I could do nothing but blink several times at the quick change in subject.
He gave me a lopsided grin. "Things are about to get fuck-all hectic. I don't handle relationships well during football season. I'd like you to stay the night."
My heart dropped. I wouldn't be meeting his cook. I looked away, feeling tears well behind my eyes like some stupid heartsick teenager.
"Hey," his fingers hooked my chin and turned my head his way. "It doesn't mean I won't try, but I have no idea if you can put up with the intense focus I need during season."
"Focus?"
"It's what I eat, live and breathe. I make no excuses and I get paid a hell of a lot of money to be the best. I'm a very poor loser and not even my mother wants to be around when that happens. I want to give you tonight and tomorrow before you judge me on more than what you'll see when regular season starts."
Really, when I thought about it, none of this made any sense. "Why me?"
"Truth." He stared intently into my eyes. "The party. I watched you look away from anyone involved in more than light sexual contact. I watched you try to make that long, gorgeous body compact and unseen. You wanted nothing to do with that world, but there was incredible fascination in those beautiful blue eyes."
"I didn't know you were watching," I whispered.
He gave me a long, measured look before his voice lowered another notch. "And that could be the biggest reason you're sitting nearly naked in my kitchen right now."
His eyes captured me in their endless dark depths, but the stupid words tumbled out anyway. "I could be frigid."
His laughter burst throughout the room. Like everything else he did, it was full and uninhibited, dimples fully displayed. Shivers slid straight to my sensitive lady parts.
Yes, I could make babies with this man.
The oven timer went off and, still laughing, he got up and removed the meal. I noticed the growing outline of his cock beneath the cotton of his underwear before bringing my eyes up and meeting his knowing smile.
I could smell the food now and my stomach growled. I ate salads, but they were just so I could feel good about something healthy digesting in my body. I needed real calories for the number of miles I ran.
He prepared our plates and carried them over. The first bite put me in heaven and I started eating in earnest. I would not be upsetting Marty. At one point, I noticed Killian staring.
I gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry, I like food."
He looked at my breasts then back up to my face. "I like you."
If I still had food in my mouth I would have choked. He started eating again while I tried to pretend his words didn't flood my panties.
There was something else bothering me, so I asked. "Why did this," I pointed to my naked chest then to his, "take so long?"
He knew exactly what I was asking.
"I didn't want an uncomplicated fuck and I had to take care of a few things first."
Did that make me a complicated fuck? "Things?"
"Yes."
I didn't feel so good about "things," but quickly decided to like the idea of being complicated. From his one-word answer, he made it obvious I wasn't getting more from him.
I helped with the dishes, but he only allowed me in the kitchen so he could torture me. A whisper of touch against my breasts, a light kiss, his body brushing minehe made doing the dishes sexual torture. His game made me forget the smidgen of shame I had left over my nudity.
As soon as we finished, he lifted me up to the kitchen counter. The hard fullness, hidden by his underwear, pressed against me and I now craved skin on skin. My tingling inner thighs were ready for more.
He played with a small piece of hair on my shoulder while kissing and nipping my neck and collarbone. I squeezed him with my thighs, hoping he'd press closer. He dropped my hair and skimmed his fingers down my sides, trailing across my legs with leisurely strokes. I shivered with need, but he never touched me where I wanted it most.
A low rumbling sound escaped my throat and he stopped and moved slightly away so he could see my face.
His voice was deep, sexy, and oh so smart-ass. "You never answered my question. Will you stay the night?"
I understood the game now and couldn't help my frustrated response. "Blackmail?"
He leaned in so his nose touched mine. "Whatever it takes."
I released an irritated sigh knowing I couldn't win this game. "Yes, I'll stay the night. If I must," I tacked on just to be flippant.
He laughed, totally disabusing me of any power I thought I had, while swinging me into a cradle against his chest. I put my arms around his neck as he carried me back to bed.
Two incredible rounds later, he ran a bath in the largest tub I'd ever seen. His muscular legs rested on either side of me, and my head tiredly leaned back against his chest. His fingers ran up my arms, over my breasts, and down to my hips.
Killian MacGregor was a toucher, and I wanted his fingers doing exactly what they were doing for the rest of my life. When it came to him, I couldn't help being a fool. I'd had exactly two lovers slash boyfriends in my life, fallen in love with both, and cried my eyes out when they left me. Greg was the worst because he was my first sexual encounter and I wanted him desperately-wanted his ring, his babies, and a happily ever after. Steve didn't hurt quite so much because I expected it. Losing Killian would be devastating and I already knew it would happen.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
In this, I couldn't be honest. Men did not want to hear that you were thinking about the pounds of chocolate you'd eat when they dumped you.
"My clothes, running shoes, clean underwear-you know, girly things that make our lives livable."
His chest muscles rippled under my cheek as he laughed.
"I need to be at the stadium at six tomorrow morning for film. I'll give you a ride home after that. You can change into running clothes and then I'll run with you."
He couldn't see my grin. "Okay."
He tipped my chin up so I looked into his eyes. "The rest of tomorrow is mine."
I loved the sound of that. "Do we have plans?"
His fingers slipped over my leg and delved along the folds of my swollen pussy.
"It depends on how this feels."
"Mmm, it feels really good," I said, not realizing what he meant.
"Then I didn't pound it hard enough." His entire palm staked its claim as he cupped me.
"Oh." I had permanent hot-flash, red-face syndrome around him.
His chest rumbled again.
My mouth opened and the words spilled out before I could stop myself, "Do men get chaffed?"
I could hear his laughter now as he answered, "Not from pussy. At least it's never happened to me, but there's a first time for everything."
"You're teasing me."
"You're fun to tease."
We fell asleep in his bed after I tried my damnedest to chafe his cock.