Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (11 page)

Reaching down, I drag the comforter up over her shoulders and she snuggles closer.

I’d be lying if I said having her here didn’t feel incredible. Maddie is every guy’s dream girl. Beautiful. Intelligent. Feisty as hell.

Guilt washes over me.

I’m not ready for anything serious, not when I have my first preseason game this weekend. And Maddie is definitely not a fuck-and-forget kind of girl.

I never should have done this, brought her to my bed. Last night happened too quickly. One minute we were flirting, and the next I was ripping clothes off her body.

Shit. I think I actually ripped clothes off this woman. The caveman in me is pretty pleased, but the sane part wonders how pissed she’ll be when she tries to get dressed in the morning.

I should’ve slowed down, but there’s something about Maddie that makes me want to push her to the edge. All those cold shoulders she threw my way this summer only increased my curiosity and attraction.

But fuck. I never hook up without talking about expectations. Because this can only be about having a good time. Nothing more. Not after Veronica nearly imploded both of our lives on her way out the door.

And now I feel like a dick for thinking that Maddie might want anything more. Had I brought it up, she probably would have laughed in my face and told me to make sure I didn’t choke on my ego.

Closing my eyes, I let myself enjoy what went down before I have to deal with the fallout.

Christ. I lost count of how many different ways we went at it. The best part? She looked just as unwound as I felt, digging her nails into my ass and moaning my name. I harden against her warm thigh as images of her lying across my desk flash in my head.

Fuck, no, Sloan. Don’t go there. Let the woman sleep.

Tilting my head, I catch a glimpse of the clock. I still have a couple of hours before I need to get up for practice.

Maddie sighs again, her pouty lips inches away, and I’m more than tempted to sweep my mouth against them even though I’ve been listing all the reasons tonight was a stupid idea.

But we should talk. Make sure we’re on the same page.

To be honest, I’d be surprised if she wants something serious. Not with how closed off she’s been.

Absentmindedly, I stroke her back, her soft skin soothing against my calloused palms. She smells sweet and floral, the faint scent of her perfume lingering. I bury my nose in her hair, unable to resist this connection, even though I’m worried it’s one I never should have made in the first place.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

- Maddie -

I’ve been hit by a car. Or beaten up by a mugger. Or mauled by a bear.

I jerk to sit up, but my sore body protests, and all I do is flail.

Why is my head pounding like it’s been backed over by a semi? Did I drink last night?

Every muscle cries out as I attempt to roll over. But I’m pinned down somehow. Probably by that bear.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I realign my expectations about how fast I can move. But I’m so hot. I’m usually freezing first thing in the morning. I want to kick off the covers, but that would require motion, which I’m not sure I’m up to right now.

Huffing out a breath, I finally peek through my crusty eyelashes to find one very muscular arm wrapped around my waist. That arm leads to one exquisitely defined torso. My eyes finally make it up a little higher until his sleeping face comes into view.

Daren.
Oh my God. I slept with Daren. And I’m still in his bed. Holy shit.

My heart thuds in my chest, which I will to still because I’m almost sure the blood roaring in my ears is loud enough to wake him.

Gingerly, I lift the sheet off my chest. Yup, still naked. Well, awesome. This isn’t awkward.

Through the narrow slit in my eyes, I can make out dark curtains in his room and the faint light of morning.

Shit. Shit! What time is it? I need to get to the studio.

I gently grab his hand and lift the tree log off my body before I roll out from under him. Nausea swirls in my stomach, a reminder of how much I drank last night.

Please don’t throw up all over this man’s bed.

Despite the pain pulsing throughout my sore body, I eventually end up in a wobbly crouch on the floor like a ninja. I glance down. Okay, a naked, half-drunk, wobbly ninja.

Where the ever-loving eff are my clothes? I lift the sheet, hoping to find my dress, but all I see is… Wow, Daren. Full frontal. Nice.

Get a grip, Maddie! Stop ogling the man while he’s sleeping, you creeper.

I tiptoe around the bed in a half crouch, trying to be quiet, which works until I step on a wrapper that crunches beneath my bare foot. Squinting, I try to make out the package. Trojan. Make that two packages.

I swallow.

Sex. We had lots and lots of sex last night.

Blurry images come rushing back to me. Of us making out on his pool table. Kissing against the door. Going down on him.

I smack my forehead. Oh, God. I basically begged to give him a blow job!
Well, I’m sure I’m not the first.
The thought makes me wince.

But I don’t have time to drown in my mortification. I need to get dressed and get the hell out of here before we have some painfully awkward morning-after conversation where he tells me this was a one-time thing, and I try not to sock him in the eyeball.

Why do men always assume girls are so needy? I am a modern woman. I am fully employed with health insurance and a retirement plan. I don’t need this man to feel good about myself. I will show myself the door, thank you very much.

Embracing my inner Beyoncé, I stand up straight. Except my stomach protests the motion, and I have to wrap my hand over my mouth to keep in the evil contents from last night. After a moment of being absolutely still, the nausea subsides.

I spot a stocking hanging over a lamp. And then my garters on the floor by the armoire.

My temple throbs, and I press a clammy palm to my forehead before I gather my trail of clothing.

Ducking into his office, I spot my dress and another stocking. Great. Almost there.

I’m halfway convinced I might walk out of here fully dressed when I spot my bra in two pieces on the floor.

Did the man actually rip that off my body? Holy hell. I’d be impressed if I didn’t have to walk out of here bra-less. I know I live next door, but seriously. A girl needs her bra. And that one wasn’t cheap.

The tattered fabric dangles off the tip of my finger, and I scowl. This is not how I wanted to start the day.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

- Maddie -

Roger stands at the head of the table, and bodies fill every chair from one end of the room to the other. I sit straight, my legs crossed at the ankle, dutifully jotting notes.

“The Assemblymen hope this initiative will appeal to taxpayers…”

The meeting drones on, and I try my best to pay attention, but when I shift in my seat, my thighs and everything in between ache, a constant reminder of what I did two nights ago. Grateful when the meeting disperses, I drag myself back to my cubicle.

After twenty minutes, I finally give in. I have stories to work on and deadlines to meet, but it’s like an itch I have to scratch.

Checking to make sure no one is watching, I pull up ESPN’s webcam coverage of today’s preseason game. It’s the first half, so Brentwood, the veteran quarterback, is still playing. Daren probably won’t get any time until maybe the third quarter, or at least that’s what the sports guys have been saying. I may have eavesdropped on their conversation this morning when I was refilling my coffee.

Rearranging everything on my desk so things sit at a right angle to my laptop, I stick in an earbud to listen while I attempt to finish an assignment. As the guys predicted, Daren looks like he’s going to play five minutes into the third quarter. The Rebels are up by seven points, which doesn’t seem like a big lead, but I’m guessing the coaching staff wants to see if Daren can hold his own.

I tiptoe across the hallway and stare up at the flatscreen TV where two sports guys watch the game. Fortunately, Nicole is covering the event, so she’s not here to comment on my sudden interest.

Why I’m sneaking around to watch this is beyond me. I shouldn’t care what happens today. I mean, I guess Daren and I are friends, so I should have a friendly interest. Not a holy-crap-we-screwed-like-sex-crazed-bunnies interest, which is definitely what’s going on in my head right now.

Nerves flutter in my tummy, and I fight the urge to bite my nails, which I haven’t done in years. Yes, I’m nervous for his game. We talked about his practice schedule the other night. How his practices go from sunup to sundown every day. When I knew I had to cover him for these segments, I did a little research. He had a reputation for being one of the few guys who didn’t party in college, throwing himself into football, but now it’s not a stretch to say he eats, breathes and sleeps the game.

My lips twitch up. It’s hard to not admire his drive. His determination.

So maybe I’ll watch for a few minutes and get him out of my system.

Sure, Maddie. Like you did this weekend?

I release a frustrated breath. Yeah, so maybe I rode him like a bareback rider at the rodeo, but in no way did I sign on for more than one night of fun.

So then why am I so eager to catch a glimpse of him right now? And why was sex never that hot with Jacob?

Because you never let go.

Honestly, I thought dating Jacob was letting go. Dating someone so different had been difficult on many levels. Even though he pushed himself in the arena and in training, he somehow never grasped
my
work schedule, often complaining that I didn’t make enough time for him.

Is that why he cheated?

I glance down at the phone in my hand, a constant reminder of his blow job cameo a few clicks away.

Before Friday night, I would’ve said Jacob and I had a healthy sex life. I tried to make sure he was satisfied. He always came. What man doesn’t? And I got there too most of the time.

Not like Friday night, though.

Nothing with Jacob was ever that desperate, that needy, that perilously close to pushing me to some kind of precipice.

No, Jacob was a nice exploration of the missionary position. Every time. Never anything dirty. Never hard. Never, ever out of control. I couldn’t remember him trying to rip off my clothes or me being so hungry to have him in me, I thought I’d die trying to press him into my body.

Not like with Daren.

Cheering draws my attention back to the game. My heart starts to race when the camera zooms in on him. I step a little closer to the screen.

There’s that jaunty little strut. Daren crosses the field in those tight football pants, and my mouth waters. I can’t quite make out his face, but that confident swagger reminds me how it feels to be under him. To have him drive into me. To have him bite me.

My toes curl in my heels thinking about that man’s body. Jacob had a great body. But nothing short of coming face to face with a naked Channing Tatum could’ve prepared me for the magnificence that is Daren Sloan.

The broadcast cuts to his headshot and stats from his senior year at BC. Jesus, he’s beautiful. Did I really sleep with this magnificent specimen?

No, you didn’t just sleep with him. You pressed his face between your thighs until your eyes rolled back in your head.

An image flashes behind my eyes. Of Daren hovering over me. Of cut muscles and sweaty skin. Of glorious ridges and pulsing heat.

And holy mother, there was a
lot
of pulsing heat.

Now that my hangover has fully retreated, my mind has been filling in the blanks from Friday night. How his rough hands gripped my now tender skin in heated exchanges as I tried to claw my way closer. How wide I had to stretch my legs so he could press his way in. How good he felt when he finally pushed—

“Madeline.”

I nearly jump out of my shoes. Twisting around, I come face to face with Roger.

“You okay?” he asks, waving his hand at me. “You look a little flushed.”

“Do I?” I press a sweaty palm to my forehead. “It’s warm in here. Are you warm? I’m warm.” Oh, God. I’m standing here in the middle of the office about to spontaneously combust over Daren.
What’s wrong with you?

Roger eyes me curiously. “Did you eat lunch?”

“No,” I say, pointing to him. Bingo. Lunch! “I have not eaten yet. And I do get a bit lightheaded.”

“So go grab a bite. You know, I never say things like this, Madeline, but don’t push yourself too hard. You’re often here when I come in, and you’re still here when I leave. I love your drive, but I don’t want you to burn out.”