here in the first place. No good could come from him being in the company of a half-dressed Mac. Especially considering how much she’d turned him on earlier.
Remember Brett. His repressed conscience demanded to be heard, and he looked away from Mac, battling with himself. He should walk out this door. Right now.
Mac helped him out and walked to the door, yanking it open. “Thanks for dropping by.” She gestured toward the porch.
Bruiser balked, about to argue. With a heavy sigh, he stood and walked to the door, feeling a bit like a whipped puppy with his tail between his legs.
He made the dumb-assed mistake of hesitating just a few feet from her. He should’ve kept going, but his feet wouldn’t move. His gaze met hers, and his world stood still. It was just like Bogie and Bacall—Bruiser was a sucker for old classic movies. He’d never had his world stand still. He’d always thought the romantic crap in those movies he loved was just a fantasy, especially when it came from a simple glance. But then his brain went into deep freeze, while his heart slipped out of its cage and sprouted wings.
The part of his brain that did function wanted to recite poetry.
Poetry? What the fuck?
He’d never been one to wax poetic unless said poetry got a woman naked. While his body definitely wanted Mac naked, surprisingly, sex wasn’t his priority. His stomach did these weird-assed somersaults like it did before running onto the football field for the first play of each game. Only Mac’s house wasn’t a football field, and Mac didn’t look a damn thing like his teammates.
The urge to taste her overwhelmed him, robbing him of his little remaining sense. He stepped closer, expecting her to retreat. But she stood her ground, neither of them apparently having the wherewithal to abandon ship.
Instead, this ship was gonna sail those rocky seas.
Bruiser raised his hand and cupped the back of her head, capturing the silky strands of her ponytail in his fingers. Angling his head, he lowered his mouth to hers. She looked up at him, and the longing in her eyes drove him forward. He had to taste those lips, just once, just a sample, had to know if the effect she had on him extended to kissing. She parted her lips and a soft sigh escaped. That was the last invitation he needed.
His mouth touched hers, setting off a spark and igniting a fire that laid waste to his entire body. He forgot his name, rank, and jersey number.
God, she tasted good. So fucking good.
Bruiser applied more pressure and she met him halfway. Her lips sealed to his, and he slipped his tongue inside that sweet, wet cavern of pleasure. He pushed her against the open door, pressing his hips against her, while his rigid dick rubbed against her stomach. She groaned into his mouth and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her left leg wrapped around his thigh. Holy crap. He’d be taking her up against this wall any minute for all her neighbors to see.
Her tongue danced with his, thrusting, parrying, retreating like a fencer. She made little mewing sounds, driving him into a mindless fever. He slid his hands under her shirt and upward to heaven. The swell of those fine breasts tickled his fingertips. Creamy skin beckoned to him, dared him to cup her in his hands. His dick ached to be buried deep inside her.
Breathing hard, Mac pulled her mouth away from his and sucked on his neck. He liked that, liked that she marked him. Liked it way too much. Liked the feel of her warm body. She was addicting, and the last time he’d allowed himself to become addicted to one woman, it’d ended in disaster and the second-worst pain of his life when she left him. That simple thought wedged in his brain, interrupting his passion with a stab of reality. Pain. Hurt. Betrayal.
This woman was dangerous.
Then there was Brett. His buddy. His trusting friend. And Brett didn’t trust many people.
With a superhuman effort born of a well-concealed conscience, he pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. His head reeled from the effects of a drunken stupor, even though he wasn’t drunk. Or maybe he was, from her kisses.
Shit, this stuff didn’t happen to him. He was always in control when it came to sex and sex play. Not that he didn’t enjoy sex. He did, but he liked to be on top, even when he wasn’t on top.
Mac leaned against the wall and blinked at him, confusion in her eyes, her lips swollen, her breathing coming in short gasps. Blonde strands of hair framed her face, her ponytail in wild disarray.
Bruiser dropped his hands to his sides and started backing out the door. “I’m sorry, I— I— That was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
Without waiting for her response, he sprinted out the door to his car and got the hell out of there. Way to fuck up a friendship. Not just with Mac, but with Brett. The sooner he convinced Brett to ask her out, the sooner this screwball attraction would be a thing of the past. He never messed with other men’s women.
Bruiser gunned the car and shot away from the curb, but he couldn’t run
